"I got it!" Manny nearly trips, catches himself, races up the stairs to the lounge and blows past Calliope as she holds the door open. "I got the artifact!"
Joey looks desperately over at Matt, getting dragged away by The Strong Man, but a fierce yell from the demon's girlfriend makes him think twice about running back out to save him. Veronica snarls again, hitting her baton against one of the wooden beams holding the roof of the porch up and sneering at Joey like she knows exactly what he's thinking.
"In, in, in!" Calliope hisses, and Joey is dragged inside by someone else too quick to resist, watching as Mortimer scrambles in just behind everyone as Calliope slams the door hard, helping her bar it with a piece of wood.
Joey manages to get to the couch, sliding the artifact towards Manny as he hurries over, the leather strap clenched tightly in one fist. The faster they get this done, the better the chance of saving Matt is. There's a part of Joey's brain screaming at him to go back out there right now, artifact be damned, to save Matt, because without him they're screwed, what was he thinking bringing the detective here—
"Joey!" Manny says sharply. "Help me!"
Joey leaps back into action, hands trembling as he winds the strap around the artifact and snaps it into place with Manny's help.
The glow, a flash of light, the brief smell of ozone and metallic tang of blood.
The fourth artifact is cleansed.
Joey sits back, finally able to take a breath. His heart is racing, pulse pounding loudly in his ears. He looks up as Manny slumps in relief, clenching his hands into the hem of his shorts as he stares at the artifact he won the challenge for. There's a part of Joey cheering wildly that Manny is okay, celebrating the fact that one of their best team members is safe for another challenge. But there's an equal part of him still looking blankly on as Matt is dragged off, clawing at The Strong Man's wrist, kicking desperately to try and get him to let go.
Manny finally stands up straight again, wiping his face like he's unsure of what to do with himself. Everyone else has sat down, looking at the artifact in what Joey thinks is some of the same stunned shock that he feels. How could they just lose Matt like that? The idea doesn't seem to compute. They can't lose Matt.
But Manny clears his throat and picks the artifact up, carrying it over to the shelves and positioning it carefully in one of the higher ones. He stares at it for a moment, then turns around, looking at the assembled people and giving a proud smile. "Just wanted to say, strongest man, full face of makeup."
And why shouldn't he be proud? He just won a challenge. Joey claps half-heartedly along with the rest, but his eyes stray to the door, a part of him expecting Matt to walk in, a little battered but ultimately okay. He has to be. They can't do this without him.
Joey looks up as Manny sits back down, meeting the man's eyes as an uncomfortable silence falls over them all. Calliope and Mortimer hover by the door, watching them with matching unreadable expressions.
"Matt's dead," Ro finally says. Her voice is rough, and when she looks up at Manny, her eyes are shiny with tears. "Matt died out there."
It's not accusatory, but Joey sees Manny's jaw tighten, and the man clenches his fists. Joey understands the feeling, he thinks. Manny didn't choose to be in that competition against Matt. How can Manny be blamed for winning a fair fight?
"I did what I had to. We're all trying to survive here." Manny's voice is carefully controlled, but he looks away from Ro's tearful gaze and the badge still clutched in her hands. "I wanted him to live just as much as you did."
"Obviously not!" Colleen glares at him, standing up abruptly to jab an accusatory finger at the man. "You're as bad as Joey! You wanted him to die so you could save your own sorry ass!"
"Like you wouldn't have!" The careful control is gone in an instant and Manny jumps up too, towering over her as he fixes the woman with a scorching look. "What would you have done if the alternative was getting beaten to death? You're honestly telling me you would have just let him win?"
"Yeah! I probably—!"
"Stop it!"
Both fall silent, looking to the end of the couch where the sharp interruption came from.
Safiya looks between them, eyes steely. "We can't change it. Arguing isn't going to help us. We just need to get the next artifact."
Joey feels a sudden flash of gratitude for her. Without Matt, she feels like the next steady person: guiding them forwards, keeping them on track, preventing them from devolving into a bickering mess.
Without Matt.
They don't have Matt anymore. The realization, sinking in, nearly takes Joey's breath away. Matt, the curious one, Matt, the protective one, Matt, the ridiculously hopeful one who believed they were going to make it out of here. Matt, cruelly beaten senseless behind a pile of barrels because of a challenge everyone knew he couldn't win.
He's so overwhelmed by the thought that he barely notices everyone looking at him. It's only when Colleen clears her throat icily that he jumps, glancing around the half-circle of people on the couch.
"Have something else to share with us, Joey?" Colleen asks, and Joey wishes he didn't deserve the contempt in her eyes.
