Archive of Our Own

Westview, 2024

Teen always wanted to learn how to ride a motorcycle. 

Which was very on brand for him, sure, but it also was an inconvenient and nearly unachievable dream living where he lived, and under the special circumstances in which he lived. 

For starters, he remembered very well the days in which the Kaplans were terrified of the prospect of him learning how to drive a car. He had to fight with them with tooth and nails to be allowed to do it.

Mentioning a motorcycle would be a very stupid idea. Both adults thought that it would be too dangerous for him to ride one. They’d panic, cry a bit, probably think their son was going to die again… 

And Teen didn’t want to deal with that at the moment. Especially because he knew that he wasn’t actually William, and that a conversation like that would only lead to him feeling miserable about his multiple lies. 

Also, he didn’t know anyone around who could actually teach him how to do it. 

There were bikers around town, sure, but he wasn’t close to any of them. And he was tired of getting himself into trouble. He’d already had enough of them while trying to survive the Witches’ road. 

Which meant that he was stuck. Wanting to do something, but terrified of trying to, and with no way as to how he could even attempt to do it.  

He never expected to find a solution for all of his troubles in the shape of Agatha Harkness .

—I promise you, your kid is in safe hands. I was a biker for years and I didn’t get into any trouble!

Sitting beside her, Rio stifled a laugh, and mouthed:

—Liar.

To which Agatha shushed her with an aggressive movement of her hand, and continued talking through the phone with “William’s” parents.

Teen had been hanging out at the purple witch’s house during the weekends, to learn how to use and contain his newly discovered powers. It was during one of these visits when, by accident, he stumbled into Agatha’s garage and saw her old bike.

He’d been looking for her personal library, searching for a book about divination, and found that hidden treasure instead.

So, he begged her to teach him how to drive it. Which led to her mentor rolling her eyes, letting out an annoyed “Fine!” and grabbing her phone to call the Kaplans.

Rio was around them that day because, as of lately, she always was. She still took trips to the underwood and kept her business tidy, working perfectly fine, as it always should, but she’d been prioritizing her time with Agatha since their miraculous return from the road. 

After taking a good look around the house and analyzing all the pictures and trophies  scattered around it, Teen thought he was able to figure out why that was the case — and it wasn’t only because of their last trip together—. 

Nicholas Scratch’s birthday was coming up. 

Teen had already seen Agatha have a few panic attacks, and cry far too many times during their trials, to believe she didn’t love her late son —as he previously did—. Which is why —knowing that the date would be a very difficult one for her— he had decided to do the same thing as Rio.

He was visiting his mentor more often. Spending more time with her. Bringing her gifts that, although she said were “unnecessary and a waste of his money”, she still kept around. Like, for example, an oval shaped Dalmatian Jasper —because he read somewhere online that the stone warded off nightmares—. Or a coaster with a cartoon of a witch making a silly face on it. Or a bigger mug than her previous one. Or snacks and toys for Señor Scratchy.

Agatha pretended not to care about the gestures at the beginning, but as the date of Nicholas’ birthday came around, her disposition changed. She thanked Teen now, for thinking of her, and trying to cheer her up. 

And even agreed to help him achieve his lifelong dream; ride a bike.

His parents, either out of fear or resignation, accepted letting her guide him through it.

—First things first, kid. I don’t care if you’re the greatest fucking witch that’s ever lived. Wear! Your! Helmet!

—Noted —Teen nodded, as he, Agatha and Rio walked inside her garage. 

—And also wear the rest of your protection gear. You wouldn’t believe the amount of people I’ve had to reap because they weren’t wearing jackets while driving bikes. These idiots fall, for some reason or another, and scrape their arms, legs, backs or whatever, to the point of getting friction burns. The wound then gets infected, they decide not to treat them properly because “they can handle it” and they die. It’s such a stupid death…

—Rio’s right, road rash is no joke —Agatha raised her leg, put her foot over a toolbox nearby, and rolled her pants up, to show Teen one of the many scars that covered her body—. Do you see this? I won it by being stupid. It was the late seventies, I was wearing ripped, bedazzled jeans, and I fell from my bike at high speed. I was without my magic then, because I was cursed by a witch that didn’t like me; long story…

—You stole her cat.

—It took a liking to me —Agatha’s reply to Rio’s accusation made Teen chuckle—. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that this… —She pointed to her scar, before lowering her leg—. Is what happens when you don’t take care of yourself, and don't wear the proper gear.

—Alright, I got it —The kid nodded and pointed to her bike—. But… Why did you buy this? What was you motivation?

—What makes you think that I bought it?

—You stole it?

Agatha smirked.

—I already told you before; if you want a straight answer, ask a straight lady. I’m not telling on myself.

—But I am; she got it from the leader of a gang of bikers, called the Driving Demons.

—Rio!

—Wait, you stole from a gang? —Teen moved closer to Agatha, fascinated by the tale—. Now you have to tell me more about that!

Agatha’s first instinct was to push him away and tell him to fuck off. But seeing him express genuine curiosity towards her life, without displaying any kind of judgment beforehand, made her take a deep breath in and reconsider.

—Didn’t you want to learn how to ride a bike? Because if I start speaking about my past, you’ll be wasting your time with my rambles, and we'll never get to the important part…

—No, I won’t —He frowned, as if her words were absurd—. I like hearing your tales, Agatha. They’re fun. You’re fun. You're not wasting my time at all. 

—Me? Fun? —She nearly didn’t believe it, and looked at Rio for some sort of validation. 

But the green witch nodded.

—You are. The kid’s right.

