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Siri sighed to herself, her eyes closed. She was in the middle of a very serious internal debate.

They're too close for their own good. You know that. And if you don't separate them, then Iris will come for them, and She will take them away forever.

And Siri knew that should have been the end of the argument; it was simple, logical, undeniable, but somehow, it wasn't. For some unidentified reason, a reason even the ten thousand year old soul didn't understand, it just wasn't the end of the argument. There was... more to it.

They are supposed to be together.

Too bad. It's too late for them to be together. Kurt has Jeremy.

But still...
Siri pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to piece it all together. She knew that Kurt and Dave importance would be revealed to her when the time was right, but for the time being, she still had no idea what it was that linked the two men together, or why it was that they were linked so strongly.

She hoped that in time, it would become clear to her. She hoped that in time, she would have the answers.

It plagued her to know how attached Dave was to Kurt. And vise versa. She was fearful of what would happen when the month was up, and Kurt would be required to go back to Jeremy. Like a lamb to the slaughterhouse...

She feared Dave would be crippled, unable to find a friend of his own. And then, then Dave would be no better off than Kurt or Jeremy.

"What's going to happen?" she pleaded to nobody, her tone strained. "I don't understand what I have to do. Do I let them be together? Keep them apart? And what happens when Iris comes, what then? What am I supposed to do?"

Everybody always finds someone.

Yes. And they shouldn't find just anyone. They should find the right one.

That's not how it works.

But it's how it's supposed to be. I'm sure of it.




"But David!"

"No! I refuse to even go anywhere near that... that man again!"

"But-" Siri searched for means of persuasion. "But your month. It's, it's not over."

"Fuck the month. I don't care."

"But Dave!"

Dave let out a tired sigh. "Listen, Siri. You were right, okay? I was spending too much time with him. It's time I started looking out for myself." He hesitated, then squared his shoulders in resolution. "That's why I've decided to start going out, every day, Until I find myself a friend of my own. Someone with whom I can spend the rest of eternity with." It hurt him a little to think that person wouldn't be Kurt, but he let that go. After all, it was only a week ago he'd been mourning the loss of his Jordyn. Perhaps soon, he wouldn't remember Kurt at all.

"Oh." Siri was uncertain, but decided it was for the best if she didn't interfere, for once. "And, and you're sure about this, are you?"

"Most definitely."

"Well. Okay." She felt uneasy. "But, if you don't mind. Please, just tell me. What exactly did Kurt do to cause all... this to happen?" Dave gazed at her nakedly.

"He... he wouldn't wake up, Siri." Another sigh dropped from his throat, and Siri could hear in that sigh the breath of a hurting man. "You know. In this whole place, you're the only friend I have." Siri smiled at him. There were tears pooling in her eyes.

"I'll always be your friend, David. And, I'm sorry, that it didn't work out with Kurt."

"You warned me. I, I guess it just wasn't possible. He has Jeremy, now. He has no need for another friend." He almost collapsed then, but gave himself a mental shake just before he could. "It's time for me to find a friend of my own."


Dave watched Krist's expression with dawning apprehension, dying to know the news. Dreading to know the news.

"Krist? Was, was that about Kurt." But Krist could only stare numbly, his eyes haunted. "Krist?" Dread had turned to fear. "Krist! Was it Kurt? Did they find him?"

"Dave." Krist was hollow and lifeless, and he looked as though he was about to fall apart. "Kurt... he's dead."

Dave's legs unhinged, and he gripped the table to stop himself from falling. He thought he'd heard wrong. Was sure he'd heard wrong.

"Wh-what did you say?"

Krist shuddered, running his hands through his hair. His finger nails were ragged and in most cases bitten painfully down to the cuticle. Two of them were bleeding.

"K-kurt," he croaked, but his voice gave out, and it was several heart-wrenching moments before he could try again. "Kurt died, Dave. He,
h-he..." Something inside of him rolled over and died. He could no longer construct whole sentences. "Suicide. S-shot himself."

