Big TRIGGER WARNING on this! Thoughts of suicide and such. I'll summarize at the end if you need to skip. Be kind to yourselves. Enjoy!

***

Liam slid to the ground under the weight of his Master and Zayn gasped in pain. There was blood soaking into Zayn's crisp, white shirt as he stared up at Liam in confusion. "Niall!" Harry shouted and yanked his Master far enough away that he wasn't within reach of Zayn anymore. Niall was shaking, with anger or fear he didn't know.

Liam was pressing his hands frantically to the wound but the blood was already leaking out of his collar and onto Liam's suit pants. "Help," he whimpered, then louder, "Help! Someone help!"

"What did you do?" Harry panted, squeezing Niall's shoulders hard.

In a blur, people came rushing into the room. There were screams, more calls for help, and Niall's shocked stammering. Liam couldn't look anywhere but Zayn's pale face. His lip was quivering and his hand was cold in Liam's grip. "Don't die. Please, Zayn, don't fucking die."

Zayn coughed, blood splattering across his mouth. "Li," he breathed.

"Shh. You're going to be okay." Liam pressed harder into the wound, making Zayn grunt in pain. "You have to be okay, Zayn. I just-" He choked back a wet sound in his chest. "I just got you back."

Zayn's face scrunched up and Liam quickly apologized. "Don't tense up. Help is on the way." The strength was draining from Zayn's eyes with every second. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here," Liam reassured gently. He leaned in as close he could and rested his forehead to his Master's. "I love you," he whispered.

Zayn inhaled, coughed halfway, then took in what breath he could, only to breathe out, "I love you more." Liam felt the tear slip down his cheek and lifted a hand to wipe it away. Only after he brought it away did he realize it was wet with blood. The sticky warmth was smeared across his cheek. He stared at his dripping red hand for what felt like forever and when he looked back down at the love of his life, he was gone.

***

The cops arrested Niall forty-three minutes after Zayn died. He went willingly, eyes wide and unseeing as they slapped metal cuffs on his wrists and dragged him away. Liam sat on the chair in front of Zayn's desk, front stained with red and staring at the blood on the carpet while an officer rattled off questions.

"And what did you see when you came into the office?"

The stain was darker right where Zayn's heart had rested and faded out around the edges until it was just dots where it had dripped off Liam's hands. The room smelled like blood. There was blood on his shoes, blood on his suit, blood in his hair. There was blood on his hands- not just Zayn's but Louis's, too. Two innocent people were dead and it was his fault.

"Ni- Niall had the knife and...he...came at me."

"Why would he do that?" the cop questioned.

Liam shivered, the trickle of death cold on his spine. "He blames me for not saving-" He cut off when the name got caught in this throat. "...his slave. I'm sorry," he pleaded, mostly to himself.

One cop looked at the other, who nodded and sat down in the chair next to Liam. "That wasn't your fault." The officer leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, "We've been dying to put that Marcus fucker away for years." It didn't make Liam feel any better. Nausea curled in his stomach and he doubled over, puking onto the carpet between his feet not ten paces from Zayn's legacy.

"Oh, shit," the standing cop grunted and hopped back a couple of feet. "Jesus, man. Do we need to get the medics in here?"

Liam's head hung between his knees as he panted but he lifted a hand up, palm out, and shook it to call off the help. "I'm fine," he gasped. "I just..." I inhaled deeply as he sat back up. "I just want to go home."

"Right, yeah. Of course, but I'd prefer to drive you and we'll get your car sent over later," the too honest cop told him as he patted him gently on the back. Liam only nodded and shakily pulled himself up to his feet. He cheated his eyes to the ceiling as he stepped around the pool of vomit. He walked across the carpet with fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off an impending headache.

He stopped cold in front of the door, realizing he'd have to walk over the large red stain in order to leave. The slave stared down at it, could vividly see Zayn's face, twisted in pain and drenched in a cold sweat. His eyes glistened with the last of his bright life. Liam flinched when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Let's get you home," one of the officers suggested. Liam didn't even look back at them when he nodded and willfully stepped over the demented Pollock ruining this safe haven forevermore. Outside, the lighthouse was a ghost town. The funeral was an abandoned photograph left to taunt Liam. He walked through knocked-over chairs, displaced in the chaos. The large vase of flowers next to Louis's picture was overturned and a large, clean puddle seeped into the floors.

Louis's photo was tipped backward, resting disturbingly off-balance against the wall. Liam halted, made a sudden change of course, and walked over to correct it. He took Louis's face in his hands and pulled him upright the way he never could while he was alive. He sagged forward and rested his forehead against the digitally printed version of Louis's.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, like he had so many times in the past few weeks. He clenched his teeth and gripped the frame tighter as he spat, "We're even now."

Liam shoved away from the photo and allowed the officers to guide him into the squad car. He ducked his head, letting the weight of the morning fold him into the vehicle. As he bent down to sit, he thought he might never get back up.

There was their home. The place they'd built a life, a love, together. They were finally going to redo the bathroom before all this. They hadn't done anything with the spare bedroom yet because they both knew what they wanted it to be.

