Warning! Heavy, heavy topics are brought up. Such as death. You're not gonna like how this ends. Mentions of blood, knives, cuts, the whole shebang. Read only if you're in a good headspace. Also, save the song at the top for after you've finished the chapter, and thank me later.

Lane drummed her fingers against the table, having not moved even after Jojo left. He'd told her some about Teresa — Laces — and in turn, she'd told him about Oscar and Morris.

Oscar, Morris and her.

She tied her fingers together on top of the table. The two would be expecting her help. She'd promised it, after all. It was her duty to keep that promise now. She didn't even need a reward from them. All she asked was that they left her and the newsies alone.

As of then, they were. But it had nothing to do with what they wanted or didn't want.

Frisks had practically taken Oscar captive, unsurprisingly. Honestly, what had he expected? It was Frisks. Despite the fact that they'd been idiots, Lane knew she now had the moral obligation to go and be a good sister. To get them out of this mess they'd dug themselves into.

Problem was, she wasn't exactly eager to meet with Frisks face to face again.

Last they'd met, Frisks had been threatening to stick a blade in both Finch and Lane. Well, if Lane failed to do just that to Finch, Frisks would. Yet there they were, Finch very much alive.

She couldn't be so sure about herself in the next hour.

"I can tell when yer stressed."

She gazed over her shoulder, placing her chin on her shoulder tiredly. "M'always stressed."

Finch moved from where he was leaning against the wall, approaching her. Apparently, he'd returned from his little outing with Specs. "It kills me ta see you so worn down lookin'."

She chuckled humorlessly. "Den Ise scared 'a what'll happen when Frisks kills me."

He tensed. "What?"

She sighed. "My bruddahs, rememb-ah? She's got 'em both trapped. I've put it off long enough."

Finch shifted uneasily, rubbing his injured shoulder. "Lane... Frisks-"

"I know, I know. She's dangerous." She found she hardly had the energy to meet his gaze, having not slept well the night before. Or even the night before that. Frankly, she couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten a good night's rest. "She mighta been yer sist-ah, Finch, but she's my problem. Plus, she's been like an estranged sist-ah ta me ev-ah since we met each other." Lane leaned her head against her fists, struggling to stay awake. "I jus wish... I didn't have ta do dis right now."

"Do what?" Finch questioned, his voice laced with caution.

She lifted her head. "Try ta convince Frisks ta side wit us."

He looked appalled. "Dat's crazy."

Lane sighed and pulled herself from the chair, sulking over to the entryway and slipping on her coat. Crazy always had been her thing, hadn't it?

"Lane!"

"You can come if you want," she said, lifting her hair out from the coat, not having the energy to fight with him.

He clenched his jaw, before storming over to the doorway and shrugging on his coat. She could tell he was annoyed with one look at him, but even more, she could tell he was concerned. "I almost wish you hadn't told me."

"Same he-ah," she said, opening the door and stepping out. But of course it wasn't true. She'd despised the way things were when she and Finch told each other nothing. All it had led to was fights upon fights. With Finch by her side, a certain strength was instilled in her stomach that kept her from collapsing and urged her onward.

Soon, too soon, they arrived. Both Lane and Finch gazed up at the Refuge with dread mounting in their stomachs.

"I hate dis place," Finch confessed.

"So do I," she replied, before letting out a deep breath. "You stay out he-ah. One of us has ta stay outside."

Finch turned to look at her, eyes wide. "It should be me goin' inside, den."

She pursed her lips together. "My bruddahs, my problems. And," she said before he could speak, "we've already settled dat Frisks is my problem, too, even if she's yer sist-ah. Dis is my fight."

He worked his jaw back and forth, clearly not pleased. But they both knew this was something only Lane could do, and that someone had to stand as guard outside. How would it go if Finch went inside instead of Lane? Finch, who her brothers hated. Finch, whose sister was out for his blood.

The only reason Lane was being threatened was because Finch was the one Frisks wanted dead.

Slowly, Lane made her way inside. The floorboards creaked under her feet. The wind blew hauntingly through the shattered windows. A thin door moved back and forth on its own accord, showing the poor structure of the prison.

And somewhere, Oscar, Morris and Frisks.

Blowing out a breath, Lane gripped the shaky railing and began scaling the whining stairs. At the top laid the jagged floorboard that Lane had used to fight Frisks all those months ago. She huffed, kicking the wood aside.

"Been a while."

Lane yanked the knives out of her sleeves and spun around, stopping the curved dagger just in the nick of time. She growled, attempting to steer Frisks down the stairs. "Not long enough!"

"I've noticed Finch is still alive," Frisks taunted in a lilting voice.

"Did you honestly expect me ta kill him?"

"No." Frisks smirked. "But dat jus means I get ta kill you!"

