Kill me once, shame on you, Matt thinks numbly, his limbs nearly paralyzed with terror as cold, rotting hands drag him across dusty streets and torn-up grass. Kill me twice, shame on me.
The crypt is coming up fast, dark, weathered stone, carved with a design that Matt can’t make out because if he looks too hard at the crypt he’s going to burst into tears at the prospect of dying again, dying alone in a small, dark room that smells like bones and ash. Joey and Nikita might abandon him, they might leave him to die here, and there’ll be no resurrection this time, no golden light, no warmth of blood beginning to flow again through a body cold with death, just suffocating darkness and– and–
And the door of the crypt is a dark maw waiting to swallow him whole as the zombies shove him forward, his heels slipping in grass wet with dew, weakly trying to grab at the headstones surrounding him to no luck, his fingernails scraping uselessly over smooth stone, unable to find purchase.
“No–!” He doesn’t know why he’s crying out because the zombies don’t care, they just surround him in a moaning, guttural horde, forcing him up the stairs even as he tries to claw them away. He can’t die again. He was so close. He can’t have gone through all of it just to die now, so close to the end–
But the zombies, mindless in their mission, howl and push him harder, shoving him off balance as he stumbles up the stone stairs and tries to catch himself on the door. He cries out again, sharp with pain, as he topples to the dusty floor of the crypt and lands hard on his hands. Panic overwhelms him and he scrabbles for a hold as he struggles to stand up, pushing himself up on his knees and turning around to crawl desperately towards the door, but it’s already closing with the ominous scraping of age-old hinges, the light from the moon and the stars and the lights of Everlock slivering into a thin slice between the pitch black walls of the crypt. That thin sliver is Matt’s only chance of getting out of here, it’s his only chance of survival, and it’s almost gone–
“Wait!” Matt’s voice cracks and he staggers to his feet just in time to run to the door as it closes with the heavy sound of stone settling into place. “No! Wait, please!”
He slams his hands against the door, trying to shove it open, but it doesn’t budge. It’s stiff with age and probably magically sealed like every other stupid fucking thing in this town, and Matt throws his body against it one last time before he groans in frustration and leans against it, his head falling back against the cool stone as he stares at the dark ceiling, chest burning from the exertion of running from the zombies just moments ago.
“Fuck.”
His voice is loud in the silent space. He can’t hear the zombies anymore, but he does notice now that it’s not as dark in here as he first thought. Along the top of the crypt, ornate carvings have been set into small gaps in the stone, allowing enough light in to see his surroundings as his eyes adjust. He lowers his head and looks around, wiping his face with a sleeve. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he’s trying not to count the seconds down in his head – five minutes, they only have five minutes to save him, or he’s gone for good – because if he thinks too hard about it he's going to hyperventilate. Maybe– maybe there's clues in here. Something they missed. Something they'll need later. It seems like something this town would do. Hide a necessary item in the place where you might die. He should at least look, right?
It can't hurt. And it'll distract him from counting. Matt wipes his face again, clears his throat and takes a shaky, deep breath, and takes a careful step forward. The floor is strewn with rocks and debris, and the place where he fell has long streaks in the dust that's settled on the floor. Matt blinks and looks over the walls. There's squares where the remains must be, and he shivers involuntarily, thinking of the number of people that must be interred here, their names engraved on the stone that he's trapped by. Matt swallows hard. Better not to dwell on that, probably. He inches forward a little bit more, trying to focus past the darkness at the end of the crypt. The crypt is narrow, but it goes forward about ten more feet, widening out a bit as it spreads into a small room with a table – no, altar – in the center. Beyond that is darkness, too far away for the small windows to break through. Small photographs in dusty frames, assorted jewelry, and other belongings sit on the altar, surrounded by half-melted candles, stuck to the polished stone from months of use. Matt breathes a sigh of relief as he sees a box of matches, too. He fumbles for them, managing to strike one and cause a bright flame to flare to life and cast comparatively blinding light into the crypt's dark silence.
He's not alone.
Matt yelps and drops the match as he sees a face staring back at him, stark in the brief circle of light before the match falls and flickers out on the stone floor. A familiar face, a man's face–
No.
No, it can't be.
Hands shaking, blind once again now that the light is out, Matt's breaths come harsh and ragged as he stares at the spot where the man stood as his trembling fingers struggle to light another match, feeling as though any moment, ringed fingers are going to grasp him and drag him closer, pull him down into the darkness where no one will be able to find him ever again. He whimpers involuntarily and works at the match harder, his hands feeling numb. There's another flare of light, and Matt raises his hand, the flame wavering as he shudders as the person comes into view.
Tall, with dark hair gelled back and up, smudged makeup, a green jumpsuit that was once gorgeous but now is dusty and smeared with blood.