Agatha looked back at the teen, and then looked up at the ceiling, still shocked by the compliment, which took her by surprise.

She was used to people hating, fearing, and avoiding her.

But someone actually caring?... That was… strange.

—Okay, Billy boy —she looked down at him, again—. Since you really want to know… —She walked towards her bike, and caressed the long and shiny handlebars, called ape hangers—. The year was 1978…

—

Colorado, 1978

Agatha had just left the city of Walsenburg, and was now speeding her way through route 10, trying to flee at least fifty bikers from the Driving Demons’ gang. She was in the middle of nowhere, all alone, and without her powers. All because she kindly adopted a cat that belonged to one of the riders’ wives. It wasn’t her fault if the poor kitty didn’t have a name tag or a collar!...

Okay, the cat did have one, but she ripped it out and stole the feline from his home anyway, because she took a liking to him. 

It was a flying cat with mystic powers, for fuck’s sake! It was meant to be hers!

Sadly, she had to flee Walsenburg without the animal. Once she saw the gangsters looking for her at the bar she was in, she gave the cat away to the bartender in front of her, and told him to take care of the poor kitty. 

Then, chaos came.

And oooh, how did she love chaos. 

A fight broke out, Agatha smiled, used her powers against the bikers and the other clients of the bar, and nearly got away unscathed from the attack…

Key-word, nearly.

See, the original owner of the cat was a potions’ witch. The cursed woman broke a bottle with some sort of blue-ish enchanted liquid over her head, from behind. Agatha couldn’t siphon the magic that was present in potions, nor kill the creator of said concoction. So the witch wasn’t hurt. 

But she did turned around to face her, furious, and tried to blast the bitch with her purple magic. But it was then that she realized that she couldn’t.

—Oh, really?! —she exclaimed, and then saw the remaining living bikers she had fought with rise from the broken glass, scattered across the floor of the bar.

At that moment, she thought to herself: “I gotta go!” and made her way to the door, punching, kicking, and throwing random shit at her enemies, until she got out of the building.

Outside, parked right in front of her, lit up by the yellow hue of the streetlights, she saw a gorgeous motorcycle, seemingly waiting for her arrival.

The owner had left it there with the key still on, thinking that nobody around would steal it, because the entire town knew who he was, and who he worked for.

But Agatha was a nearly 300 years old witch, who had murdered far too many people in her life, and had nearly been killed way too many times to count. She didn’t care about who the bearded idiot that owned the vehicle was.  She wasn’t afraid of some fat, old biker. She’d had to deal with worse things before.

So, she climbed on the bike and kickstarted it. Drove away from the crowd of raging men who wanted her dead with an evil cackle. 

—NOT TODAY, BITCHES! —she even screamed, and kept laughing.

The adrenaline of being a troublemaker nowadays felt amazing.

When she was young, she used to feel terrible for being “naughty”. Her mother would always make sure to punish her in the most horrifying ways possible for it. But now that she was old, and free… she loved every second of it. The thrill of nearly dying. The way her pulse accelerated when she was in danger. The satisfaction of outsmarting her rivals, and humiliating them. Fuck, it was nearly orgasmic.

Maybe that’s why she also liked dark magic so much. Being all powerful and exceedingly evil was pleasurable. Destructive, yes. Deeply troubling, also yes. But she felt amazing when she put herself in risky situations, and allowed herself to be corrupted by these obscure forces and sensations. 

Not having her magic… it was horrible. And as she approached the city of La Junta, her smile began to vanish. The tremors began to take hold. The horrible sickness that followed the binding of her powers. The anxiety. All of it.

The bikers still were after her. But for the first time since she’d left Walsenburg, she was feeling as if they would actually catch her. Because her body was starting to fail her, and the bike was now moving out of her control.

Dark magic was addictive. Once without it, the witch or wizard could spend days or weeks agonizing, wishing to get it back. 

Agatha’s natural powers had never been light. Even if she never had touched the Darkhold, she’d been cursed since her birth. And being stripped of her abilities was… torture.

Right as she got to the outside of La Junta, she lost all of her strength. The witch fell along with the motorcycle beneath her, landing roughly on the ground. She hit her head - curse her for not putting on a helmet while she was running from a mob of angry bikers-, burned her leg because of the friction with the pavement, and broke a few ribs.

She lost consciousness for a moment there. But, as she woke up with a groan, pain was all that she could feel. Looking around, she saw the lights of at least a dozen motorcycles, coming down the street towards her. Then, she noticed the blood staining the road.

Her blood.

Something which she hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

Agatha even tasted it on her mouth.

Looking up at the night sky, she sighed. It was over then. This is how she died. Hurt by a motorcycle accident, beat to dust by a bunch of bikers she had rightfully pissed off. 

But, right as she closed her eyes, getting ready for the end, her voice spoke over the sound of the approaching army.

—Really, Agatha? Road Rash? That’s how you’re choosing to go? —Rio said, then laughed—. You’re unbelievable.

—You! —The purple witch’s eyes opened and her tranquil expression turned murderous—. Y-YOU! —She tried to stand up, but immediately regretted it with a pained scream.

—Hey, I get it. You hate me. But don’t move —Death looked down at her, then up at the street again—. Not until I’m done saving you.

—W-What?

—Wait a second. I’ll be right back. I need to cause some damage…

Rio removed a black pocket knife from the hem of her pants.

It was when she did so, that Agatha was able to concentrate on her current appearance. Her ex also was rocking the jeans and leather jacket look. The only difference was the styling of their outfits. While Agatha was covered in sequins, beads and glitter, Rio had chosen spikes and patches. On her back, she had sewn a huge white skull. Her belt buckle had the shape of a coffin. Her silver rings had green rocks in their centers. And holy shit, her hair was jet black. Combining all of this with her heavy eyeliner nearly killed Agatha.