They fought for some time, each battling for the upper hand. At last, Frisks had her pinned on her knees, the dagger inching closer to her throat, when Frisks was suddenly yanked away and Lane's eyes widened. "Finch, no!"

But it wasn't Finch.  Oscar held both of Frisks' shoulders in his grip, practically shaking with what was either fright or fury. "That's enough," he growled.

Frisks clenched her jaw, fingers whitening against the handles of the dagger. "I see an alliance has been formed between the two of you. Dearest Oscar, pray tell, how did it happen?"

Oscar didn't speak. Lane rose to her feet and jabbed a finger in her direction. "Yer tha one I came he-ah ta make an alliance wit, before you went ta kill me! I need yer help, Frisks. Please." She sighed. "And let my bruddahs go."

As Lane had feared, Frisks hardly seemed to even consider it. "Let yer bruddahs go?" She ripped her shoulders out of Oscar's grasp. "I wasn't aware I was keepin' 'em hostage. Wasn't he tha one grabbin' me jus now?"

Oscar clenched his jaw, but she wasn't done.

"Oscar..." She turned and settled her hands on his chest, making Lane's stomach turn. She wanted to slice those pretty little hands clean off so she'd stop touching him that way. "Am I not yer family? Ain't dat what you said?" She tilted her head. "How could you wanna go back ta dat brat, aft-ah how my own family abandoned me?" She shot a glare over to where Finch still stood, although there were no windows around to confirm the fact. "You wanna go back ta tha family dat abandoned you?"

Slowly, Oscar wrapped his hands around her wrists and pried her hands from his shirt. "Dat's enough, Brigid."

Frisks' expression turned stone-cold for one terrifying second, before she tore her hand out of his grip and slapped him. Hard. Oscar didn't so much as flinch, but he looked like she could've stabbed him and it would've hurt less. He gaped at her, disoriented, which gave her the chance to kick him down and raise the dagger.

"No!" Lane and another voice shouted as one. Lane spun around, watching as Finch came running. She cursed. "Finch, you dummy! Go!"

"Not without you," he replied resolutely.

Frisks smirked and yanked Oscar back by his shirt, causing him to blanche. It was only then Lane saw the many cuts and bruises on his face, probably from errands she had him and Morris do. But most painful of all, was the clear agony in his eyes. Morris had been right. This was killing them. "Well, well, if it ain't tha bruddah I've longed ta forget." She paused, her gaze sweeping over every inch of him. Lane felt a burning fire ignite within her soul as she did so. "Hello, Patrick."

"Brigid," Finch said softly, pleadingly.

Lane watched with bated breath as the two stared at the other. Brother and sister, reunited at long last. Maybe this would be enough. Perhaps Frisks just had to see Finch to be able to move past her past qualms and ditch the crazy persona.

But of course, this was Frisks.

"You have a choice," Frisks said simply, speaking to Lane. "Either I kill him, or..." her gaze dipped down to the boy still shaking beneath her, and Lane's whole body turned to ice.

No. It'd been bad enough when this same decision had been between herself and Finch, but to add Oscar into the mix? She would sacrifice herself twenty times over if it meant Finch got to live, but she couldn't be forced to choose between her love and her brother.

Once Frisks made up her mind about something, there was no stopping her. But Lane wouldn't give in without a fight.

She threw herself onto the girl, both knives in hand and a battle cry clawing its way out of her throat. Frisks screeched back, and their blades hit each other. Lane aimed for the girl's thigh, but Frisks pushed back, and the blade went skidding across the ground. While she was distracted, Lane went and kicked the girl's shin, which worked as she'd expected. Frisks yelped and grabbed the bottom of her leg, giving Lane the chance to pin her down.

That was when she felt the searing cold blade slicing through her stomach.

Lane gasped, letting go of Frisks and pressing her hands against the open wound. She thought she may have heard a distant roar of anger, but it sounded fuzzy to her ears. Frisks stood with a snarl marring her otherwise pretty face. Lane's attention caught on the gash on her leg, and almost smiled. But she didn't have the energy, and it hurt so, so much.

The vile thing tossed a dirty look in Lane's direction, walking around her, before her hand shot forward and caught a handful of Lane's red locks, yanking backwards. Lane stifled a grunt at the sudden sting, still clutching her stomach.

"I expect a decision ta be made," sang Frisks. "Will it be Finch, or will it be Oscar?"

Finch took a single step forward, but then there was the feeling of something cold and sharp metal against the back of her neck, and he froze. Lane shut her eyes and swallowed hard, thinking of how to get out of this situation. This situation that she'd put them all in.

But she could think of nothing.

Frisks' eyes narrowed. "Den I'll pick."

She released Lane and sauntered over to the two boys, Lane's breath catching in her throat. "No," she croaked, but couldn't move.