"No, I…" He swallows, gaze flickering briefly to the detective's badge held in Ro's hands, then back around the group. "I— I need a minute. I'll be right back."
He pushes himself up from the couch numbly, ignoring the heat of stares on his back, cringing away from Mortimer and Calliope's curious looks as he stumbles blindly for the door and fumbles for the handle. His stomach is rolling, sick with dread at the memory of Matt's pained cries, the dreadful crunch of bones crushed underneath inhuman strength.
His stomach rebels as soon as he half-falls out into the cold, crisp October air, and he collapses to his knees over the side of the deck as a dry heave forces its way up his throat. He coughs, retching as the taste of bile burns his mouth, but nothing comes up.
It feels exactly the same as it did every time he wanted to tell Matt how he really felt, the words getting stuck in his throat where they sat like hot coals whenever Matt so much as threw him a glance or brushed his arm against him. Joey retches again, clutching the edge of the deck with white-knuckled hands and silently hating himself for not saying anything earlier. He told himself that it wasn't the time, that a cursed town filled with monsters wasn't exactly the best place to make a grand love confession and that he'd do it once they all got out of here safe, but now it's too fucking late, and Joey feels the scorch of tears in his eyes as he digs his nails into the cold painted wood and stares at the dirt.
Matt, gasping for breath, Matt, betrayed, Matt, losing a battle he never could have won, Matt, Matt, Matt.
The name repeats in time to Joey's heartbeats, still pounding in his ears, like his heart is a child taunting someone unluckier than itself.
Look what I can do. Look, I'm still alive. Look, I'm still alive, and Matt's not, Matt's dead, look, we're still alive, and we don't deserve it—
There's a faint cough from behind Joey.
He scrambles back against the wall, pressing himself against it and holding his breath as a shock ricochets up his spine. He shouldn't be out here. Who knows when the next monster is going to appear? Joey stares straight ahead and grits his teeth, forcing his breathing to slow as he prepares to make a run back for the door into the lounge.
There's another cough, and a faint moan of pain.
Joey hesitates, stopping himself before he sprints for the lounge door. That's...that's not some new monster out to get him. His brain skitters to a stop. It's latched on to the faint sound of life as he slowly pushes himself up, supporting himself with one hand on the wall and barely daring to believe it. It can't be. It can't.
Joey rounds the corner, walking slowly and cautiously just in case he’s wrong, unable to hold in a gasp as his hope is confirmed.
Matt...isn't dead yet.
But the hope quickly turns to dread. Joey feels fresh bile rise in his throat as Matt's body comes into better view, and he fights not to look away. He did this to Matt. He deserves the horror of seeing it.
There's blood running down Matt's face, pooling on the hard-packed dirt and gravel beneath him. Bruises, the color of plums, bloom on his skin, one side of his face swollen and his lip split wide open. Both eyes are dark with bruises and swelling, and a bloody wound rests across the bridge of his nose. Blood stains his lips and chin and drips down his forehead, and as Joey watches, he coughs, spitting out more with a pained grimace. He's barely recognizable.
"Matt…" Joey's voice is barely above a whisper. "Matt, can you...can you hear me?"
Matt's eyes flick to look at him. Joey braces for hatred, but it's not there, so he carefully lowers himself to his knees next to Matt. The handkerchief around his neck is untied with shaking fingers, and Joey uses it to gently wipe away some of the blood from his face so it's not getting in his eyes. It’s the least he can do for Matt.
"We might be— we might be able to save you," Joey says desperately, and he looks up to the door, trying to judge how fast he could get someone to help him carry Matt back into the lounge where he'll be safe. "We— we could help you."
He jumps as Matt retches, heaving as he rolls over to spit something out into the dirt. Joey scrambles away just in time to avoid the thick, red blood that Matt spits out, mixed with dark bits that look like coffee grounds.
Joey's heart sinks at the sight, knowing what it means. Matt's bleeding out from the inside. Matt seems to recognize it too, because his gaze lingers on the bloody vomit for a couple seconds before he looks back up to Joey desperately. He doesn't have to say anything for Joey to understand the meaning.
Please don't leave me.
Joey moves closer to Matt again so he's sitting flat on the ground. He feels strange just sitting here next to him, and Matt is shivering in the cold, so Joey doesn't hesitate long before taking him into his arms, being as gentle as he can as he cradles Matt. "I'll, um… I'll stay here until…"
He doesn't finish. But Matt knows. They both do. Matt's head falls against Joey's chest and he seems to relax a little bit, his breaths getting slower and quiet like he's not fighting so hard to breathe. Joey wishes it were anyone else here for him right now. Ro, with her kindness, or Safiya, with her steady eyes and quiet calm no matter what happens. Matt should have them here, his friends, not the person he was so angry at just a bare handful of minutes ago. Joey shouldn't be the one comforting him when it's his fault this is all happening in the first place.
