Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Between the cold, the pain, the persistent blackness, and the all-consuming grief, Arthur Lester wasn’t sure if he would even notice if he died or not.

And he figured he was already in hell, what with Kayne refusing to leave him be, needling him when he had damn well been needled enough.

“What’cha got?” Kayne chirruped, ever eager, and Arthur could hear him pacing around him, demanding payment in exchange for helping John-and Arthur forced himself not to even think the name ‘John’, lest he break down in front of Kayne, of all beings. “What’s on the table?”

“I-” Arthur tried to think of something, anything, that might be of the vaguest interest to Kayne, but all he could think of was his own life, which wasn’t helpful and already rapidly dwindling. “I have nothing.”

“Oh, you got something!” He heard Kayne, suddenly close, and he leaned away in a panic, whimpering when the movement jostled his mangled leg. “You got your fighting spirit! Look at you!” His voice suddenly became even more grandiose and unbearable. “Pulled yourself in and out of the cold to this abandoned cabin, set fire in the hearth, all while blind! What a champion!”

Perhaps it was good that Arthur was still blind, because he would have lunged for Kayne if he could get a look at him. He doubted that would have ended well for him. As it was, he swallowed blood and misery. “I have nothing to offer.”

“Well,” He could picture Kayne shrugging. “Yeah. I suppose that’s true. You want him back.”

“I want him safe.” Arthur said, which wasn’t untrue, but wasn’t the whole truth.

He could practically hear Kayne smiling. “You want him back.” He repeated.

“...yes.” Arthur’s voice felt raw and cracked.

“Knew it!” Kayne barked a short laugh. “And there’s nothing in it for me?”

“I-”

“You know,” Kayne said thoughtfully. “Someone ought to tell them that coins don’t land on their sides. Your friends suck at following rules.”

Arthur wondered if he had already gone mad. “What?”

“Look,” Kayne said. “I like you. I like when you shoved my dagger into your throat-” The wet, shockingly warm gush of sudden blood- “-I enjoy our little repartee! I’ll make you a deal.”

Arthur felt nauseous, and knew he was swaying. “A deal?”

“Yeah!”

“What kind of-?”

“I’ll put him back, right where he belongs! I’ll even give you your arm and leg back. But not your eyes,” Kayne giggled like a schoolgirl. “You only have eyes for him!”

Arthur resisted the urge to argue, or grow defensive. He didn’t have the energy or time. “And?”

“And? Oh, yes,” Kayne hummed. “I have to think of a catch, don’t I? What malevolent entity appears and offers a trade that only benefits?” He hummed again, and Arthur could hear him pacing. “Ooh, I have it! I could-”

Silence, for a moment, save for the howling winds and the slightly more distant howling wolves.

“...actually…” And now there was an edge to Kayne’s voice that made Arthur genuinely shiver. He could imagine a shark-toothed smile growing across the entity’s face. “Actually, no, new plan. I have something much more fun in mind.”

“W-what?” Arthur swallowed. “What was the original plan?”

“Can’t tell you that, what if I still want to use it later?” Kayne laughed. “No, no, this will be much more fun indeed. It’d help settle a bet with myself, after all…and maybe put me back on speaking terms with ol’ Antler Head…”

“What…” Arthur coughed. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”

“Never you mind,” Kayne said. “So here’s my pitch. You get John back. Forget your foot and hand, though, I can’t make it too easy for either of you. But…you don’t get to stay here.”

“What…” Arthur licked his chapped lips. “What do you mean?”

“You made it back to Earth once, you can do it again.” Kayne said.

“I-” Arthur’s heart began to pound. “Oh God, no no, y-you…you can’t send me back to the Dreamlands, Jesus Christ, please-”

“Oh, no!” Kayne laughed. “No, the Dreamlands is old news. This is somewhere new. Somewhere that our good buddy John has never been. His Majesty in mustard hasn’t been there either. Hell, I haven’t been there in forever! Who knows what that mess looks like?”

“So we…” Arthur’s head spun. “We’re just sent down to an entirely new, completely alien place, to…to what? Find our way out again?”

“That’s pretty much the gist of it, yeah,” Kayne said. “And this is a limited time offer, too, so make your choice. Going once!”

“Wait!” Arthur yelped. “I-I need, can’t I-”

“Going twice!”

“What if John-”

“Going-”

“Okay!” Arthur shouted, and his stomach rocked with nausea, both from the pain and the fear. “Okay…deal.”

Kayne cackled, high and ear-piercing. “That’s the spirit, Arty! Oh, I’m going to have fun with this one! We all are!”

“Now where-” Arthur started, but it was too late.

The world tilted, as though someone had grabbed the floor beneath him and yanked it out like a tablecloth. He felt himself tumble through the air as if he were falling, though it felt slowed, as if he were underwater. He shouted, terrified and in agony, but his own voice sounded a million miles ago. His pain rose to a crescendo, and everything felt fuzzy.

This is it, Arthur thought, strangely calm. He’s lied. He’s killing me. Fuck, I’m so sorry, John, what have I done-

And suddenly, everything was normal.

Arthur gasped, sitting up bolt straight. His leg didn’t feel like it had been twisted all around anymore. He wasn’t freezing, and the howling wind had disappeared, replaced by gentle breeze that almost felt mocking in how kind it was.

-let me go, you fucking asshole, I’ll tear your head apart if I have to-

“John?!” Arthur choked, unable to believe how happy he was to hear violent, growled threats.

The growling stopped instantly. For a moment there was no sound except songbirds.

...Arthur?!

Arthur felt tears running down his sightless eyes. “Oh my God, oh my…yes, yes it’s me! Are you…Jesus Christ, are you alright?!”

Am I alright?! John thundered. Are you fucking serious?! You slit your own goddamn throat! The fuck is wrong with you?!

“Wha-” Arthur scrambled to his feet. “Fuck off! I did it to save you!”

I didn’t ask you to save me! How did we get here?!

“I made a deal with Kayne-”

KAYNE?! Please, tell me you’re joking-

“Fuck off,” Arthur said, his joy twisting into something painful. “Fine. Next time I think someone’s worth slitting my throat for I won’t bother-”

Fuck! That’s not-! He heard John growl again, and could imagine him pacing furiously if he had a body, perhaps kicking things. John sighed, long and forced. I…I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Arthur. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I…I was scared.

“Scared?”

Of course. You…well. I didn’t think you were going to make it out of that one. And I was back with the King, you were sent off to God knows where and I…I thought it was the end.

The joy began to creep back, albeit a bit more bittersweet. “It’ll…” Arthur coughed. “It’ll take more than that to bring us down.”

Of course, John said, a bit more kindness back in his voice. Silly of me to worry otherwise.

“Very silly.”

...thank you, Arthur.

Arthur grinned. “Don’t…” He wiped his face with the hand he still controlled. “Don’t mention it.”

I still would like to know where the fuck we are right now.

“I…” Arthur frowned. “I actually don’t know. Describe it to me?”

It’s a forest, John said, and Arthur turned his head slowly to get a better look. A great, old one. Oak trees, mostly, and some I don’t recognize. It’s autumn, and the leaves are an explosion of reds and oranges, like fireworks, and the breeze picks a few off every so often to blow around us. There’s a shallow stream to our right with a few minnows in it, fat cattails growing on the banks. It’s dusk, and I can’t see the sun, but we have perhaps an hour or so before it’s officially dark. I can see the moon. It’s full and orange.

“Hm.” Arthur said, furrowing his brow. It wasn’t what he expected.

Are we back on Earth?

“It…” Arthur shook his head. “It sounds like we are, perhaps, but that’s not possible. Kayne said…his deal was that we’re together, but we have to find our way home from somewhere else. He wasn’t…he wasn’t specific. He said neither you nor the King have been here. He even said he barely knew the place.”

Oh, so we’re in the familiar territory of not knowing what the fuck is going on, John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Got it.

“Wouldn’t want it to be too easy,” Arthur said. “Though this seems far more pleasant than what we’ve faced so far. An autumn evening seems doable.”

Careful, Arthur, John warned. If Kayne sent us here-

“Yes, yes, obviously it’s not going to be as innocent as it seems,” Arthur sighed. “Can’t blame me for hoping. Silly me.”

Silly you.

“Well,” Arthur said. “We ought to try and find some shelter for the night before we try and find out more in the sun. Do you see a path we can take? Perhaps there are residents on this plane who might help us.”

Perhaps. To your left, there’s a thin path-duck, there’s a branch-there you go. Just keep heading straight. I’ll let you know if there’s any obstacles.

“Well,” Arthur sighed, trying to stuff down the awful feeling that something was terribly wrong. “Into the unknown, once again.”

Into the unknown.

Chapter Text

The woods were never silent, not to the entity that ruled them.

He could hear every snap and crack as his barely-living trees curled around him, shielding him from the rapidly fading light of the sun. The moon’s ray never touched him-they seemed to hide him even more, in fact, and the stars moved out of the way for the towering shadow that wandered the Edelwoods.

The shadow sang, his deep, ringing voice beautiful as an anglerfish’s lure. And twice as effective.

The Lantern Bearer was far off, and the Beast had no interest in speaking with him tonight. There was something new in his forest, and he could sense it like an insect scuttling on his skin. He wanted to know what it was before he sent his forest to swallow it. He preferred a more face-to-face approach than most others in his ilk. It was slower working, but he always considered the reward worth the effort. There was something stronger and sweeter in the strength that came from those he could name, the ones he knew the deepest hopes and fears of.

“Beautiful song, Beastie. I always forget how musical you are.”

The Beast stopped singing immediately, and turned his massive head to see an entity in the shape of a man, and the leaves of his trees rustled in twin irritation.

“Kayne.” The Beast growled, and Kayne grinned.

“The one and only. Did you miss me?” He fluttered his eyelashes.

“I recall telling you to never step foot in my woods again.” The Beast said.

“And I recall telling you that you can’t tell me what to do,” Kayne shrugged. “You could certainly try to expel me. Try it, I dare you.”

The Beast did not move. He knew better.

He turned, choosing to disengage Kayne. He would eventually lose interest if the Beast didn’t rise to his taunts. “There is no sport for you here. Little has changed since the last time you trespassed on my realm.”

“Oh, I beg to differ!” He heard Kayne jog to catch up with his easy glide, and the Beast resisted the urge to grumble. “I took a little looksie around, and let me tell you, this place is much bigger than I remember! You’ve done an incredible amount of work to grow your forest in just…what it been? A few centuries? No, longer than that, I think…”

“What do you want, Kayne?” The Beast asked.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me,” Kayne said, and then laughed. “No, I came to say I’m impressed. You’re a third rate demon with an Achilles heel the size of a mountain who, through his own grit and determination, cultivated an entire realm to his fancy! You even got someone to hold that cute lil’ soul for you, and feed it too! What’s your record of the people you keep, like eighty percent?”

The Beast turned to face Kayne. He was a good three and a half feet taller than Kayne, a looming shade, but he never let that get to his head. He had no delusions about his power against a being like Kayne.

“Look at my forest,” The Beast said. “And tell me if you think I have ever let anyone leave this place. There are those who wait, who believe they can make it through my endless dusk of seasons, through my winters, but they never do. It is a matter of patience. And I am very patient.”

“More patient than me,” Kayne said. “Because I have someone for you.”

The Beast scoffed. “You have delivered someone to my realm? Why?”

“Consider it a friendly favor.” Kayne winked.

The Beast turned, beginning to walk away again. “I do not wish to be indebted to a being like you, Kayne. Nor will I do your dirty work.”

“You think I’m afraid to get my hands dirty? I’m still bloodstained from an excursion in the Dreamlands!” Kayne laughed, chasing after the Beast. “No, you’re gonna love breaking this guy. He’s got trauma and tragedy coming out the wazoo. You’ll have a field day with this one.”

“I have met broken men,” The Beast said. “I will meet more without your help.”

“Not men like this,” Kayne said. “He survived the Dreamlands.”

The Beast paused. “A human man?”

“I know!” Kayne cackled. “That’s what I said!”

“And now what,” The Beast said. “You want to see if I can claim him when the Dreamlands couldn’t?”

“The Dreamlands are impersonal,” Kayne said. “You’re not. You get right up in there, talk to your victims. I appreciate your style. What, do you think that you can’t claim him-”

“There is no one I cannot bring into my forest,” The Beast thundered. “But I know you, Kayne. There is a catch, some game that I don’t wish to be a part of.”

Kayne sighed, looking annoyed. “I wanted this part to be a surprise, but…” He shrugged. “Whatever. So this guy, right? Arthur Lester is his name. He personally pissed off our pal Daffodil.”

“Our…” The Beast paused. “Who is Daffodil?”

“I-” Kayne groaned. “You’re no fun, you know that? I’ll give you a hint. Who do you hate more than me? Who personally exiled you from a place amongst the old gods and sent you here, thinking you’d die off with none to feed on? Who committed to wearing mustard and nothing else?”

The Beast snarled, animal-like. “Are you saying Hastur…?”

“Woah, first name basis! You really do hate him, huh?” Kayne cackled again. “Yep. Arthur really got under his skin. Literally, sort of. Because it’s not just him that got sent here. The King’s been a bit loose recently, and a piece of him happened to break off, and…well. Arthur’s the lucky owner of his very own chunk of our mutual friend. It’s a real hoot, actually, the piece has all these high-minded ideas about humanity and individuality, calls itself John-”

“A piece,” The Beast growled. “Of the King in Yellow is in my domain?”

“See, now I got your attention,” Kayne smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to play with a little morsel like that? Especially now that it’s gone all emotional and human, oh, it’ll lose it’s stupid little fractured mind when you hurt Arthur-”

“And what do you get out of this, Kayne?” The Beast asked.

“Hey, listen,” Kayne said. “I’m no fan of his Majesty either. More than that, though? I think this’ll be the most fun thing I’ve seen in eons. That’s all it is, Beastie. A present for you, and a show for me.”

“You have been very bored recently, haven’t you?” The Beast asked, almost amused.

“Aw, you know me so well,” Kayne said. “Can’t blame an unfathomable being for wanting a little fun after a slow few millennias, can you?”

“...Hastur barely knows this realm exists,” The Beast said, almost to himself. “He will not look here. And I do not fear his power here, amongst my trees. Not when I own the night.”

“Sounds to me like your mind has been made up.” Kayne said.

“...where is this man, now?” The Beast asked.

Kayne’s eyes were practically glowing with bloodlust. “Now, before that, let me give you the rundown on who we’re dealing with…”

*** *** ***

No, duck again-goddammit, Arthur, if you’re going to run into every single tree branch and trip over every single root, why don’t you just crawl? It’s a miracle you haven’t sprained an ankle or taken out an eye-

“Maybe if you warned me about obstacles before I was literally on top of them, we wouldn’t have this issue.” Arthur grumbled, rubbing the spot where a tree branch had smacked him.

I’m doing my best! It’s dark. The only light is the moon, and it’s not doing a whole lot to help.

Arthur sighed, his hands out in front of him in a sad attempt to feel out obstacles. “You’ve not seen anything that can pass as shelter? None at all?”

Just trees, John said. I’d say there’s no civilization around whatsoever, except we’re following a path that was clearly created by someone. A path should eventually lead to some kind of people.

“We don’t know how far along we are on the path, though,” Arthur said. “It could be…it could be miles.”

...yes, I suppose that’s true. But we-Arthur, go left-!

Arthur’s right foot hit something slick, and he abruptly lost his footing. He yelped, and fell roughly on his back. Cold water instantly soaked him. The creek they had been walking along had abruptly crossed in front of them, and Arthur assumed he had slipped on a mossy stone.

John was laughing, though it sounded like he was trying to stop himself. “Fuck you, John,” Arthur grumbled, shivering in the water. “That was on purpose.”

It wasn’t, truly, you hardly need my help to trip and fall, Arthur.

Arthur sighed, and for a moment, the task of standing back up seemed impossible. “Maybe we ought to make our own shelter.”

You may be right, John said. There’s some large tree branches, perhaps we can-wait. Stop moving.

“What?” Arthur whispered, but froze obediently.

Turn your head to the right, slowly. I thought I saw something-

“Who are you?!” A gruff voice shouted, seemingly inches away from Arthur. He leapt to his feet, suddenly energized, but his back hit a tree, and he heard the being approach. “Don’t you know these woods are dangerous at night!”

Arthur! John sounded equally startled. There’s an old man in front of us! He’s stout, about our height, wearing dark clothes and a tall black hat. His hair is gray and thin under the hat, and he’s waving a lantern in our face. He’s…oh, fuck, Arthur, he’s got an axe…

“I said who are you!” The old man shouted again, and Arthur winced.

“I-I’m Arthur!” He stammered. “Arthur Lester!”

Fucking-no, Arthur, don’t give him your real name! Get the dagger, scare him off! If you lunge, you can make it to the bag, it’s in the creek-

“Look,” Arthur said, not at all confident in his ability to blindly lunge for the dagger, still slick with his own blood. “Look, sorry, we don’t want trouble-”

“‘We’?”