Now Dave fell, table or no table, the ground rushing up to meet him. A private place deep inside him howled in pain. Then he realized it was his heart.

"What?" For all the emotion blazing away inside him, his voice, in contrast, was a strengthless whisper. "D-dead?"

He's dead.

Then he remembered how to scream.

"Kurt! No, no, it's not true. Fuck it, K-kurt! You f-fucking bastard..."

The truth decimated as it hit; the truth felt no sympathy, the truth pulled no punches. The truth was uncaring, merciless, and cruel. And it tore Dave apart.

"I'm sorry, Kurt."

He laid against the floor, his heart breaking and spilling out, flowing in the tears from his eyes.


Alone in his bed sat Kurt. He was filled with fear, yet somehow resigned to his inevitable fate, and he just stared and stared at the inked drawing on the pale, vein-threaded underside of his wrist. He stared for a very long time. Wanting to be certain that what he was seeing was real, and wasn't just a nightmarish hallucination of some sort. He hoped to God that it was a hallucination, but in his heart, he knew that it wasn't.

Yes, it was definitely fading. Only lightly, slightly, so slightly that he probably could have fooled himself into thinking it was all in his imagination, if that had been his intention. He was sure that other people wouldn't notice. Jeremy would notice soon, if not already, but for the moment, he didn't care. He just wanted to be left alone.

To fade away in peace.

The tattoo was a shade paler, the ink was beginning to fade. He felt stone cold fear deep in his chest, like he'd swallowed a lump of ice, but it was also very dull, and Kurt was extremely confused about why he hardly seemed to care about his impending demise.

It just... doesn't seem so important to go on anymore, for some reason.

He grunted, and let his arm fall carelessly back into his lap. He laid back against the bed, staring at the elegantly carved ceiling.

This is all his fault. This is all Dave's fault.

How, how dare he make me feel this way? Nothing gives him that right!

"Fuck you," he muttered in a flat, emotionless voice. His tattoo was snarling and itching and irritating to the point of driving him insane, but even that wasn't enough to rouse him. "Fuck you, Dave. Fucking fuck you. How dare you make me feel this way? What gives you the right to decide this type of shit?" But as passionate as the words were, or rather, as passionate as they should have been, there was no passion in his voice, no anger, no conviction. He felt hollow inside. Everything was pointless. Mechanic. Clinical.

First, the tattoo begins to itch and irritate. Then it starts to twinge. The twinge turns to a snarling, burning pain. And then, then it finally begins to fade. You feel the onset of apathy and depression. You feel fear. You wish you could kill yourself and get it over and done with, just to put an end to the waiting, the long, endless period of unknowing which is by far the worst part. It's just like dying, except you're already dead, so you can't really die again. And slowly but surely, it fades until there's no trace of it left, like it never even existed. And you fight. You fight and scream with your partner and try to claw each other's eyes out because when it comes down to it, there's nothing else you can do.

And then She comes, without a warning of any shape or size to prepare you. Iris comes. The true Angel of Death, without a doubt. And when She comes... She comes to you, and She cuts you open... and She takes your soul.

And you cease to exist.

"Oh, Jeremy."

Oh, Dave.


"Can I buy you a drink?" Dave offered to the blonde woman sitting beside him. She glanced over at him, blinking coolly, and then smiled.

"You talking to me, stranger?" She quipped, and Dave tried his best to be enthusiastic.

"That I am."

"Well, in that case..." Her smile widened a little to evolve into a bright, toothy grin that was actually quite attractive. "I'd love for you to buy me a drink. And thank you very much for asking." Dave summoned the bartender, who had appeared like smoke by the counter.

"A Rusty Nail," the blonde woman ordered. The bartender nodded, and turned to Dave.

"Er, just Crown Royal for me, thanks." The bartender turned away, and Dave was left alone with the blonde again.

