Chapter Text
Tybalt could not remember much from the last moments he could still feel his chest heaving; where he felt himself breathing.
He did not know what came after death. In fact, it wasn’t really a question he ever wanted answered — as to answer it would be to die. Friar Lawrence had his religious theories. The Church claimed that those who did as God willed them to do would ascend into eternity in paradise with Jesus, into heaven where all the good people supposedly belonged. But apparently to sin against God would be to bind yourself to an eternity rotting in damnation, a burning inferno where your screams are muted as you are tortured.
Tybalt, however, didn’t believe that. Partially because not listening to Friar Lawrence in his sermons was traditional. Partially because he didn’t want to believe it.
Well, now he could find out. And if anything of what the Friar had said was true; he deeply hoped that he would be in heaven. His whole life had been torture enough, fighting wars for the Capulet family’s honor and becoming a weapon for victory rather than a human being who could live his life. He had not prayed in a while; Tybalt figured the gods had forsaken him the day he swore himself against the Montagues. But it felt appropriate to pray for heaven. Had he not been through enough?
Where he found himself after death was — well, intriguing, to say the least.
He found himself walking through his memory of the way it had all ended, from the moment he’d stabbed Mercutio to the moment Romeo had run him through with his own blade out of vengeance, out of anger. He saw himself, clutching the bleeding wound on his chest, crumpling down onto the pavement, his family’s screams as they watched him bleed out. Tybalt found himself seething as he saw Romeo holding Mercutio’s corpse tightly just across where his body lay alone.
He heard things, too. He heard his aunt’s screams, his people’s screams, the soft thud of his body against the ground, Romeo’s despair over his friend. Deep, relentless breaths from Benvolio, who seemed to be struggling to compose himself at the sight of his dead best friend. Tybalt heard yelling; everyone who had watched the tragedy unfold was trying to find someone to blame and someone to unleash their anger on. It was war, to put it simply. It felt like war.
The memories surrounded him, above him, below his feet, and on both sides of him, like the picture was forming a tunnel and continued as he walked further to his destination. At the end of the tunnel was a light so blinding and so breathtaking he feared to even make contact with it.
But perhaps that light was how one made it to paradise. Tybalt couldn’t see how the gateway to an eternal torture could look this glorious.
Taking a deep breath, he strode to the end of the tunnel. As soon as he was inches away from the light, all memories faded like a bruise over time, dissipating moment by moment until the walls of the tunnel were instead colored with a ghostly white. As far as Tybalt knew, he was alone. And that was quite alright, really. But still he shivered; the blankness of the place just made it even more lonely. It was a haunting yet ethereal scene.
He reached his hand out to touch the gateway. It was a strange sensation, as if his fingertip disappeared behind the sheen of a cloud in the sky and was no longer part of his body but rather was a part of the light. It was a tingly sensation, oddly comforting, slightly terrifying, but it welcomed him with open arms where he felt he no longer had to run from anymore.
Perhaps Friar Lawrence had actually been right about something. Maybe this was heaven. Maybe after everything he’d done — all the blood he’d spilled over time to fight his family’s battles — Tybalt had, regardless, earned an eternity in paradise with whatever god made sure to present themselves to him. Or perhaps just an eternity in paradise.
As he tried to retract his hand back from the light, he found he couldn’t. Physically couldn’t. His hand was stuck.
“Son of a bitch—” Tybalt muttered, desperately trying to pry the limb away from the luminant portal. It wouldn’t budge.
Actually, it was kind of painful. Incredibly painful.
He gave it another yank and winced loudly as he felt his body start to ache, like a wave of pain so unfamiliar and unlike anything he’s ever experienced before that it was almost too much to handle. As he tried to pull his hand back, it got progressively more tiring and progressively more painful, to the point where Tybalt wanted nothing more than his knees to do him the favor of giving out so he could fall and rest on the floor for all eternity.
Surely he couldn’t die like this, right? He was already dead.
The sting certainly felt like death. If Death hadn’t taken him yet, this is how he would go.
Maybe it was the pressure. Should he let go of the pressure, would it mean he lets go of the pain too? It certainly couldn’t hurt any more to try, right? Not when his bones hurt like they were burning and his hand felt crushed under a mountain’s weight.
He took a deep breath, collected himself, and stopped fighting the current. The light glowed a mystifying amount, and Tybalt felt the ache that had seeped into his bones begin to dissipate slowly, like a tree branch turning to ashes after a forest fire. His body felt light, more like the heaven he had heard of in church, and it was more as if his body was an amalgamation of many tiny clouds coming together to form a human being.
For once in his miserable life — or perhaps, death — he felt relieved. In more senses than one.