“I!” Arthur corrected. “I don’t want trouble, I’m just…listen, I’m just-”

“Lost?” The old man’s voice lost some of his bite. “I know you’re lost, boy. Everyone who comes through these woods is lost.”

“And you?” Arthur asked.

The man chuckled, dry and humorless, and Arthur heard him step away. “I’m a complicated case, I suppose.”

He is no longer waving the lantern in our face. Arthur, I don’t think he means to harm us.

“Do you…” Arthur coughed. “Do you think you could give me directions?”

“No directions will let you leave these woods, boy,” The man said. “You have to find your own way. But I can give you shelter, at least for the night, if you so wish. My home is not far from here, and there are things in these trees you don’t want to see. Though, by the looks of it, you’ve seen some devils already.”

Arthur pulled his collar over his neck, though he had a feeling it was too late. “I’ve…had a rough go of it, yes.”

“Well,” The man said. “Perhaps I can offer you a hearty meal and a warm bath as well.”

“That…” Arthur nodded. “That would be wonderful, thank you so much, Mister…?”

“I’m a Woodsman,” The man said. “That’s all there is to it.”

Arthur blinked. “I told you my name.”

“I never asked for it.”

“What-you asked me who I was!”

“I did. I didn’t ask for your name, however. You ought to be more careful with who you give it to.” The Woodsman said.

He is grabbing some kind of large pack, John narrated. It’s filled with sticks.

“Well, he is a woodsman,” Arthur whispered, before speaking up. “Regardless, sir, thank you for your hospitality. I don’t know how to repay you-”

“No payment is needed,” The Woodsman said. “Not for strangers like yourself.”

“What do you think, John?” Arthur whispered. “Is this a good idea?”

He doesn’t seem dangerous, John said. We could probably outrun him if need be. But I don’t…I don’t believe he’s telling us the whole truth. There’s something off about him. Not powerful, or even necessarily evil, just…just off.

“You coming, boy?” The Woodsman asked.

It’s your call, Arthur.

Arthur stood still for a moment, weighing his options. An owl hooted, as if impatient.

“Yes, I’m coming,” Arthur said, stumbling forward to retrieve his bag from the creek. “How far did you say your home was again?”

As the Woodsman spoke, Arthur felt out where the dagger was in the back.

It was still perfectly sharp.

Chapter Text

“Here we are,” The Woodsman huffed, pushing open the door with his shoulder, and John felt Arthur’s face wince at the squealing of the door. “Mind the step up, I’ve tripped on it more times than I care to admit.”

“Thanks.” Arthur said, stepping forward.

Step up now, John said, and luckily Arthur cleared it.

“Make yourself comfortable.” The Woodsman said, setting the lantern down next to a roaring fireplace with the utmost care. He grabbed a few sticks off his bag and tossed them into the fire. The fire sputtered hungrily, spitting a few ashes back.

There’s a sofa to your right, about three feet, John said, and Arthur shuffled over, never taking his eyes off the Woodsman. The sofa made an odd noise, as though it was completely new. John realized it was covered in a fine layer of dust.

We’re in a large living room, John said. Wooden floors and walls, a roaring fire in a fireplace. The Woodsman is tending to it. The couch is bright red, plush, but seems unused. There’s a table straight ahead of us, in front of a flight of stairs leading up. There’s only two chairs. There’s…oh, there’s a cabinet with a few statues of birds. They’re quite colorful. I believe they’re porcelain.

“You have…” Arthur coughed, trying to break up the silence. “A lovely home.”

The Woodsman did not respond, and the only sound was the crackling fire.

“Those birds are quite beautiful.” Arthur said weakly.

“The birds?” The Woodsman glanced at the cabinet, and his expression shifted. “Those aren’t mine.”

He looks sad, Arthur.

“Oh?” Arthur said. “Well…who do they belong to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My daughter made them,” The Woodsman said, turning away so John could no longer see his expression. “Anna.”

John already knew what Arthur’s expression looked like. He’d been with him long enough to know what even minor reminders did to him. “She’s very talented.” Arthur said.

The Woodsman was silent once again.

I have a bad feeling about this, Arthur, John said. Maybe we should run.

“Run where, John?” Arthur whispered. “We haven’t seen any other signs of life in this goddamn forest yet, and who knows when-”

“What are you whispering about?” The Woodsman stood up, sweeping up his lantern and abruptly turning to face him.

“O-oh!” Arthur swallowed. “Um, I…just wondering, what exactly do you do, out here so far in the forest?”

The Woodsman’s expression twisted again. “Everyone has a burden to bear,” He said. “An ax to grind, a torch to burn. This place, this life, this lantern-” He patted the lantern gently. “-is mine.”

“I see.” Arthur said, in the same voice he used when he was trying very hard not to set Kellen off.

The Woodsman seemed to notice. “You are not a prisoner here, Arthur Lester,” He said. “You may leave whenever you choose. But be warned. There are things in these woods far worse than you or I. The Beast is afoot.”

Jesus fucking Christ, John groaned. There’s a beast now?! It’s always fucking something…

“A beast?” Arthur repeated, sounding startled.

“The Beast,” The Woodsman said. “He haunts these trees, singing his evil melody in search of lost souls, such as yourself.”

“And what does he do, exactly,” Arthur swallowed. “With these lost souls?”

The Woodsman regarded him curiously, as if Arthur had said something off-script, and now he had to improvise to make up for it.

“The bathroom is on the second floor, first door on your right if you want to freshen up,” The Woodsman said, starting towards the door. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. If you need me, I’ll be in the mill.”

“Wait-” Arthur said, but the door slammed shut.

That was…

“Right,” Arthur nodded, tapping his good foot nervously. “My thoughts exactly.”

Do you think he’s hiding something?

“Of course he’s hiding something,” Arthur said. “We’re hiding something too, but he’s kindly decided not to look too much into our, frankly, hellish appearance. If he’s not going to hurt us, he’s entitled to his privacy, I think.”

His daughter, John said suddenly. Do you think…

“...do I think what, John?”

Never mind. It’s not…it’s not important. I’m sure you're eager to take advantage of the Woodsman’s hospitality. I am too. We can start with washing the fucking bloodstains out of your clothes.

*** *** ***

“And…” Arthur pulled his shirt back out of the ice-cold bathwater. “Do they look any better?”

Better than before, John said, examining the soaked shirt. You could pass the bloodstain off as an odd pattern now, I suppose.

“That’s as good as it’s going to get, probably,” Arthur took another bite from the apple he had taken from the kitchen, hauling himself up to take a look in the mirror. “How do we look?”

Arthur’s face had hollowed out from the long weeks of starvation in the Dreamlands, little more than a skull with skin at this point. His hair was thin and dirty, and his eyes looked as though they had sunk into his head, retreating from the endless horrors.

He looked a few steps away from a corpse.

John managed to contain a startled gasp. It alright, He said, as nonchalantly as he could. You could use a shave.

“Hm.” Arthur said, and John could tell if he believed him or not. He grabbed their bag, feeling around for his shaving kit. “Do you suppose there is a beast in these woods?”

I doubt Kayne would send us somewhere where there was nothing that could kill us.

“I suppose you’re right.” Arthur said, his fingers closing around the kit and pulling it out. He set to work, hardly needing John’s help at this particular task. “I wish the Woodsman had told us a bit more, though. Could help us know what we’re up against. I didn’t want to push because…well, historically that hasn’t gone well. Plus, he had an ax.”

What do you think he’s doing in the mill?

“Um…mill stuff? I’ll be honest, John, I haven’t the faintest idea how mills work other than the water wheel. I’ve never been in one.” Arthur splashed water on his face, having long practiced the motions.

Should we check it out?

“Maybe,” Arthur said, sliding the razor carefully across his cheek. “He hadn’t told us not to follow him, though, so he probably doesn’t have anything to hide there.”

Unless he wanted us to think that by not telling us not to follow.

“I feel like you’re overthinking it a bit.”

Better to overthink than to underthink.

“Maybe,” Arthur agreed. “Do you want to check out what he’s doing?”

I-wait. Hold on. Do you hear that?

“Hear what?”

Someone’s singing.

The voice was coming from the woods, distant enough that if John wanted to, he could pretend he was making himself paranoid. But the singer was undeniably there, and ignoring it would surely only lead to injury.

“Tra-la-la-la, tra-la-la-la! Chop the wood to light the fire!” A voice deeper than the prisons of the Dreamlands sang, sickeningly cheerful. “Tra-la-la-la, tra-la-la-la! ‘Tis not much that I require!”

Arthur paused, likely straining his ears. “I don’t hear singing,” He said. “Was it the wind, maybe?”

You did NOT just tell me it was the wind. How can you not hear it? It’s…it’s deep, and beautiful, but it’s wrong.

“Wrong?” Arthur asked. “How is it wrong?”

It just is, Arthur.

“Alright, alright,” Arthur sighed. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, it’s just odd that I can’t hear it.”

It’s familiar, I think. Don’t ask how, I couldn’t tell you.

Arthur took another bite of his apple, practically having gnawed it to nothing. “Maybe we-” There was a loud, metallic grinding, and Arthur jumped.

What was that?!

“I think…” Arthur took a breath. “I think…I think it’s the mill.”

*** *** ***

“Woodsman,” A deep, melodic voice said from the shadows of the mill. “I trust you have met the stranger in my woods.”

The Woodsman grumbled, his hand closing around his ax, holding the lantern close to his chest. “These are not your woods, Beast, they simply are.” He turned, pausing in pushing the Edelwood branches through the mill’s gears, if only for a moment.

The Beast was in the mill. He had never actually crossed the threshold before. He had never even entered the property. The Woodsman had never seen him away from the trees before. Something about watching the massive shadow slink around the corners of his mill, his two great white eyes ever-watchful and unblinking, stirred something close to terror in the Woodsman’s chest.

And here he had thought he was too old to be so scared of the Beast.

“You’re not welcome here.” The Woodsman snarled at him.

“And yet, here I am,” The Beast said, sliding around the shadows as if moving through water. “And what do you think of our friend, Arthur Lester?”

“He is neither my friend nor your’s,” The Woodsman snapped, shaking his ax. “And you’re not to touch him!”

“I merely wish to help you, Woodsman. Is that what I have always been? A helper to you?”

“You’re a devil who hides in shadow,” The Woodsman said. “I know what they say of you in far-off villages.”

“Oh,” The Beast said, tilting his head. “I see. Perhaps we should end our partnership then. After all, I can always take back the lantern-”

Shadows stretched out to the lantern like long fingers, and the Woodsman swung his ax, burying the head into the floor. The Beast laughed, musical and unbothered.

“Stay back, monster!” The Woodsman snapped. “Do not mock me with this!”

“Fine, then,” The Beast backed off, though the Woodsman felt no relief. “I will warn you, as I came to do. Do not allow Arthur Lester to stay with you. Do not help him. He is not who you think he is.”

“What I think he is,” The Woodsman said. “Is a very sickly man in dire need of medicine, perhaps a warm meal or two. He is lost, just as many souls were before, and many souls will be after him.”

“He is a killer.”

The Woodsman paused at this. He scoffed, unconvincingly.

“He has aligned himself with powers outside his understanding,” The Beast said. “And his mind has been shattered as a result. He looks innocent, but given the chance, he will bring nothing but grief to you and your homestead.”

“And since when do you care so much for me and my homestead?” The Woodsman asked. “There’s nothing in this for you, is there?”

“Nothing that you need to concern yourself with,” The Beast said. “Though I can tell you this; Arthur Lester is part of an old feud I have with powers beyond your understanding. A feud that will soon involve you, whether you like it or not.”

“You, in a feud?” The Woodsman scoffed, this time with a bit more vigor. “Color me shocked.”

“Make fun all you wish,” The Beast said, and then tilted his head, somehow looking cruel. “I have tried to warn you, but if you do not wish to hear me, I shall not help you when Arthur Lester comes for you, and of course, for your lantern and what it holds-”

“Shut up!” The Woodsman snarled. “What would you even have me do, devil? Stop him? Lock him up? Render him into several pieces?” He shook his ax for emphasis.

The Beast said nothing, and the Woodsman felt queasy.

“No,” The Woodsman said, turning back and pushing branches through the mill gears. “No, I will not do your dirty work for you. Whatever old scores you have to settle are your business, not mine. And if they do interfere with my business, then we’ll have a separate problem.”

“Careful, Woodsman,” The Beast said. “That almost sounded like a threat.”

The Woodsman said nothing.

“Very well, then,” The Beast said, and his voice sounded more distant. “I will return when you are ready to see sense.”

When the Woodsman turned again, the Beast was gone.

But he could still hear singing in the trees.

Chapter Text

“Look,” Arthur said. “We’ll see what the Woodsman is doing, and then go back to the house and get some much-needed rest. I really don’t think he’s going to be doing anything off. He would have taken greater precautions to keep us in the house if he didn’t want us exploring.”

John stayed silent, and Arthur scoffed. “A warning about where I’m going would be nice.”

You’re fine, Arthur, John sounded exasperated. Straight shot to the mill from here, can’t miss it. And I don’t think I’m undeserving of being nervous about this place.

“I’m not-” Arthur sighed. “I don’t like it either, but the Woodsman has been nothing but kind to us so far-wait. Do you hear that?”

John fell silent again, and Arthur strained his ears once more.

This time, there was no question. He heard raspy breathing, like a great animal on its dying breath, followed by a low growl.

“Do you see anything?” Arthur whispered.

It’s so dark, Arthur. I can barely see the mill. But I hear it.

“Let’s…” Arthur swallowed, stumbling ahead. “Let’s get inside. Maybe that’s the Beast that the Woodsman was talking about.”

Arthur, there’s something in the shadows!

“What?!” Arthur froze, his heart hammering. “What is it?!”

I don’t know-there’s an empty barrel to our right, if you fold up, you can just fit in it. Hide, Arthur!

“Oh, Jesus Christ-” Arthur practically lunged to his right, his shin colliding with something hard, presumably the wood of the barrel. “Fuck!”

Sh, hurry!

“I am hurrying!” Arthur said, half-tumbling into the barrel. It smelled like old wood and mold, and the tight space reminded him uncomfortably of the caves. He winced, wishing he could shift into a more comfortable position, but he didn’t feel confident enough to move without making noise.

I don’t see anything, John whispered, which Arthur thought was funny since whispering wouldn’t make a difference. Maybe…maybe it was a false alarm?

Arthur felt something crawl over his hand, and made a terrified yelp that he tried to smother unsuccessfully, turning it into a sort of gurgle. He jerked his hand back, and the barrel wobbled. “What the fuck was that?!” He hissed.

Arthur! John barked. Calm the fuck down! It’s a turtle! There’s a tiny black turtle in here, that’s all!

“What?” Arthur asked, his heart pounding. “Why is there a turtle-”

He could hear the breathing again, this time much closer. The growl seemed to reverberate in his mind, vibrating the barrel.

“John…”

There’s something above us, looking in, John said, in a voice that mixed horror and fascination. It’s black as night and dog-like, with massive sharp teeth and foul-smelling drool, and…oh Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur, it’s eyes are like blinding lights, ringed with red and blue…! Arthur, run! It’s the Beast!

The beast above roared, and shoved the barrel.

“Fuck!” Arthur spilled out ungracefully, scrambling to his feet. “John, where’s the mill?!”

Straight ahead! Run, it’s right behind you!

“Oh Jesus, oh my God-” Arthur gasped, smelling the rot that the beast seemed to carry in its mouth like a toy.

The door’s right ahead! Reach out and you’ll push it open!

Arthur tripped badly for a moment before his hands made contact with something wooden. It moved under the pressure of his hands, and he slammed it behind himself, panting.

“Boy?!” He heard the Woodsman’s gruff voice, and he jumped. “What are you doing here?!”

“It’s-” Arthur gasped. “Beast. The Beast is here!”

The Woodsman paused, and then-to Arthur’s shock-scoffed. “No, he’s not.”

“What-?!” Arthur sputtered. “What the fuck is that out there, then?!”

“What’s what?” The Woodsman asked, and the door exploded.

The beast broke through the wood as though it were made of paper, and Arthur shrieked, feeling something heavy on top of him. Arthur! John shouted. The Beast has you pinned!

Arthur squirmed desperately, and he knew the Woodsman was shouting something, but all his mind could process was the hot breath of the beast on his face, and the idea that whatever those eyes looked like was certainly not something he wanted to remember. The beast bellowed in his face, and it smelled like stagnant water.

ARTHUR! THE DAGGER! YOU LOOPED IT THROUGH YOUR BELT BEFORE WE LEFT!

“Shit-!” Arthur gasped, managing to feel out the handle of the dagger. He swung up, and felt the sharp edge hit something. He imagined his own blood mixing with the blood of the beast, the blade hungry for more pain. He tried to stop himself from imagining to no avail.

The beast yipped, dog-like and pathetic, backing off Arthur. He heard a crash, and scrambled to his feet. The Beast is knocking over parts of the mill, Arthur! Look out!

