Chapter Text
You felt the presence before you saw her. Even after five years you could feel the tingle of her power in the air and smell the pyre smoke.
You pretended to ignore it, wiping your rag across the spilled beer on the long oak table. The last patron cleared out twenty minutes ago after knocking over his ninth beer. Your music played from the scratchy speakers posted in the far corner of the dive bar.
Turning to wipe down the rest of the tables, you felt the hair on your neck stand straight on end as she made her presence known. You scooped up the few crumpled bills left on the last bill, pocketing the change before turning towards the intruder.
Dressed in a clean white button-down and black pants, with her hair back up in a loose bun, Death hung a black blazer on the back of a bar chair before sitting down, crossing one leg over the other.
You stood for a moment, swallowing the ball of dread creeping up your throat.
Rio’s eyes were fixed on you as you walked behind the bar, grabbing a lowball glass and filling it with three large ice cubes. You flicked off the cap on the Old Forester bottle, pouring a double shot into the glass and sliding it across the counter.
Rio swished the liquid around the cup before raising it to her lips and taking a delicate sip. You watched her throat bob in a swallow.
“It’s been a while,” Rio finally said, breaking the silence.
“What do you want Rio?” You couldn’t help the exhaustion in your voice.
Her lips curled into a smile. “It’s not me that wants something.”
You turned away from her, grabbing a shot glass from under the counter and hastily filling it with vodka. You knocked back two shots, closing your eyes as the alcohol burned your esophagus.
The feeling of Rio’s gaze on you was sharp–as if her very attention was tactile. You grabbed both bottles of alcohol and set them neatly on the rack. Turning back to the witch, you couldn’t ignore how the amused glint in her eye sent a shiver down your spine.
“So she’s back?” You asked.
Rio raised her glass to her lips, taking another sip. “Drink,” she instructed, looking pointedly at the empty shot glass. She waved her hand and it refilled itself.
You glared at her, but her eyes only twinkled in response. You wanted to defy her, solely because she provoked defiance. She wanted you to defy her, just to demonstrate how easily she could make you comply.
In one fluid motion and without breaking eye contact, you tipped the spirit back into your mouth, barely wincing as the taste coated your tongue.
“How did you find me?”
“It was easier after Agatha broke that flimsy spell Maximoff cast,” Rio admitted, sitting back in the chair. “But while she was under and powerless you were…” Rio paused, her eyes glancing to the ceiling as if trying to think of the word, “like nonexistent,” she finally said, the side of her mouth curving into a slight smile.
You exhaled through your nose, rolling your eyes at the comment. You hadn’t seen Rio since Agatha got the Darkhold and hid from Death. You forgot how aggravating she was.
“Did you come here to fetch me for her?” You said, the resentment in your tone undisguised.
Rio chuckled, tossing back the rest of her drink and setting the empty glass down. “Careful pet, ” she said lowly, “you know how she feels about you talking back like that.”
You glowered at her, your face heating up at the old nickname. “You are more of a pet to her than I will ever be,” you spat out, grabbing the two empty glasses and walking them back to the kitchen. You felt the alcohol clouding your thoughts, limiting your inhibitions.
Setting the cups down in the sink you closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself. You had known that the day would come eventually but you thought you had decades, not three short years.
Emerging from the kitchen, you paused when Rio wasn’t where you had left her. You glanced around the bar, heart rate rising.
A hard shove at your back made you stumble forward, catching yourself on your hands and knees. You whipped around, scrambling back as Rio approached, a green glow circling her iris.
You tried to push yourself to two feet but with one flick of her wrist, green tendrils of magic wrapped around your legs, dropping you into a kneel. Under the familiar control of Rio’s magic, you rested your weight back on your heels and placed your hands palm down on your thighs. God, the hours you had spent sitting like this.
You blinked for one second before glaring up at her. It was enough of a pause for you to watch the features of Rio’s face shift from curiosity to satisfaction.
She reached out, tracing her warm fingers against your jawline before combing it through your hair. You closed your eyes at the touch.
“She’ll be coming for you soon,” she said softly.
You glanced back up at her, searching her gaze and finding nothing but amusement. “I’ll run. She has no power. I’m not bound to her any longer.” You hated the desperation in your voice. Please don’t tell her where I am, please.
Rio’s smile grew. “Oh, pet.” She scraped her nails along the nape of your neck before resting her hand under your chin, raising your gaze. “You know better than that.”
“The Scarlet Witch took her power,” you insisted, but you knew it meant nothing. As long as the witch drew breath there was magic within her.
“But she’s still alive. And as long as she’s alive your heart will beat for her,” Rio whispered, raising her hand to your face.