For a moment, she moaned out of hornyness and not pain. 

Because… Damn .

As Rio walked around her wounded body, Agatha grimaced and tried her best to follow her steps with her eyes. She saw her ex wife stop the bikers in the middle of the road. Heard her exchange a few words with them. 

And then all hell broke loose… again.

Rio’s green magic destroyed their vehicles, so that they couldn’t run away. Green flames blocked the end of the street. Her knife made the pavement turn redder than it already was. With each body that dropped dead, and with each soul that she reaped, Agatha’s yearning and desire grew stronger.

Call her a freak, whatever. But watching Rio work was hot. And incredibly distracting as well —which, in her sorry case, was also a blessing, because it meant Agatha wasn’t focusing as much on her pain—. 

When the last corpse dropped, the green witch closed her knife, put an end to the green flames, and turned around. She walked back to Agatha, with a serene and unbothered expression, that turned slightly worried as she began to assess the damage done to the purple witch's body.

—W-Why did you come? —Agatha asked, trying to return to her resentment, and failing. Her voice wavered and her face displayed more vulnerability and fear than rage—. I d-didn’t call for you.

—I know. But I didn’t really come here for you. I needed to reap these souls. They’ve been causing damage in some small towns here in Colorado, and even killed a few people who weren’t meant to die yet, so… —Rio shrugged and crouched down—. I had to deal with them. I wasn’t expecting to cross paths with you. But once I sensed you were in trouble… I couldn’t turn around, and wait another day to hunt them down. 

—Well, you a-already finished your job… W-Why are you still here?

—You’re badly wounded, Agatha —The green witch pointed to her bloody leg—. Let me help you, and I’ll get out of your hair.

—And w-why do y-you want to help me?... After all…

—Don’t ask me that —Rio swallowed saliva and looked away from her blue eyes, towards her wounds—. Not when you already know the answer —She rested her hands over the injuries next, making Agatha groan again, and flinch—. I know sweetheart. I know it hurts.

—P-Please hurry…

Death gulped again and began to work her magic. The burns began to fade under her palm, leaving only a few minor scars and dried blood. As they vanished, Agatha’s adrenaline began to come down. She started to lose her consciousness once more.

Rio noticed, but didn’t say a word. Didn’t ask her to stay awake. Only allowed her to drift, and to rest, while she took care of healing her other wounds. Then, the green witch grabbed the woman’s body with a gentle hold, carried her in her arms to the nearest hotel, and got them a private room. She even went as far as to return to the road and retrieve Agatha’s stolen motorcycle, because she knew that her ex wife probably would want it back once she woke up.

Which Agatha did, around three in the morning. 

Rio was back by then. Sitting lazily on a chair on the other side of the room, with her legs open, and her hands playing mindlessly with her pocket knife. She was staring at the purple witch with a weird and unexpected mixture of concern, longing, and frustration. Meanwhile, the exhausted woman herself didn’t know how she was supposed to feel about their unplanned reunion.

The last time they spoke was in 1912, during the sinking of the Titanic. Agatha was merely traveling —and wasn’t to blame for the tragedy, for once—, when the ship hit the iceberg. In fact, she had been having a lot of fun onboard. Creating ruckus, of course, but not doing anything particularly out of the ordinary. 

When the boat sank, she fell into the water. She used a protection spell to avoid freezing, and clung onto a piece of wood while she waited for help to arrive.

The protection spell allowed her to live, but she still felt the cold stinging her skin. She still shivered and shook. And the night was so dark, and the waters so icy, that she eventually thought that her magic would fail her. That she would pass away too.

But she didn’t.

And as she looked around, desperately begging for anyone to show up and rescue her, she saw a wooden boat floating towards her direction.

But it wasn’t similar to the other emergency boats from the ship. This one had a green lantern hanging from its front. And the ferryman… She knew exactly who it was.

—R-Rio? —her small voice called her name, as Agatha tried to stretch her arm forward, to gain her attention.

But she never needed to move. Death knew exactly where she was, the moment her name was uttered.

—What are you doing here, Agatha?

Rio saved her from the freezing waters. Took her to safety, before going back to the ocean, to collect her souls and bodies. But they didn’t speak much. The hurt between them still was very fresh, and intense. 

Nicholas had died in 1878. Back then, it had been only thirty-four years since his passing. Witches’ could live for millenia. What was three decades for them?

Exactly. Nothing.

Agatha had thought about that brief encounter far too many times since 1912. She had thought about all of the things she should have said back then and didn’t, about all the apologies she should have uttered, and didn’t, about the kisses she should have given Rio… and didn’t.

Now it was 1978. A hundred years after Nicholas had passed away. And Agatha still regretted the way she had reacted a century ago. She still despised the way she blamed Rio for his end, as if she had a choice on the matter. When Rio took his soul away from his dying body, she was only doing her job. He had been loved by her too. She had suffered too. And Agatha… she was vicious. Cruel, to the only woman who had loved her truly, with her whole black heart, and who had helped her created, raise, and bury her son. 

The purple witch loved being evil. 

Unless her evilness caused any harm to Rio.

And back then, her evilness broke her. 

The worst part of it all was that, in a way, she still resented her ex. Agatha still hated the fact that she had been responsible, although only technically, for the death of their son. But, at the same time… She understood it was Rio’s duty and nature to guide him to the afterlife.

What a conundrum. What a conflict.