“NO!” The Woodsman shouted, and the beast howled in pain. “No, my mill! Begone, you filthy mutt!”

Arthur, duck for cover! To your left! The hayloft might shelter you!

Arthur dove for cover, and the Woodsman’s shouting turned incomprehensible. More debris fell around him, and he heard the beast bay like a kicked hound one more time before there was more crashing, as though it had exited through the wall once again.

It’s gone! John said. There’s a trail of black blood following it out, but I think you scared it off! Leave the mill now! It might come down!

“Oh shit, oh Jesus Christ-” Arthur gasped, stumbling badly. He tripped over debris, and was fairly certain he was nearly crushed several times. But he tripped again when he felt grass under his feet, nearly laughing in relief when he realized he was out.

You did it! We’re fine! John sounded as relieved as Arthur felt, and Arthur practically collapsed into the grass.

“Jesus Christ…” He muttered. “Well, I suppose we took care of one problem-”

“The mill!” The Woodsman shouted, sounding terrified. “Oh, oh oh…oh, thank the heavens, just a bit beat up…we’re still in fine shape, aren’t we? Just a little scare, nothing more…”

He’s… John sounded unsure. He’s talking to his lantern? He-oh fuck, he just seemed to notice us-

“LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!” The Woodsman shouted, and Arthur scrambled to his feet. “You’ve nearly destroyed my mill! Do you have any idea what this could have cost me?!”

“I-I’m sorry!” Arthur said, entirely unsure how to fight off a man with an ax. “I didn’t mean to, but we got rid of the Beast, and-”

“YOU FOOL!” The Woodsman said, wheeling about to shout at Arthur. “That is not the Beast! The Beast cannot be mollified so easily as a sickly pet! He stalks the night, sings like the four winds! He is the death of hope! He…” Something cracked in the Woodsman’s face, like an old wound torn open. “He steals their children and…” He turned back, sinking to his knees, devolving into muttering.

“If…” Arthur took a shaking breath. “If that wasn’t the Beast, what was it?”

“An unlucky dog, likely,” The Woodsman said bitterly. “One that was hungry and cold, maybe a bit desperate, and swallowed a black turtle of the Edelwood.”

“It…” Arthur blinked, his mind flickering back to the turtle that had scared him in the barrel. “A tiny little turtle turned a dog into a monster?!”

“You would be surprised what things can bend and break the bodies and minds of creatures.” The Woodsman said.

I doubt we’d be too shocked.

“I-I’m sorry for the damage again,” Arthur said. “Can…is there anything I can do to fix it-?”

“Leave.”

“What?”

“Leave this homestead,” The Woodsman said, sounding oddly defeated. “There is nothing more I can do for you here. I tried to see past it, boy, I did, truly. But there is a darkness surrounding you that even my lantern cannot pierce.”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

“I have my own darkness, trust me, and I can see it in you as well, plain as the nose on your face,” The Woodsman said. “And while what that darkness contains is not something I wish to pry into, I do not want to know it better.”

“Woodsman,” Arthur said, his heart twisting oddly at the verdict. “I-I’m sorry, about your mill, and intruding on your hospitality, but please-”

“Go north,” The Woodsman said. “There are towns there that may take you in. Perhaps they know a way out of these woods.”

“Woodsman-”

He’s not looking at us anymore, Arthur, John said, with a gentleness that made Arthur feel even worse. I think he’s made up his mind.

“I have done what I can, but I cannot guide you through the woods, nor through the darkness,” The Woodsman said. “Not when I am still navigating it myself.”

“I…” Arthur took a breath. “I…I see. Thank you. For allowing us-me, to stay. Even for a short while. Are you sure I can’t…?”

He’s still not looking at us. I think…I think we should go.

“Right,” Arthur said, pulling his ragged suit jacket a bit closer to himself. “I suppose…I’ll be going now.”

Watch the stream-there you go, the next rock is to your left-

“Thanks.”

“One final word of wisdom,” The Woodsman said, his voice like that of a preacher spewing promises of fire and brimstone. “Fear the Beast! Leave these woods…if you can. It is your burden to bear.”

Arthur resisted the urge to sigh. “Right. Well. Thank you.”

It was several minutes before John spoke up again.

It’s dark now, He said softly. Perhaps midnight. The moon is high, lighting our way. The path is straight and not too difficult.

“Well,” Arthur said, his feet dragging. “Onwards, I suppose.”

And neither of them noticed the figure just beyond the treeline, watching them.

Chapter Text

Arthur had only meant to sit down and rest for a moment, but the next thing he knew, he was roughly awoken by something poking his ribs.

He jerked up with a bitten off yelp, and heard something else yelp in turn, and the shuffling of leaves as though someone was moving away.

Fuck! John shouted, startled into obscenity, before he calmed almost instantly. Oh. It’s a young girl, between ten and twelve, holding a long stick. She has red hair tied back tight, dark eyes, freckles, and a round face. She’s wearing old brown overalls, a white shirt a bit too big for her, and thick black boots. And-she’s trying to poke us again, Arthur, make her stop!

Arthur swatted in front of him blindly, and his hand hit something; likely the stick. “Stop that.” He said, rubbing his face. He felt exhausted, but that was par for the course these days.

“I thought you might be dead.” The girl said, and Arthur couldn’t quite tell if she was relieved that he wasn’t.

“Well, I’m not,” Arthur grumbled. “And your first instinct shouldn’t be to poke someone with a stick.”

“I wasn’t going to touch you,” The girl said. “You might have diseases.”

Who the fuck is this?!

Arthur ignored both of them, hauling himself to his feet, wincing when his body audibly protested. “Who are you?” The girl asked.

“No one,” Arthur said. “You ought to go home.”

“I can’t,” The girl said. “I’m running away from home. To join the circus.”

“Now why would you want to do a foolish thing like that?” Arthur asked, suddenly a bit concerned for her well-being.

“It’s not foolish,” The girl protested. “I’m gonna be an acrobat. I’ll be rich and famous and make tons of money.”

“Right,” Arthur said, unconvinced. “You really, really should go home.”

“Who are you?”

If you tell her, maybe she’ll go away.

“Arthur.” Arthur said reluctantly.

“I’m Beatrice,” He heard more shuffling. “Are you lost?”

“Now why would you think I was lost?”

“You have that look,” Beatrice said. “The look of a guy who has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. You’re probably the most ‘what’s going on here’ looking person I’ve ever seen.”

WHO THE FUCK IS THIS?!

“Where…” Arthur took a breath, wincing at John’s angry shout. “Where are your parents?”

“Home,” Beatrice said, suddenly defensive. “And I already told you, I’m not going back. Not ‘til I’m famous.”

“That may take a while,” Arthur said, his voice slightly edged. “Considering you usually have to be marginally polite to be famous.”

Yes, Arthur! Insult her! Make her leave!

“Shush.” Arthur hissed at him.

“Did you just shush me?!” Beatrice demanded.

“No! I-” Arthur sighed. “You need to go home. I’m sure your family misses you very much.”

“You don’t know anything.” Beatrice snapped, and Arthur winced slightly, realizing that she was right about that. Her situation could have been anything, and he hoped it was childish, but she seemed a bit too old to be running away from home for harmless reasons like her parents making her eat vegetables.

“Where are you going?” Beatrice asked, a bit more curiosity back in her voice.

“North,” Arthur said. “To find a town and some directions.”

“I see,” Beatrice said, and then she snickered. “That might be hard, considering you’re going southeast.”

WHAT?! I’ve been following the moss like you said too, Arthur! It’s…sort of on all sides of the trees, but I’m still following it!

“W-well…” Arthur knew his face was probably pink. “I don’t exactly have a compass.”

“I do.” Beatrice said in a sing-song voice.

Take it from her!

“I-” Arthur resisted the urge to snap at John. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me borrow it.”

“Nope,” Beatrice said, popping the ‘p’. “But you’re in luck. I’m headed north too, following the circus.”

“That-” Arthur huffed. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why? It works, we’re both going the same way. Plus, who knows what’s creepin’ around in these woods?”

“What? What’s creeping?” Arthur asked, startled.

“Oh, yeah!” Beatrice said. “There’s more ghosts and ghouls than you can shake a stick at, vampires living in every tree, and I saw a werewolf once-”

Arthur, she’s smiling. She’s teasing you.

“Knock it off, you’re not funny.” Arthur grumbled.

“I think I’m pretty funny.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re going into acrobatics and not comedy, I suppose,” Arthur said. “But in any case, we’re on very different paths right now. If you want to be kind and lend me the compass, then do so. Otherwise, be on your way.”

“We’re traveling in the same direction, mister,” Beatrice said, sounding amused. “We can travel ten feet apart from each other if you want, but we’re gonna be interacting one way or another.”

“Excuse me if I’m not jumping for joy about traveling with a very rude little girl who woke me up by poking me with a stick.” Arthur said.

“I’m not little.” Beatrice protested.

She’s not disagreeing with the rude part, Arthur. Ditch her.

“Do you wanna know which way is north or not?” Beatrice asked.

Arthur took a deep breath, trying to tell himself that all things considered, only one being in this strange place had tried to kill him so far. It beat the Dreamlands.

“Fine.” Arthur grumbled.

NO!

“Yes!” Beatrice laughed. “Follow me, Arthur. This compass’ll take us both to what we’re looking for.”

*** *** ***

Beatrice watched Arthur carefully, walking along the small stone wall to the left of the path. Her arms were out to preserve her balance, but her stick-she refused to leave behind such a solid walking/poking/whacking stick-was messing her up slightly, causing her to wobble.

“Come down from there, you’ll twist your ankle.” Arthur said, casting her a glance with his strange eyes. That was the first thing she noticed about him, other than his appearance that could kindly be described as ‘tramp-like’.

His eyes looked hazel, and for the most part they were, but if the sun caught them just right, they flashed a deep yellow. They reminded her of an owl, mostly, but there was a snake-like quality to the pupil that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

There were other oddities. Not things that scared her, because Beatrice wasn’t afraid of anything, but simply oddities. His reaction time was just a bit too slow, like the time he was hit with a branch when the wind blew it. He should have easily been able to move out of the way, but instead he huffed in irritation, like his strange eyes were working to catch up with the rest of him. He made odd faces, sometimes muttered or whispered to himself, but Beatrice’s father did that sometimes when he was very focused. But the way Arthur did it felt purposeful. Like there was something Beatrice was missing out on.

Most grotesque, and also most interesting, she noticed that his left pinky was gone, replaced with a thin wooden prosthetic that she wouldn’t have noticed had she not been paying attention. Arthur must have noticed her staring, because he not-so-subtly put his hand in his jacket pocket without saying a word.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Arthur said. “I said you’ll fall-”

“I’m fine,” Beatrice said, jumping a few rocks just to be difficult. “I gotta practice my balance if I’m gonna be an acrobat.”

“Do you even know any gymnastics?” Arthur asked.

Beatrice sputtered, offended. “Of course! I mean…I’m not an expert. But I can do a mean handstand. Watch!”

She hopped off the wall and darted in front of Arthur, setting her stick down and kicking herself off the ground, balancing carefully even with her heavy boots. She felt the blood rush to her head. “See?” She grinned at the upside-down Arthur. “I-whoops!”

Beatrice’s filled pockets suddenly emptied themselves unceremoniously with the new change in direction. Coins, wrapped food, her compass, a few pieces of silver jewelry, and a pocket knife tumbled into the dirt. Beatrice lost her balance, landing flat on her back with a surprised ‘oof!’.

“Very impressive.” Arthur said dryly.

“Hmph,” Beatrice’s face burned, and she gathered up her items. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Where do you even fit all that stuff? Jesus Christ, you’ve got a general store in your pockets.”

“I sewed in extra, super secret pockets to keep more stuff,” Beatrice said. “That way I don’t have to carry a bag.”

“Surely a bag isn’t less convenient than that.”

“Maybe not,” Beatrice said, rounding a corner. “But it’s cooler. Ooh, that’s a big one.”

“A big what?” Arthur asked.

“The Edelwood tree,” Beatrice said, and glanced back at him, confused. “You know…trees of oil?”

Arthur looked at her blankly. “Can’t say I’ve heard of them.”

The Edelwood on their right was one of the biggest Beatrice had seen in a long time. Like all Edelwoods, the trunk twisted like some god was using it to test new and horrific plant shapes. The branches splayed out like broken arms, and they were bare, as though they had forgotten they still had a little time to hold onto their leaves before winter fell. The holes in the trees always resembled faces, but these faces looked absolutely agonized, their faux mouths wrenched open in silent screams.

The false eyes of the trees dripped oil, as though the faces were sobbing.

In spite of herself, Beatrice shivered.

“They’re…” Arthur looked like he was searching for the right word. “A bit unsettling.”

“Yeah,” Beatrice said. “Everyone thinks so. More seem to pop up out of nowhere every year.”

“Is there a reason they look like…”

“Look like faces?” Beatrice finished, and Arthur nodded.

“Well,” Beatrice said, trying to recollect the stories she had been told. “Some people think it’s evil-doers trapped in a state of limbo for eternity. Some people think they’re people who lost hope and gave themselves up to the forest to end their suffering. Some people think they’re witches and wizards waiting for their day to re-emerge.”

“Ah,” Arthur said, looking oddly unsettled. “And what do you think?”

“I think they’re creepy trees, and that’s all.” Beatrice said, and a bit of oil spurted from the tree as if it heard her.

Beatrice swallowed. “All the same…there’s nothing here for us. We can keep moving.”

Arthur muttered something that almost sounded like a reassurance to someone else, and Beatrice looked back again. “What?”

Arthur winced. “What?”

“You said something.”

Arthur shook his head far too vigorously to be innocent. “No, I didn’t.”

“Right…” Beatrice said, going a few paces ahead of him. “Well, the road’s starting to even out. People always live near paved roads.”

She chattered on, mostly to hear something other than the wind and the songbirds, but she was almost certain she could feel the eyes of the Edelwood watching her.

Chapter Text

John was still cooking up plans to get rid of Beatrice when thunder rattled through the sky, and Beatrice stopped her prattling to look up.

“Looks like it might rain.” She said.

Almost instantly, fat raindrops began to fall from the sky, splattering the dirt road. John groaned loudly, already imagining how miserable Arthur would be if he got soaked. It seemed a minor inconvenience in comparison to the other horrors they had suffered, but the mundanity of it got to him.

“Wait!” Beatrice glanced back and grinned. “There’s a building just up ahead! Come on!” She started sprinting ahead.

“Beatrice-!” Arthur said, and sighed. “John?” He whispered.

She’s out of earshot anyway. Just keep going straight, Arthur, it looks like the road veers off to the right in a couple hundred feet.

“We can only hope there’s shelter. I’m dead on my feet.” Arthur said, lifting his jacket above his head in a feeble attempt to stay dry.

So how are we going to get rid of Beatrice? You haven’t responded to any of my ideas.

“Because Beatrice was right there, wasn’t she?” Arthur said. “I can’t very well talk back to you without looking like a lunatic, now can I?”

She’s gone now. So what do we do? We can’t have her traveling with us.

“We can’t, I suppose,” Arthur said. “I don’t like this circus plan of her’s.”

Me neither. Her handstand isn’t good at all.

“This isn’t a joke, John.”

I’m not trying to make a joke. If we keep pushing, she might just go back home.

“And what if-” Arthur sighed. “What if her home isn’t an option?”

What do you mean?

“I’m just…” Arthur sighed. “I suppose I’m worried about what home looks like for her. Whether the circus is a better option, at least in her mind.”

She’s a child, Arthur, she’s hardly made rational decisions thus far.

“All the same.” Arthur sighed, wincing slightly when thunder rumbled once more.

Arthur… John said slowly, as though he were walking on glass. Does this…does this have anything to do with…

“With what, John?” Arthur said, not bothering to hide the snap in his voice.

John decided not to keep speaking.

“Not everything I do leads back to her,” He said waspishly. “I hardly think I deserve a…a fucking psychoanalysis for being worried about a child all alone in the woods! That’s called having fucking compassion!”

Okay! John said, slightly startled with Arthur’s sudden shift. Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry.

“Sure.” Arthur grumbled.

“Hey!” Beatrice was already off to the right, waiting for them impatiently. “It’s a tavern! Come on, before we get pneumonia!”

*** *** ***

It’s one large room, with about five tables scattered near the edges. There’s a small stage at the far left, with a handful of musicians playing. I don’t know the instruments. The center of the room is mostly open, and there’s a handful of patrons here. None of them seem particularly interested in you.

“Small mercies.” Arthur muttered.

“Yeah, lucky we were able to find this place.” Beatrice said, and Arthur followed her wet footsteps to what he presumed was an empty table, and practically collapsed into the seat. The band that John had told him about was playing something calm and folksy, their music easily mingling with the quiet chatter of the patrons.

“Now who might you two be?” Arthur glanced in the direction of the voice, a woman with the heavy Brookln accent and a high-pitched voice.