"Thanks again," she said. Dave smiled in half-hearted response, but couldn't put in that much of an effort. It was ridiculously hard to pull off something even as simple as a smile.

Another generic response exchanged for another generic response. When will it end? "No problem." He shifted on his bar stool, feeling a tad awkward with no clue what to say. "So... What's your name?"

"Britney." She smiled again, and despite the flawless attraction in those white, even teeth, Dave was already beginning to tire of her. Britney and her good cheer. Barf. "How about you? Do you have a name, stranger?"

No. My parents were mute, they didn't give me a name. "I'm Dave. Dave Grohl."

"Pleased to meet you, Dave Grohl," she chirped brightly as the bartender returned, thankfully, with their drinks. Dave threw some loose change at the guy all in a hurry, and downed his glass quickly. Boy, in that moment, he needed a drink. He glanced around his glass to eye Britney and her blinding smile.

Great. Now what?

Who cares? Dave thought dully. I don't think I could be friends with a girl like this, anyway. She'd drive me nuts in less than a week.

And her teeth are so bright the glare is starting to give me a headache.

Ms. Britney White-Teeth.

And with that, he asked the first question that popped into his head, one which was evidently popular but also widely regarded as inappropriate and rude. "So Britney... how did you die?"

She arched one of her carefully plucked eyebrows, and Dave could have kicked himself. Well, he did, mentally. Gee, Dave, what an intelligent and insightful little question you've managed to come up with.

"Well..." Even though it seemed to put her off her game a little, Britney was a good sport, and decided to answer anyway.

Britney the Blonde.

Britney White-Teeth.

"I actually died in a boating accident. I drowned. Don't remember much, other than that." And a touch dryly, she added. "How about you, Dave Grohl? How did you die?"

"A truck ploughed into the side of my car." Britney nodded absently, and Dave, realizing the conversation was going nowhere, decided to ask another mindless question and save them both from the increasingly awkward situation he'd created. "So, uh, what did you do before you died?"

"Um, I was a dentist, I think." Figures. Dave eyed her teeth, and wasn't surprised. "But I don't know. I remember a boat. And that's all I remember, just in case that was your next question." Dave nodded - it was all he could do - so she continued. "I've been here for almost two years, now." She downed her drink, and Dave wondered if she felt anywhere near as uncomfortable as he did. It was kind of hard to tell. "How long have you been here?"

"About two and a half weeks, actually."

"Is that all?" Britney seemed surprised, but also understanding, as if all his stupid questions were forgiven. Of course, he's just a
new-comer. He doesn't understand.
"Well, let me just say that you're adjusting very well, seeing as you've been here less than three weeks."

"Thank you."

"Found a friend, yet?"

"No, not yet," Dave muttered. Already, he was sick and tired of the whole friend thing. "I'm looking."

I'm actually looking for one right now, since you mention it.

"I remember when I first met my friend," Britney continued fondly, and Dave felt his heart sink. Not that he'd been rating his chances with this girl very highly, anyway. "It was during my fourth week. I'm really glad I worked up the courage to just go up and talk to him. I almost didn't, you know." Dave grunted noncommitally, and stuck his nose in his drink. But he wasn't really paying attention.

The conversation had become meaningless to him.


Jeremy stood over him, but Kurt suddenly didn't care what he was planning on doing to him. It wasn't like it mattered, anyway.

"So." Jeremy's voice was as dark as his mood. "It's finally happening." Kurt's returning gaze was blank and faceless.

"I suppose it is."

"My tattoo began to fade today."

"Mine did, too."

Jeremy's brow furrowed. "And you're just gonna lie there? Jesus, Kurt, don't you have anything to fucking say?"

"Hmm." Kurt mockingly pretended to think it over. "No, I guess not." Jeremy scowled, and Kurt felt mild annoyance penetrate his grey haze. It was the first emotion he'd truly felt for a long time. "Look, Jer, what do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Because I will, if that will make you feel better."

