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@texasrcttlesnake asked:
It should never have come to this. He should have been better.
He should have been able to protect Steve.
Steve was all he had left. Steve, the home… He didn’t know about Kane. Kane was gone right now. Out of reach, just like Steve would be…
It still doesn’t feel real.
It can’t be real. It just can’t be. Steve can’t be leaving him. He can’t! He wouldn’t! He…. He promised. It’s juvenile, he knows. Everyone dies. Everyone and everything. He knew that. Arguably, he knew that better than everyone else in the world. And he had lost before.
He didn’t want to lose again. He didn’t have a choice. Just like always, he didn’t have a choice. He was forced to watch again as his family slipped away.
God, Steve fit so well in his arms. He always had. Even now, cold and heavy and still, he fit so well.
“Hey,” a voice behind him. He doesn’t look up. He can’t. He can’t handle this. It’s not real. It can’t be.
He looked up. Finally looked up. And Steve was standing there. Because it has already happened.
He’d already failed. He clenched his jaw and said nothing. Steve crouched down and looked at the corpse in Taker’s arms.
“Well, shit.” Steve sighed. It was such a ‘Steve’ thing to say, in another situation, Taker might have laughed. Not now. Now, it just made his chest seize up. Steve looked up at him and cracked a noticeably forced grin. “Guess I really pooched this one, huh?”
Taker sighed. Held the body closer and stood. … Steve was so light. He’d seemed heavier when he was alive. Warmer. He’d squirmed more, too. Hung on tight even as he complained he was able to walk.
That wouldn’t happen anymore. Never again.
“Hey, Taker! Can you hear me, you big dead bastard?!”
“I can hear you.” It’s an automatic response. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” That sounds automatic, too. Steve steps in front of him and Taker stops, clutches the body tight. It’s hard to look at Steve. Not just because he loves him, because he failed him. Not just because Steve, he was so sorry. The Dead were always hard to see. Steve was blurred around the edges. A bit greyer. A bit brighter, even though the world seems so much darker already. Little transparent. Almost shimmery. A good man, clearly, but Taker had known that already. Steve reached out to put his hand on Taker’s face. At most, Taker felt a faint pressure, a buzzing of energy. He laid the body down carefully on the couch and leaned into Steve’s hand and it felt more solid.
Not the same, though. Never the same again.
“Had to happen eventually.” Steve’s voice was soft. Still hoarse like always, but close and far away all at once. Spectral. That’s the word. Of course it is. Because Steve is dead.
“Hell, the way I live?” Steve tried to force a smile. Taker couldn’t reciprocate. “I’m lucky I lasted this long.” He put his other hand on the other side of Taker’s face. “Real lucky.” Taker closed his eyes and drew a breath. It burned. It didn’t burn the way fire did; nor did it burn the way drowning did. No, it was far more familiar than that.
Grief burned in its own way.
His hands were shaking. He hadn’t noticed it until he put the body down. … Steve’s body. Until he put Steve’s body down. His husband’s body. His husband, who he failed. He wrapped around his partner’s spirit and he was grateful for what he had become. If he were not the reaper he was, he wouldn’t get to hold him this one last time.
“I love you.” He said softly. He’d handled spirits before. Dozens, hundreds, thousands, countless. None were as precious to him as Steve’s. He felt like if he moved too fast, spoke too loud, Steve would vanish and he would be alone again. Alone forever. Alone like always.
“Love you too.” Steve murmurs. The Undertaker closes his eyes and holds him tighter. To anyone else, it would seem as though the Undertaker is standing in an empty room, holding himself beside the corpse of his forever. Nobody else would ever know. It was a private slice of eternity, only for the two of them, and the Undertaker didn’t want it to end. He couldn’t let it end. … But he knew that he had to.
“You’re going somewhere nice.” He says without letting go. He tried to make it sound reassuring, but he knew, even to him, it didn’t really work. He knew Steve well enough that he knew, if Steve was corporeal, he’d tense.
“I’m already somewhere nice.” Steve said. There it was. That typical Austin bullheadedness that had driven the Undertaker up the wall so many times. The well-known Austin stubbornness that had sent the two of them to blows when they were younger. The famous Austin tenacity that had made him keep trying to help a lonely corpse find happiness. What was he supposed to do without it?
“No.” Steve shook his head. “I ain’t going anywhere.” He took a small step back but didn’t let go, instead balled his fists in Taker’s jacket. Jaw set, blue eyes piercing. Yup. There it was. The light flickered. Taker hadn’t done that.
“Steve, you can’t stay.” It hurt so much to say that. Every word dropped like lead. Heavy and cold and dead. Bitter on his tongue. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He couldn’t look at Steve’s face anymore. Not when he’s dead. Not when he looked so betrayed.
“I ain’t goin’!” Steve doubled down. “You can’t make me!” They both knew that he definitely could.
“Hell no, son! My ass is stayin’!” Steve stepped back and pointed emphatically at the floor. Brow furrowed, shoulders squared. Not giving up without a fight. Of course not. He wouldn’t be Steve if he did.