There’s a plump woman with dark hair and eyes in front of us. She’s wearing an apron with a few stains on it, and a dark dress. Most of her hair is covered by a bonnet, but I can see her wearing big pearl earrings. She has kind eyes, and looks concerned.

“I’m Beatrice, and that’s my Uncle Arthur.” Beatrice said, and Arthur’s head jerked back to her, and he fought to keep himself from looking too surprised.

“Aw,” The woman said. “You two get caught up in the rain.”

“Yes ma’am,” Beatrice said. “Came out of nowhere, though I did tell him it seemed to be getting cloudy, but you know him. He just kept saying we can push through. Now we’re soaked.”

“I didn’t-” Arthur started, and then trailed off, unsure why he was defending himself in a made-up scenario.

“I’ll getcha something to warm up.” The woman said.

“Oh, um,” Arthur said. “I haven’t got any money.”

“Oh, honey, it doesn’t work like that here.” The woman said.

“What?” Arthur said. “But we-”

Arthur, she’s gone.

“...strange.” Arthur said.

“I guess,” Beatrice said. “But good, because I wasn’t gonna pay for you.”

“Since when am I your uncle?” Arthur said. “When did we decide that?”

“I told you that’s our cover story when we were walking,” Beatrice said. “Remember? I…wait, were you not paying attention?!”

Tell her we were actively trying to ignore her-

“You were…” Arthur coughed. “Talking a lot. I zoned out a bit, I suppose.”

“Rude.” Beatrice said, in the most offended tone possible.

“And what about you?” Arthur said. “Here I find out you can, in fact, be a perfectly polite little girl, and you just choose to be as rude as you can to me.”

“I wasn’t that rude.”

“You poked me with a stick!”

“That was for safety reasons!”

“I-” Arthur froze, suddenly hearing the chair between Beatrice and Arthur pull out, and a new occupant seat themselves.

Arthur! There’s a burly man next to us, with ashy skin and an unshaven face. He’s wearing a brown knitted hat, and a red shirt. He’s wearing a black mask, and…Arthur, he’s staring at you. Like he knows everything about you already. He’s pushing a pint of something towards you.

“Hello.” The man said, his voice gruff as though he smoked heavily.

“...hello.” Arthur said after a moment.

“Hi.” Beatrice said, sounding unsure for the first time.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Arthur felt the mug pressed into his hand. “Figured you could use a drink. Apologies for not getting one for you, little lady, but I figured your uncle wouldn’t much appreciate it if I got you a drink as strong as this one.”

“It’s okay.” Beatrice said, her voice remaining remarkably steady.

“What should we drink to?” The man asked.

“I don’t care.” Arthur said.

He’s looking at you strangely, like he’s trying to solve a riddle.

“Well, now, you have to pick something, Stranger,” The man said. “I can’t be the one to make a toast, seeing as in these parts, that’s the job of the newcomer.”

“I don’t care,” Arthur repeated. “You pick.”

“I said make a toast.” The man ordered.

Arthur slowly raised his mug, not too high. “To…” He paused, trying to think of something. “To the rain stopping. And staying dry.”

There was a beat of silence, and then the man burst out laughing, and Arthur felt him clink his mug against his. “To staying dry! That’s a toast I can get behind.”

He’s drinking, Arthur, take a sip!

Arthur took the tiniest sip of his drink. It tasted sweet, like fruit and honey, but still held a bit of fire that staved off the chill of the rain. The band was playing again, and Arthur hadn’t realized how quiet the room had been before until now.

“Now, then,” The man said. “Who are you?”

“Clearly you were eavesdropping, if you know Beatrice is my niece,” Arthur said. “I hardly see a point in repeating myself.”

“That’s your name, but it ain’t who you are,” The man said. “Why, look around! We got the Toymaker, the Midwife, the Butcher…you’ve already met the Tavern Keeper. Yes sir, we’re approaching a full house today.”

“I suppose…” Arthur paused. “I suppose I’m a detective then.”

“You are?!” Beatrice blurted out, sounding fascinated, and Arthur regretted speaking immediately.

“Well, then,” The man said, his voice suddenly odd. “I’m not quite sure if that’s accurate.”

“Do you think I’m lying about being a detective?” Arthur asked, annoyed.

Arthur, stop pushing, he’s glaring at you.

“No,” The man said. “But is that what you are here?”

Arthur blinked. “Sorry?”

“In this place, in the great Unknown, what are you?” The man asked.

“...I’m not sure I understand the question.” Arthur said slowly.

“You a pianist?” The man asked suddenly.

“I-what?” Arthur asked.

“Are you a pianist?” The man asked again.

“Why do you ask?”

“You got long fingers, delicate too. Like the edges of trees where the branches break off to make leaves. Those are always the branches that snap off in the winter when the freeze gets ‘em. You ought to take better care of your fingers, sir, I’ll tell you that. You’re already down one, I see.”

“I’ll…” Arthur swallowed, moving his hands into his pockets. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I got long fingers too,” The man said. “Big hands. They’re good for me. I always say you can tell a lot about people by their hands. Your hands, little lady, are callused. You’re a hard worker, I can tell, but your nails are all bitten up. You worried over something?”

“I, um…” Beatrice said, her voice betraying her nerves ever so slightly.

“That’s enough,” Arthur said firmly. “Thank you for the drink, but I think we’re going to eat alone.”

“Your hands, sir,” The man ignored Arthur, but at least turned his attention back to him. “Are marred by the years, and by something a bit more toothed than time. I’ve seen it many times. But I wonder how the hands of a pianist get like that?”

“I never told you if I was a pianist.” Arthur said.

“Don’t have too,” The man said. “I can tell. You may call yourself Arthur, a detective, or even a pianist if you really wanted too, but I’m not too convinced. I make ends meet using only my hands. I suspect you might do the same.”

“I think he said we wanted to be left alone.” Beatrice said, far more firmly than Arthur.

“Well,” Arthur heard the chair push out. “I hate to keep calling you Stranger, but it might have to do for now. It’s just as well that you’re no detective, actually. It might make things complicated between us.”

“Oh?” Arthur asked. “Is that right?”

“That’s right,” He heard a chuckle. “Seeing as I’m the Highwayman.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur. He’s looming over us. My hand is on the dagger, be ready if he decides-

“Enjoy your meal.” The Highwayman said, and Arthur heard footsteps leading away. He let out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding.

He’s gone. He’s left the tavern entirely. Fuck, Arthur…

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur said, running his hand through his hair.

“That guy was a creep.” Beatrice decided.

“I suppose so,” Arthur said. “Are you alright?”

“I’m great,” Beatrice said. “I was mostly worried about you, ‘cause I wasn’t sure if he was gonna beat you up or be your friend.”

“Well,” Arthur said. “I’m glad he decided to do neither.”

“Yeah,” Beatrice said, and he heard her shuffle. “So…”

She’s giving us a smile I don’t like, Arthur.

“You’re a detective? That’s so cool! What kind of cases did you solve? Robberies? Kidnapping? Murder? Is that how you lost your pinky? Did a perp chop it off?”

God fucking dammit.

Arthur groaned.

Chapter Text

“So,” Beatrice said, gobbling down her food. “I was thinking.”

Oh no.

Arthur was doing his best to not act as starved as he was, but it was all he could do not to throw his utensils aside and start shoveling food into his mouth with his hands. “Oh?”

“Detectives usually come in two, right?” She asked. “So where’s your other guy?”

John went helpfully quiet as Arthur nearly choked. “Um, well…I suppose it’s just me.”

“See?” He could hear the triumphant grin in her voice. “So you need a partner. What if-”

“Absolutely not.”

“You…you didn’t even know what I was going to say!”

“You were going to ask if you could be my partner,” Arthur said. “And the answer is absolutely not.”

Yes, Arthur! Don’t give in!

“Why not? You already know I’m super observant. You need an extra pair of eyes, especially considering the ones you use now aren’t very good.”

Arthur sputtered. “What?!”

What?!

“You run into things sometimes,” Beatrice said. “Not always, but sometimes. Or you miss things. Or get hit by tree branches. Do you need glasses or something? In any case, you need the extra help, old man, cause your eyes are going.”

“How old do you think I am?!”

“Um,” He heard Beatrice hum. “Sixty?”

“Sixty-?!”

“How’re we doing over here?” He heard the Tavern Keeper’s voice and jumped before he could stop himself.

“J-just fine, thank you!” Arthur coughed. “Um, you said you don’t take money? So…this is all free?”

“Oh no, doll, it ain’t free.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur, if she says you have to give up your soul or something…

“We take stories, usually.” The Tavern Keeper finished.

“Stories?” Arthur blinked.

“Yeah! You look like you have some good ones.”

Arthur suddenly felt deeply uncomfortable. “I’m, ah, afraid I don’t understand. I haven’t really got any stories to tell-”

“Well, that just ain’t true!” The Tavern Keeper said cheerfully. “I know you don’t quite know who you are yet, but that’s alright. For instance, how’d you get that big ol’ scratch across your neck? Or the one on your cheek? Some quest of your’s?”

“I-um…” Arthur pulled his collar up, his stomach turning unpleasantly. “Listen, I really don’t-”

“Or your wooden finger!” She said.

Arthur, take a breath. People are staring.

“What if I told a story?” Beatrice asked suddenly.

“Hm?” The Tavern Keeper asked.

Beatrice is giving us a concerned look, but the Tavern Keeper is no longer focused on us.

“You sure, hon?” The Tavern Keeper asked. “You’re awful young to be giving stories as payment.”

“Beatrice-” Arthur started.

“No, it’s fine,” Beatrice said. “Just…any story?”

“One that you hold close, or hold far away.” The Tavern Keeper said.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?! Can anyone in the goddamn world give us a straight fucking answer?!

“Okay,” Beatrice said, and he heard her take a breath. “Okay…one time…one time, my brother and I were exploring. We…we do it a lot. The woods around my house are thick, but safe. My family’s lived there forever, so we know the area like the back of our hand. The only danger I’ve ever found is snakes, and I’m not scared of them.”

“So we were out, a few springs ago,” Beatrice sighed. “And it was an ugly day. With like…the kind of clouds that hang low enough to almost be fog, and the air’s all wet and cold, but there was nothing to do at home besides chores, so we went. We walked around, found a couple toads, scared off a couple birds, and then we found this…this cart.”

“Like a caravan, that’s probably a better way to describe it. And there was this old lady sitting there, stirring this iron cauldron. She saw us, and invited us to come closer. We didn’t-at least, not at first, but she just kept smiling, said she was a witch. A nice witch, and…she wanted to read our fortunes. We asked her what it would cost us, and she said…she said it would cost knowing and would seal a path for us, I guess. I don’t really know what that means. But I think it…” She trailed off for a moment, as if she had forgotten where she was.

She looks haunted, Arthur.

“It…” Beatrice coughed. “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, we agreed, because she seemed weird, but not dangerous. So she pulled out this little bowl, and it looked like there was liquid silver in it. She called it witch silver, and said it could see the future. She had my brother go up first, and then poured the witch silver into the cauldron. It spit and hissed like water on a hot pan, and after a moment, she pulled it out with her bare hands. It was some kind of intricate design I couldn’t make heads or tails of, but she studied it, nodded, and then called me up.”

“She put the silver back in the bowl, and it instantly returned to liquid. I stepped up, and she put it in the cauldron again. It spit and hissed again, but this time I thought…I thought I heard birdsong. I don’t know why. She pulled it out again, and this time it was a different crazy shape. It still didn’t look like anything, but she nodded and studied it again.”

“She called us both up, and said she saw where we would end up. She said my fate would be my own fault, confined to the sky-whatever that means. And my brother…um, she said his fate was of fire and earth. I thought that meant he was going to get set on fire and then, like, roll around in the dirt but that’s…that’s not what happened.”

“At the end of it, she thanked us and sent us home. We never told our parents about it. We felt like we might get in trouble. But I…sometimes I think about my witch silver sculpture, and I think…I think I see birds in it.”

Beatrice went quiet, and Arthur felt like he had intruded on something deeply private.

“And your brother’s name, dear?” The Tavern Keeper asked.

“I don’t…” Beatrice sounded nervous. “I don’t want to give that up.”

“‘Give that up’?” Arthur repeated, but Beatrice and the Tavern Keeper ignored him.

“Oh, fair enough, hon. You did great! That’s a lovely story. Say, you two look just about tuckered out, and we have a couple rooms in the inn upstairs. Your niece did a wonderful job paying, I’d be happy to let you stay the night-”

“In a real bed?” Arthur asked breathlessly before he could stop himself.

Arthur, they’re looking at you strangely.

“...yes…” The Tavern Keeper said. “Most inns have real beds. In the morning, we have a Haymaker coming by. If you ask him nicely, he might be able to give you a life.”

“That would…” Arthur laughed. “That would be incredible! Thank you, miss, thank you.”

“Yeah,” Beatrice said, oddly despondent. “Thanks.”

*** *** ***

Beatrice had lost most of her chattiness by the time Arthur suggested they turn in, despite John telling him the sun was barely setting.

“The Tavern Keeper said the Haymaker will be here at dawn, so be up by then.” Arthur said, carefully climbing the stairs.

“Yeah,” Beatrice said. “Got it.”

Arthur glanced at her, unable to shake the feeling he was missing something. “Are you alright? You’ve been a bit…distant since you told a story.”

“Well,” Beatrice said. “I didn’t really want to tell her.”

“Thank you, though,” Arthur said. “I appreciate it. At least it’s over.”

“What?”

“The story. You don’t have to tell her it again if you don’t want to.”

Beatrice was quiet for a moment, and Arthur got the feeling he had made some kind of faux pas.

“...you don’t know how that works, do you?” She said slowly.

“How what works?” Arthur asked.

“Forget it,” Beatrice said, suddenly cold. “Good night.”

“Oh, wait,” Arthur said quickly. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer this, but you mentioned a brother? You seemed close. Why…isn’t he here? Did he not want to come with you and run away?”

She’s staring at you, Arthur.

“...’night, Arthur.”

“Oh, good-” Beatrice slammed the door to her room before he could finish.

I have a feeling that there’s something off about this trade.

“Well,” Arthur said, staring in the direction of the slam. “You’re not the only one.”

*** *** ***

“Rise and shine, private eye!” Arthur awoke with a start to hear Beatrice pounding on his door. “Time’s a-wastin’!”

Arthur groaned, rubbing his face to try and wake up. “I don’t suppose she’ll give us time to wash my face.”

Doubtful. At least she’s in a better mood.

“Yes, I suppose we can be grateful for that. God…” Arthur stretched, his back feeling better than it had in ages. “The wonders a real bed will do for you.”

You didn’t even get under the blankets, Arthur.

“Can’t be bothered,” Arthur said. “Just be grateful I took my shoes off.”

Beatrice was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps, practically vibrating with excitement, if John’s description was to be believed. “Let’s go, the sun’s been up forever already.” She scolded.

“Ooh, hang on Mister Arthur!” He heard the Tavern Keeper behind him and winced. “You go ahead, hon, I just gotta talk to your uncle for a moment.”

“Hurry or I’ll leave without you.” Beatrice said, and Arthur heard the door slam a few moments later.

“Look, I thought it over last night, and I think your niece overpaid.” The Tavern Keeper said.

“Overpaid…” Arthur’s brow wrinkled. “On a story?”

“Yeah,” The Tavern Keeper said. “So consider this my change back, you can hold onto these and make sure she doesn’t lose ‘em. They’ll be good tokens.”

“What are you-”

Arthur, she’s taken out her pearl earrings. She’s offering them to you.

“O-oh, no,” Arthur said. “I can’t accept this.”

“Well, you oughta,” The Tavern Keeper said. “They could be useful later. And I like to pay off my debts as soon as I can. Can let you two leave without setting things right.”

“Are…” Arthur swallowed. “Are you sure?”

“Certain.”

Hesitantly, Arthur reached out his hand, and felt the Tavern Keeper press the earrings into his palm. “Have a safe trip, sweetie!”

*** *** ***

“You took way too long.” Beatrice said once Arthur came outside.

“It was less than two minutes.”

Step up with your right foot to climb into the back of the cart-there you go. You’re good.

“Well,” Arthur said. “Hopefully we’ll come across some real civilization soon.”

“Or the circus,” Beatrice said, as the cart began to move. “Hey, have you thought any more about-”

“No,” Arthur said. “You still can’t be my partner. Though I’m at least glad you’re in a more chipper mood than last night.”

“What?”

“Last night,” Arthur said, glancing at her in slight confusion. “You gave the Tavern Keeper your story, and you were a bit distant after that.”

“I never gave her a story.”

Arthur chuckled, suddenly nervous for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp. “I…what?”

Arthur, she’s starting at you like you have an extra head.

“No, you…” Arthur swallowed. “You told a story about witch silver, getting your future told-”

“I think I’d remember telling a story like that.” Beatrice said, breezy.

“But you-”

Arthur. She’s not lying. She really doesn’t know.