And there was also another issue that stood in between them: Agatha’s obsession with the Darkhold. 

She had discovered the book when she was a young girl, cursed with powers she couldn't control, and that no one dared to study or to help her understand. She’d found one of its copies inside of her mother’s private library. Had read it until her fingers turned black. And this telling sign of her meddling with black magic was what made her coven betray her, tie her to a stake, and try to kill her.

Ever since then, the damned book had come and gone into her life. It was as if it felt attracted to her. Everytime she tried to get away from it, for one reason or another, she found herself being guided back to the cursed thing. 

She tried to give up her obsession with the book for good before she Nicholas was born. And she had managed to keep herself away from its content, for ten whole years.

It was paradise. It was hell. It was necessary. It was maddening. 

Rio supported her throughout this decade. Calmed her down when her anguish and paranoia took control of her thoughts. When her trauma resurfaced and told her she would inevitably ruin it all again. She would kill her son, like she had killed her mother, her sisters in the craft, and her friends… 

Rio tried to be there for her. She really did. And Agatha was thankful for her unwavering support.

But Nicholas passed away from a simple disease. And then all of her progress and stability went to shit.

The purple witch returned to the book like an obedient slave to its master, like a beaten dog to its abusive owner, like a prisoner to the dark and lonely cell he got used to inhabiting. She read all of its pages, trying to find a way to save their son. But nothing worked. There was no answer. No cure. His destiny was to die young. And Rio had to reap him, because that was her job.

Consumed by her heart wrenching grief, Agatha gave up on her attempt of living a straight, pure, healthy life. Her fingers darkened again. Her mind went silent. Her chest turned hollow. And her blue eyes, once bright like the sky above, became icy like the bottom of an iceberg.

Rio couldn’t bear to see her downfall. Couldn't bear to see her addiction to that book get worse and worse, with each passing day. And once she felt her wife was pushing her away, blaming her for the death of their beloved Nicky, she had no choice but to leave.

A hundred years - and one small encounter later-, here they were. Agatha laying on the bed, feeling like a shell of herself, getting into trouble just to feel something again, and Rio staring at her with her warm, worried eyes, like she could see beyond her scarred body, her armor of leather, and her lies, looking straight into her soul.

—You’re still here… —the purple witch commented, half-surprised, half-relieved.

—And you’re without magic.

—Yeah…

Rio closed her knife and leaned forward, setting her arms over her legs, and supporting her weight over them.

—You were hit with an enfeebling potion. I asked one of the bikers why you were powerless before I collected his soul. He told me that was the reason, and it checks out.

—So I’ll be powerless for…

—Twenty-four hours. Then the effects will wear off.

—Shit… —Agatha covered her face with her hands, because the idea of spending a whole day away from her powers was… awful.

—How are you feeling? —Rio asked, knowing that the effects of magic withdrawal should already be kicking the witch with its full force by that moment.

—Like crap. 

—Words, Agatha. They exist, and I need to hear them.

—I feel nauseous… Sick… Just terrible —She moved her palms away and let out an annoyed chuckle—. But I guess I should be thankful that I got hit with an enfeebling potion and not a hamstringing potion. At least I was able to run away.

—There’s always a silver lining…

—Do you know what happened to my bike, though? I kinda need it to get out of here, once my purple is back.

—I took it to the local mechanic. Don’t worry, it will be brand new tomorrow. 

—That’s quick.

—What can I say? I showed the guy my true form and he agreed to help me in a jiffy.

—You scared an innocent man to get what you wanted —Agatha replied, smirking. Rio shrugged—. Esa es mi chica*.

—Your Spanish has improved.

—I’ve traveled a lot since the last time we saw each other. It had to.

—Same —Rio admitted—. But you know… it doesn’t matter where I went, trying to escape you… I couldn’t. You always came back to me. In thought, through news, rumors… and even in person —She stood up from the chair and made her way to the bed, to sit down beside her ex’s feet—. And everytime you killed, intentionally or accidentally, I had to go and claim the bodies… You’ve sent me so many, Agatha. 

—I thought you liked my gifts.

—I do… but even I can tell that you’ve been crossing a line, as of lately. 

—You know I can’t help what I do… most of the time.

—Yes… I do know. But I can sense dark magic when I touch the corpses. Which means that I also know when someone has been killed by a dark wizard or witch. And in your case… It’s easy to figure out when you used the Darkhold to destroy someone —Rio’s voice deepened, and her concern tripled—. You’re losing yourself, Agatha. And you don’t even realize that you are...

—I’m trying to keep myself alive.

—No, you’re an addict to power. You can’t live without it.

—You know my reasons.

—Your mother is dead.

—But her memories stay alive! And the memories of what she did to me, of what my entire town did to me, stay alive! —the witch defended herself, and Rio sighed—. I need the Darkhold. Reading it is the only time when I feel safe. When I know nothing can harm me.

—Nothing but yourself, you mean —Death replied, and now she let a little bit of her annoyance slip past her lips—. You can’t shield yourself from being hurt forever, sweetie. That’s part of life. Hurt, pain, grief, sadness, all of it. It’s as unavoidable as I am. All roads lead to me, yes. But all roads are also filled with endless forests of emotion, and you are deciding to ignore all of that beauty, all of that wonder, for what? For a temporary illusion of safety?... Can’t you see that that’s no way to live? To enjoy your time on this earth?