She stopped in front of Finch. They both stared at each other once more, like how they'd done earlier. Finch's expression gave away nothing, and neither did Frisks'.

"I always did like Sean bett-ah," said Frisks. "He wasn't a coward."

"So did I," replied Finch coldly. "Least he wasn't a murderer."

Frisks grinned slowly. Lane, with all the strength in her body, dragged herself over to the girl and grabbed her hand. "Frisks, please. I'll do anythin'. I'll-"

"Lane," snapped Finch, silencing her. She looked into his eyes and saw the all too real emotion of fear in his eyes. Fear... for her.

"You two amuse me greatly," mused Frisks, flipping the dagger in her hand, walking a semi-circle around them. "Which, I suppose, is why he gets ta live." Then, in one fluid motion, she heaved the blade forward and an awful, awful sound pierced the air. Oscar's hands went to his chest, where the blade had stabbed him, the air leaving his lungs.

Lane stared, eyes wide and gaping, as her brother collapsed to the ground. Her own pain was ignored as she crawled over to him, tears already falling. "O-Oscar? Oscar?"

His eyes opened — just barely. "Violet."

She bit her lip, sniffling hard. "Don't go. Please don't go. Oscar, please, please, please..."

He only smiled at her sadly. "I hope you can find it in yer-self ta forgive me fa all I've done."

"Stop." Lane shook her head furiously. "Stop. You can't die. Oscar, you can't die..."

But he already had.

She sobbed, pulling him closer. "Oscar? Oscar! Oscar! No, please, please, no... I jus got you back... please, please..."

"I'll kill you."

Lane turned her head slightly. She'd never seen Finch look as angry as he did just then — angry enough to maybe even follow through with the threat.

"You can try, but..." she leaned forward and whispered something into Finch's ear that made him clench his teeth and turn back to Lane and her fallen brother. "Besides, I thought you was above killin'."

"Trust me, Frisks." His voice was sharp enough to pierce her with just his words. "Jus 'cause I admired Spot tha most fa his morality, don't mean Ise any bett-ah den you." His fingers twitched. "And I ain't scared ta prove it."

"Finch," Lane pleaded quietly, every nerve in her system burning. This wasn't him. She didn't want it to be him. "You can't kill her."

Neither of them moved for a long moment. Silence weighed over them, almost suffocating in the dank, musty area. Lane slowly drew out her knife again, hoping she could surprise the girl with an unexpected swing. They didn't have to kill her, least of all Finch, just incapacitate her temporarily so they would be able to hand her over to someone like Pulitzer. Frisks was already hurt, it wouldn't take much more to stop her.

She wanted to kill the girl, though. Wanted her to feel what she'd done to Oscar.

Then, Frisks was pale as a ghost and collapsing onto the ground, and Lane jumped back as best as she could. Morris stood behind the fallen girl, holding Lane's forgotten knife with a shaking hand. "I didn't want it to be you."

Whether that meant dead or scarred with the act of committing murder, she didn't know. It didn't matter. Frisks was dead.

"Convenient," spat Finch. "Where were ya earlier?"

"Oscar made me promise I wouldn't interfere." Morris stared at the dead boy, his brother. Slowly, he joined her side, where they both gazed at him together. "I jus broke our last promise."

Finch reluctantly accepted his explanation, before his focus returned on Lane. "Love, we need to get you cleaned up."

Ah, yes. The stab wound.

Morris turned sharp eyes onto the boy. "Our bruddah jus died."

"And so will she if we jus continue ta sit around he-ah, thinkin' 'bout it," snapped the boy.

Lane bit her lip, thinking that she'd never seen him look so agitated. In that moment, she saw his own brother in his eyes. And she also saw his love for her.

Even when her brother had killed his only sister.

"Ise so sorry," Lane breathed, staring at the two bodies, the reality of it all finally settling in. "Both 'a you."

Morris did his best to pull himself together from where he was next to Lane. "Tha boid's right. We've gotta get you help."

"Specs has helped wit stuff like dis before," Finch mentioned.

"And Wisel ain't bad, either." Morris grimaced. "Even if I can hardly stand tha guy."

It was surreal, seeing them talk so civilly. They almost looked like a team.

Finch lowered himself to her level, taking her face into his hands. "You'll be alright, love. Wese gonna get help."

She whimpered. "Don't leave me he-ah alone."

He looked torn. "I've gotta. Weasel ain't tha type 'a guy you'd wanna have as yer only hope."

Morris clearly heard him, but didn't make a retort of any sort. If anything, he looked like he agreed.

"We'll be back soon," Finch promised.

"You bett-ah be," she whispered.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, letting the kiss linger. And then he was pulling away, and she was watching as the two boys made their way outside.

She closed her eyes and tried not to think of anything. Not of the place she was in, not of the burning pain in her side... And definitely not of the two bodies rotting away beside her.

