The wind came up hard over the crest of the mountain, sending sharp pieces of ice whipping through the air. Napoleon collapsed backwards onto the rocks, raw, frostbitten hands balled into fists, every shallow breath sending spikes of pain through his body.

The chase had been going on for days. He'd been on the move constantly, through cities, through tundra, and still, that green-haired demon chased him.

He didn't have the strength to go any further. This was where it would end.

A crunching noise caught his ear. Napoleon forced his eyes open, fighting off waves of exhaustion.

At the other end of the plateau, a metal pick was embedded in the snow.

He was already here.

Groaning in pain, Napoleon pushed himself up into a kneeling position, the rocks beneath cutting into his hands. Frozen fingers pulled at the rifle bolt handle, frantically reading the weapon for Bill's arrival.

And then he was there. But at the other end of the plateau.

Napoleon swung around, trying to get off the shot before Bill reached him. The muzzle flashed once, and then the man was upon him, ragged and bloody with eyes filled with fire and vengeance.

The gun was ripped from his hands. Strong hands locked around his throat, driving his head into the rocks. Napoleon kicked out, adrenaline giving fuel to his fading muscles, and Bill stumbled backwards, blood dripping from a torn mouth.

Something caught his eye. There was a thick, red stain spreading across Bill's midsection. Napoleon's gaze went to his rifle. His shot had hit. And it looked fatal.

The other man would be dead within minutes.

Napoleon lurched towards the edge. He needed to get away. Just get away, and wait for Bill to...

Something crashed into his side, sending him tumbling into the icy snow. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he was flipped onto his back.

An elbow pressed down hard on his neck. Napoleon struggled for a moment, but the last burst of adrenaline faded away, and he couldn't muster the strength. The boy sagged into the ground and closed his eyes, utterly spent.

Bill crouched over him. The man's face was ragged and worn, his lips curled back into a snarl. A long, thin knife was clutched in his right hand, pulled back to strike.

...

Was this how it ended?

Sixty-two people were dead. And now, one of the last remaining two was going to kill the other one, before dying of his injuries? That was how it ended?

He'd killed three people; A, Brendan and Alice, with his own hands. He'd been directly responsible for the deaths of at least two others. He'd avenged Pearl.

And what had it done? What had it achieved?

Napoleon had killed and lied and cheated and betrayed. He'd become the worst that humanity had to offer, done everything and anything he could to stay alive.

And it had left him hollow.

...

The knife hadn't come down yet.

Napoleon opened his eyes. Bill was still there, staring down at him. His eyes were conflicted, unidentifiable emotions fighting for dominance. And the knife had stopped, about halfway towards his neck.

Napoleon didn't have the strength to take advantage. He just lay there, and waited.

"What happens?"

Napoleon's face contorted with confusion. "What?"

Bill pushed his face in close. "If both of us die here, what happens?"

What?

"I... don't know." Napoleon whispered.

Bill stared at him for a long minute.

"You killed my daughter." The man muttered, flecks of blood accompanying his words. "You threw others into danger so you wouldn't have to face it yourself.

"Is this who you are, Napoleon? Is this all you can be? Because we have both killed, and I hate you with every fibre of my being but I understand why you did what you did. And if we both die here, if I cut your throat, then nothing happens. It just ENDS. But if this is all you can be, then maybe that's for the best."

"You lost people too. You've been driven by the same thing I have, and I know what that feels like, but I am not going to let you live if that's who you're going to be." Bill hissed, fury warring in his voice with a desperate desire for it not to have all been for nothing. "Napoleon, can you be better than this?"

Better.

'Yes.' That was the answer Bill wanted to hear. That was the smart thing to say. That was the answer that would save him.

"I... don't know."

"But I think so."

Bill's fingers gripped his chin. Wide, brown eyes that were at once utterly mad and completely sane locked onto Napoleon's own, pinning him down into the snow. The man leaned in close, so close that their foreheads were nearly touching.

"Then earn this."

And then, the light faded. Bill slumped forward, knife falling from nerveless fingers, head coming to rest on Napoleon's shoulder. He didn't move again.

xXx

Napoleon didn't know how long he lay there. But when he opened his eyes again, the storm was over. The clouds were gone, and moon hung in the sky above, bright and full. A gentle breeze curled up over the mountain, tickling at his skin.

Bill was still on top of him. He was cold now, the warmth of life having long departed. The boy edged himself out from under the man, pushing the dead-weight off to the side, and shakily climbed to his feet.

He looked out, at the icy valley shining with reflected moonlight, then down, at the body of the man who had let him live.

"...Thanks."

Napoleon turned his eyes to the moon, and suddenly a surge of emotion, of hope and fear and joy and sorrow and pain and life all tangled up as one ripped through his chest with so much force it hurt.

He stood there a moment longer, then turned and limped across the plateau, tucking the butt of his rifle under his arm as a crutch.

He didn't know what was going to happen next. Given his condition, Napoleon wasn't even sure he was going to be able to make it off the mountain.

"Earn this."

But he had his life.

And for now... just for now... that was enough.