"Words can't make me feel better, Kurt. Iris is coming for us."


"And there's nothing we can do about it."


"Kurt..." Jeremy was exasperated, he wanted to shout and rant, but he suppressed that, trying to remain civil. "Maybe we shouldn't give up hope. I mean, things have been bad before. And you're not seeing Dave, anymore." He paused, and scrutinized Kurt carefully. "You're not seeing him anymore, are you?" Kurt shook his head, masking the unhappiness it brought him. "We're spending more time together now, we're healing. And maybe, if we just hold on, then everything will be alright."

"I don't know, Jer. I seriously doubt that's how it works."

"But it''s worth a try!" Jeremy couldn't contain himself any longer. "Jesus, Kurt, but isn't it worth a fucking try? Why are you so eager to give up when you haven't even tried yet?"

Because, Jeremy, it isn't worth a try. Because, I'd rather disappear than spend my time with you. What he said was, "Because it's useless."

"You don't know that!" Kurt didn't bother responding, so Jeremy continued. "You know what, I've been doing some real hard thinking, lately. About all this shit. And you know what I think about all this? Well, remember when you said this was all my fault, because I sell you to people and then you let them fuck you, because you have to? Well, for all the years it's been going on, nothing like this has ever happened. Nothing's gone wrong. Until now-"

"Just drop it, Jeremy."

"So why now, Kurt? What is it about this Dave guy that makes you go all weak at the fucking knees? Why is he different to all the others? Do you like him? Do you have a Goddamn crush on him?"

"Don't be so ridiculous, Jer."

"Jesus." Jeremy's voice was low, incredulous. "What are you, fucking in love with him, or something?"

Kurt took a much-needed breath, readying himself to speak, when a half-sob hitched painfully in his chest. It took a lot of will power to repress that sob, but he managed it. "Don't... don't be so stupid, Jeremy. You know it's impossible for me to fall in love with someone else." He held up his tattooed wrist as a token of his proclamation. "I'm yours, Jer. I'm owned. I belong to you, to you, always. And I will, right up until the moment I fade away."

"Prove it to me."


"If you're still mine, then prove it to me."

"I don't-" But then Kurt understood what Jeremy was asking of him, and his stomach cramped up in revolted protest. But he had no choice. Whether he consented or not, Jeremy would have him. He cringed to himself, and sat upright on the bed. Jeremy towered over him, and Kurt moved so that he was sitting directly under the standing man. Jeremy's eyes bored into his own, so dark in his lust they were almost black, and Kurt knew if he looked into them too long, he would probably burst into tears.


"Close you eyes," Kurt murmured in a soft plea, and for once, Jeremy did what he was told. Kurt found that with his eyes closed, it became just a little bit easier to complete the task required of him. He moved forward, his hands fumbling with the front of Jeremy's pants, and he undid the button and slid down the zipper.

"Yes..." Jeremy hissed, moving his hips against Kurt's hands, and the blonde man felt very sick. He peeled Jeremy's jeans from his hips, noting with distaste how his boxers were tented from his erection, and then jerked the boxers down, too. "Now, Kurt." Jeremy was urgent, and needy, and for a moment Kurt felt the overwhelming urge to bite his cock clean off. He pushed that thought away as quickly as he could. But not quickly enough to prevent it from tainting his mind.

He placed his hands on Jeremy's hips to steady him. Then he hesitated.

I can't do this.

I have to. I have to do this.

I can fucking do this.

Holding down his nausea, his disgust, and his deep sense of shame, he brought his head forward and down quickly, and took Jeremy's erection far back into his mouth.

He sucked.

"O-oh." Jeremy opened his eyes and saw the blonde head buried in his crotch, and he almost came undone. "Kurt. Oh, Kurt."

Kurt did his best to block out the sounds, the taste, and the feel. He did his best to think about something else, to transport his mind into far away places, and somehow make the current situation more bearable.

What he came up with surprised him.

He was thinking about Dave.

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