“Ain’t heaven if you’re not there.”
The Undertaker couldn’t respond. Not when Steve was looking at him like that.
“… I’m sorry.” He said finally. Voice hoarse and quiet. Steve drew back a little more.
“Why can’t I stay?” Steve asked. He was restless, fidgeting. Crossing his arms, uncrossing. Taker glanced back to the body on the couch.
“You’re dead.” Taker said. Steve snorted.
“So are you.” He said, then jerked his head in the direction of the back door. “So are them sum’bitches out there. They’re stayin’, so am I.”
“You can’t!” Taker finally snapped. The frustration had mounted too high, the grief swirling into something sharp and vicious. “Most of them didn’t stay! The ones that did, they changed! Thy got hurt, twisted– You think I could watch that happen to you?!”
“I can take it!” Steve retorted. “I dare whatever motherfucker does it to try!”
“You aren’t listening!” Taker took a step forward, looking off to the side before back at Steve. “I’m not letting that happen! Not to you!” He jabbed a finger in Steve’s chest.
“It won’t happen!” Steve shakes his head. The boards didn’t creak under his weight like they used to.
“You don’t know that!” Taker yelled back.
“Maybe I do!” Steve ran his hand down his face. “I ain’t going. I can’t. I’m not leavin’ you.” Taker breathes deep, exhales heavily, shuddering. His shoulders are so tense they ache. His chest burns. His head throbs. This can’t be happening. It’s not real. Not his Steve. Everything was so bright and so dark and so hot and so cold. Even his own voice, tired in its grief, seems like a gunshot.
“Just let me do this for you, Steve.” He said, hanging his head. Closes his eyes once again. Everything was so heavy. The silence that fell over them like a shroud weighted heavier still. Steve didn’t say anything. The Undertaker didn’t open his eyes. After a few eternal seconds, Steve did speak.
“What about that Sheriff?”
“What?” The Undertaker looked up and blinked his confusion. Steve looked excited.
“That Sheriff!” He said again, gesturing with both hands. “The one that comes back ‘round Christmas!”
“Jake.” Taker says automatically. Steve nods dismissively.
“That asshole.” He crosses his arms. “Can I get visiting hours like him?” Taker blinked again. He frowns. Thinks.
“It… Might not be up to me,” he says slowly, “But, maybe.”
“I don’t take maybe.” Steve snorted. “Don’t take no, neither.” That actually earned a smile from the Deadman. Tired, mournful… But genuine.
“I know.” He said, then sighed. “I know.” Steve stepped close again. Taker rested his hands on Steve’s hips. Still warm, but strange. Like static buzzing under his palms.
“So I’ll be back.” Steve said, sounding so damn sure of himself. “Find a time I can visit and be a pain in your ass again. … October seems like a good month.”
“Heard that one before.” The Deadman mumbled. He had. Sitting over a ledger, working out guest lists and budgets and honey moon plans, he’d heard that one before.
“And I was right.” Steve held him tighter. “It was nice.” The Undertaker nodded.
“Best day of my life.” He let another moment hang between them.
“Mine too.” Steve leaned his forehead against Taker’s shoulder.
“… You still have to go.” The Undertaker finally said, even as he tried to hold Steve tighter still. (I don’t want him to go, said the Deadman’s heart. He’ll get hurt if he stays, replied his brain. I will hurt when he leaves, sobs the heart.)
“Fine. But I’ll be back.” Steve said and Taker wished he could believe him. “Just-” Steve stood up, glanced at the (his) body on the couch and grimaced. “Be gentle when you tell Kevin and Jenny. And Riley and the girls.”
Taker nodded and squeezed Steve’s hands.
“I will.” He promised. And he would. He had earned his ‘name’, after all. He knew how to talk to families. This would be far more personal, but he could manage. He had to manage. He owed Steve that much.
“Okay.” Steve finally nodded. His voice was much softer, now. Still hoarse, but soft. Taker took his hand and stepped towards the back door, but Steve hesitated. “Ain’t gonna hurt, is it?” The Undertaker shook his head.
“Nothing is gonna hurt you again.” He said. Steve hummed a single note.
“Sounds dull as hell.” He commented. Of course Steve would say that. The Deadman snorts.
“Guess it is.” He agrees. He wouldn’t know. He paused on the back porch. How many times had they sat here together, watching the sun go down? How many drinks had they shared on the porch swing? This was where Steve had proposed to him. This had been his paradise. Because of Steve. Steve had given him paradise.
It was only fair he bring Steve to paradise, now.
“It’s beautiful.” Steve said. The Undertaker nodded. Keeping a hold of Steve’s hand, he took a step off the porch. Rather than falling down to the porch steps, or pas them to the dirt, his boot rested on something solid and invisible in the air. A swirling dust mote puffed outwards around his step. Another step up and this time, the dust mote that fell out seemed to outline a perfectly-angled staircase. Steve regarded it wearily, then followed behind his husband.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He mutters. Then, a little bit louder, “Hey, Take! Hold up!” the Undertaker paused. Steve kept looking down at where their feet remained a fair distance above the ground. He stomped one foot, then the other. Then he jumped up and down. Once, twice. Once more for emphasis. “Ain’t that a bitch?” … At least he was having fun. But then, Steve had always been like that. Tenacious. Perseverant. Impossible to break.