—Rio…

—How do you want to feel when you reach the end of the road, Agatha? —There was a bite behind her words; something intimidating. And for a brief moment the purple witch remembered who the being behind the face of her old lover actually was—. Like you never truly lived? At all? Like you’ve wasted your entire existence behind a cursed book, trying to find a way to bring our son back, despite knowing that it’s impossible to do so? Because if it was possible, I would have done it already?...  Tell me, do you really want to throw away every single adventure you could have now ? Every single memory you could make, now , because you’re afraid of being hurt again?

If the purple witch took pride in anything, it was for the fact that she rarely cried. She pushed her emotions away, and kept on living, focusing on what brought her pleasure, and nothing more. She didn’t face her demons. She tried to run as far as she could from grief, in whatever way she deemed fit. Most times, it was through denial.

The Darkhold helped her with that. It allowed her to put her attention somewhere else, that wasn’t her unresolved trauma. It was a gateway to an illusory, momentary, fake and lonely heaven.

—W-Why are you berating me?

—I’m not. I’m just afraid. Terrified of what will happen to you.

—You shouldn’t be. I’m fine.

—Agatha, I thought I heard your clock today. 

Oh yes, the clock. 

It was the sound of a “tick-tock” that Rio heard every time she approached a soul whose time on earth was running out. Once the rhythm stopped, it was time for her to work.

—You what?

—Yeah —Death took a deep breath in, as if losing Agatha was the most disturbing and heartbreaking thing that could ever happen to her—. So please… I’m asking, again… —Her voice trembled—. Stop. Messing. With the Darkhold.

—I can’t.

—You’ve done it once, you can do it again.

—And feel like this the rest of my entire life? —Agatha complained, finally letting her true feelings rise to the surface, and occupy her mostly empty and cold consciousness—. No… I won't.

—So you’d rather not feel anything at all, and die a miserable and lonely death, than to feel, and hurt, and live to the fullest? —Rio dared to search for her blue eyes, with a fire burning behind her own. 

—I… —The witch, at a loss for words, feeling her chest tighten and her muscles cramp, forced herself to stand up from the bed and grab her belongings, despite the fact that she felt like crap, and that leaving would be a terrible choice—. I’ve got to go.

—-

Westview, 2024

Agatha stopped talking about her and Rio when she noticed just how badly she wanted to cry. She was speaking with Teen, of all people, and she was getting emotional! She had to control herself. There was no need for her to get so bothered about all of this. So, sped the tale up, and spoke some more about her time pissing off bikers, while stealing random stuff from them.

After that, she taught the boy how to actually ride the motorcycle. Gave him tips on his posture, on where to put his feet, told him what piece of the vehicle did what, and overall, made sure that he understood the power of the machine he’d be sitting on. 

—This is a wild beast. Treat it like one. Respect it, know your limits with it, and don’t trust it. Trust your instincts. That’s what will save you if you ever get into an accident —Agatha told him, with a maternal attitude and demeanor that warmed Rio’s eternally cold chest, and made her feel things that she'd only felt when Nicholas used to be near.

The purple witch, when at her best, was a great mentor, teacher, and mother figure. Rio liked seeing her like this. Caring, soft, funny, kind. Free from the unnecessary darkness of that damned book that had controlled and poisoned her for so long.

Hearing her talk about their brief time together in Colorado made her remember one of the moments when Agatha was at her worst. It brought her right back to that night in the hotel, and it also touched something deep inside of her. Rio couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it hurt. It was like a wound that refused to close, and she couldn’t quite figure out why. She only knew that it ached. Badly.

Maybe it was the fear of losing Agatha to those ancient, demonic pages again.

Maybe.

—You didn’t tell him the whole truth —Rio confronted her, once Teen had returned home, and they were both alone in the living room, drinking their beers and eating pizza—. Actually, I take that back. You straight up lied to him at the end.

—I had to. I couldn’t tell the kid everything that happened. It’s too… —Agatha looked down and made a face of disgust, at herself—. Painful.

—I get it —Rio took a sip of her bottle—. But I do think that we should talk about it, since we left things kind of… unresolved.

—Ugh. You know I hate open communication.

—I do —the green witch smiled for a second—. And I’m not fond of sentimental talks either, but… I think this matters.

—I no longer have the Darkhold with me, if that’s your fear —Agatha raised one of her hands, greasy because of the pizza she’d been eating, and wiggled her fingers, showing that they weren’t darkened at the tips.

Rio snorted, amused by her teatrics, but didn’t give up on speaking about the issue:

—I know you don’t. But, darling…

—Hm? —The purple witch chugged her beer.

—That night really screwed me up —Rio admitted, and tapped her nails against the glass of her bottle—. And I just realized it today, I think. Back then I sort of, I don’t know… Hid my sadness under anger and called it a day? But now… I can see it clearly. It hurt me. You… hurt me.

Agatha, noticing that her demeanor had shifted to something more somber and sad, grabbed a napkin, cleaned her fingers, put her beer down, and moved closer to the woman.

—Alright… I understand. So let’s talk about it.  Tell me why did I hurt you again?

Rio breathed in. Then out. Her brown eyes filled up with tears, but she didn’t cry. 

—You lied to me… 

Oh.

Oh yeah.

That really had happened.

Agatha tried so hard to forget it, that she indeed had.

She forgot.

—-

Colorado, 1978

—So you’d rather not feel anything at all, and die a miserable and lonely death, than to feel, and hurt, and live to the fullest? —Rio dared to search for her blue eyes, with a fire burning behind her own. 

Here was where the story changed. 

Agatha, after being confronted by her ex wife, didn’t leave the room.

She wanted to. Desperately. She wanted to run away fast, and to a place where no one would ever find her, not even Death herself. But she couldn’t stand up from the bed. She didn’t have any strength left in her body to fight, nor to flee.

