A/N Surprise! I'm updating again! Something must be wrong with me.. This chapter is about half the length of the previous one- so I suppose that might have something to do with it. Also, I'm not quite sure what to feel about my torture scene not being all that gruesome- you win some you lose some I suppose. Though in this case it sorta feels like both things at once. On an odd note- I think I switch tenses a few times in this chapter but I've never been too good with that sorta thing- so if any of you are grammar nuts you'll probably yell at me.

And I thought I'd put it out there that this story is drawing to a close. I'm not quite sure how many chapters are going to be from here to there- but it's soon. But, first things first... -hides herself inside of a metal box- You'll see why soon enough.


46

Eleanor had never believed blood tasted sweet. Having bitten the inside of her mouth before and taken hits across the face she had a fair number of times tasting it. On days when she butchered she often got a taste, though she tried her best to avoid sampling a stranger's blood. Needless of how it happened, all of the occasions had left her a bitter taste in her mouth. With Sweeney it was as if something completely different had come in contact with her lips. In her opinion, it was almost like honey, though the last time she had tasted the sweet was many years ago.

Her demon barber was sweet. If Eleanor hadn't been sobbing into his chest, she would have laughed.

A kiss hadn't been exactly what she had been expecting, though she welcomed it readily. It was amazing the both of them were still standing (or really kneeling) so when Sweeney had maned to hold her so tightly she was amazed at his strength. The taste of him had been very distracting, but it hadn't taken the baker very long to know something was wrong. Well, a number of things were, but something had finally caused debilitating damage.

The mingled taste of the barber and his victims was quickly imbalanced when his blood flowed strongly out of his parted lips.

Eleanor had become oddly calm when he pulled away from her to try and cough away the blood. She had just held him tightly with the strength he had possessed moments ago as he became nearly slack in her arms.

A traitorous little voice in the back of her mind whispered, he's dieing.

Sweeney was never one to let something slow him down, as he had proven again and again through his struggle to survive all that day and the past fifteen years of his life. Feeling tired, his pain becoming a dull ache that accompanied darkening vision- he felt angry. After everything he had done that day, murdering two people was going to be what sent him over the edge? That coupled with the message he had in mind for the woman holding him fueled his sour mood- though he had little strength to act on it. The damaged parts of him that he had ignored and bullied into functioning were calling it quits- and the fact his body was abandoning him was what enraged Sweeney the most.

He was on his back and he wasn't quite sure how he got there. Nellie had probably lowered him down, though at the moment she was clinging to his side, her head tucked against his neck and shoulder. Of everything, all he seemed to feel were her tears on his skin. He opened his mouth to try and speak, but all that did was send more blood into his lungs.

How the hell was he going to tell her something if he couldn't speak?

Pulling together what was left of his strength Sweeney barely managed to move his arms around his little baker. Her tears seemed to stop for a moment as he slowly tightened his hold. Though plan B was in effect, he still tried to speak. The second attempt heightened his feeling of suffocation. He was drowning in his own blood.

His arms still pulled her closer, trying to hold her tighter. The obvious fact that he couldn't speak made him all the more determined to tell her.

Even if the world was so shadowed and colorless that it made him wonder if his eyes were still open.

So what if one of his lungs was useless- finally run through with his broken rib? He had inadvertently rescued his daughter, avenged his wife and killed the men responsible for fifteen years of hell in his life. Looking back on it all, Sweeney realized he had fulfilled his promises to himself and others. With one last thing to do and no way to do it, his life felt slightly less fulfilled.

Was she still next to him? He couldn't feel her. Sweeney couldn't give her a message if she wasn't around to hear it!

For, despite the little things he had done that day, he needed to tell her to make it real.

Sweeney Todd had to tell Eleanor Lovett that he cared for her, so it could become a solid fact and not just a dream.

He couldn't see and all sensation had long since seeped from his limbs, but before he fully slipped away the barber fancied he heard someone whisper 'I love you' in his ear.


London nights always had a life of their own, but this night was certainly different.

Both Anthony and Johanna had harbored a secret hope that the monsters that emerged that day would not be a lasting problem, but everything they saw and heard that night swept away that small hope. Lanterns that would have softly lit the streets and front of houses were cold and unlit, but a glow in the distance showed that the fire that had been started early that night still raged on. The two teens doubted there was anyone left to put it out. They had searched in vain for Toby, only finding blood, creatures and broken buildings.

Mayhew's departure back to the judge's house felt like years ago, making it increasingly difficult for the pair to tell time. All the managed to reason it was now their turn to come back to the haven.

They had not found Toby's body, so that left a small hope in them. The small hope that the young boy was alive.

It did not help them feel any better as they ran, scuttled and ducked their way back to the judge's house. Johanna had felt a heaviness in her heart through the whole mission, almost feeling as if she owed it to Mrs. Lovett to bring back her boy. Thinking of the baker made the girl wonder if the woman was even still alive. She pushed the thought away, turning her attention to Anthony, who was looking around the edge of a building. Apparently deeming it clear enough to cross, he held a hand back for her to take. They had taken to running between shadowed alleys, the silence of the city fueling their paranoia.

Johanna grasped his hand tightly, trying to prepare herself for what felt like another run across open ground. All of the running and hiding had begun to make her feel like a rabbit caught under the barrel of a rifle.

"Ready?" Anthony whispered.

She just nodded in response. If they hadn't gotten too turned around in their search for Toby, Johanna figured they were only a few streets away from Turpin's home. Strangely enough, a creeping sensation of foreboding began to grow in her at the thought of returning. Terrible memories aside, the place was secure. What could be so terrible about going back?