Manny watches him impassively from behind the small altar, his hands at his sides. Blood has dried on Manny's face, stained into his skin where it dripped in trails from the gunshot wound placed squarely in his forehead, Nikita's lucky shot. Across his chest, three more wounds are scattered, bloodsoaked holes punched into the fabric where her panicked shots hit flesh. She didn't look when she fired, but Matt did, Matt watched, and Matt saw Manny stumble, his face shocked for a moment. He never thought she'd actually shoot him. He never thought she’d actually kill him. But Matt thought that he’d never kill anyone, either, and yet he gave Calliope cards with his friends’ faces on them, same as anyone else, so he doesn’t know why Manny was so surprised, not when this whole night has been an exercise on making people into murderers–
The match sputters and goes out, damp, old wood unable to hold the flame after it burns through the head. Matt swears and drops it, shuffling back as the darkness closes in again, disorienting him. The darkness is dangerous, trapped in here alone with the walking dead version of his friend, and Matt scrambles to light another match and thrust it in the direction of the candles that he saw on the altar. The wick pops a few times, then catches, flickering shadows cast on the walls as Matt looks up to where Manny was standing just a moment earlier.
He’s gone.
Until he isn’t. Manny reappears, as if melting from the shadows, right next to Matt, so close Matt can smell the hints of the cologne Manny was wearing, overlaid with the iron scent of blood and death. Matt yelps and jolts back, every nerve ending in his body screaming out warning signals as Manny towers over him, still tall and broad and able to snap Matt’s neck as though it were a twig. Does he resent Matt for surviving when he didn’t, even after Matt lost the challenge against him? Does he want to drag Matt down with him, to make sure that if he can’t get out of this place, no one can? Or does he even still have the brain function to think those kinds of things anymore? Is he just acting on instinct, following the Carnival Master’s power without any sort of independent thoughts of his own? Manny takes another step forward and Matt throws his arms up in a desperate bid of defense, feeling the cold, ornately carved stone of the crypt wall press into his back.
He’s going to die here. He’s going to die again, and it’s going to hurt again, and it’s going to be at Manny’s hands, again. Matt whimpers and closes his eyes and he says the first thing that he can think of, the only coherent thought in his head being that he can’t let this happen to him, not for the second time.
“Manny, please, please, don’t do this, don’t, it’s me, it’s Matt, please, don’t hurt me–”
He expects fists raining down on him, hands around his throat, death once again, his inescapable fate–
–the Strong Man’s fist connects with his ribs and there’s the sickening crack of bone and Matt knows pain like he’s never known before–
But it doesn’t come. After a few seconds that feel like hours, Matt blinks his eyes open, hesitantly looking up at Manny, wondering why the pain he expected hasn’t hit him. Manny is standing there, just standing there and staring at him, head tilted to the side like he’s considering Matt. It might be wishful thinking, but it almost looks like…there’s…recognition, in his eyes. Just a flicker, but it’s there, like he’s trying to remember something that’s just out of his reach. Is he trying to remember Matt? Can he remember Matt, the man who watched him die? The man that Manny killed? Matt doesn’t know. But he knows that Manny is looking at him, still and silent. He’s not trying to hurt Matt, and in Matt’s book, that’s a win.
“I…” Matt swallows thickly and tries to steady his voice. “It’s me, Manny. It’s Matt. You remember me, right?”
Manny doesn’t respond, but his eyes brighten a little.
Matt pushes on, for lack of anything better to do. “It’s just me. I know– I know you don’t want to hurt me. You never wanted to hurt me. You never wanted to hurt anyone, it was all– we all did things we regret.”
Matt’s slowly stepping back, putting himself between Manny and the door, waiting for the sound of his friends outside. The crypt door will open any moment now. His friends won’t abandon him here. Not after everything he did for them. Joey and Nikita– they won’t let him die. He has to believe that. But he has to keep himself alive, too, and just because this person standing in front of him has his friend's face doesn't mean–
Manny blinks, and Matt feels like his breath has been ripped from his chest as he sees the shine of tears in Manny’s eyes.
Manny’s…crying. He can cry. If he can cry, if– if this is making him cry, then he must be able to remember, right? He must know what Matt’s saying, at least in some part of his mind. However damaged and broken it might be, however dulled by death his senses are, he must be able to remember something. Despite himself, Matt takes a step forward, barely aware of his own movements as he reaches out to grab Manny’s arm. Self-preservation is being overridden by grief, that all-consuming, aching emptiness that swallowed him up when he watched Manny fall to the ground. Manny isn’t like the other zombies who dragged him here. Of course he wouldn’t be. Manny didn’t follow the norms in life, so why should it be different in death? Matt gives him a weak smile and squeezes his upper arm. He doesn’t know if Manny can still feel it, but it comforts him, at least.
“Manny…” Matt wipes his face with his free hand and sniffles back fresh tears. “I’m sorry. I wanted you– I wanted you to s-survive. You deserved to make it out.”
So did Ro, and Safiya, and Teala and Roi and JC and all the others, Matt thinks to himself. None of us deserved to die. None of us deserved what we got. Not even Joey. Not even him.
But Manny… Manny was something else. Manny was someone that Matt…
…Well, that doesn't matter now, does it?
"I won't forget you," Matt says softly, and his voice breaks. "I promise, I won't. Not that– we ever could."