Arthur felt ill as the implications suddenly set in. He wanted to tear back to the tavern and demand the woman give Beatrice back her story, earrings be damned, though he had no idea if that was even possible. Even he could tell the story was important to her, and she had given it up, in some magical, awful way.

“You okay?” Beatrice asked, concerned. “You look like you’re gonna vomit.”

“I…um…”

Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur…

“What is witch silver?” Beatrice asked. “Sounds cool.”

“God.” Arthur whispered, guilt suddenly eating him up like a gnawing rat. “God, I…I’m so sorry.”

“For…” Beatrice sounded truly unsure now. “For what?”

She’s looking at us strangely again. It’s your choice if you want to tell her or not.

“I…” Arthur took a breath, forcing himself to smile. “For being late. I know you were excited to get going.”

“Oh,” Beatrice said. “Well. Um. Apology accepted. But you owe me. Owe me a detective lesson-”

“Absolutely not,” Arthur said, trying hard to sound jovial. “Talk about something else.”

“Fine, fine…” Beatrice grumbled, and Arthur leaned against the hay bale, hoping he at least looked relaxed. His mind was swirling and he still didn’t trust himself not to break into babbling, incoherent apologies.

Arthur, John said, his voice slow and slightly horrified. What would have happened if she told the Tavern Keeper her brother’s name?

Arthur shut his eyes tight, trying to chase away that scenario.

“Hey, seriously, are you okay?!” Beatrice asked.

Arthur took one more deep breath.

“I’m fine,” He said with a smile. “Keep talking.”

Chapter Text

It was dark, like it always was, but this time it felt different.

Arthur had leaned against the hay bale, nodding and grunting to Beatrice every so often while she spoke. The autumn sun had felt so nice, and he was still tired, and the hay was shockingly comfortable and-

“John?” Arthur whispered to himself. No answer. So he was dreaming then.

Which was odd, because he could see in his dreams, unless they were memories of the horrors he had gone through. But this dream was empty, with a suspicious lack of pain.

“Hello, Arthur Lester.”

A new voice echoed, not in his head, but from the blackness around him. It sounded as though it was coming from all directions. It was deep, like John’s voice, but lacked the strange, warping rasp that John had, and instead had a musical, almost song-like quality to it, as if the voice was almost singing-but not quite.

Arthur yelped, whirling around to try and face the being, though it did him no good. “Who are you?!” He shouted, and his voice echoed.

“A friend.” The other said.

Arthur scoffed.

“I suppose that’s a fair response,” The voice said. “You’ve had very few friends since your life went to hell, haven’t you? But I can assure you-I only want to help.”

“Sure,” Arthur said. “I’ll trust the strange voice in my dreams.”

“You did before, didn’t you?”

Arthur faltered. “What…?”

“That’s what you’re doing now, is it not? Trusting the voice in your head, even when it’s led you astray and into pain so many times. What does it call itself, John? How fascinating.”

“Stop it.” Arthur snapped.

“Do you grasp how strange that is, really? Can a puzzle piece name itself? Can a puzzle piece be separated from the puzzle and still hold meaning? I think not.”

“What do you want?” Arthur said, trying to keep fear out of his voice.

“I already said,” The voice sounded amused. “I want to help you. I want to cleanse you of the King in Yellow, and return to you what is rightfully yours.”

“Fuck off,” Arthur said. “I’ve gone through hell with him, and I wanted John back. Whatever you say isn’t going to convince me.”

“Foolish as that is,” The voice said. “You haven’t thought through my offer. I don’t just offer you your eyes, your hand, and your foot. I offer you what you crave more than anything else in the world. We have both had our worlds and lives torn apart by the King in Yellow. I may not be able to undo my own fall, but perhaps I can undo your’s.”

“I…what?” Arthur looked around wildly, even though he knew it was useless. “Who are you? I don’t understand.”

“My name is not something that can be said in this tongue,” The voice said. “And you may not understand now, but you will. I suggest you think about my offer. You are about to be woken up quite rudely, anyway.”

“What?” Arthur rubbed his face. “But-”

“STOP THE CART!” Beatrice shrieked, waking Arthur with all the gentleness of a sledgehammer to the knee.

“What?!” He sat bolt upright with a gasp. “What’s going on?!”

I don’t see anything wrong! There’s-Beatrice is getting off the cart! The driver hasn’t even stopped!

“Oh God-” Arthur gasped, and carefully stepped off the cart, still nearly tripping in the process. “Beatrice, stop! What’s wrong!”

“Hurry!”

“That’s not-!” Arthur nearly tripped over a root. “That’s not at all helpful! Stop!”

Arthur! We’ve come upon a small picket fence with a trellis, overflowing with roses. Beatrice has gone through the gate!

“Shit shit shit-” Arthur muttered, feeling with his hands until he felt a gate, and pushed it open.

She’s to the right!

“Beatrice!” Arthur gasped, out of breath and panicked. “What was that?! What’s wrong?!”

“Look!” He could imagine her pointing.

There’s… He heard John sigh, and knew whatever stunt Beatrice had pulled would not make her any more likable to him. Fuck, Arthur. It’s a bunch of vegetables cobbled together to look like an automobile.

“That’s…” Arthur blinked. “You jumped off the cart for this?”

“It’s much better than a hay cart!” Beatrice said joyfully.

“...oh, my God.” Arthur said, running his hands through his hair. His dream came back to him suddenly, now that he knew there was no danger, and he grimaced.

“Arthur?” Beatrice sounded embarrassed. “It’s…cool, right? You think it’s cool?”

There is a crank at the front of the automobile, John said suddenly. Put my hand near it.

Wordlessly, Arthur obeyed, and heard a creaking noise as John presumably wound up the automobile. It sputtered, and Beatrice gasped in delight. “See?” She said. “Now we can go anywhere we want!”

Arthur, this is…this is incredible! John said, sounding awed. I have no idea how a car made of vegetables can run, but it could be-Arthur? Arthur, are you listening?

“Y-yes,” Arthur said, trying not to sound shaken. “It’s…lovely discovery, Beatrice.” And then, whispering: “We’ll talk later, John.”

...oh. Okay.

“If you think that’s cool,” Beatrice said. “Wait until you see the vegetable man.”

“What?!”

Suddenly, Arthur heard a handful of guitar chords, and whirled around, on guard.

“Can’t you see I’m lonely, lonely as can be?” A man sang mournfully, either unaware or uncaring of his visitors. “For I’d want you only, there’s no one else for me-and you know it!”

Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur! John sounded shocked, but not afraid. There…there’s a man playing a guitar. Only-he’s not a man. He has a watermelon for a body, a gourd for a head, and…cucumbers, I think they’re call, for arms and legs. I…fuck. Arthur, what the fuck.

“Sometimes, dear, I wonder why you keep away,” The vegetable man sang. “Leaving me so lonely…lonely, night and day.”

He sighed, heavy and melancholic, and strummed his guitar one final time. After a moment, Beatrice started clapping. Entirely unsure what to do, and sure his face looked as baffled as he felt, Arthur followed along.

“Oh, stop it,” The vegetable man said, his voice thick with a Southern twang. “Don’t go clappin’ for me, it’ll make my head go big. Now what are you folk doing out in the middle of nowhere, listening to poor ol’ John Crops singing his sad ol’ songs?”

Fuck, he can’t be John too.

“We were just about to leave in this cool veggie car.” Beatrice said.

“Now hold on there, little miss,” Crops sounded amused. “Don’t you mean my veggie car?”

“O-oh!” Arthur said. “We…sorry, we didn’t realize, um. That it was your’s.”

There was a beat of silence.

“...can we have it?” Beatrice asked cautiously.

“Now hold on!” Crops said. “I always had a mind to drive this clunk into the big city, and leave this lonely ol’ country life behind. Maybe…find a gal who likes my company. But that ain’t in the cards for me, I s'pose.”

“Arthur can drive you!” Beatrice grabbed his sleeve and shook it.

Arthur yanked away, startled. “N-now hang on-”

“Now, that’s a mighty fine idea,” Crops said. “Seeing as I can’t drive the car myself.”

“I-wait,” Arthur said. “Why do you have a car if you can’t drive it?”

“I reckon folks have lots of things they don’t use, with plenty of silly reasons to keep their treasures around.”

Arthur supposed he couldn’t argue with that. “If…” Arthur said carefully. “I drive you to teh big city, and you decide to stay, can we use your car?”

“I don’t see why I can’t give that a go.” Crops said.

“Alright!” Arthur nodded, hoping that John would be a decent enough driving partner. “I’ll just, um-”

Your left-no, other left!

Arthur stumbled into the car, and heard Crops and Beatrice clamber in after him. “Are you sure you’re alright to drive, Mr. Arthur?” Crops asked kindly. “You seem a bit…ah, balanced challenged.”

Beatrice giggled.

“I’m fine.” Arthur said, fumbling for the shift, and feeling relief when he found it fairly easily.

There’s no one on the roads, John said. I’ll take control of the steering, if you take control of the pedals. Just go slow.

“Right,” Arthur let out a breath, feeling the car lurch forward. “Wonderful. No problem.”

“Don’t crash the car, Arthur.” Beatrice’s voice was right in his ear, gleeful and mischievous.

“S-sh!” Arthur scolded. “Beatrice!”

Beatrice giggled again, and Arthur reminded himself not to scold her. Especially not after last night.

“So, John Crops,” Beatrice asked. “Do you have, like, internal organs?”

“Beatrice…” Arthur groaned.

Sh, I’m curious too.

“Well,” Crops said pleasantly. “I don’t rightly know, to be honest. Your daughter is quite inquisitive, sir.”

Arthur gritted his teeth like he had been shocked by electricity. “U-um…”

“Oh, he’s not my dad,” Beatrice lied easily. “He’s my uncle.”

“Well, ain’t that nice?” Crops said. “You know, I reckon we ought to be coming up on the big city shortly!”

What? There’s nothing but cornfields.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked, curious what a big city even looked like in this forested plane. “All I can see is-”

“CROWS!” Beatrice shrieked.

Arthur’s left hand suddenly jerked down hard on the wheel, and Arthur yelped in surprise, fighting John’s erratic steering. His foot slammed on the brakes, and the car veered off left. Arthur heard crows above him, impossibly loud.

“J-!” Arthur said, and bit off his shout.

Arthur! John sounded frazzled. Massive crows the size of people are chasing us, just let me-! FUCK!

The car collided with something, and Arthur jerked forward roughly. The car sputtered, and then abruptly went silent. He heard the crow calls become distant. We ran into a scarecrow, John said. I believe that chased them away.

“God…” Arthur took a breath. “Is everyone alright?”

“I’m alright, sir, thank you for your quick thinking.” Crops said.

“Arthur…” Beatrice groaned. “I was joking when I reminded you not to crash the car. I assumed it was a given.”

“Thanks, Beatrice,” Arthur grumbled. “Everyone out, I can try to fix the car.”

What do you know about vegetable cars?

“Hang on, do you hear that?” Beatrice said.

Arthur paused, straining his ears. He heard music, upbeat and jazzy.

“We’re here!” Crops said, and Arthur heard him take a few steps. “The big city!”

He’s pushed aside some cornstalks, and… The music got a little louder. There’s a handful of more vegetable people in a clearing, maybe a dozen or so, by a farm town. There’s a small band playing under a gazebo. It’s hardly a big city, but…it’s quaint.

Arthur chuckled under his breath. “Quaint?”

Shut up.

“Me oh my,” Crops said. “This is…it may not look like much to you folks, but t’s quite a lot for a man used to solitude like myself.”

Arthur supposed he could relate to that.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Crops,” Beatrice said. “I’ll go with you while Arthur fixes the car.”

What?

“What?” Arthur sputtered. “Me?”

“You volunteered, duh.” Beatrice said.

Arthur supposed that was true, but he sighed nevertheless. “What am I supposed to do with vegetable wheels?”

“Taste ‘em,” Beatrice said. “Come on, Mr. Crops, let’s mingle with the city folks!”

He heard cornstalks shuffle, and Arthur sighed, realizing they were gone. “Damn,” He muttered, trailing back to the car. “I haven’t the foggiest idea where to start.”

What did you want to talk about?

“Hm? Oh,” Arthur knelt by the car, moving around so John could possibly point something out. “I…had a strange dream.”

I thought you said dreams were harmless. Terrifying sometimes, but harmless.

“It wasn’t a normal dream,” Arthur said. “I couldn’t see. And there was…this voice.”

But not me, I assume.

“Not you,” Arthur agreed. “John…when you were, you know…”

...the King?

“Yes, that,” Arthur said. “Was there anyone you made enemies with?”

Um. Kayne?

“I don’t think Kayne is strictly an enemy of the King,” Arthur said. “I think he just doesn’t respect you.”

John grumbled. Well, I can only assume the King has enemies. He’s not…well. You’ve seen what he’s like. A lot of people would want him gone.

“Not people, though,” Arthur said. “Other beings. Can you think of any?”

Other beings? I don’t…Arthur, to the best of my memory, other beings such as myself simply didn’t quarrel. If we had the ability to hurt each other, getting into a fight was hardly wise. And even if there was someone or something, I don’t remember it.

“Right, of course,” Arthur sighed. “It’s just…it offered me something.”

...what did it offer?

“Arthur!” Beatrice burst through the bush. “Arthur, listen, it’s an emergency!”

“What?!” Arthur whirled around. “What’s wrong, are you hurt?!”

“Remember the Highwayman from the tavern?”

“I-” Arthur felt his stomach twist. “Oh my God, is he here?!”

“Is what he said about you being a pianist true?”

Arthur blinked. “What?”

“It’s a yes or no question!”

“I-” Arthur sighed. “Yes, I can play. Why?”

“Oh, good.” He felt Beatrice grab his hand and start dragging him along towards the so-called ‘big city’.

Tell her to unhand you!

“Beatrice-” Arthur didn’t yank away, but dug his heels in a bit. Beatrice just pulled harder. “What is going on?”

“The band’s piano player isn’t showing up,” Beatrice said. “And I told them I knew a guy.”

WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK?! NO!

“Beatrice, oh God, you didn’t…” Arthur groaned.

“Yes!” Beatrice went behind him, and shoved him forward. “Now, don’t make a fool out of me! Play something, piano man!”

Chapter Text

Arthur, John said, more serious than Arthur had heard him in a while. Arthur, if you do this to me, I will kill you.

“Come on, Arthur!” Beatrice said, still far too enthusiastic.

“Beatrice, uh-” Arthur coughed. “I-I’m hardly prepared, I don’t think this is wise-”

“Well,” Beatrice said. “If you don’t play, they have to stop the entertainment. And then everyone leaves. And then John Crops doesn’t get to keep talking to his lady friend.”

“What?” Arthur looked around wildly.

Crops is off to the side, by some kind of refreshments table, John said. He’s talking to some lady with a cabbage for a head. They’re both blushing.

“You’re not gonna crush his dreams, are you?” Beatrice asked.

“That is-” Arthur sputtered. “That is blatant manipulation!”

“Yeah, but it’s working,” Beatrice said. “‘Cause you’re at the gazebo.”

NO!

Arthur winced at John’s genuinely gut-wrenching shout, and stumbled up the steps. “You play piano, pal?” A new voice asked.

There’s a variety of vegetable people under the gazebo, John narrated. Four of them, each playing their own instruments-fuck, Arthur, I don’t know anything about music, I don’t know what they’re playing! Tell them you can’t play!

“Yeah, he plays.” Beatrice said.

“U-um,” Arthur felt like his head was spinning. “I-I mean, a little-”

FUCK! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!

“A little’s all we need!” One of the vegetable people said cheerfully. “Our piano guy should be here momentarily, you’ll just be filling in until he gets here. Boy, pal, you’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

NO!

“Right,” Arthur said. “Um, I haven’t got my glasses, this might be an issue for reading sheet music-”

“Oh, no worries,” The vegetable man said brightly. “We ain’t using any. We’re just playing until someone gives us a request. Just 4/4 time signature, allegro, keep it in the key of F. As long as you can find the right notes, you’ll be a-okay. Make it jazzy!”

“Oh,” Arthur said, slightly relieved. “Oh, alright then. I see.”

ARTHUR, I DON’T KNOW WHAT ANY OF THAT MEANS-

“One moment, just let me get myself adjusted.” Arthur said, finding it more and more difficult to ignore John. He managed to feel his way to the piano bench, and tapped out a few keys experimentally. He found middle C, and worked his way around from there. The piano had a rich, echoing sound that felt strange, yet warm. In spite of John shouting in his ear, Arthur smiled.

Arthur, I swear on everything in this fucking world, tell them you made a mistake, you can’t play with one hand-

“If I didn’t know better,” Arthur whispered. “I’d say you sounded scared.”

FUCK YOU!

“Look,” Arthur said, and played a quick F scale. “Find those notes on your side on the piano. They’ll sound lower, but the keys repeat, so it should sound about the same.”

Hesitantly, and with a few mistakes, Arthur heard John tap out an F scale with his own left hand. “There,” Arthur whispered. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You can reach all the keys with your fingers, John grumbled. I don’t want to use the wooden pinky. It’ll hurt.

