And Barkovitch's hands suddenly went up like startled doves taking flight and Barkovitch ripped out his own throat.

Not yet, you whores! I ain't gone yet! Not yeeeeeetttttt…

Barkovitch, a high, gobbling sound out of the darkness.

Barkovitch or Quince; I can't tell, one of them's still walking.

Dance on your grave I danced on their graves Garraty

Shit, I'm a good enough guy once you get to know me. I just always get off on the wrong foot off on the wrong foot off on the wrong foot-

He was breathing.

Barkovitch sat up and rubbed the side of his head, wincing. Had… had that all just been a dream? Was he back in his room, back in his bed?

No. He was on a road, that much was obvious. He was on a road, Harold Quince a little bit behind him, Quince who they'd thought could've been him-

He needed to stop. Stop and think. Be sane. Be sane. Stand up. Stand up and be sane.

His feet didn't hurt; a plus of being dead? His hand went up to his throat – everything was there, it seemed. That was good. That was good-

Someone had grabbed onto the back of his head by the hair. He bit back a startled yelp and twisted to see who it was – Quince? Someone else-

And then he was on the ground, blood dripping from his nose. Rank.

"Shit," Barkovitch muttered. Of course, he hadn't actually killed Rank – Rank had swung first, and he'd started the whole thing anyway, but even if it could be seen that, maybe, he did kill Rank, he hadn't meant to. He'd just, he'd just-

He needed to get out of here or Rank would kill him.

Barkovitch scrambled away backward, still on the ground. Rank lumbered toward him, and while Barkovitch was kind of used to this sort of thing, he'd kind of just died, and plus, Rank was twice his size and he was already on the ground, that kind of ruled out running away.

He could trip him.

That would work.

Probably.

"Duck, Barkobitch!"

Barkovitch ducked. Who was that? Why did he have to duck?

Collie Parker jumped over him, landing on his foot. "Ow!"

"Get over it. I'm fucking saving you," Parker said, glaring at Rank. Rank glared back. Barkovitch stood up, wiping blood from his face. What exactly was Parker doing? And what had he called him?

Well, whatever it was, Barkovitch could just go. He might've been dead, but his nose still hurt. Good thing it wasn't broken. He'd dealt with a broken nose before and it generally wasn't pleasant.

A few minutes later, Parker appeared. Barkovitch didn't say anything to him, and Parker snorted. "Aren't you gonna thank me?"

"I was fine," Barkovitch said, crossing his arms. "You didn't have to-"

"Bullshit," Parker said. "You were going to die all over again."

"No-"

"Just stop talking. I like you better when you shut the fuck up."

"Make me."

"You want me to make you shut up?"

Barkovitch swallowed. He didn't like the look in Parker's eyes, something was going to happen, Barkovitch was pretty sure it was going to be-

And then his back was against a tree on the side of the road, and Parker was kissing him, and for some reason he was enjoying it. Parker broke the kiss and he gasped for air. He could feel heat flooding to his face.

"Y-you… you just…"

"Yeah?"

Barkovitch was suddenly aware of how trapped he was. Parker wasn't quite leaning on him, but he was close and, furthermore, twice Barkovitch's size. For once, he was speechless.

"I thought so."