“Please, Rio,” you grasped her wrist with both hands, “tell me what to do.”
She laughed, running her thumb over your bottom lip. “How I’ve missed your begging.”
“Help me find the Scarlet Witch. I-I will swear my fealty to her in exchange for protection.”
“Even if I knew where she was, you would become a shell of yourself, little bird,” Rio said, wiping a tear from your cheek.
As her familiar, your very life force was tied to Agatha’s, an intricately wound bond that coupled your essence to her power. When Wanda Maximoff stripped away Agatha’s magic, your bond went with it–weakening just enough that you could survive without her presence. Had the witch been at full power, not imprisoned in a fake personality, you would have certainly deteriorated after being away from her for so long.
Even now you felt the pull of her energy, as if the thread that connected you to her was straining.
You dropped your hands from her wrist, lips pulling back in a snarl. “Then why are you even here?”
Rio paused, studying your expression. “I wanted to see your face when I told you.” It took a second for you to process the full weight of her words. She had never intended to help you. She must have been overjoyed at the fact that Agatha was free from the Scarlet Witch’s prison. She was here to taunt.
You pushed her hand away from your face, rising from your knees. She let you, watching with a small smile and an expectant glint in her eye. You held her gaze for a moment, taking steady breaths to ease the tightness in your chest.
Then you reached back to slap her across the face.
She caught your wrist in a flash, smiling widely as she shoved you until your lower back was pressed against the bar. With one hand trapping your wrist against the counter, and the other squeezing bruises into your hip, she leaned in to whisper in your ear. “My, my, look at this defiance. She’ll have fun training it out of you.”
“You would know,” you shot back, but your voice wavered as her hand crept under your shirt. She released her grip on your wrist and threaded it through your short hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat.
“I’ll see you soon, pet,” Rio said, placing a kiss on your pulse point.
In a flash of green, she was gone.
– – –
The rest of your shift was fuzzy, and you were sure you were gonna get a text about the poor close the next morning. After you clocked out you threw back three more shots, leaving the glasses on the counter and barely remembering to lock the door.
Your head buzzed with both alcohol and the feeling of Rio’s hands in your hair, her lips against the column of your throat. You were so distracted on your walk that you went a block past your apartment.
When you finally arrived home, you kicked off your shoes and collapsed on the couch, massaging your temples.
You could not ignore the feeling of the bond between the two of you, steadily growing in power. As if Agatha was braiding the thread into a rope, strengthening her pull on you. Rio was right. Until Agatha found you, you would weaken until you were incapacitated.
Rio’s kiss left a black inky stain in its wake, and as hard as you scrubbed in the shower it wouldn’t come off. You knew it was a message for Agatha.
The days passed as you had predicted. Each morning you awoke more exhausted than the night before as if the bed was sucking the strength out of your body. Despite your fleeting appetite, your muscles and limbs seemed to grow heavier with every passing day.
You handed in your two weeks at the bar, though didn’t bother showing up for any more shifts. Three days after the visit from Rio, you barely had the energy to leave your bed.
You spent more time asleep than awake. Your head pounded with dehydration and there was no moisture in your mouth. There was no water beside you and you could not rouse yourself to the kitchen to fill your cup.
It wasn’t until a sliver of your strength returned that you began to worry.
You slid out of bed, dreading that you had the energy to do so. If you were getting better, she was getting closer.
Hastily, you threw a few thousand dollars of spare cash into a backpack, grabbing a change of clothes, your toothbrush, and a few personal items before slinging it over your shoulder.
You went to the bathroom, chugging water from the faucet until your stomach sloshed with liquid. You splashed cold water on your face before tugging on a black sweatshirt and pulling the hood over your head.
You ducked out of your apartment quietly, sensing her presence growing closer. It physically ached to move away from her, but you forced one foot in front of the other, keeping your gaze trained on the ground.
She was coming faster than you could walk away.
Heart pounding, you broke out into a run, heading towards the train tracks across town. Each step felt sluggish and your lungs burned with the exertion, your body far too neglected for the physical activity. Stumbling into an alley, you braced your hands on your knees, drawing air into your stubborn lungs.
Agatha was normally successful at blocking her emotions from you in the bond, but you could feel her excitement despite the effort. Like a true predator, she loved the anticipation before she struck–the glee that no matter what, she would catch you.
You took one more deep breath before you took off down the alley, adrenaline surging through you. Just as you reached the end, a flash of purple constructed a brick wall between the two buildings, blocking off the exit.