“Then don’t,” Arthur said. “It’s fine. I’ll do something a bit more complex, and you just find a melody along those notes. It doesn’t need to be anything crazy.”

Fuck, Arthur I-

“Think about all we’ve faced together,” Arthur said. “A duet is hardly the worst of it, right?”

What’s a duet?

“Oh,” Arthur coughed, suddenly shifting in his seat. “Um. When two people are playing together.”

I see, John said. Well…I suppose when you put it like that…playing piano is no challenge in comparison to being stabbed.

“I was usually the one being stabbed, but yes, exactly.”

“You good there, pal?” One of the vegetable people asked. “You’re muttering to yourself a lot.”

“Ah, yes, thank you!” Arthur said, knowing his face was turning pink. “Sorry, just trying to get myself adjusted. It’s…it’s been a while since I played. And I can’t recall ever playing in a group.”

“You’ll catch on,” The vegetable person said. “You just come in when you’ve got the rhythm. You ready?”

Arthur hesitated, waiting for John.

...ready as we’ll ever be, I suppose.

“Yes,” Arthur nodded. “On your count.”

“Okay, fellas!” The vegetable man said. “A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three, four-”

The band immediately burst into an upbeat melody. Arthur picked out a guitar, a clarinet, a trombone, and a bass. His hand hovered over the piano, and he imagined John was likely doing the same.

“Ready?” He whispered.

You start.

Arthur smiled in spite of himself, and tapped out a series of notes to match the trombone player. He heard someone cheer, and realized it was Beatrice. His smile grew into something more genuine, and he boldly played a countermelody, knowing exactly what to play next alongside the jolly band, an expert even without the use of his eyes.

Then he heard a few notes, hesitant but harmonious, from his left side, and he laughed.

What?! John asked defensively.

“Nothing!” Arthur said quietly. “Just…good! You’re doing good!”

Apparently pleased with the response, John played a few more notes, only one discordant.

Fuck, He growled immediately. Sorry-

“No one noticed, keep going!”

And John did.

*** *** ***

“Hey,” The vegetable man said after a few more songs. “Our pianist is here!”

Arthur turned to greet him, and heard John make a strange, startled noise. Arthur, he’s a frog.

Arthur blinked. “W…what?”

“Thank you for keeping the keys warm for me, friend.” A kind voice said, from somewhere below Arthur. He looked down, unsure what to do.

It’s a talking bullfrog, standing on his back legs like a person, John said. He sounded less and less amazed by each strange thing he saw. Arthur supposed he ought to be grateful that the strange things were kind to him in this world.

“Um,” Arthur said, stepping away from the piano bench. “You’re welcome.”

“Enjoy the festivities, friend,” The frog said, and Arthur heard a gentle splat on the piano bench, like it had jumped up. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you.” Arthur said, managing to sound not too off put with having his seat taken by an amphibian.

“Arthur!” He turned to the sound of Beatrice’s voice, and heard her panting as though she had been running. “See? I told you that you’d be great!”

“You never told me that,” Arthur said, though he was smiling. “You just shoved me onstage.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think you were gonna do good,” Beatrice said. “I assumed that part was implied. Like not crashing the car.”

“Oh, yes,” Arthur said. “Silly me.”

Silly you.

“Did you see me dancing?” Beatrice asked.

“What?”

She was dancing while we were playing, Arthur, John said. I was a bit too focused to say it at the time. She wasn’t very good. But… John’s voice became thoughtful, and oddly soft. But she looked like she was having fun.

“Oh, I did,” Arthur nodded. “You were giving it your all.”

“Do you want to dance?” Beatrice asked. “Now that you’re not playing?”

“I’m afraid I’m no good.” Arthur could imagine how dancing would go if he didn’t have control over one of his feet. He doubted he and John were coordinated enough to pull off a dance that didn’t look like a seizure.

“I’m not either, most people here aren’t.” Beatrice said.

“Well,” Arthur said. “It’s charming when a child can’t quite dance, but when an adult does it, you tend to get some stares. I’m sure I’m already getting enough stares as the only man not made out of vegetables here. Where’s our friend Mr. Crops, by the way?”

“See for yourself.”

Crops is playing his guitar for the cabbage headed woman by the edge of the cornfield. They’re both blushing, still.

“Looks like some good came out of this detour,” Arthur smiled. “Think he’ll mind if we take his car?”

“I asked already, actually,” Beatrice said. “He waved me off and said to do whatever we needed. I think he’s satisfied. Are you sure you don’t want to dance?”

“I’m sure,” Arthur said. “Sitting down and listening to the music sounds like heaven now, actually.”

“They got some chairs by the refreshments, but I think they’re out of food now. I have some dried fruit in my super secret pockets. Want some?”

“That-” Arthur blinked. “That actually sounds lovely, thank you.”

She’s holding it out.

Arthur managed to grab it from her, and make his way over to the chairs just as the band began their next song. He sat down heavily with a sigh, taking a tiny bite of the piece of fruit. The sweetness of it was startling, but not at all unpleasant.

Beatrice is dancing again, John said. She’s still not that good. She’s smiling.

Arthur was quiet, melancholy suddenly overtaking him.

...Arthur?

“Do you know what,” Arthur said softly. “I haven’t even thought about it until before, but Faroe would be her age now, had she not…”

...oh.

Arthur didn’t say anything, chewing silently. The sweetness felt more tart now, almost sour.

Does it… John sounded like he was struggling to voice his thoughts. Does it hurt? To be around Beatrice?

“It hurts all the time, John.” Arthur said.

John went silent, and Arthur could hear the band, picking up speed and increasing their dynamics. People around him were dancing, clapping, and singing along, some more sober than others, though he had no idea how vegetables got drunk. Somewhere, along the cornfields, he could hear Crops singing to his cabbage lady.

The world here seemed to be overflowing with joy, and Arthur had never felt like more of a stranger.

Maybe that was why Kayne sent him here. To watch him stumble through others’ happiness like the blind man he truly was.

He heard Beatrice laugh, more true than the snarky giggles she had aimed at him. It sounded more true, and guilt gnawed at his stomach once again for what his cowardice had caused her to lose.

She’s happy, Arthur.

“What?” Arthur blinked. “I didn’t ask-”

I know. But you were thinking about it.

“I thought you didn’t like Beatrice.” Arthur said, slightly amused.

She…grows on you. Like a mold.

“John…”

I think I’m starting to understand why people would want them. Children, I mean, John paused, and Arthur could almost feel him sorting ideas in his mind, trying to find the best way to phrase them without starting an argument. Does Beatrice…remind you of your daughter?

“Faroe, John.”

I promised I wouldn’t say her name-

“Well, I’m saying you can take it back.”

...does she remind you of Faroe?

“...I suppose not,” Arthur said, leaning back in the chair. “I would rather have hoped I raised Faroe with more manners, frankly.”

John chuckled. I wish I could speak with Beatrice.

“Do you know what?” Arthur said. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever wanted to speak with anyone besides me.”

Not many people are worth speaking to.

The band finished the song, and the crowd cheered. Arthur clapped politely, his left hand unable to feel the impact. After a moment, the band started again, this time at a much slower, more piano-driven pace.

“One is a bird, two are the trees,” A deep, beautiful voice sang, and Arthur realized it was the frog on the piano. “Three is the wind in the leaves…”

Arthur felt fingers interlock clumsily with his right hand, and he frowned. “John? What are you doing?”

...holding your hand. Obviously.

“Y-yes, I know that, but why?”

I saw some others doing it here, John said, gruff and a bit embarrassed. And I had seen some people in Arkham as well, on the streets, they seem to enjoy it, and you’re a bit upset, and I…forget it, this is stupid-

“N-no!” Arthur said, squeezing the hand-his own hand, how strange-gently. “It’s…um. It’s nice. Really. Thank…thank you.”

“Four are the stars, five are the moon, smiling down upon thee…”

“Hi.” He heard Beatrice sit down next to him.

“All danced out?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, just about,” Beatrice said. “This isn’t…um. This isn’t much of a dancing song anyway. Unless you have a girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whatever. Bleugh.”

Arthur chuckled. “You might not feel so ‘bleugh’ about it someday.”

Beatrice grumbled something about sounding like her mother, and Arthur wondered, not for the first time, what her oh-so mysterious family was like. Did they miss her? He couldn’t imagine that they didn’t.

Her brother certainly must miss her, if her story was anything to go off on regarding their bond.

“Six are the fish, seven the reeds, brushing the soft-bellied breeze…”

“It’s a lovely song, in any case.” Arthur said, swaying along to the rhythm slightly.

“...I requested it,” Beatrice said, her voice suddenly quiet. “Um. It’s called ‘One is a Bird’.”

“You have good taste.”

She’s looking away from you, Arthur.

“Eight are the roots, firm in the ground,” The frog sang, and the band rose to greet him for the finish. “Deep as my love is for thee!”

The band finished with a long fermata on the final note, and the audience clapped. Arthur did too.

He heard sniffling beside him, and turned, startled.

Arthur, Beatrice is crying. She’s turned away, trying to hide it.

“Beatrice?” Arthur asked, slightly frightened by her reaction. “Beatrice, are you alright?”

“I-I’m fine,” Beatrice said, her voice remarkably steady. “I just had something in my eye.”

She’s wiping her face hastily. She looks embarrassed.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked. “Did something happen-”

“We can go now, if you want,” Beatrice said. “We…we wasted a lot of time here. You probably want to leave.”

“Do you want to leave?” Arthur asked, as the band picked up again, with a more upbeat tune.

“The night was mighty dark so you could hardly see, for the moon refused to shine,” The frog sang. “Couple sitting under the willow tree. For love, they pined...”

He heard Beatrice shuffle in her chair a bit. “I dunno.” She muttered.

I don’t think she wants to leave, Arthur.

“How about this,” Arthur said. “You let me eat my snack, enjoy the music, and then we’ll go. How does that sound?”

“You can’t possibly be having fun,” Beatrice said. “You’re just sitting there.”

“I’m having fun watching you have fun,” Arthur said. “We’ll leave when you want to leave.”

There were a few beats of silence.

“...we can stay, then,” Beatrice said. “Just for a few more songs.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“So shine on, harvest moon, up in the sky. I ain’t had no lovin’ since January, February, June, or July…”

You know, John said, still not letting go of Arthur’s hand. It really is a nice song.

And Arthur smiled.

Chapter Text

The Woodsman saw a shadow pass out of the corner of his eye, and frowned. “Do not sneak about me, you infernal creature. I grow weary of your games.”

“No games here, Woodsman.” The Beast said, settling a few yards behind the Woodsman, towering over him.

“You have not returned to torment me for these past few days,” The Woodsman said, chopping into a chunk of an Edelwood tree he had downed moments before. “Have you found some new despicable ways to pass the time?”

“You have given no more thought to what I have said about Arthur Lester, have you?”

The Woodsman scowled at the Beast. “I sent him away from my homestead. You were not incorrect in some aspects, I hate to admit. A darkness does clings to him.”

“More than that,” The Beast said. “He is stained by the blood he has spilled.”

The Woodsman grunted, disinterested. “So you say.”

“I know tales of him that would make your hair stand on end,” The Beast purred. “Tales of drowning in dark lakes and wraith-filled necromancy, of blades and gushing hot blood, of half-rotted flesh stuck between teeth and death that follows like a sick old dog-”

“Enough!” The Woodsman barked, hoping the Beast couldn’t see how much his words truly disturbed him. “If I wanted fireplace tales of horror, I would have asked. You have done nothing to prove that your claims are true.”

“You said it yourself that you saw darkness within him.”

The Woodsman drove his ax into the Edelwood log with far more force than what was necessary. “Show me a man not tainted by it. I think you will be looking for a very long time.”

“He killed his own daughter.”

The ax missed its mark entirely, burying itself in the soil.

The Beast tilted his head. “I thought that might get your attention.”

“Do not…” The Woodsman wrenched his ax out of the ground and shook it at the Beast, fury bubbling in his stomach. “Do not say such bold claims-”

“It’s true,” The Beast said. “And now he seeks the lantern.”

The Woodsman heart skipped a beat. “He does not.”

“In comparison to your folly, Arthur Lester’s is far worse,” The Beast said, clearly delighted with the Woodsman’s reaction. “You may have grown distracted and turned your back when your daughter wandered away and into my forest, but he…why, he was playing piano while his infant drowned-”

“SHUT UP!” The Woodsman roared, throwing the ax at the Beast in anger. The Beast stepped aside, and the ax sailed by harmlessly.

“Do not…” The Woodsman heaved. “Do not speak of such things, especially when they do not belong to you.”

“I am here to warn you, Woodsman. Nothing else,” The Beast said. “Arthur Lester is a blight upon this world, and the things he carries with him will turn the ground sour and foul. He must be stopped.”

“I told you I would not do your dirty work for you.”

“Since when is killing a parasite dirty work?”

“Do not speak of him in such a way,” The Woodsman snapped. “He is a man. Nothing more.”

“Oh, come now,” The Beast said. “You and I both know this isn’t true.”

The Woodsman ignored the Beast, going back to chopping the Edelwood. “When he comes for you and your lantern, determined to fix his own mistakes by snuffing out your daughter,” The Beast said. “Perhaps then you will see sense.”

The Woodsman ignored the Beast still, throwing the wood he had chopped over his shoulder, and stomping off into the rapidly approaching dusk.

The Beast stared at him until he was out of sight, and then turned to the new presence beside him. “I hardly need a babysitter, Kayne.”

Kayne was shoveling some kind of snack into his mouth, as though it was all a performance to him. It irked the Beast, but he decided it wasn’t worth risking an argument. “It’s just so good to watch a master at work,” Kayne sniffled, dramatic and fake. “You could give the Devil himself a run for his money. If he existed. Hell, maybe he does, I can hardly keep track anymore.”

The Beast didn’t say anything, walking deeper into the forest. “Now, why in the world would you want to wind up your Lantern Bearer like that?” Kayne asked, unfortunately following.

“The Woodsman has begun to doubt me and my power,” The Beast said. “I need to remind him what’s at stake should he choose to stop feeding the lantern.”

“But you offered ol’ Arty-” Kayne’s eyes widened, and he grinned. “O-ho, oh! Oh, you sly little motherfucker! So what is this? A battle to see who misses their lil’ baby girl more? Oh, you sick bastard! I love it! And the best part? The prize is nothing!”

The Beast grumbled, sick of Kayne’s commentary, picking up speed. Kayne didn’t even seem to notice. “What do you plan to do about the King fragment then? Our friend John?”

“I do not wish to speak with you any longer.” The Beast said, turning his massive head to glare at the thing that would simply not leave him alone.

Kayne scoffed. “Fine, then. I like surprises. I’ll play along.”

The Beast did not respond, tilting his head up to stare at the cloudy sky.

Winter would be here soon, and with the snow, came the souls.

*** *** ***

“Is she still asleep?” Arthur whispered, turned his head to look at Beatrice, curled up in the backseat.

Yes, John said, and Arthur’s left hand jerked a bit on the steering wheel. Sorry. Pothole.

“It’s fine,” Arthur said. “We ought to just be grateful we were able to start up the car again.”

Arthur, we can’t keep driving like this. You’re exhausted, we’re still lost, and it’s getting colder. We need directions, shelter, or both.

“Colder?” Arthur said, and noticed that, indeed, he was shivering. “Shit, when did that happen?”

The car suddenly jerked wildly, leaning heavily on the right side. Arthur yelped, feeling the car spin out of control before it collided with something. Arthur! John shouted, startled. Arthur, the wheel fell off!

“Wazzat?!” A sleepy voice asked from the backseat. “What’s goin’ on?!”

“Sorry, Beatrice,” Arthur said, carefully standing up. “Are you alright?”

“If by alright you mean rudely awoken,” Beatrice said. “Then yes.”

“Here, get out of the car, we can figure something out-” Arthur said, stumbling slightly when he stepped out of the seat.

The wheels have rotted through. I don’t think this thing is going anywhere.

Arthur sighed. “Great.”

“It’s cold.” Beatrice said, sounding surprised.

“Here, you can have my jacket if you’d like.” Arthur said, starting to wriggle off the sleeves.

“Nah, it’s alright,” Beatrice said. “It’s not so bad, you probably need it more than me-woah! What happened to your neck?!”

Arthur immediately yanked the jacket on again, and popped his collar up to cover the scar. His heart hammered in his ears. “N-nothing.”

“It’s definitely not nothing!” The worst part was that Beatrice seemed impressed. “What happened?! Did a perp try to get the jump on you?!”

“Where do you learn these phrases?” Arthur asked, bewildered.

Arthur, there is a small cottage up ahead, to the left. There’s a light on in the window.

“Oh, thank God.” Arthur muttered, starting to walk away from yet another uncomfortable conversation with Beatrice.

“Hey! What are you-ooh, a little house! Don’t think you’ve avoided this conversation, though,” Beatrice said, and Arthur heard her dart up next to him. “Maybe we can ask whoever lives here for directions.”

