Beyond the Horizon

- Part 9: Ragnarok -

by: deadxdreamer

note: Next one shall be the last, I believe, which will be an epilogue. Then, I think I'll be writing a prequel where I talk about Saul and Deacon's lives after the war.

Claimer This is an ORIGINAL writing. All characters and situations belong to ME under the pseudonym deadxdreamer. If you would like to reproduce, archive, post any portion of this story, please obtain permission first.


- Michael's pov -

He was gone before even I woke. Not even a ghost of cologne or warmth remained in the sheets beside me, though the remaining stickiness helped to make the previous night seem real.

I lay in the warmth of the bed, listening to the roar of the waves a few hundred feet from the bedroom. If I turned my head, I could see them, but the disjointed sounds were more soothing. Suddenly, I realized that it was later than four and I wasn't in the ocean, splashing around, freezing my cock off. It was with this realization that I started laughing, really laughing. It felt odd at first, almost like I had forgotten how to… but it felt right again and I briefly wondered when the last time I had had a real laugh was.

Finally rolling out of bed an hour later, I padded to the kitchen, intent on making myself a cup of coffee. On the refrigerator, was a note. Saul wasn't one for leaving notes. Curious, I pulled it off of the magnet and realized that the penmenship was Saul's.

"Thought that it was best to leave before you woke. I'm going after Singer, and I have one last favor to ask of you. Watch over Justin. I'll be back for him."

Setting the note down, I jogged to the guest room and indeed saw a lump under the covers. Upon closer inspection, it revealed a disheveled Justin, curled on his side and snoring softly. The laughing fit was back and I slid onto the floor by the bed wondering how in the world Saul was going to find and kill Singer... and if he failed, how the hell I was going to protect this pup.

- Deacon's pov -

I never realized that dream I had had was more accurate than I had previously imagined. Mr. Singer had me trained along with my brother years ago, but I had never really used them in the field when Singer realized he liked me better in bed than out killing someone for him.

I felt a tinge of regret. Singer had initially treated us like animals, but as I lived with him for years after, he treated me like a cherished pet. What I didn't expect, and I'm sure he never dreamed of, was that somewhere along our years together, he had fallen in love with me. He would never admit it, and bristle and bark when he started realizing it, but it was true nonetheless. Admittedly, it felt good to be loved by someone, even the most corrupt and wealthiest man in New Covenent. Love was love and it wasn't something that someone in my position could refuse. I loved Mr. Singer too, in my own way. I just loved Saul more.

"Come away from the window, precious. It's freezing."

I turned from the blank white landscape outside of the large bay window, and turned to where Singer was shedding his coat.

Of course. Singer never went unarmed.

He slid off his finely tailored coat and untangled himself from the shoulder holster he had on, placing the gun in its holster onto the chair on top of his coat. His eyes caught mine and glanced back at his gun.

"It's been a while since I last held one," I said softly, moving away from the window and towards the couch.

I watched as he laughed and leaned over to pull it out. He slid long manicured fingers over its glossy black surface. Eyeing me, he held it out with a little boy grin. I forced the tremor out of my outstretched hand, and quelled the shudder that ran through me at the feel of the cold steel. He noted my discomfort and wrapped his hand around mine, jerking me towards him and showering my face with kisses.

"I can teach you how to shoot it tomorrow," he whispered, the faint scent of peppermint wafting over my face with his breath.

It seemed that he had forgotten that I had been taught all about the guns that Singer had in his arsenal and how to kill a man 50 different ways. I didn't bother to correct him. He let the gun slide from his fingers and into my hands. After a moment, he turned and went towards the kitchen, glancing at me.

"Do you want something to drink? I had the finest champagne delivered just for this occaision."

His eyes looked incredibly large in his surprise and I had forgotten how strong a recoil these things had. His hand reached out to grip a kitchen counter, his scrambling knocking down a vase of orchids. I always did love orchids.

He was kneeling now, mouth gaping open and lazily shutting, like a fish taking its last few gasps of air. No sound was coming from him, not even a moan, but the ruby red pools of blood continued to ooze from his chest. He looked like he was in pain. After all of the years of training he gave me and my brother, he wasn't able to make killing someone any less emotionally painful. I only realized I was weeping when a tear dropped onto my hands, still clutching the gun.

Without another word, I crossed the room, leaning over to place a kiss on his forehead. "I loved you, Mr. Singer."

His eyes turned to pleading. I couldn't take it any longer and aimed for his head.

- Saul's pov -

It wasn't hard to pin point Singer's movements around New Covenent. With the media and law enforcement tailing him as closely as they were, he made it a point to show where he was going, provided that all of those places were legal venues. I was surprised, however, to learn that he had gone on vacation… which meant that Deacon would be with him.

When I arrived at the cabin, I had the same sinking feeling I had during the war when I arrived home. Something was wrong… and I could feel it. The sun was already setting and the cabin remained unlit, yet the walkway was freshly shovelled. My unease deepened when I found the door unlocked.



That's what Deacon's voice sounded like. Broken.

I don't know how I found him in that dark, cold house… but I did and held him as he clutched at me. We sat like that until his sobs quieted and his tears stopped flowing. Slowly, he reemerged from my arms and in the pale moonlight streaming into the room, I could see his eyes searching mine.

"Where's Singer?"

He shook his head and I helped him stand. Without another word, we left that house still ensonced in darkness. He didn't need to tell me what had happened. What was done was done… and it felt like all the events of the past ten years were just a vague memory. It was over, and now we would deal with what the future had in store for two brothers travelling its road together.


- epilogue -

Justin watched as Saul sat smoking on the porch with a martini in the hand that wasn't holding the cigarette. The obvious sounds of sex were coming from the rooms off to his right; the moans, grunts, panting, and the rhythmic squeak of the bed making a symphony of noises he was vaguely enjoying. The news continued on, the sound muted, and his picture was finally taken off of the screen.

According to the report, he was finally declared dead. He watched it all with a sense of detachment. It was a fitting end to the surreal year that had passed. His past life was finished, loose ends tied, and he was currently living a new life with Michael, Deacon, and most importantly, Saul.

His eyes turned back to the sight of Saul's half naked figure still motionless in the recliner. Silently, Justin rose, walking over to the open sliding door. Resting a hip against its edge, he watched the sun begin its descent, streaking the sky with fiery reds.

"Have a seat."

Jerking his head at the sound of Saul's voice, he shifted away from his perch against the door, and squeezed himself into the chair beside the other man. He spent the next few minutes of silence glancing between the tattoos on Saul's chest and the sun sinking lower in the horizon.

"It's a saint for every person I've killed."

Nodding, Justin continued to trace the figures of praying martyrs and the bowed heads of Madonnas. He sighed with contentment, knowing that the quiet moments they shared were enough to keep him happy until the next time they could share the quiet again. Soon Michael and Deacon would be done and come back out to annoy them, which Justin didn't mind, as it was mostly Michael who did the ribbing.

A year ago, Justin would have been sitting behind a desk, being hit on by Terry and teased by Chief Nichols. Watching the sun set, resting against the warm, solid chest of the first man he could say he was in love with… took him far away from all the pain and death that brought them together. And he knew that for Saul, the chance to leave his past behind was enough… that it was what allowed him to see what lay beyond the horizon.