Never willing to show how much he was hurting.
Maybe they should wait a little bit longer. Just to let Steve experiment more. Let him have his fun on his walk up. (His only walk up.)
(He was never coming back.)
“Feel like one of ‘em superheroes.” Steve commented. One more hop. “Hey, think I could pull off Clark Kent?” The Undertaker snorted.
“Sure. Got the reading glasses for it and everything.” He shook his head and squeezed Steve’s hand.
“You like my glasses.” Steve scuffed his boot on the stairs one more time. The Undertaker nodded.
“I do.” He took a breath and tugged Steve’s hand again. This was for Steve. To keep him safe. To bring him home. Keeping him here any longer would be selfish. The longer they waited, the higher the risk.
He could never risk Steve.
“’S a long way up.” Steve said after a while, looking down through the slowly-illuminating stairs as they ascended higher than the roof of the home.
“Your knees hurt?” Taker asked. Steve paused, frowned, then looked down.
“No.” He said. Taker nodded. Thought to himself that they never would again. The sky continued to lighten around them until it faded into a white expanse. The silence was broken by…
The Undertaker almost smiled. Of course. How could he be surprised? It was Steve, after all.
“What in the hell-?” Steve began, but stopped with his mouth hanging open when the celestial stadium came into view. Lights dancing around the tops, massive trucks ramping over the edge of the amphitheater, the roar of a crowd and the announcer’s voice gleefully welcoming all of them to the show.
“Oh, hell yeah!” Steve exclaimed, grinning a mile wide. He was practically bouncing like a toddler before he turned to Taker again. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a big ol’ monster rally up in the sky?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be.” The Undertaker replied. Steve jogged up a few steps ahead and tugged on his hand.
“C’mon, I wanna see them motherfuckers crush a minivan!”
“I can’t.” The Undertaker said simply. Steve stopped. His grin fell away. He looked to the stadium, then to Taker. The stadium, Taker. He kept staring at Taker.
“Oh.” Steve said simply. He didn’t say anything else for a moment. Just watched his husband as the engines and crowds kept roaring. “So that’s…” The Undertaker nodded. Steve didn’t need to finish the question.
“Yeah.” He didn’t need to give more detail. They both knew. Steve stuck his thumbs through his belt loops. The Undertaker walked towards the stadium. Too dark, too filthy, too hell-bound and accursed to belong in such a place. He knew that he could go no further than the door.
“Fine.” Steve huffed, walking up beside him and slipping an arm around the Deadman’s waist. “It’s only temporary, anyway.”
“Right.” Taker said. Wrong. Taker thought. He forced another deep breath, then turned and gently tugged to get Steve to face him, too. Steve didn’t resist.
“I love you, Steven James.” Taker said, just as he had so many times. At the house in Victoria. The first night together in the home. When Steve’s truck pulled back into the driveway. When they got married. And now, when he said goodbye. He pulls Steve close and kisses him. Kisses him and does his best to commit how it feels to memory. He could never forget Steve. But just in case, he had to be sure. He also had to be sure Steve knew how much he meant those words. How much he’d always mean them. Steve finally pulled away, keeping his hands in Taker’s hair.
“Why you talking like it’s goodbye?” He asked, blue eyes dazed and sparkling, so bright in proximity to eternity. “It’s only ‘see you soon’. I’m comin’ back, remember?” The Undertaker nodded.
“I know.” (You won’t.) It takes more strength than he thought he had to let go of Steve’s hips (don’t be selfish). He has to let him go. Steve deserves paradise.
“Hey there, Stevie!” A weathered yet warm voice took their attention away, and both of them looked towards the man standing in the stadium doorway.
“Papaw?” Steve’s expression softened, melting into a warm disbelief. He glanced back to Taker, then to the man - his grandfather - in the door and took a few steps forward.
“C’mon in, boy. Your granny and I saved you a seat.” The smile on the old man’s face was warm, genuine, maybe a little sad, but wholly welcoming. Steve hesitated only long enough to give ‘Taker one last peck on the lips.
“Be back soon.” He grinned, so confident of himself, before turning to step into the stadium. “Hey, they got any of them extra-cheesy nachos in there?” The question was enough to keep a fond neutrality on the Undertaker’s face until the stadium door closed with a finality that even Steve Austin’s legendary stubbornness couldn’t match. He stayed there for a moment, standing alone in the bright, heavenly light, staring at the stadium door.
Then he turns and leaves.
Step by step down the ethereal staircase, until the roar of engines faded to silence faded to the distant croaks of ravens. Until the light had faded and the world was grey and empty again and the weight on his shoulders crushed him more and more with each step. Until his feet touched down and he found himself, alone and dead, in the land of the living once more.
But it wasn’t until he’d moved Steve’s body to the embalming room to take measurements that he realized he was crying.
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