You didn’t pause to look for the witch, feeling her proximity and power in the air you breathed. You bolted to the nearest fire escape, making it only two yards away when a flash of purple magic sent you flying into the new blocked-off exit, pushing the hard-earned air from your lungs. You tried to shove yourself up, but a nearby pile of rebar flew through the air and quickly attached itself to your limbs, pulling your hands above your head and pinning you to the brick.
Your chest heaved in frustration, and you strained against the bindings.
She rounded the corner into the alley, no urgency in her step. You could see her predatory smirk and the dangerous glint of power in her eye. She wore a white button-down under a blue trench coat, with high-waisted purple pants. Her mother’s amulet adorned the center of her chest. You tried to yank your hands out of the rebar, successfully ripping the fragile skin of your wrists.
Agatha was ten yards away and you could tell by the way her smile widened that she was tapping into your emotions, relishing in your panic.
She stopped one foot away from you. You hated how you felt strength returning to your limbs, energy pouring back into your soul.
“Why hello little bird,” Agatha said. “Did ya miss me?”
– – –
You awoke in her basement on a barren mattress, wearing nothing but a bra and underwear. Your wrists had been bandaged but blood was beginning to seep through the gauze. Your teeth chattered and goosebumps freckled the skin of your arms and legs.
You walked to the laundry sink, turned on the hot water, and thrust your hands under the stream desperately. It was ice cold, as expected. You returned to the mattress, flinching when you heard the steps above.
You did not remember leaving the alley, nor were you much surprised at your less-than-welcoming return. You knew that Agatha was furious with you, that you had betrayed her on a new level. Still, you couldn’t find it within yourself to feel apologetic.
You didn’t doubt that she would make you sorry, though.
Hours passed. You watched the hour hand on the one analog clock tick by. As your body shook with the effort of drawing heat back to your organs, you listened to every step above you. Agatha wanted you to know she was ignoring you. She wanted you to keep track of the time she made you wait.
You knew it was pointless, but you searched the basement for any spare blanket or article of clothing, finding nothing. Hypothermia was one of her least cruel punishments, though she rarely chose neglect over violence.
Eventually, you sat crisscross, resting your hands in your lap. You tried to meditate, let your mind escape the blunt and ever-encroaching chill of the basement. You took deep breaths, willing your body to stop its violent shaking.
You only went still when you heard the door to the basement opening, her steps descending the stairs.
You stared as she came into view, refusing to move from your position. She smiled at your defiance, amused. With a wave of her hand, you were kneeling before her.
“That’s much better,” she said. Reaching out to grab your chin, she turned your head side to side, observing. You couldn’t but sigh into her touch, the warmth spreading each place her skin grazed. She tipped your chin back, exposing your throat. “Did Rio leave a message for me?” Her fingertips ran over the faded mark on your pulse point.
Rio’s and Agatha’s relationship was unique, to say the least. You still didn’t quite understand their dynamic, but you knew how powerful it made Agatha feel to have Death herself at her beck and call.
Agatha knelt to no one, and Rio only knelt to Agatha, so you knelt to them both.
“Yeah, she told me to ask if any of your neighbors in Westview ever tried to wake you up or if they just went along with your little detective charade–” Your voice cut out as she squeezed your airways shut.
“Wow, feeling mouthy today? Or has spending three years as a waitress really elevated your sense of self-worth?” She shot back, ignoring your hands desperately grasping at hers. You wanted to dig your nails into her skin but you couldn’t. Familiars were unable to cause harm to their witches, even if they were being choked to death.
She rolled her eyes and released you, summoning a chair to sit in as you heaved air. “So speaking of my little detective charade…” You were unprepared when she grabbed a fistful of your hair, wrenching your head back. “The moment she took my power you flew away. Not one shred of loyalty, huh pet?”
Chest heaving, you chose your next words carefully. “Oh mistress,” you said mockingly, “give me more credit than that. I stayed to watch you suffer for at least a week.” She slapped you hard across the face. You tasted copper and felt a decent cut in your lip. A tear involuntarily escaped your eye.
Her hand was in your hair again but instead of yanking she tugged lightly until your forehead rested against her knee. She combed her fingers through the short strands, scratching gently.
You sighed at the touch, willing yourself not to press your body against her leg. You knew exactly why she made the basement that cold–so she could be the only source of warmth.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said.
“Yes, you do,” you muttered, and she laughed.
“Okay maybe sometimes I do. But you don’t have to make it so easy,” Agatha muttered, pressing her palm to the nape of your neck.
“You’re cruel,” you say, unable to stop pressing further into her touch.
“Yeah, but you love it.”
“I don’t,” you protested, but she just tsked.
“I know when you’re lying,” she said in a singsong tone.
