[Peter knows all too well about dangerous jobs. And apparently Flynn's was bad enough that he needed a Guardian. And Flynn was badass enough to kill Dracula.

And he himself was in dangerous job too, and nobody would be able to convince him otherwise to drop it for 'safety reasons.'

But still. This was Flynn. He didn't deserve anything but a long happy life filled with books and learning and whatever it was that he liked.]

You can't.

[It was stupid and childish, but he--

You're already dead.

...dying. It was like talking to someone who was dying.

Take my hand, Peter.

He rubs the bridge of his nose. No. This wasn't--he couldn't--

What could he do? He wanted to do something, but what? If they did manage to get out of here and they all went to their home worlds or universes he could do nothing. Flynn would go back to that dangerous job and that was that.

He'd been so afraid to take her hand. So afraid to accept that she was going to die.

Too afraid to offer comfort, too afraid to be kind in the short moments that she had left.

No. He'd regretted that for too long.

He wouldn't close himself off anymore, he couldn't let that fear get the best of him, couldn't let himself get beaten by his own pain. He'd regret it so much. He had to take her hand.

Everyone's hand.]

...Let me teach you something, man. At least add a couple more years.

[He doesn't sound choked up no.]

Everyone's worth it. You're all worth it. Whatever it is, you're more than worth it.