Here it is, the chapter about closings. Written over several weeks, so be nice por favor (I would say please in French, but it's hard to spell without accents). And I am not so happy write (accidentally wrote it that way, honest...hah) now, so angst fics might be coming. Hope not, though, for our poor dears would not like that, now would they?

"So that's it. We're closing."

"Yeah…we're really closing."

"Wow…we're closing."

The RENT fanfic characters were spread around their dressing room in a state of light shock. Angel, Maureen, and Roger were sitting on the couch, staring into space. Collins and Mimi were sitting on the ground near them, also staring into space. Joanne and Mark were the only two not staring into space; they were, instead, staring at the new digital clock on the wall. It showed every time unit from seconds to months, and it was steadily counting down. Every time the minutes changed, it made a little eep noise. Everyone in the room would flinch at the eep.

Benny was crouching in the corner, playing with his dolls. No one cared.

"Wait…so now what do we do?" Mimi asked, her eyes glazed. Maureen shook her head slowly.

"Will they keep writing fanfictions? Will…will they forget us? Oh my god, they're going to forget us, oh my god, oh my god…" Maureen gasped, beginning to hyperventilate. Roger rose out of his reverie enough to smack her on the back of her head and shut her up.

"No, Maureen…they will not stop. In fact, I think that they will begin to write more. So…many…more," Collins breathed. For a moment, the RENT group considered this.

"More slash…"

"More fluff…"

"More Mary Sues…"

"More crossovers…"

"More cano—wait, no one writes canon anyway," Joanne corrected herself. Angel blinked and surfaced a little.

"I'm going to have to die again…and again…and again…even more," she whispered, her eyes widening. Roger put his arm around her, and Maureen squeezed her hand in consolation.

A sudden knock on the door made them all jump. Twitching a little, Mark went to open the door. They found Elphaba, Princeton, Wendla, Elle, and Tracy Turnblad all standing behind it, looking a little nervous. Wendla was holding a large greeting card, and Elphaba was clutching a plastic baggie with cupcakes in it.

"Um…we wanted to…uh, say sorry to—you—guys," stuttered Princeton, his puppet hands wringing worriedly. Elle brushed back her hair and cocked her head sympathetically.

"Like, yeah. We all heard about the, you know…the thingie," she said squeakily. Tracey elbowed her and then poked Wendla in the arm. Wendla jumped and, remembering what she was supposed to do, held out the card.

This is from all of us…to give you some support," she mumbled. Mark silently took the card. Elphaba hurriedly offered the cupcakes, as though eager to be rid of them.

"We made these for you. Actually, it was mostly Kate and Moritz, but they had to be in fics, so this is from them too. And…well, we're really sorry, guys. This sucks," she said assertively, glancing in at Maureen. Maureen gave her a small nod of acceptance.

"And we wanted to make sure you know that even though we're not closing, twelve years is really cool for the old ones like you, and—OW!" Elle screeched, Tracey having just stomped on her little high-heeled foot.

"What she means is, um…you guys are like our inspiration and…stuff. So, sorry," Wendla said hurriedly, backing out of the doorway. The others followed her, but Elphaba lingered for a second. She gazed sympathetically at the RENT folks, and shrugged slightly.

"I really am sorry, guys. I get that it—well, it's just a tough thing to deal with. So if you guys need any help or anything…I'm here for you. So're the rest of us…'cept Fiyero, because he's a douchebag and passed out after doing wine shots with Jesus, but you get my point," she said, rolling her eyes. Maureen nodded again, and the others mumbled their thanks. Elphaba nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind her. Mark turned around slowly, looking a little nauseous. No one could bring themselves to speak for a moment or two. Then Roger spoke in a wavering voice.

"They…they made us…cupcakes?"

"Dude, we're getting cupcakes from puppets. We have officially become the most pathetic group of losers on the planet," said Collins in disgust. Mimi laid a hand on his arm.

"In other words, rock-bottom?"

"I think we hit that at the first MarkRoger slash fic," Joanne said dryly, taking the greeting card from Mark. Mark sighed and threw the cupcakes at Roger, who shrugged and started to devour them. Joanne rolled her eyes and opened the card.

"'You didn't have it coming, signed Roxy Hart…it's the circle of life, signed Rafiki…you roll the dice and you lose sometimes, sorry, signed Nathan Detroit…life's not all milk and cream, the CATS team…at least you're not pastry, signed Sweeney Todd…let the music in your soul show you the way, Raoul and Christine'…oh god, that's pathetic."

"Who wrote that last one?" Angel asked, frowning. Joanne rolled her eyes.

"That last one was me. We're even getting false consolation from the musicals who've already gone off Broadway, I mean come on. Guys & Dolls? They're like the ancient mariners of—oh my fucking god, wait a second. 'At least you had a good run, you schmucks, be grateful, signed…Teyve.' We have indeed hit rock-bottom; the Fiddlers are giving us condolences."

"You call that condolences? I call that a heaping pile of Jewish guilt, and Roger, eat without getting crumbs everywhere or don't eat at all," Maureen snapped, elbowing Roger. He glanced up, mumbled an apology, and resumed scarfing down cupcakes.

"Well, at least they cared enough to send a card," said Angel in a weak attempt at cheerfulness. No one answered her, because there was really nothing to say.

They were closing.

They were really closing.

And they got out of it was a card and the frosting that Roger was licking off the inside of the bag.

At her computer, the author started trying not to cry. She did this by listening to Hedwig and the Angry Inch. WHICH EVERYONE SHOULD DO, ESPECIALLY IF THEY LOVE RENT. BECAUSE IT IS COOL.

And then everyone finger-shamed her for product placement, so she shut up.

Until the actual crying started...

A vicious cycle indeed. Hey, head over to Your First Time, a fic of mine, when you're done with this...I'm about to post a new announcement and even if you don't read the fic or haven't sent anything in, please read anyway! Love to all!