There was nothing they could do to stop him.
Nothing but watch in horror as he steps away from them, to the other- wrong side of the Doors of Death.
His shadow slides over them, blocking their view of the Underworld, blinding them from the horrors he will have to face once those wretched doors are closed. Yet the screams of monsters and the cursed souls crawl to their ears, getting closer and closer by the moment, sending shivers down their already quivering forms.
He smiles halfheartedly, unable to recreate his signature quirky grin. He's tired, just like they all are; his eyes had lost that mischievous sparkle a while ago. Those slender fingers, which look incomplete without a wrench or screwdriver in their grasp, are crusted with dry blood and dirt, staining the large metal doors separating them. His clothes are ripped and covered in grime, barely covering the gashes cut deep into his skin, blood oozing out of them like the thick oil his machines run on.
Those skinny arms of his brace themselves on either side of the door, ready to seal the body and soul attached to them inside the Underworld forever. They all notice how shaky he is, not similar to the twitchy movements they're used to seeing when he would tinker with one of his gadgets. Curly hair is dusted with a mixture of blood and debris as it tries to hide his too bright, brown eyes; it's a futile attempt, they don't need to see the tears threatening to rain down his face to know how he feels, it is said all too well in that trembling chin of his.
The doors had already closed too much for them to demand he stop acting like the lunatic he is and Get back in here, Leo! Piper thrashes violently to try and get to him, arms reaching out desperately as Jason restrains her. The blonde's jaw is tense as he stares at his best friend, muscles itching to reach for him, yet, knowing they can't. Hazel has her head nuzzled against Hank's chest, shoulders shaking silently. The two older campers have this sad, twisted, but accepting look on their faces. Tears are racing down all of their faces, washing the grime off their skin, as they watch. Watch as he struggles in his desperation in closing the looming doors, which groan as they slowly inch toward each other.
He says something about doing all the work, jokingly calling them lazy.
No one smiles at the jest.
Slowly, indecisive arms come up and pull at the doors, helping the mechanic in his effort. It is obvious that the mechanic is putting more of an effort to close the gateway, shooting frightened glances over his shoulder at the enemies that could possible harm his friends. Soon though, the doors are closing at an alarming rate, the view of their friend diminishing as the seconds tick by. He looks up finally, when the doors are all but sealed and his bright eyes are filled with so much exhaustion and relief.
The last thing they see before those unforgivable doors close is his smile.
A smile that cracks and breaks in its final moment.