Or for a place to spend the night, if we’re feeling lucky.

We’re never lucky, Arthur thought, but he didn’t think he could voice it without Beatrice giving him yet another ‘you might be insane’ glance.

It’s a small home, made mostly of gray stones set into the hillside behind it, John narrated. It looks almost tucked in. Ivy is growing over the stones, and the chimney is quiet. No smoke, even though it's a cold night. There’s definitely someone moving about inside, but I can’t see them through the foggy window.

“Can I knock?” Beatrice asked.

“Sure?” Arthur blinked. “Why do you-”

Beatrice pounded on the door as hard as she could, and Arthur made a strangled sort of gasp, grabbing her and pulling her back. “Are you crazy?!” He hissed. “You’ll break it down!”

“We gotta make sure they hear us!”

“Of course they’ll-”

“Hello?” A new voice said, one that was small, scared, and inexplicably Irish.

Arthur! John said, sounding yet again surprised. There’s a young girl standing in front of us, about Beatrice’s age. Maybe a bit younger, since she’s shorter. She has a pale face, and big dark eyes staring at you. Her hair is short and black, with a few strange white streaks going through it. Her hair is…odd. The texture of it is strange. I don’t know how to describe it.

“Um,” Arthur said. “Hello. Sorry to bother you, but we-”

“You ought to leave this place, sir,” The little girl said urgently. “Unkind things lurk amongst these shadows, and they do not forgive easily, no, they do not.”

“We aren’t scared of the dark.” Beatrice said, a bit presumptively.

“It ain’t the dark itself you fear.” The little girl said, a bit cold.

“Look, we’re just looking for directions.” Arthur said, deciding that he most definitely wasn’t feeling lucky enough to potentially spend the night.

“We’re looking for the circus.” Beatrice said.

“Maggie!” A shrill, much older voice called from within the house. “Maggie, who is it?! And shut the door, the night air does not agree with me!”

“No one, ma’am!” The girl, Maggie, called back.

“Now, don’t lie to me, girl. Let them in, and quickly!”

Maggie seemed to hesitate. “...yes, Miss Adelaide.”

Arthur heard the door creak open, and he hesitated.

...it looks normal, Arthur, John said, though he sounded suspicious. Keep your wits about you.

“Right.” Arthur whispered, and stepped over what he assumed was the threshold. He didn’t explode, so he supposed it was a good start.

He heard the door close behind him, and breathed a tiny sigh of relief when he didn’t hear a lock. “This is…” He heard Beatrice struggle for words. “A nice place you got here.”

“Why,” The older voice said, and Arthur heard rustling and footsteps. “Thank you, dearie. That’s very kind.”

It’s an old woman, Arthur, John said. She’s wearing a heavy red dress and maroon shawl, and wearing an apron with sewing supplies in it. Her hat is pointed and decorated heavily. Her face is lined from age, with skin even paler than Maggie’s. Her hair is gray and hidden by her hat. She’s smiling at you. Say something!

“Um,” Arthur coughed. “Hello, miss. I’m Arthur. We were just looking for directions-”

“-to the circus, I hear, if what your little friend said is anything to go off of,” She said. “I hear they have a real live gorilla.”

“Oh, wow.” Beatrice said reverently.

“Alas, they’ve passed on, to where, I know not,” The woman said. “But where are my manners? I am Adelaide of the Pasture, the Good Woman of the Woods. And this is Maggie, my great niece.”

“Yes, we’ve met Maggie,” Arthur said, looking to where he was fairly certain Maggie was. “Hello-”

She’s on the other side of you, Arthur.

“-Maggie,” Arthur whipped his head around. “Lovely to meet you.”

Beatrice giggled.

“Goodness, you two must be exhausted,” Adelaide said. “I apologize, usually I’m much more prepared for guests than this, Maggie didn’t warn me she saw someone coming up the road…”

“Apologies, Miss Adelaide.” Maggie muttered.

Adelaide laughed, a bit forced. “Oh, darling child, I’ve told you. Auntie Addie is just fine!”

Arthur heard Beatrice shuffle a bit, presumably hiding behind him. He figured it was like hiding behind a twig for her. “We’re just here for directions,” Arthur said. “Not to the circus, though.”

“Where too?”

“We…” Arthur paused, suddenly startled by the question. “I’m…I’m not sure, actually…”

“You’d be surprised how often that happens,” Adelaide said. “It’s so very easy to get turned about in these woods, especially for travelers unfamiliar with it. But you’re quite used to the Unknown, aren’t you, little girl? I can see it in you, plain as writing. Maggie’s got the same look, of course. Flighty things, the both of you, I can tell.”

“We just need directions.” Arthur said firmly.

“How can I give you directions if you don’t even know where you’re going?” Adelaide asked.

Arthur gritted his teeth, trying to decide if he ought to cut and run. Adelaide hadn’t done anything, but he still felt a creeping sense of unease. Then again, unease was his best friend these days other than the slightly evil voice that lived in his head.

“But look at me, blabbering on,” Adelaide said. “Maggie, get some supper for our guests. They look chilled to the soul.”

“Yes Miss-” Maggie coughed. “Auntie. Auntie Addie.”

“We’re fine-” Arthur started, but he felt Beatrice tug his shirt.

“We’re nearly out of food.” Beatrice whispered.

We can go without, for now, John said, very much aware of Arthur’s limits. But Beatrice…

Arthur swallowed, his mind racing.

“Mr. Arthur?” Adelaide asked, her voice dripping with goodness, like cheese on a mousetrap. “Won’t you join me for dinner?”

Beatrice wasn’t moving. Arthur got the impression that if he told her they were leaving, she would be out the door. But he heard her stomach rumble, and in all honesty, he was hungry himself. And he had no idea what powers and intentions Adelaide might or might not be hiding.

And something about Maggie unnerved him.

“...sure.” He said, after a long moment.

“And you, dear girl?” Adelaide asked. “Can I have your name?”

Arthur! She might take it!

“Faroe!” Arthur blurted out, as though the lie was wrenched from his gut. “She’s Faroe. My niece.”

John was pointedly silent, though Arthur could imagine his mouth would be hanging open if he had one.

“Well, then,” Adelaide said. “Mr. Arthur, Miss Faroe. Welcome to my home. I hope you should make yourself comfortable. I certainly have.”

Chapter Text

John was deeply distrustful of the strange old woman, staring at Arthur and Beatrice with a benign smile and a sunken face. Not that there was much he could do about it. Maggie was making her rounds about Adelaide’s tiny dinner table, giving him and Beatrice a heaping spoonful of some kind of stew. Maggie refused to look them in the eyes, and John was still trying to figure out exactly what was wrong with her hair.

“Well?” Adelaide said, smiling eagerly. “What are you waiting for? Dig in!”

Beatrice is staring at us, John told Arthur. I think she’s waiting for us to go first.

“Hm.” Arthur said, trying to acknowledge John without making it obvious.

Adelaide’s smile widened, and she slowly took her spoon, scooping up a bit of the stew. She slurped it, louder than she needed too. “It’s good.” She said in a sing-song voice.

John would have frowned if he was able. She ate some. It was all from the same pot, so if there’s something in it, she would have just poisoned herself. You’re probably fine.

“Hm.” Arthur said again.

The spoon’s about an inch to the right of your right hand.

Slowly, Arthur grabbed his own spoon. Beatrice took this as a signal, and hungrily began digging into her own bowl.

John went back to silently repeating Faroe’s name to himself, hoping that at least one of them would remember if the worst was to happen.

If it had been just Arthur-or for that matter, just John-they would have barrelled ahead by now, getting the information they needed by any means necessary. John, for his part, wouldn’t have bothered to feel bad about it. Something was off about Adelaide, anyway. But Beatrice was tailing them, too. And for all the whimsy and charm this strange world carried, John was careful to remember that it was full of doublespeak and beings who would never tell you the whole truth. A small part of him almost longed for the simplicity of problems in the Dreamlands, though not the pain.

Dreamlands problems were solved by hitting them with a really big rock. This place was like a puzzle that was constantly being pulled apart.

Faroe, Faroe, Faroe, John told himself silently, and had a feeling that Arthur was doing the same. Don’t let him forget, goddammit, it’s the one thing you can do-

The wind howled suddenly, and John saw Beatrice jump, and Maggie flinch. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” Adelaide told Beatrice. “It’s just the forest saying good evening.”

“Hm,” Beatrice said, mimicking Arthur’s cadence. “Does it have to say hello so loudly?”

“Auntie says it’s the voices of those lost inside the trees, demanding to be heard.” Maggie said.

Adelaide laughed, high-pitched and slightly nervous. “I never said that, Maggie.”

“I know,” Maggie said, her face cold. “Another aunt said so.”

“I’m sure our guests don’t want to speak of such dreadful subjects over dinner.” Adelaide said, her voice stern. Maggie wilted.

Maggie doesn’t have a plate for food.

Arthur perked up. “Maggie-”

“Maggie ate far too many sweets after lunch when I told her no,” Adelaide said. “She’s got an upset stomach, I’m afraid. Isn’t that right, Maggie?”

Maggie chewed her bottom lip, and bobbed her head in a strange, jerky nod. She’s lying, Arthur.

The wind howled again, and Adelaide giggled at something that John couldn’t even guess at. “So,” She said. “I’m sure you two have traveled far and wide across this great forest. Regale us with tales of what you have seen.”

“Like…” Arthur sounded worried. “Like a story?”

“Yes, if you would.”

Don’t fall for this again.

Adelaide giggled, and John was growing beyond frustrated with her strange mirth. “Why, whatever is wrong, Mr. Arthur? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I didn’t-”

“You’ve come into my home, eaten my food, accepted my hospitality, and all I ask in return is a story,” Adelaide said, and the warm air in her home suddenly felt incredibly suffocating. “Is that really too much to ask?”

We should have taken our chances with the rotten cucumber wheel, John said. Adelaide laughed yet again, and John was about to snap something to Arthur about wanting to shut her up-

The wind howled again, and suddenly, it didn’t sound like wailing anymore. It sounded like singing.

“Tra-la-la-la, tra-la-la-la! Chop the wood to light the fire! Tra-la-la-la, tra-la-la-la, ‘tis not much that I require!”

Arthur’s head jerked up, startled. “Is that…is someone singing?”

Beatrice gave Arthur a sideways look. “I don’t hear anything. It’s just wind.”

Adelaide’s smile grew, her eyes alight with something akin to fever, but twice as powerful. “So you hear it, then? Lovely, isn’t it?”

“When the fog of life surrounds you, when you think you’ve lost your way, come with me and join the forest, come with me and join the play!”

That’s what I heard before! John said. The singing! Way back at the Woodsman’s house!

Adelaide’s grin grew, and her teeth looked filthy. “That long ago?”

“Arthur…” Beatrice said, looking afraid.

John would have felt ill if he was able, and Arthur’s left hand shook.

“What?” Arthur asked Adelaide, blissfully unaware. “What are you-?”

Can you… John wanted to go silent, but a morbid and deeply terrified curiosity overwhelmed him. Can you hear me?

Adelaide threw her head back and cackled. “Why, hello!” She crowed. “My uninvited, fragmented guest. It’s just as he told me…”

Arthur stood up so quickly that the chair he had been sitting in flew backwards. Beatrice jumped up next to him, terrified. “Arthur?!” She asked, slightly shrill. “Who is she talking about?!”

“And your companion doesn’t know,” Adelaide tched. “I would have expected nothing less. No matter, I can always use another puppet. My master will be more than happy to reward me for my good work-”

“Tra-la-la-la, tra-la-la-la, youth is such a fragile thing!”

“Beatrice, we’re leaving.” Arthur said, trying to keep his voice steady, and mostly succeeding.

“Oh no, dear,” Adelaide said, leaning down, and grabbing a loose piece of yarn off the floor. “You’ll stay right here with me.”

“RUN!” Maggie shrieked, so sudden and loud that John nearly yelped in response to it.

Beatrice didn’t need to be told twice, turning tail and sprinting towards the door. Arthur turned to follow, but Adelaide pulled the yarn, and it suddenly went taut. Thick pieces of blood red yarn suddenly wrapped around Arthur’s ankles, hoisting him up into the air.

She’s trapped us! John shouted, wriggling his foot and hand uselessly. Fuck!

“Such foul language is hardly necessary.” Adelaide scolded, and Maggie was staring at the fight in front of her, her face ashen.

Fuck you, John snapped, with as much venom as he could.

“Arthur?!” Beatrice’s voice echoed, calling for them in a terrified voice from out the door. Adelaide waved her hand, and the door slammed shut. This time, there was the click of a lock.

“I’ll deal with her later,” Adelaide said, mostly to herself. “Maggie, set the wards-”

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Arthur snarled, thrashing desperately like a fish on a line. “I swear to God, if you hurt her-”

“What will you do?” Adelaide giggled. “Flail at me? I don’t fear you, Mr. Arthur. I fear the voice in your head even less, hissing and spitting like a kitten in a desperate attempt to chase off things that will swallow it whole. And swallowed, you shall be.”

I’m not afraid of you.

“And you don’t have to be,” Adelaide said. “I’m not the one you wronged.”

“Tra-la-la-la, tra-la-la-la! A fragile thing, is what it is…”

“I serve the voice of the four winds,” Adelaide said, spreading her arms wide as though she was in church. “The one who calls to the lost souls and keeps them close under his tattered cloak, the one who built the woods and his body from doubt, and his kingdom from his own unbendable will.”

“You’re no more than another insane cultist.” Arthur growled.

“No cults here, Mr. Arthur,” Adelaide said. “Just a powerful witch. Maggie, I won’t ask again. Set the wards. Do not let that little girl in here until I say so-whatever her name is, I know full well it’s not Faroe.”

Maggie winced, her head bowed, and carefully inched her way around Arthur to gather supplies around the house. John thought he heard her whisper an apology, but he couldn’t be sure.

“And as for you,” Adelaide focused on Arthur once again. “My master wishes to speak with you.”

What?

“Not you, piecemeal.” Adelaide said, pulling on the yarn, and suddenly, Arthur was being hoisted higher, and higher. John couldn’t be sure, but it almost felt like the ceiling was stretching with each tug of yarn that brought them higher. “I’m talking about your stupid, sightless host.”

She let go of the string, and Arthur fell, headfirst.

John felt the impact reverberate through his eyes, hand, and foot, and shouted in startled fear. Arthur, Arthur?! Are you alright?

Arthur didn’t answer, still and quiet, and John realized he was fighting to keep the eyes open, like he always did when Arthur was unconscious. ARTHUR! ARTHUR, GET UP, WE NEED TO GO NOW! ARTHUR!

Adelaide was laughing.

*** *** ***

“You should thank me.”

Arthur whirled around at the sound of the now-familiar voice, his heart pounding. His mind was silent-John wasn’t there.

“What?” He said.

“I said, you should thank me,” The deep musical voice sounded amused. “She wanted to take it. I told her not to.”

“Take what?”

“The name.”

Arthur’s heart twisted. “I don’t…” He swallowed. “I don’t want your help.”

“So you’d rather Faroe become an itch you can never quite scratch?” The voice asked.

“Don’t say her name,” Arthur snapped. “I couldn’t…no one could take that from me.”

“I could,” The voice said. “And so easily, too. But I won’t. As I said, you owe me gratitude for that.”

“I don’t owe you something for when you decide not to steal from me! Who are you?!”

The voice laughed, and it sounded like music. “You haven’t figured it out? I am the voice of the night, I am the shadow in the trees. I am surrender, snow, and the soft earth that welcomes you home. I am the one way, the darkness, and the only hope you have of making it out of my forest.”

Arthur opened his mouth, but no sound came out besides a choked noise of terror.

“My name is incomprehensible in your tongue,” The being said. “But here, I am called the Beast.”

Arthur still couldn’t force himself to speak.

“And now that you have heard my song,” The Beast said. “I think we ought to have a real talk. Away from prying ears and eyes.”

The Beast suddenly felt impossibly close, and Arthur could feel a cold breath on his ear. It smelled like oil.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” The Beast asked.

Chapter Text

Beatrice couldn’t move any closer to the house.

When she heard the door slam behind her, she had sprinted back towards Adelaide’s cottage, determined to rescue Arthur. But several yards away from the house, she was forced to stop, as though an invisible wall was put up, preventing her feet from moving. She trailed all around the house, trying to find a hole in the barrier, but no luck. She was shut out.

“ARTHUR!” She shrieked at the house, too desperate to care that fear was leaking into her voice. “ARTHUR, COME ON!”

No answer from the house, but the lights remained on.

“ARTHUR!”

“Shouting won’t help, miss.”

Beatrice whirled around, scowling furiously when she saw Maggie, half-way hiding behind a bush, safe behind the barrier.

“You!” Beatrice snapped, snatching a rock off the ground and chucking it at the younger girl. She dodged easily. “This is all your fault!”

“Sh-sh!” Maggie said. “You can be mad at me all you want, and I hardly blame you. But I don’t have much time before she notices I’m done with the wards.”