None of them were ever in danger of forgetting Manny. It would be impossible to forget him, entwined as he is with tonight, that paradigm shift in Matt's entire existence. He killed Matt, after all. Indirectly, sure. But the last thing Matt saw before the Strong Man grabbed him by his throat was…
–Manny looks back at him, just for a moment, and he looks like he wants to cry something out, like he wants to hesitate, but then Nikita grabs his arm and drags him away–
Matt shakes his head as if shaking the memory away, and reaches for Manny. “You could…you could, I don’t know, we could…”
Maybe there’s something to help Manny. Maybe there’s another revival spell, maybe the crystals they’re after could be used, maybe– maybe–
Maybe Manny could still get out of here alive.
But Matt knows somewhere deep down inside that there’s nothing. He was the person they chose. He is the only person that will cheat death tonight – selfishly, he’s glad it was him instead of Manny. But does Manny feel the same? Does he regret allowing Matt to be picked? Safiya told Matt (Safiya, Matt thinks with a pang of longing) that only her and Joey’s votes were taken into consideration, but did Manny support that? Does he now that he’s the one on the other side of that ever-present and frighteningly thin veil between worlds? The questions wash over Matt and he blinks at Manny, tears flooding his dim vision. He’ll never know. Manny died before Matt asked him anything, and now Matt has no idea what he thinks about…everything. Matt won’t ever hear his voice again. He thinks about that last hug they shared, when he was first brought back, still short of breath and his nerves fiery with pain and magic, how he felt like he could collapse into Manny’s arms. Manny squeezed so tight. Surely he was glad that Matt was brought back. Please, Matt says in a silent prayer, please, let that be true.
When he was first dragged to this crypt, he would have worn his hands down to the bone trying to claw his way out. Now that he’s in here, there’s a part of him that’s glad for it. He wants to say more to Manny – what, he isn't sure. But he knows that he’s not done. He doesn’t want to be done, not with Manny. Somewhere a part of him refuses to accept that Manny is gone and this is the end. This is what they fought so hard for. Manny, shot dead, Ro, her small body broken on the altar, Safiya–
There’s suddenly voices outside, and Matt jumps, whirling around to face the doorway of the crypt without a second thought to Manny. Self-preservation has taken control again, knowing his time is ticking down, and Matt feels such a flood of relief that his knees go a little weak as he hears Joey and Nikita.
“We have to get one on each side, come on–” There’s Nikita, her voice drifting through the high windows.
There’s a slight glow through the cracks in the stones on one side, faint but barely visible, and then another from the opposite side. The crypt door starts to slide open, slow and grating, and Matt’s running to it as soon as he registers the movement and trying to help it along.
“Joey– Nikita!” He gasps, adrenaline stealing his breaths, and he hears one of them respond, too out of it to really hear words. He’s saved. He’s saved, for the second time tonight. He knew they wouldn’t let him die. A hysterical, grateful laugh bubbles from his throat as he takes it all in, the clouds and the stars and the lights of the town.
The opening is still too small for him to squeeze through, and the glow gets brighter, a faint humming accompanying it that Matt recognizes by now as magic. He pushes harder at the door, trying to make it go faster, grunting in exertion as his sore muscles protest. He never was the strongest, not now, not ever–
The strongest. Manny. Matt stops abruptly, turning back to stare at the back of the crypt where Manny still stands, watching him. In the flickering light of the candle, he looks like he could disappear at any moment. The door scrapes open behind him, the gap growing ever larger. Outside, Joey yells something about just a few moments longer. Matt blinks, the seconds widening into hours, days, as he stares at Manny’s face. Manny is… Manny was a lot of things. They could have been friends. More than friends. Instead, they were pitted against each other. They were each other’s murderers. They’ll never get a chance to be friends – or anything else – now.
“Manny…” Matt doesn’t know what he was going to say, trailing off, voice nearly silent. Come with me? Don’t leave me? I won’t forget you?
Manny just steps back wordlessly. The candle goes out, and the crypt is plunged into darkness once again. It’s as if Manny was never there at all.
“What are you doing?!” There’s suddenly someone grabbing him from the front and Matt flails, yelling out in shock and instinctively trying to push his attacker away, thinking it’s another zombie. But instead his hands connect with long blonde hair and a pink dress, and Nikita gives him an incredulous look. “Don’t attack me! You were the one just standing there! Come on!”
They didn’t see Manny. He could tell them. He could say that he found Manny, and– and then what? Tell them that Manny’s a mindless zombie? Matt can imagine the look on Nikita’s face. He just stares at them like a stunned animal. Nikita glances around and rolls her eyes before starting back around the church to avoid the zombies.
“Come on, Matt,” Joey says breathlessly, and he grabs Matt’s arm, to greater success than Nikita. “We gotta get back to safety.”
Matt’s brain kicks into action again and he manages to stumble in time with Joey’s steps as he picks his pace up into a run, dragging Matt along with him. You have to stay alive, his brain tells him matter-of-factly, because otherwise Manny died for nothing.
But Matt can’t help it. He looks back over his shoulder, nearly tripping and losing his balance, to look back at the crypt, that black emptiness of the doorway, and he can almost imagine Manny looking back at him.