It was silent for a few moments. She scraped her nails across the skin of your bare back, drawing runes of possession. Suddenly, you were exhausted.
“Please can I come upstairs,” you said quietly, flinching at her laugh.
“Now you remember your manners,” she chuckled, removing her hands from your skin and sitting back in the chair. You immediately missed their warmth, the shivers returning to your body.
“Agatha–”
“Why on earth do you think you deserve that? After everything you’ve done?”
“How was I supposed to reverse that spell? It’s the Scarlet Witch . She took all my magic too.”
“Enough with the excuses. You could have summoned Rio in less than a minute,” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. She was right, of course. If you called Rio, she could’ve helped. Exactly why you didn’t. “If you can look me in the eyes right now and apologize, I’ll let you sleep upstairs.”
Her eyes held a challenge. You grit your teeth, meeting her gaze. “I’m sorry,” you paused, considering. “I’m sorry she didn’t kill you.”
– – –
Two days later Rio appeared. By then, your lips had turned blue, your body too exhausted to shiver. It was too cold to sleep. Too cold to do anything but listen to Agatha’s footsteps. You didn’t move from your curled position on the mattress.
“Well that was fast,” she remarked. You couldn’t do anything but glare at her. “Don’t be like that, little bird,” she said, moving to touch the bruise on your cheek. Her hands were so warm you grasped her wrist weakly.
“Y-you gave me up,” you managed to say through your chattering teeth.
She dragged her thumb over the cut in your lip, the fragile skin splitting. “She would have found you anyway.” She could have healed the injury if she wanted to, but she let it bleed.
You were about to respond when the door swung open. Immediately you lifted your head, hope surging.
“Rio,” Agatha called from the top of the stairs, her voice sharp and demanding.
“Be right back,” Rio winked, climbing up the stairs.
“Wait, p-please, Agatha, I-I’m sorry,” you tried to call up, but the door slammed closed anyway.
– – –
It was another day before Agatha came down, a sweater and sweatpants folded over her arm, and something you couldn’t see grasped in her hand.
She stood in front of your mattress, no pity present in her gaze. “Sit up,” she ordered. You ignored her, staring at her pant leg. “Sit up or I’ll hurt you.”
You were at the stage of hypothermia where things became confusing and your thinking became sluggish, but the threat penetrated your clouded thoughts. Shakily, you pushed yourself into an upright position.
She dropped the clothes on the bed, and as you went to grab for them she caught your arm. She held her hand out, revealing the necklace tucked in her fist. It was a simple black string with one purple bead at the center.
You didn’t resist as she reached to tie it tightly around your neck, but you felt the magic restraining your wrists anyway. The purple wisps warmed your freezing skin. After she had secured it, she spoke a short incantation and the single bead glowed with magic.
You reached to touch the clasp at the back of your neck and found none. No knot, no buckle. She’d put a collar on you like a dog. You swallowed, and Agatha’s gaze trained on the movement.
“Get dressed. Come upstairs,” Agatha said shortly, exiting the basement.
You pulled the clothes on quickly, the effort of the movement draining every spare piece of energy. You stumbled up the stairs, pausing at every other step to catch your breath.
By the time you crossed the basement threshold, your body renewed its shivering despite the new layers. Stomach turning with nausea, you staggered to the living room.
Rio and Agatha sat side by side on a couch in front of the fireplace. The room was engulfed in a gentle orange glow, the crackling of the wood drowning out the otherwise eerie silence.
Agatha glanced over her shoulder at your arrival, silently evaluating your swooning stance and gaunt cheeks. She tilted her head slightly, gesturing for you to join the two women.
When you rounded the couch, you saw a pillow and the hospital-grade hypothermia blanket Agatha had bought the last time she locked you in the basement. They sat on the floor directly in front of the couch. You knew your face would have reddened if your blood was circulating enough.
Of course, you couldn’t sit beside them. It would imply that you were equal.
Agatha watched you closely, waiting for a hint of defiance. Rio smiled, amused.
You clenched your jaw, sitting down on the cushion and wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. You leaned forward toward the fireplace, refusing to look back at either witch.
Rio hooked a finger through the back of your new necklace, pulling you until your back rested against Agatha’s leg. When she let go, you shot a scathing look over your shoulder, touching the indent the bead made in your skin.
“Careful little bird,” Agatha muttered, running her hand through your hair.
You rolled your eyes, though neither woman could see. “So fucking unfair,” you muttered to yourself, trying to quiet the chattering of your teeth. Rio chuckled, but Agatha’s grip tightened, yanking your head back until you met her gaze.
