A/N: Came in to write something kind of angsty but hopeful, came out writing this. It's weird. The fact that I got my title from the Twilight Zone opening monologue should tell you that much.


"Every man is put on earth condemned to die. Time and method of execution unknown."

-Rod Serling, Twilight Zone


It's the first lesson you're supposed to learn. But of course, Gwen's never had a formal tutor.

Her magic—and these days she's not sure where the magic starts and where Gwen Tennyson is supposed to begin—is very utilitarian. Cold. Whatever will serve her in a fight she writes over and over on a sheet of lined paper until her hand cramps up and head aches from trying to ingrain all those spells, wards, and charms into memory. But she knows now, after six years of studying, that she's barely scratched the surface. There's so much magic out there and not all of it is useful. Some of it just is.

She wonders, sometimes, what could have been if Grandpa Max had got in contact with Verdona (or literally anyone, for that matter) the moment she began to express affinity for it.

So as she lights her candles, draws the various interlaced pentagons, hexagons, and the central spiral (such an odd slapdash freeform shape to an otherwise precise geometric spell ) she mourns what could have—should have—been.

She doesn't check her diagrams before beginning the incantation. She's known this one by heart for years.


"There's one particular spell I'd refrain from using," Paradox's voice echoes in her head. "You know the one. But if you do, for some reason, happen to use it...do be on guard. Death is a very tricky thing."


"Interesting book you're reading."

Gwen stiffens, but doesn't look up from her page when Paradox pops into her living room one night; his cheery voice tearing through her concentration. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees—or seems to anyway—and the weight on the couch shifts.

"Is it one of Hex's?"

He knows damn well it is. And he knows damn well how she got her hands on it. In a brief flash, she remembers that other life; the inhuman nothing in Kevin's eyes, the way Ben had limped to his death while Charmcaster screeched her name and threatened to kill her. Again.

She marks the page with her finger, and tries to control it's shake. "Maybe."

They sit in silence for a few moments; a silence that presses down on her chest and fills her lungs with dread. "Are you here to warn me?"

"I don't believe you're actively planning anything at the moment," Paradox tells her. "It's not like anyone's died recently, now have they?"


"I know you, Gwendolyn Tennyson ."


In one of her books, the Resurrection spells are mixed in with the healing spells. Which is...a choice for sure.

There's a messy little note scrawled next to the third one from the bottom—a looping, thick scrawl that takes her five minutes to decipher and another fifteen to translate:

Best attempted when fresh.


Gwen hears the voice. Or thinks she does, anyway. But, it's less of an actual sound than it is an impression of one that she feels deep in her chest. She narrows her eyes and stares at the hooded figure; their face partially obscured in shadow. But as the candle flickers—a large droplet of wax now three-fourths down it's long side—she catches occasional glimmers of pale white skull.

"Do you, now?"

She gets the vague, uneasy sensation that they're smiling.


She doesn't talk about...death. Dying. Any of it.

Not to her mom (who still seems unable to acknowledge that her daughter is just not normal ), nor her dad (who burns with a certain hollow sadness whenever he's around her.) She can't talk about it to Ken, though she used to be able to tell him everything. These days, when they're forced to interact it's hollow. Stiff.

Ben refuses to talk about it. He gets it from their Grandfather.

The incident with Ra'ad and Aggregor fucks them all up in a way that she can't explain. Ben's just about mentally worn out and he's shaking when Kevin half-assists half-carries him to the car. The thump-thump of his heart is jumpy and irregular in a way that feels decidedly not good. She's not positive Earth medicine will do him much good, but it's all they've got while her molecules still ache from teleporting.

"Fuck," Kevin whispers. "Fuck ." She can tell Aggregor being an Osmosian weighs on him by the tightness in his shoulders. He stares forlornly at the ER door, and looks down at his hands helplessly.

She curls her hand around his and squeezes. Her eyes are still moist and she's shaking. He's squeezing her back.

"How are you?" He whispers, quietly; his voice like leaves rustling in the breeze on a summer day.

"I'm..." and she's mumbling into his chest, her voice coming out more as a whimper than anything. In her head, she can still hear Brainstorm screaming and she's suddenly ten again and sitting huddled in the corner of the Rustbucket, wishing Ben hadn't found the Omnitrix and wishing everything would just. Stop.

"Gwen."


She wonders if Death meets Anodites all that often; it's not like they die particularly easily.


It doesn't surprise her when Ben suggests they kill Kevin.

"We can find something else."

"And how fucking long will that take, Gwen?!"

"I don't—"

"How many people are you willing to let him kill in the meantime?"

She burns with rage, but cools it to a simmer. Best not to lose it. Not now.


"You know," Death says in their smirking, singsong, voice-that-isn't-a-voice, "I like you, Gwendolyn Tennyson."

She narrows her eyes. "What is it you want?"

Death shrugs; an odd motion for something that ancient. That powerful. That Eldritch. "You were the one who called me here."


"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"


She's burning through her skin now, pink and violet lines snaking her way across her arms; flecks of skin floating around her like dust. She's oddly indifferent to it—it's natural, in a way she can't explain.

"You do not have to go through with this."

She's never had to. But, then again, when has she ever had a choice?


Ben doesn't fight her when he's…

When Kevin's…

When it's over.

In some ways, that makes it all worse. Because she wants to use her mana to gouge through his eyes and tear the lungs from his chest, so he can know what it's fucking like to feel the way she does.

But he stands there, blood smattered over his face and on his jacket and there's a sad, aching acceptance in his eyes. It's the same muddled mix of emotions she saw when that Other Ben in that Other Time went to die to buy her time.

Do it, his eyes seem to urge. Do it fast, do it quick. Make it count.

She knows it'll hurt him more to stay alive.


"So," Death asks, tracing lines with their hand in the air. "What, exactly, are you willing to give?"

Because magic is a finicky thing; you can never just get something, you have to give. She's lucky, of course, that Kevin's not magical himself—mages are always hardest to revive...something about the way their souls are supposed to entwine themselves within the afterlife, as if they know they shouldn't leave—and that he's been dead an hour.

The fresher, the better.

But magic isn't free, and she'll need a soul to make the trade.

"I…" she starts. And for the first time, has to pause. Who is worth the trade? Who, exactly, will Death accept in a situation such as this?

But in an instant, she knows.

"You know damn well what I'd give up to bring Kevin back."


"...Gwen?"