Unbidden, heat forces its way back into Joey's eyes, burning as he blinks furiously to try and rid himself of the tears. It doesn't work. They spill over within seconds, scorching hot and then icy cold on his cheeks as he glares straight ahead, sight blurry, knowing he can't look down at Matt again or else he'll devolve into a sobbing mess on the ground.
Joey grits his jaw tight and breathes slowly, struggling against the aching guilt he can feel in his chest. He was the one that caused this. He brought him here. Manny may have taken him to trial, and The Strong Man may have delivered the blow, but it was Joey that wrote the sentence.
Joey drops his head with a choked sob, losing his fight and giving in, fingers tightening in the dirtied fabric of Matt's white shirt and gripping it hard like he intends to keep Matt alive by sheer force of will. Even as he squeezes his eyes closed, the image of Matt's face, bruised and bloodied, is burned into his mind. Joey doesn't think he'll ever forget it.
Matt didn't deserve this.
If Matt had to die, it shouldn't have been like this. It shouldn't have been this painful, slow death on the cold ground, held by his murderer.
"I'm sorry," Joey says, and his voice is near a whimper. "I'm so sorry."
He feels a hand reach up to weakly catch at the collar of his shirt, and opens his eyes, blinking hard and wiping them roughly with one hand to look down at Matt.
There's an expression that could almost barely be classified as a smile on Matt's face, looking grotesque with the blood still staining his features. He's loosely gripping Joey's shirt, and as Joey watches his face, Matt raises his hand with great effort to rest it gently on Joey's cheek.
There's something so tender in the gesture that Joey lets out a strangled sob, trembling as he reaches up with one hand to cover Matt's own. There's something they're not saying, but Joey doesn't think they have to.
"I'm sorry, Matt," Joey whispers again, turning his face into Matt's palm, cold and clammy and covered in dirt. "This— this shouldn't have happened to you, I— I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Matt's still smiling, but there's tears shining on his cheeks, too. Joey doesn't want to imagine the pain he must be in. Matt's breaths are shallow and quick, his chest rising and falling in a harsh rhythm, each breath choked like there's liquid in his lungs. Dark blood stands stark against his pale face and Joey futilely wipes more off, with his bare hands this time, uncaring that he's getting Matt's blood on him. On the contrary, there's a part of him viciously pleased at it. He'll have proof of it now. He'll have proof of Matt's suffering staining his shirt, proof of Joey's own mistakes staining his hands, marking him as the murderer that he is.
Matt blinks, eyes glassy as he looks up at Joey. Joey can barely stand it. He wants there to be hatred in Matt's eyes, anger, betrayal, contempt, he wants Matt to be disappointed in him just like the rest are. He wants Matt to hate him. Joey deserves it. Why shouldn't Matt hate the man who brought him to his death?
But there's none of that in Matt's eyes. There's pain, and there's fear, but what really hurts is the love. There's love in Matt's eyes as he looks up at Joey, his face the last thing he'll see before he dies. Joey wishes he could look away. Matt shouldn't love him. No one should. Not after tonight. Not after this.
Joey sobs again, soft and broken, as he realizes just how much he loves the man back. It's been a constant companion tonight, a small, warm glow that tempered the high of adrenaline and made Joey feel better in the face of fear. He had Matt, so everything was going to be alright.
Matt's breath catches in his throat, and Joey finds his eyes again, fear sending cold shocks down his spine as Matt coughs weakly and more blood drips from his lips. Matt's going to die right here in his arms, and there's nothing Joey can do to stop it.
"Matt…" Joey's voice cracks, and he squeezes Matt's hand on his cheek.
He wants to say more. He wants to say so much more. I'm sorry. You did well. I'll remember you. I'll miss you.
I love you.
But Joey can't get the words out past the lump in his throat, the choking weight of grief and guilt as he watches his friend die. Maybe he doesn't need the words anyways. Maybe Matt knows no matter what. God, Joey hopes he does.
Matt's hand on his cheek is...tugging him down, weak and feeble, but insistent. Joey goes willingly, at first thinking the detective wants to tell him something. But Joey doesn't hear anything as he dips his head, and he realizes what's happening almost too late to respond.