And so, she stayed. And after years of denying her hurt, she broke down.

Her sobs cracked her chest open, leaving her heart exposed, and her sorrow right on display. Her teeth crashed, her eyes closed, and her arm tried to hide her pained face, and her ugly cries.

She yelled at Rio, trying to get her to leave. But Rio didn’t budge. Rio wouldn’t, not again. Not when Agatha was feeling so lost, and so tormented, and so… empty. Sick, both mentally and physically.

—P-Please… just… go…

—No. 

—If y-you stay you’ll be damned! You’ll be r-ruined! Like e-every single thing I’ve ever l-loved! I’ll ruin you!... S-So please!... Just…

—I'd rather be damned with you, than not have you at all, Agatha. 

—Don’t…

—I’m Death. I’m already damned by just existing. Most people fear and hate me in equal measures. You were the only one who saw beyond the bones, and the flesh, and the skull, and saw the spirit behind it all. You have to be the biggest fool on this planet if you think I’m not going to do the same thing back —Rio climbed up to the bed and trapped the crying woman beneath her, so the witch could focus all of her attention on her eyes, and see that she was being honest. The pressure also helped her to calm down and to ground herself, so the gesture was very much appreciated—. Te veo, Agatha. I see you. All of you. Even when you hate me. Even when darkness has a hold on you. 

—I don’t hate you —the witch confessed, as her sobs receded—. I never have.

Rio allowed herself to smile. And once the weight she’d put over Agatha’s body had helped her to calm down enough to breathe, thought about moving away again, only to be stopped by her hands, holding her thighs, keeping her in place. 

—Sweetie…

—Please, Rio. Just tonight… —The purple witch sniffled, and tried to compose herself in record time—. Let’s be together again… Just for t-tonight. 

—Agatha.

—Please. I’m going insane w-without my magic… My mind's a mess right now. I can’t… —She stopped talking for a second and groaned, in pain—. I can’t deal w-with this… It’s too much. 

Rio had seen her go through this type of withdrawal before. The muscle cramps, the fever, the psychological torture that was the lack of numbness… It truly was a messy process. Which is why she ended up folding and agreeing, bending to Agatha’s will.

—Promise me you won’t search for the Darkhold again, and I’ll give you what you want.

—Amor…

—No. You’ve got to promise me, Agatha —Rio demanded, being unusually dominating and stern with the woman—. I’ll let you ravage me if that’s what you want, and I’ll do the same in return if that’s what you need. But I won’t put a single finger on you if you don’t swear to me that you’ll stop meddling with black magic.

Agatha’s aches got worse. Her face crumpled up and a pained gasp left her lips. But Rio, despite wanting to hold her, and to kiss her, and to fuck her until pleasure overshadowed her suffering, didn’t move. 

—I p-promise… —the purple witch whispered, as her muscles spasmed—. I’ll stop… I s-swear… I swear, Rio… p-please…

The begging didn’t really turn the green witch on, as much as it worried her. Because Agatha truly was in agony.

It wasn’t like the pain they used to inflict on each other as foreplay. No, this was sinister. It was cruel. And she didn’t like to see the woman suffering this much.

Yes, she had gotten to this point on her own, and this was the price of her impulsive actions. There was not denying that. But recognizing Agatha’s responsibility over her own torment didn’t mean that Rio enjoyed watching it.

And so, she did the only thing that she could: Tried to distract her from it.

—You’ll be okay, mi amor —Death kissed her forehead and then her cheek, letting her own magic take over Agatha’s body.

Green magic was, by nature, a healing type of magic. Regeneration and rebirth were one of its main aspects, and healing was included under both categories. That’s why Rio could cure wounds that normal witches weren’t able to. Being the original green witch, the creator of that type of energy, meant that she knew how to use it better than anyone else. 

When her lips touched Agatha’s skin, she felt like crying out of joy, for once. The awful, thought consuming, paralyzing pain of withdrawal went away. She was able to breathe. To open her eyes without crying. It was a relief like she had never felt before.

Not even the last time she had tried to sober up from her power addiction, her sickness had been this bad.

But oh well, she should have guessed that a hundred years of using dark magic without a break would have its negative side effects.

—Thank you… —She whispered right by Rio’s ear, sounding more comfortable and serene. The tranquility did wonders for the other witch’s worry—. I needed this.

—Do you want to keep going? —Death asked, keeping her voice equally as low.

—Yes.

—Where do you want me?

—Right where you are.

—Agatha Harkness bottoming tonight? —Rio joked, with a small smile. She wanted to break the tension, and it worked—. That’s new.

—I’m too tired to move. Sue me —Agatha replied and her ex, still looking at her from above, chuckled—. But don’t you think you have the upper hand, cariño.

—I don’t?

—No —The purple witch pulled her by her jacket, and right then realized that they were both still fully dressed—. You’re following my orders tonight. So get this off of you, and come back here when I can really touch you.

—Do you have enough strength to undress yourself, though?

—I’ll manage.

Rio smirked and shook her head, knowing just how reluctant to accept help the other woman could be. She did exactly as she was told though, and removed her jacket, pants, and shirt, as Agatha struggled to sit up, and do the same. Once she was only in her underwear, and noticed that the other witch still was trying to get her own jacket off, sweating and shaking from her exertion, Rio sighed.

—Sweetheart.

—What?

—Let me help you. Come on.

Maybe it was the fact that Rio was almost naked in front of her, and that made Agatha feel weak in the most wonderful of ways. Maybe, it was the fact that Agatha couldn’t fight just how tired she was, and how shitty she still felt. But the thing is, she ended up agreeing with the offer. Which marked a shift on their behavior that night.