This all started because of Liam's idealistic visions of painting that room with little ducks and filling it with toys. He just wanted to give Zayn the dream family he'd always wanted. No matter how hard he tried, he'd gotten Zayn killed. He'd gotten Louis killed. He'd pushed away his best friends and family. There was nothing left for him now.

None of the lights in the house were on, casting shadows through the living room and down the hall. Liam followed their patterns from the front door to the couch where he slumped down and curled he red hands around his knees. The house wasn't cold, but he shivered anyway. He couldn't stop shaking, never wanted to stop until he was exhausted and numb and might finally sleep.

He could sleep forever, then. Never wake up. He wouldn't have to live like this anymore. He wouldn't have to live...at all.

Liam stumbled up from the couch on weak knees, tearing streaking down his cheeks. If Zayn wasn't around, what was the point? Everything good he had in his life was gone. He wandered into the kitchen, disoriented and choking on a sob. The knife block gleamed in the mid-day sun coming in from the window above the sink. He couldn't help but admire it. Clean, simple. It could be fast if he did it right. Then he could be with Zayn and even Louis and he wouldn't have to deal with what comes next.

He grabbed a knife handle, unsheathing it and watching the light stream across the blade. They were a gift from Zayn's father at their pairing ceremony. He'd assured they were of top quality, never dulled and easy to clean. He didn't know that would be quite so handy.

The knife turned over in his hand as he assessed his options. Who would clean up after him when he was gone? He had no one left. Would Zayn's family be forced to take care of the arrangements? Would anyone do it? Or he might never be found. He might just decompose in this house forever and it wouldn't matter. Either way he wouldn't have to plan Zayn's funeral or testify against Niall or lie about his part in Louis's death.

Zayn went out by the blade. It was only fitting that his slave follows suit. He lifted his chin to the kitchen window and looked out into their backyard. Their vegetable garden was flourishing. The tomatoes were nearly ripe and they were going to make homemade salsa when they were ready. The landscaper must have mowed while they were away, unaware of their turmoil, because the grass was clipped short and bright green.

It was a beautiful sight to end on. It proved they were successful at something they did together. Maybe they'd be better at the other stuff in the next life. Liam smiled at the thought. The two of them finding each other again without all the bullshit they'd been through. It was more and more appealing the longer he contemplated it.

He raised the knife to his throat and pressed the sharp steel to his jugular. The blade was cold to the touch and made him shiver but he didn't back down. Fear was what kept them from a better life and Liam was so afraid. He knew there had to be something better out there and he just had to get there. Liam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hissing when it made the blade dig into his skin. On the exhale he would pull, a clean slice, no fuss.

Liam jumped so violently at a knock on the door that he nicked the sensitive skin under the blade. He tried to ignore the interruption, inhaling again, but then the doorbell rang. "God dammit," he gasped, voice thick with regret. He went to the front door, knife still in hand and eyes puffy and red. He wrenched it open angrily and barked, "What?"

The delivery boy leaned back in shiock, taking in the mass of blood smeared all over him, including the nick of fresh blood on his neck, and said, "Delivery for Liam Payne?"

"Whatever it is, keep it. I don't need it." Liam went to push the door shut but the boy shot out a hand and stopped him.

"It's from Marcus. I have to deliver it. Please take it."

Liam felt rage rise up at the information but then he looked at the boy and saw the fear in his eyes. He had been that boy not a couple of days ago. He sighed and reached out a hand for the manila folder. "Give it here." He clasped his fingers around the folder but then grabbed the boy's wrist instead. The boy startled, red smearing his skin. He stared into the kid's eyes and growled, "Take some advice. Run far away and don't look back."

The boy tried to yank free so Liam held him tighter. The delivery boy scoffed, "You don't know what you're talking about."

The slave scoffed back, wetter and sadder, and held up the knife for the kid to see, the edge crusted with red. "I do, though. Trust me, kid." The boy looked from the knife to the cut on Liam's throat to his blurry eyes and nodded. Liam released him and the kid fell back a step. He snatched the envelope from his small, young hand and slammed the door shut.

He went back to the couch, flopping down again and dropping the knife on the ground. "You're still taunting me from the grave, you bastard," he voiced to the air. "What do you want now?" He ripped open the seal and pulled out a stack of papers.

In large, cursive lettering across the top, it said Certificate of Adoption. Liam dropped the stack of papers to the floor and stood abruptly. They scattered, sliding across the floor. Out from under the certificate, a photo flew under the coffee table. Liam dropped to the floor to follow it, reaching out to blindly grab at it. He stayed on his hand and knees as he pulled it back and looked down at the face of a tiny baby girl swaddled in a pink blanket. The baby was sleeping soundly, nose scrunched up in dream and mouth agape. She was beautiful. She was perfect. Liam turned the picture over to see the name Lila is a woman's handwriting. Liam finally let his sobs pass his throat and sank his face to the floor and cried, hugging the photo close. 

***

Basically, Liam goes home and realizes he has to live without Zayn and he feels responsible for Louis so he wants to kill himself. Just as he is though, there is a knock on the door. It's a delivery from Marcus. Inside is an adoption certificate and picture of Liam and Zayn's baby daughter. 

Only the epilogue left. Xoxo, Jess