Matt's kissing him. He's kissing him, when he barely has enough life in him to stay conscious. Joey sobs again, closing his eyes and letting Matt wrap long, shaking fingers around the back of his head as he holds him close in a broken mimicry of a loving embrace. All Joey can smell is the choking tang of iron as he kisses back, Joey's tears landing on Matt's cheeks and Matt's blood staining Joey's lips.
Joey fights back a sob as he hears Matt’s breath catch again, aching to be able to comfort him and tell him it'll be okay, offer him something better than this. He feels like this should be enough. Matt’s suffering should be enough. They killed The Strong Man, didn't they? They defeated the demon, they cleansed the artifact, so Matt shouldn't have to die.
Matt gasps for breath against Joey’s lips, his eyes closed, face tight like he’s struggling to hold onto something with all his strength. Joey just leans in closer, uncaring of the blood and dirt and tears as he rests his forehead against Matt’s and closes his eyes.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, even though it’s anything but. “It’s okay, I’m here.”
Matt’s breath rattles in his lungs, and his next inhale is shaky and weak. Joey just clutches him tighter, squeezes his hand, whispers meaningless words to him until Matt whimpers, small and scared, and then, finally, falls still.
Joey can't bear to pull away for a few long moments, still hoping that maybe it's a fluke, maybe Matt will shudder and awaken again, maybe Joey will get just a few more minutes with the man. It's selfish, Joey knows, but he still holds his breath and prays to whoever or whatever might be listening that Matt isn't really gone.
But after a while, he can't pretend any longer. Joey slowly pulls away, wiping his face. It's in vain, tears coming right back to sting his eyes as he sees Matt again, his expression slack. There isn't any trace of the bright detective there. Just blood and bruises and the scent of death.
Joey slumps, unable to bring himself to let go of Matt's weight in his arms. That would be like abandoning him, wouldn't it? Leaving him here in the town square with only a couple barrels to shield him from prying eyes? No, Joey can't. He has to stay here. He told Matt he'd stay with him.
Tears course down Joey's cheeks as he stares numbly at Matt, still holding his hand. Matt wanted to protect them. He wanted to get them all out of here. And what did he get for it? He got a painful death where the only comfort Joey could give was half-assed apologies and a kiss that should have been given to him long before.
Joey doesn't know how long he sits out there. Long enough for his legs to cramp and his fingers to go numb from the cold autumn air. Long enough for his tears and the blood on his hands to dry. Long enough for him to fantasize about staying so still for so long that he just dies out here with Matt like he should so he doesn't have to go back into the lounge and look his friends in the eyes. He can't go in and face them all. Not after what he let happen to Matt.
"Joey?"
Joey looks up slowly as he hears a soft voice. It's Safiya, hesitantly approaching from the arcade, her face pinched with worry. She glances around nervously, then steps off the deck and comes to join him.
"Joey, it's...it's been a while." Safiya is carrying Joey's coat, and she holds it out to him. Her gaze lingers questioningly on Matt's body cradled in his arms, then she looks back at him, obviously wondering what he's doing.
Joey has to find his voice. "He— I came out here, and Matt— he was still breathing, so...I...I sat with him, until…"
It doesn't even begin to explain it, but Joey doesn't have any more words to offer her. Luckily, Safiya seems to understand, because she nods after a moment and holds her hand out for Joey to take. "Come on."
Joey doesn't want to leave Matt, but he knows she's right. They have to keep going. They have to make sure that Matt and the rest haven't died in vain.
He gently sets Matt's body down and stands up on legs that protest after being in one position for so long, then takes the jacket Safiya offers. It's freezing out here, and he's so achingly cold, but…
Joey crouches next to Matt again, draping his jacket over him so Matt's bloodied face is hidden, just to give the man a modicum of dignity in death.
Safiya looks over Matt's body as Joey stands again, her eyes sad. "Did he… How long…?"
Joey just shrugs, wiping his face roughly to try and get rid of the last remnants of tears. "Long enough."
Safiya sets her jaw, lowering her head and breathing deeply for a moment. When she speaks, her voice is firm, but Joey can hear the note of hopelessness threatening to creep in. "We have to get out of here."
"You have to get out of here," Joey says bitterly. "I should be dead. I should have died a while ago."
"Maybe." Safiya's reply is blunt. "But it's too late now. I want to leave this place, and so did Matt. And you know what? I bet he wanted you to escape this hellhole, too. No matter how pissed he was."
She turns to look at him, and behind the ferocity in her eyes, Joey sees grief. Once again, he feels that gratitude. Safiya will keep them on track. He nods, brushing his hair back from his face and trying to stand up straight again.
"Good." Safiya looks him over. "Let's get this over with."
Joey nods again. With one last glance back towards Matt's body, he follows Safiya inside.