Nothing hurt . Not his mind of guilt, nor his body of physical strain, nor his bones of breaking. Tybalt felt freed from a shackle he didn’t even realize existed to begin with. If this was heaven, he believed in the notion that it was paradise. Because he hadn’t felt this incredible in years , hasn’t felt this carefree since he was a mere child with fresh eyes and a naive and rose-colored outlook on the world.
He liked it a lot. And wanted more of it immediately.
Tybalt drew another deep breath, letting the exhale fall from his lips, and pushed his arm further into the iridescence, to which it was welcomed immediately. He chuckled breathily at the curious feeling, and allowed the light to encapsulate the entire right side of his body, before continuing to step into it until his entire being was lost in a veil of light, gentle enough and isolated enough that you would think you were floating in space and time itself.
The glow flashed white in his eyes for a moment before he took another step and found himself met with familiarity.
Tybalt had just stepped into Verona.
But it wasn’t quite Verona, really, since something about it was different.
He wasn’t one to believe in the supposed power of auras or anything like that, but this was something else. Usually his home city had what they liked to call an aura of menace, rightfully so. It had seen war and bloodshed so many times that it was characterized by conflict and encapsulated by evil. Tybalt knew that feeling, walking through the streets of Verona, knowing its fearsome toll on Capulets and Montagues alike.
But this, this had a cleanliness to it that made it simultaneously unfamiliar.
Not just cleanliness to the physical eye, but that aura of menace had shifted into undeniable and slightly unsettling peace . This Verona was dormant, unhostile, and peaceful . That was the only way to explain it, because Tybalt had never experienced it like this his entire life, from the moment of his birth to the moment of his death.
“Nice, isn’t it?” A voice called out to him from a distance. Tybalt blinked for a moment. Sound seemed to have this fragile echo to it here in heaven.
He turned to face where the voice had come from, and he didn’t know if his heart dropped out of anger or out of relief. It was bordering on relief, even happiness, but he wouldn’t dare accept that.
To his — well, unknown emotion, Mercutio Escalus, kinsman of the Prince Escalus and his most hated rival himself, stood wearing a pristine white button down, with a matching white coat that had a sheen of iridescence to it. What else? A smug grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“And here I thought I would have peace once I had died.” Tybalt muttered, partially unsure how to feel and momentarily mesmerized by the echo of his own voice that made him sound more eloquent than he was.
Mercutio rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “It took you so long to arrive, I thought I might die again waiting.”
The Capulet ignored him with a huff and tried to walk past and enjoy the change of scenery, however the young Escalus grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Tybalt. I’ve gotten lost already trying to explore this place. You may think you know it, but you don’t, and alas, you’ll need me. As always.” Mercutio proclaimed grandly, using the grip he had on Tybalt’s arm to wrap it around his shoulders in some form of weird embrace.
Tybalt shoved him off. “I don’t need you. Leave me alone. I would like to enjoy heaven, if that’s not too much to ask from you.”
“Well, heaven’s right here, darling.” The other boomed with a widespread smirk and his arms outstretched, “And it’ll do you well to listen to me. Unless you want eternal peace to turn to heinous insanity, because this Verona is a real maze.”
The Capulet concealed any feigning emotion. “It’s insanity enough to hear you rambling on and on—“
“Tybalt.”
“Perhaps it would do both of us some good if we parted ways. Our time on Earth was gratifyingly limited, not that we spent it in the best ways possible—”
“Tybalt—”
“So that would be a sign that some of us should learn to shut up—”
“ Tybalt! ”
“ What ?” He gritted out.
Mercutio raised an eyebrow and lifted a hand to the Capulet’s shoulder, letting it hover for a moment to make sure that Tybalt wouldn’t push him away as soon as he made contact. Instead, he took a deep breath and looked away from the Escalus, a soundless sign that the touch would be welcomed in the scenario that it occurred. Mercutio exhaled with relief and let his hand fall onto Tybalt’s shoulder with a flourish of warmth.
“Tybalt.” He started evenly. “There are no Montagues or Capulets dictating how we live our lives here. We at least have the grand opportunity to correct whatever bullshit it is we have between us.”
“And so?”
“What I’m saying is ,” Mercutio smiled. “We’re alone now. Why waste the time?”
Mercutio tore his hand away from Tybalt’s shoulder and outstretched it, as if expecting for him to take it.
The Capulet froze. Bit down heavily on his lip. Lost himself in thought for a moment, as if he was grasping on the edge of a cliff and an unknown force had dragged him down into the abyss; though he was not quite falling, more suspended midair where he could float peacefully through the sky without the fear of impending doom waiting for him below.
He hated to admit when Mercutio was right, or when he was actually using his brain. Granted, there are not a lot of times that happens.
But at the moment? He was right. To keep fighting the way they did would be a waste of time. A waste of eternity, even.
Tybalt took his hand. “Lead the way.”
Mercutio grinned. “As you wish.”