In the old days of their relationship, Agatha had been the one always leading the path ahead. When they first held hands, when they had their first kiss, and in the first time they had sex, Agatha was in control, pushing things forward. Rio had only lead the way once, and it was when she said “I love you”. But usually, Death just tagged along with the Salamite woman. Whatever she wanted to do, wherever she wanted to go, she’d follow. 

Tonight, it seemed as if they were on equal grounds. Agatha was too tired and sick to fully step into her dominating role, and Rio was too worried and in love to submit to her insanity, so the dynamic had shifted.

Sex for them used to be fun, and energetic. A fight that always ended up in reconciliation. An aggressive dance that finished with them smiling ear to ear, with their bodies covered in sweat, and their blood boiling beneath their veins. But it also could be soft, and full of love, and understanding. Gentle, in ways they never had expected it to be.

But this?... This was plain strange.

It was deeper than just fucking, but it wasn’t soft like making love. It was permeated by sadness, and concern, and a type of affection that had been broken in the past, and now mended in the present, although badly.

It was weird.

But they missed each other so much, and needed each other so much, that the thought of denying themselves the pleasure of that single night together was maddening.

And so, even though they knew this wasn’t very healthy, and that they’d probably come to regret it in the future, both women silently agreed to deal with their issues later.

Rio helped Agatha get out of her leather jacket and boots. Removed her pants and shirt, careful not to hurt her further than her fall already had. Healed the wounds she hadn’t seen before, and kissed the newly formed scars lightly, making the woman’s breathing sharpen, and her eyes close out of their own volition.  

They didn’t speak a whole lot. What was there to say? They knew how much they were hurting, understood that they’d never be as carefree and light as they once were, when their love was beginning to take flight, and they could feel that their next fall would be the last. But they weren’t going to stop aiming for the sun. At least the warmth was comforting. The heat made them feel something. And if they dropped down to the earth like Icarus, they would have reached a new high before the end.

Agatha once again sank between the pillows and the cold comforter. Naked and open, in more ways than just physical, right before Rio. It was a gorgeous sight, and a tempting one. Death gulped and removed the remaining items of clothes still clinging to her own body. Then, climbed onto the bed and felt a phantom pulse make her freezing  and still veins move. Her usually cold and pale body suddenly felt like it was on fire. And she hadn’t even touched Agatha yet. Just… stared.

—You’re beautiful —the thought slipped between her lips before she could stop it for leaving, and the object of her desire grinned.

—Tú también lo eres, cariño*.

Hearing Agatha speak in Spanish always made Rio squirm. Each word sounded so delightful in her tongue, that she wanted nothing more than to taste it, and to see why her cadence, accent, and tone was so enchanting. Thinking that maybe, if she touched it herself, she’d get her answer.

So, she moved again. With one knee on either side of Agatha’s hips, she pressed their chests together, and connected their mouths, closing her eyes as she gave herself away to the purple witch. 

Hands roamed around her spine, and squeezed her ass. Nails eventually made their way up, and scratched her back, leaving angry red marks that didn’t really hurt her, as much as they turned her on. Then, the palms got bored, and moved location again. Right as her mouth made a home in Agatha’s neck, the woman’s fingers slid beyond her obliques, and slithered even farther down, until it reached a place no other human had found quite as quickly, or touched quite as well, in all of her existence.

Once Agatha’s index finger massaged her clit, Rio knew she was doomed. Her body was so starved to affection, for satisfaction, she nearly came right then and there, on the start of it all. The moan that slid through her teeth was way too erotic, and she almost chuckled at her own desperation, after realizing how exaggerated it was. But Agatha wasn’t in a much better spot, and therefore, couldn’t judge her. The sound was sweet music to her ears, and it fucked up her mind in all kinds of ways.

The soft moaning continued. Rio’s green magic kept calming her injured body and mind down.

This was becoming one of the best nights she’d even had. And Agatha wanted to repeat this again, every evening, for the rest of her life. 

She was well aware that she was a sinner, crawling at the gates of heaven, begging to be let inside. She knew that she had screwed up their relationship to a degree some people would find unbelievably impossible to forgive or to repair. But even if she sucked as a human being, and even if her mother was right in the end, and she really was a monster at heart, she still loved Rio. 

Agatha knew that she’d ruin everything again. Because that’s all that she knew how to do. But for this night, she wanted to believe that she could be good. That this, whatever they had, could be good. 

And so, she pulled more moans out of Rio’s mouth. Slid one finger after the other, deep inside of her, and made Death ride her hand like it needed it to survive. Agatha watched her face contort with pleasure, her uneven breathing get harder and harder to control, and her body move on its own, searching for more friction, and more pleasure. 

She forgot about the Darkhold. Her inner turmoil didn’t matter. Her dulled pain wasn’t important anymore.

Not when she had Rio like this, all for herself.

—I t-think I’m close… —the green witch managed to warn her, in a low voice.

—Then open your eyes —Agatha said, and raised her free hand to cup her face—. And look at me.

Rio, panting, followed her orders. Her brown eyes were nearly black with desire. Her skin was somehow glistening. Agatha was mesmerized. And when she did come, both of their minds went blank.

Because this level of intimacy, of trust… it was something they hadn’t experienced in a hundred years.

—Now… —Rio did her best to breathe normally again—. It’s your t-turn.

She slid down to the foot of the bed, still trembling from the aftershakes. Still dazed and immersed in her pleasure. But determined to make Agatha feel the same high she was enjoying at the moment.