“It’s really starting to sound like you want to spend another few nights downstairs,” she threatened, and you swallowed your taunts. She released her hold when you didn’t say anything else. After a moment, she turned to Rio. “I mean, it’s as if I was gone for a century.”
“You know she’s always been a brat,” Rio replied, flicking your ear lightly.
You ignored their quips, the warmth of the fireplace and Agatha’s hand in your hair lulling your eyelids closed.
For three years you had been anxiously awaiting the witch’s return. Days spent looking over your shoulder, waiting until the door to the bar opened and Agatha walked through to reclaim you. You hadn’t realized the toll the fear had taken until you were beside her. It was comforting, in an odd way. After so long of agonizing over the inevitable, she was here.
“How did you get the power back?” You asked quietly. Her hand dropped from your hair.
“We walked the road,” Agatha replied.
You turned to look back at her. There was no amusement in her eyes. Rio stared at the fire, expression unreadable. “The road isn’t real.”
Neither of them said anything further. The air turned tense. You all knew about Nicholas and the song Agatha wrote for him. You knew it was a con, a devilish legend that lured witches to Agatha just for her to strip them of their power.
“It’s late. I’m going to bed,” Agatha said, standing up abruptly. Neither you nor Rio moved as she climbed the stairs to the second floor.
You waited until the door to her bedroom slammed shut before looking at Rio.
“The road isn’t real,” you repeated.
She let out a quiet sigh, gently threading her fingers through your necklace. She rolled the bead between her fingers. “It wasn’t,” was all she had to say.
“Who did she kill for it?”
“She didn’t. They gave their lives.”
You scowled at that. Who would give their lives for Agatha Harkness? “I don’t understand.”
Rio released the necklace, clasping the nape of your neck. “The Scarlet Witch’s son–Billy–he opened the road.”
“How is he alive?” You watched Rio’s gaze turn stony. “You let his soul go,” you realized, eyes widening. “But why?” You had to ask. The witch did not look at you. It was silent for a beat. “She cared for him,” you concluded.
She waited a long moment before answering. “I couldn’t do that to her again.”
You turned back to the fireplace, hiding your surprise from the green witch. She was bound to the laws of nature, inseparable from the holy cycles of beginnings and ends. Countless myths and legends warned of Rio’s inevitability, and how merciless her power was in its pursuit of souls.
Yet she yielded–not once, but twice–to Agatha Harkness. The purple witch did not defy death, she commanded it.
“That’s why she’s forgiven you? She must know that it can’t last. You will reap him eventually.”
“All roads lead to me,” Rio said, but there was no humor in her tone.
“But… If the boy created the road, it doesn’t explain how she got her power back.”
Rio sighed. “She is not at full strength yet. She siphoned enough on the journey to draw you home, but it will take time to regain what was taken.”
“She’s not going to build her power manually,” you said, and the mischievous glint reappeared in Rio’s eyes. Agatha had never been interested in becoming a master of analog magic. The steady steps any other witch took to grow their force was tedious to Agatha–far too time-consuming for such an incremental build. Your witch preferred the shortcuts. “Wanda destroyed all copies of the Darkhold across the multiverse,” you searched Rio’s eyes for confirmation.
“Yes,” was all she said, but her eyes crinkled with a smile.
“Wanda… She’s dead, isn’t she? And even if she isn’t, Agatha can’t be foolish enough to try and take her power again, can she?”
“Have you ever known Agatha to be foolish?”
You considered for a moment. Foolish… no. The purple witch was clever in ways the God of Mischief could appreciate. But you had seen her act rashly in the face of desperation.
“Is the Scarlet Witch dead?”
Rio shook her head. “She’s not in my realm.”
You turned back to the fireplace, an anger burning in your gut. “I don’t want anything to do with this.”
Rio laughed, running her hand over the vertebrae jutting out under your skin. “She needs you.”
You scoffed. “She doesn’t need me.”
Rio considered, for a moment. “She likes to have you by her side.”
“She likes to use me,” you said firmly.
“You like to be used by her,” Rio countered, and you scowled.
“Not everyone is like you, Rio.” Her hand stopped its motions, sliding up to cup the nape of your neck again, tightly.
“No one is like me.” You could not help the shiver that racked its way down your spine. The silence dragged on. Rio squeezed her hand once before releasing it. “You should sleep soon.”
“I’m not tired yet.” Your body felt more awake than it had in days.
“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Rio replied, and you heard the smile in her voice. You whipped your head around but the magic was already fading from her fingertips.
The spell was immediate, your eyelids grew heavy and your limbs felt like lead. “Damn you,” you managed to get out before everything went black.