Taking in a shallow breath, she forced herself to process it. Oscar was... gone. So was Frisks. Seemed like the name Delancey was a bad luck charm. Maybe Colon was another. It was a wonder she and Finch had made it this far, what with cursed family lines and all.

She theorized that even those around the Delanceys were affected by this curse, especially the women. Her father had killed her mother, left Evangeline's, and seemed to have taken a fancy to Domino's now, too. Lane pitied the woman. There wasn't a thing in the world her father loved more than power, wasn't a thing he wouldn't do for it. And in his mind, Domino's mother fulfilled his need. And nobody could take that away from him.

Her eyes flew open, the truth of it all hitting her far too late. "Domino."

Katherine had had the heaviest feeling in her stomach all day.

From the moment she'd woken up, it felt as though she'd swallowed a stone. She couldn't recall having seen or heard anything prior to the day that could've led to her feeling such a way, so she brushed it off. But as she worked on the latest story for The World, the engagement ring glinting on her finger as she typed, she found she still couldn't shake the uneasiness from her mind.

Her stomach was in knots by the time she made her way outside of her office, telling her that something was terribly, terribly wrong. She couldn't think of anything else but to go see Jack, and so she did. Maybe he knew something she didn't. Maybe there was something she was forgetting.

Jack wasn't there when she arrived at the lodge. She asked when the newsies had seen him last and approximately where they thought he might be, to which they replied around four hours before, and to Harlem. Apparently, he'd told them he was going over to cover a trail that would prove he really was alive, and not dead like had been their angle for the past week or so. With dread building in her stomach, she thanked them and took a stroll over to Harlem. 

It took twenty minutes to find him.

"Jack!" She ran over to his motionless form on the ground, rolled him over, and... stopped.

The world stopped.

He was lying in a puddle of blood. His blood, she realized, spotting the wound on his head. Horror swept over her, squeezing the air from her lungs. She couldn't look away, however much she wanted to.

"Jack." A sob tore its way out of her throat. "Jack!" She gasped for air, tears streaming down her face, cradling his body to her chest. "Don't die, Jack. Please, don't die."

He didn't stir. She didn't know what she was pleading for, only that this somehow be reversed or that she wake up because surely, surely she was dreaming. She had to be dreaming. These things only happened in nightmares, not when she was wide awake and the sun was out and the frigid air outside was numbing her cheeks.

She'd never known such agony. Someone had plunged a hand into her chest and squeezed her throbbing heart until it cracked and bled. A raw ache filled her soul. And she didn't know if she'd ever recover.

She felt as though she were going mad with grief.

Someone called her name, and she screeched as arms wound around her, pulling her away from her love. She clung desperately to the lifeless man, crying for him, begging for answers.

"Katherine," said the voice, and she finally recognized it as Bill, Darcy not far behind. "We have to go. It's not safe."

"Jack," she cried, slumping into Bill's arms, hands clutching her shattered heart.

"I know." Bill ran a hand through her hair. "I know, Kath. I know..."

But he didn't. He couldn't possibly know this overwhelming loss. He couldn't know how she felt as though she were suffocating in his arms, in this place.

There was blood all over her. She didn't care.

Jack was dead.

The world had stopped spinning.

Amy cautiously eyed the floorboards that housed the stolen objects underneath. It was probably nothing, but she couldn't help but feel like someone had pulled the floorboards away and put them back incorrectly. Or, at the very least, noticeably different.

She sighed and looked away. She was overreacting. Her eyes were simply playing tricks on her.

But the longer she sat on her bed, the more agitated she became. Giving in at last, she stood and padded over to where they'd kept the objects for so long. Hesitating, she crouched and reached for the loose floorboards, lifting them up.

"Dipper?" she called.

The girl was there within seconds. When she saw what Amy had, she gasped, hands flying to her mouth. They met each other's gaze, and without even having to ask, Dipper was outside on the scout for two certain people.

When she returned with a small shake of her head, Amy sat back on her heels with a very grim realization.

The objects were gone. And so were The Lights.

It could only mean one thing.

The Lights had finally made their move.

(3618 words)

"But then I see you again, and a new world starts spinning..." [ song above ]

Before you guys say anything... I hate myself more. I truly do. I've been crying for days. But I knew Jack was always going to die, it wouldn't have made sense if he hadn't. Manhattan and Brooklyn were the two boroughs most involved with everything that happened. It was going to happen one way or another, as much as I tried to write around it.

Now, onto Oscar and Frisks. Complicated family reunion, huh? Oscar always had death in the cards for him, too, but his death made me almost just as sad. And as much as I don't like Frisks... she was still Finch's sister. Both Lane and Finch have lost and lost and lost.

But, despite everything, they still have each other.

~ nutcracker645