Rio parted her legs with her hands and watched her back arch against the bed before she even did anything. Again, the tension and the anticipation was too intense, to the point of nearly sending them to a state of delirium. The eagerness, therefore, was understandable.

If Rio’s soft moans were already provocative, Agatha’s thunderous ones were almost pornographic. She’d always been loud in bed, and wasn’t ashamed of it, but that night, stuck between the throes of her withdrawal, the solace of Rio’s magic, and the sweet bliss of that sexual euphoria, her self-restraint stopped existing. She couldn’t lower the volume of the obscene sounds coming out of her mouth even if she tried. 

One of her hands tried to anchor her to the bed, clawing the covers in a frenzy. The other sunk its fingers between Rio’s dark locks, and followed the sensual movement of her head mindlessly. 

She couldn’t speak. All of her words had been stolen from her fried up brain. If bringing her pleasure is what the green witch wanted, holy fuck, she succeeded. 

Still, Rio knew how to read the signs of her body better than herself. The way her legs were trying to close on their own. The way she was biting her lower lip and then giving up on keeping quiet, time and time again. The way her muscles were tensing up. The way she just couldn’t keep still.

—You’re close, aren’t you? —She removed her mouth from in between her legs for a few seconds, just to speak.

Again, Agatha couldn’t be vocal. She just nodded, and shifted her body once more. It was then when one of Rio’s hands stopped holding her legs, and blindly searched for Agatha’s own, still holding tightly onto the bed. The angle was weird, but she managed to grab it, and hold it.

And that small gesture, that small moment of consideration, was what made the chalice spill.

She orgasmed in such a beautiful way, Rio finally understood where the rumor of her being a succubus came from. It was hard to believe this woman wasn’t some sort of enchantress, made to seduce the souls of the living and the dead, draining them of their energy, and leaving them thankful for each heart wrenching, lustful encounter.

Agatha was probably the most gorgeous woman her eye had ever set on, and although she constantly put her sanity to test, it was all worth it in moments like these.

Rio had missed moments like these. 

And as she settled down on the bed again, laying naked and sated beside her, she wondered when she would be able to taste this piece of heaven again.

Agatha fell asleep because she was tired. Rio fell asleep because she hadn’t been able to close her eyes for a century. The latter didn’t really need to rest, which meant that doing so was just a pastime. One that she hadn’t enjoyed in a really long time.

On the following morning, Death was called to collect a body that was found on the corner of the street, apparently having been run over by someone during the night, while she and Agatha busied themselves in their room.

They parted with a kiss, and a promise to see each other again soon.

But this pact was broken. Because, as it usually happened, dark magic found its way back to Agatha. When she went to the mechanic, to check the state of the bike she had stolen, the man gave her the leather pannier that had hung on both sides of the vehicle, and that had somehow survived her accident without gaining a single stain or scratch.

When she touched it, she felt it.

Magic.

Calling for her.

Begging her to let its energy in.

And she couldn’t help herself. She opened the bag —which was saved from any damaged by a protective spell—, and checked its contents. And in there, like a common and easy to find novel, she saw her biggest enemy and friend, looking back at her.

How on earth a biker from fuck-knows-where Colorado had managed to get a hold over a copy of the Darkhold was a mystery. The Driving Demons had witches and wizards amongst their members, and weren’t fully ignorant to the world of magic, but they didn’t study the topic deeply. Nor were they experts on the craft. So maybe, perhaps, they stole the artifact from some important coven, and thought it didn’t contain anything of real importance. But Agatha wasn’t sure. Agatha didn’t care. The devil himself could have sent that book her way, and she wouldn't give a shit about it.

Because she could get her magic back.

She needed her magic back.

It was her only way to feel secure. To feel in control. To feel like she mattered. 

So she did what she promised Rio never to do again. She opened its cover. Read over its pages. And stained both her fingers and her conscience with its darkness. 

—

Westview, 2024

Remembering all of that, and discussing all of that with Rio made Agatha feel a deep, hurtful shame, that she never had quite felt before. Regret unlike any other weighted on her shoulders, making them hunch. 

—I know saying sorry isn’t enough, and it will never be, but… —She took a deep breath in, then out—. I’m truly sorry, Rio.

—I’ve forgiven you a long time ago. But I just want to know… why? Why did you betray me like that? Why did you lie?

—Because I missed you —Agatha admitted, and shrugged—. And I knew I needed to stop reading that book all the way back then, but I just couldn’t do it. And if I told you the truth, you’d leave me there, and I… 

—You needed me.

—Yeah —the purple witch nodded, then looked at Rio’s eyes, expecting to find anger, or resentment, and instead finding… nothing. Just concern. Which hurt her even more, because that woman, from anyone else she’d ever met before, did not deserve her lies—. I’m sorry. But if it counts, at all… I really meant what I said that night. I didn’t want to touch the Darkhold again. And I wouldn’t have, if destiny hadn’t pushed it my way.

—I was furious when I found out —Rio said, and ran her tongue through the inside of her cheek—. But now I’m just…

—What?

The green witch didn’t finish her sentence immediately. Instead she paused, grabbed one of Agatha’s hands.

—I’m just glad you’re here with me… again —she then gave it a gentle squeeze—. And you feel like old you now… But better. Wiser, I guess.

—I’m sorry it took so long for me to be back.

Rio’s smile slowly appeared on her face, and she pulled Agatha to her chest, so she could hold her. The other witch sighed and melted against her touch, closing her eyes as one of her arms wrapped itself around Rio’s waist.

—But you’re back, cariño —Death said, then kissed her forehead—. That’s all that matters to me.