“Who?” Beatrice snapped. “Your witch aunt?”

“She’s not my aunt.”

Beatrice paused at that.

“Maggie ain’t even my real name,” Maggie said. “You can’t say my name with a human voice. Adelaide thinks it’s a funny joke, calling me Maggie…”

“I-I don’t understand.” Beatrice said.

“It’s not important, not now,” Maggie said. “But I can help you escape. Both of you. But I need his help to get out too, or I’m done for. She’s already getting sick of me disobeying her.”

“Why can’t you just leave?” Beatrice asked.

“I’m tied to this place,” Maggie said. “She has something of mine, enchanted in a box so I can’t take it.”

“...and you want Arthur to grab this box.” Beatrice said.

“I’d appreciate it very much, yes.” Maggie said.

“And what if he doesn’t?” Beatrice crossed her arms.

Maggie grinned, but it looked more like a wince. “I suspect I will end up dying painfully and horribly, then.”

Beatrice pursed her lips. “...oh. Well then.”

Maggie shuffled. “Do…do you think he will? Help me, I mean?”

“...yes,” Beatrice said. “He’s…he’s a weirdo, definitely, but he’s ultimately nice, I think.”

Maggie looked relieved.

“What do you need me to do?” Beatrice asked.

“How’s your aim with those rocks?” Maggie asked, motioning to the stones along the ground.

“Pretty good,” Beatrice said, picking up a particularly heavy stone. “Do you need me to throw it at something?”

“The window,” Maggie said, pointing. “And it has to shatter. If it doesn’t, we’re all dead.”

“No pressure then.”

Maggie grinned, and this smile had a bit more life. “None at all. Wait for the signal, and then don’t hold back. Be ready to run.”

“What’s the signal?”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Maggie said gravely. “Trust me. Now, listen. There’s something you ought to know about me first…”

*** *** ***

“I don’t want to speak with you.” Arthur told the Beast, jerking away from the voice.

“Not at all?” The Beast asked. “We’re far more alike than you think.”

“I’m not-” Arthur scoffed. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

“Well,” The Beast said. “That’s just not true, isn’t it? I know everything about you, Arthur Lester. Your hopes, your fears, your dreams, and most of all, your deepest regrets.”

Arthur thought he heard the sound of running water, and whirled around blindly, reaching out. “Stop, goddammit, you-”

The Beast laughed. “There’s no need for that, truly. I told you, I want to help you. I can give you everything you desire.”

“I don’t want your help,” Arthur snarled. “And I doubt you’ll send me home.”

“To send you home would be to deny you the gifts I can offer,” The Beast said. “No, I don’t offer a path out of my forest. I offer you redemption. Or at least something akin to it.”

“You-” Arthur sputtered. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“I can give you Faroe.”

That made Arthur freeze, his heart stuttering in his throat painfully. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but only a squeak came out.

“...don’t…” He managed to whisper. “Don’t…don’t say that.”

“I can,” The Beast said. “I have done it before for others. I can do it for you.”

“Fuck you,” Arthur said, fury overtaking his whole being. “How dare you-she’s gone.”

“She is lost, just as you are,” The Beast said. “But lost things can be found. And I am a particularly good finder.”

“Lost in…” Arthur knew he was shaking, and hated himself for his open emotions in front of the monster. “Lost in the Dark World?”

“Yes.”

Arthur forced himself to keep his scowl. “Nothing…nothing can come out of the Dark World. You fucking liar.”

“Your piece of the King did, did it not?” The Beast asked. “If a piece of wayward trash can claw its way out, why can your daughter not be lifted?”

“Don’t-” Arthur shook his head. “Don’t talk about John like that.”

“Ah, that’s right,” The Beast sounded like he was sneering. “You’ve named it.”

“He named himself.”

“A false name,” The Beast said. “A good way to cling to power. Names have a power, as do identities. Especially in a place such as this, where the Unknown clings to you like dust. Some names are worth very little in the end, but others…like the King’s…well. If you know how to use them, they’re a powerful thing.”

“Leave John alone.” Arthur ordered him.

“You’re a fool for caring about it, you know that?” The Beast said, and now, there was anger in his voice. “You know, on some level, what the King is. The…the worm that has burrowed into you has been lying to you since the beginning. It has hurt you in almost every way conceivable. It cannot change its nature. It will not change its nature. And yet…” The Beast laughed, soft and disbelieving. “And yet, you love the scorpion, even as it stings you.”

“John…” Arthur swallowed, shaken. “John is not the King.”

“John does not exist,” The Beast said. “John Doe is not a real name. It is a placeholder for a person with no identity. Fitting, at least for a bit. You harbor the King in Yellow, a monster that is utterly without humanity, utterly without compassion, and utterly without remorse. You cannot hope that it will grow to love you just because it’s more convenient for you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Arthur said, his stomach turning in fear and anxiety.

“Oh?” The Beast said. “I told you that we are alike, did I not? We have both suffered under the King.”

Arthur was quiet.

“I did not always reside in the Unknown,” The Beast said. “Confined to shadows. My voice, my wonderful voice, once sang through all the worlds, and beings of all shapes and sizes stopped to listen. I was powerful. I was worshiped. I was beautiful.”

“And then,” The Beast’s voice turned sour. “The King in Yellow learned my name. He stripped me of my place amongst the old gods, muzzled me, stripped me of a body, and cast me out to a world filled with no one who would listen to my music. This is not my true voice, Arthur Lester, my true voice was like nothing that ever existed. It was unknowable, it was novel, it was perfect. But this voice is one I have built myself, from borrowed words and cobbled memories. My true voice is lost forever.”

Arthur still refused to say anything.

“The King stole my voice, and destroyed my life,” The Beast said. “Just as he did to you.”

“Nothing-” Arthur sputtered. “Nobody stole anything. I…I wanted John back. I asked for him back.”

“And I can give you something better,” The Beast said. “I offer your daughter.”

“Fuck off!” Arthur shouted, fury overtaking him. “Fuck off, I don’t…I don’t want your help. I’m going home, and I’m taking John with me.”

“And Beatrice?”

Arthur swung around, flailing his hands wildly, hoping to strike the Beast. “Don’t fucking touch her. I swear to fucking God. If you even look at her, I’ll-”

“Oh, Arthur,” The Beast almost sounded sympathetic. “You should know by now. You can’t save anyone. You can’t even save yourself.”

Arthur! Arthur heard John’s voice, a million miles away. Arthur, get the fuck up!

“And,” The Beast said, with an awful, sly lilt to his voice. “I think it’s time you remember that.”

“What?” Arthur asked, and white noise filled his ears. “I don’t-”

“Sir?”

A child’s voice was in his ear, and he realized after a moment of confusion that it was Maggie. His feet weren’t touching the ground, and Arthur realized he was hanging upside down, the blood pooling uncomfortably in his head. He groaned, and was immediately shushed.

Arthur! John sounded relieved. Jesus fucking Christ, I thought you were…I don’t know what I fucking thought, are you alright?

“Peachy.” Arthur mumbled through gritted teeth.

“Sir,” Maggie whispered. “Please, we haven’t much time.”

“You…” Arthur frowned. “You tricked us.”

“I hardly had a choice,” Maggie said. “Keep your voice down-Adelaide will be back with us soon, she’s busy examining her cotton for Faroe.”

Arthur startled, and then remembered Beatrice’s false name. “Cotton? For what?”

“To stuff into her head, make her a puppet.”

Arthur’s mouth fell open. “What?!”

“Sh!” Maggie said. “I’m trying to help you, but you need to help me or I’ll be in for it.”

“She’s your aunt.” Arthur snapped, uselessly trying to wriggle out.

“She’s ain’t no family of mine,” Maggie snapped. “My family wouldn’t even know where to start looking for me. But you can help.”

“What?” Arthur said. “I don’t-”

Arthur, John said suddenly sounding shocked. I know why her hair looks strange. It’s not hair. It’s feathers.

“I’m not a person,” Maggie said, perhaps noticing Arthur’s look of shock. “I’m a bird. A magpie, to be exact. She thinks calling me ‘Maggie’ is hilarious, really…I was flying one day, and got hungry, and saw her garden. I didn’t think…I didn’t think I’d be doing any harm, really, just thought I might find something to eat. It was stupid, really…but she caught me.”

Maggie’s voice sounded shaky. “She clipped my wings off with her magic scissors, and keeps them in a box. I can’t touch the box-it’s enchanted against me. And if I run, she’ll destroy my wings, and that destroys me in turn.”

“I don’t-” Arthur swallowed, horribly dizzy. “And…you want me to take it for you, then.”

“I’d be most grateful.”

“How…” Arthur frowned. “And if I don’t?”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Arthur…

“I…” Maggie’s voice sounded like she was on the edge of tears. “Please, sir. I just…I just want to go home. I promise I won’t take anymore food that isn’t mine. I just…I miss my mama. I miss my brothers and sisters. I don’t want this body, it hurts to be like this, see, and I want to fly. I need to fly. I ain’t gonna force you, but…but please.”

You can’t save anyone. You can’t even save yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said softly. “I…yes. Of course I’ll help you. Is…is Faroe alright?”

“She’s helping,” Maggie said. “She’s gonna throw rocks through the window on the signal.”

“What signal?”

“Hold still,” Maggie said. “I don’t wanna nick you.”

Hold still! John said suddenly. She has a pair of scissors. She’s cutting you loose!

“Maggie?” Arthur winced when he heard Adelaide’s voice, barely a few yards away. “What are you doing, girl? You’ve gone far too quiet for my liking!”

“N-nothing, ma’am!” Maggie said, and Arthur heard scissors, dull scissors, grinding against the thick yarn.

“My master should have been here by now to collect his prize,” Adelaide said. “You, fragment, is he dead? He better not be.”

Uh…fuck you! John shouted suddenly, and Arthur remembered that Adelaide could hear him. I’ll kill you for this!

“Color me terrified.” Adelaide said, bored.

“Who’s she talking to, sir?” Maggie whispered, and Arthur managed a vague shrug.

“She’s got a screw loose, then,” Maggie said. “Always suspected…”

Arthur could feel the yarn loosening, and then very suddenly remembered he was hanging upside down. “Wait,” He said, trying not to wriggle. “Wait, let me-”

Very suddenly, with a yelp of surprise by Maggie, Arthur fell from his bindings, landing roughly on his back. He gasped in pain, and then wheezed, the wind knocked out of him.

“Maggie?!” Adelaide shouted. “Maggie, what are you-oh, you bird-brained, stupid child! What have you done?!”

Arthur! John shouted. Arthur, get up!

Arthur just wheezed again.

“I’m going home, Adelaide!” Maggie shouted. “Whether you like it or not!”

“What are you-don’t touch that! Don’t you know you’ll burn us all?!”

She’s knocked over a candle, Arthur! John shouted, and almost immediately, the room felt uncomfortably warm. It’s setting yarn to the fire! Arthur, get the fuck up!

“Doing-” Arthur coughed weakly. “-my best here, John.”

“Sir!” Someone grabbed his hand, hauling him to his feet, and Arthur managed to take a gasp of air. “Sir, hurry! It’s the little white box, with the pearls on the edges!”

I see it! To your right, reach out, more-

Arthur groped blindly, and jumped when he heard a window shatter, and an object-likely the rock-thump into the center of the room. Adelaide screamed, shrill and horrified. “THE NIGHT AIR!” She wailed. “THE NIGHT AIR IS POISON TO ME! YOU STUPID GIRL, YOU’VE SIGNED YOUR DEATH WARRANT!”

“Hurry!” Maggie yelped.

Arthur stumbled, and felt his fingers close around a small, rectangular object. “I’ve got it! Go!”

She’s opened the door! Straight ahead! Run!

Arthur didn’t have to be told twice.

He took off sprinting, ignoring the throbbing pain echoing in his body. He heard footsteps next to him, Maggie most likely, and Adelaide’s shrill, furious screams echoed in the night. “Run!” He heard Maggie say. “That fire won’t kill her-she’s boarded up the windows already. If she catches you, there’s nothing you can do!”

“Beatrice?!” Arthur shouted, suddenly terrified. “Beatrice, where are you!”

“Why’re you shouting at me?!” He heard Beatrice on the other side of him, and his head jerked to her. “Keep running, genius!”

She’s fine! Go, goddammit!

And he did, away from the screaming witch and her fiery strings.

*** *** ***

He didn’t know how long he had run before he finally stumbled to a stop, panting hard. He had a painful stitch in his side, and practically collapsed into sitting on the ground, heaving.

“Do you think…” He paused, trying to catch his breath. “Do you think this is far enough away?”

“Yes,” Maggie didn’t even sound winded. “I think…I think she’s busy putting out a fire. We’ll be long gone before she can even think about coming after us-not that she can. Fresh air kills her.”

“Thank you, Maggie,” Beatrice said, and Arthur could hear a relieved grin in her voice. “We couldn’t…there’s no way we would have made it out without you.”

“I couldn’t just let you two die,” Maggie said. “Plus whatever weird, so-called fragment thing that Adelaide thinks is in Mr. Arthur-”

“Yes, thank you, Maggie.” Arthur interrupted quickly.

Nice save, John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I…” Arthur managed to collect himself. “I have the box. Do…do you want it?”

He heard Maggie take a deep breath. “I’m…” She sounded nervous. “I’m so scared, honestly. What if…what if my family can’t recognize me when I’m me again? What if they’ve forgotten about me?”

“I know that’s not true,” Arthur said, as gently as he could. “I’m sure they’ve thought about you every single day, and they’ll be overjoyed to see you home and safe.”

“...do you really think so?”

“I know so.” Arthur said, managing a smile.

“Go on,” Beatrice said. “You’ll get to fly again! How cool is that?”

“Very cool,” Maggie agreed, excitement returning to her voice. “Okay, I…I’m ready.”

Arthur’s hand had been closed tightly around the box, but now he held it out to Maggie.

No one took the box.

John made a startled noise. Arthur…

“Oh,” Arthur said. “Sorry, do you need me to open it?” He easily popped the lid off the box, and held it out again.

“Where’s…” All the joy was gone from Maggie’s voice, replaced with a deep, world-shaking terror. “Where’s the box?”

“This-” Arthur blinked, confused. “This is the box, what are you…?”

Arthur, John’s voice sounded grave. It’s a brown wooden box. It’s not the one Maggie pointed too at Adelaide’s.

Arthur felt nauseous. “W-what? No, that can’t…that can’t be right, I…I grabbed it. It was to the right, and…”

There was more than one, I assumed you grabbed the correct one. This one…this one is filled with thimbles.

“I-it’s okay!” Beatrice said as Maggie’s breathing became fast and erratic. Beatrice sounded just as terrified. “W-we can go back, we can go back right now, and fight her for it, we’re not scared of some old witch, I can steal the box, I’m good at stealing-MAGGIE!”

Maggie made an awful, gurgling noise (like someone drowning, Arthur thought) and he heard Beatrice shriek his sudden horror. “ARTHUR, HELP!”

She’s choking!

“Maggie!” Arthur stumbled forward towards the gurgling, and felt his right hand grab a rail-thin shoulder. “Okay, we’ve-John?”

I’ve got her, Arthur!

“Okay, I’ve got you, Maggie,” Arthur said desperately, feeling Maggie shake and thrash in his hands. “Just focus on me, okay? You’re going to be fine, I’ve got you, just take a breath-”

Her lips are turning blue, Arthur!

Maggie collapsed, and Arthur just managed to catch her. He felt her clawing at her throat, trying to free herself of the invisible, magic hands choking her, to no avail. He heard Beatrice sobbing behind him.

“Maggie, you’ll hurt yourself, please, God,” Arthur could feel himself spiraling. “Stop clawing-it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re…you’re going to be fine-”

Her face is ashen, Arthur, John said, an air of hopelessness to him. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she has the look of someone who knows they’re going to die.

“Shut the fuck up, John!” Arthur snapped, forgetting himself, forgetting Beatrice, forgetting everything except the choking child in his arms. “Shut up now!”

Maggie wheezed weakly, and Arthur could feel tears streaming down his face. He had no idea if they were his own or John’s. “Maggie, just…please, please breathe, I’m so sorry…I didn’t…I didn’t mean to-”

He couldn’t make himself say ‘kill you’.

Maggie gasped desperately, and then abruptly went silent.

“Maggie?” Arthur whispered. “Maggie, are you there?”

Beatrice burst into new sobs.

“Maggie, oh my God,” Arthur said, shaking her gently. “Please…please don’t do this I…I can’t watch this again.”

Arthur…

“No,” He shook his head, so fast and so hard it hurt. “No no, no, Maggie, please, please take a breath, I’m begging you. Please. Anything, anything at all, I can’t…I can’t do this.”

You can’t save anyone. You can’t even save yourself.

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur croaked, holding a corpse again.

The forest was silent except for Beatrice’s sobs, and Arthur’s shaking breath.

There was no bird song.

Chapter Text

Maggie’s body dissolved into feathers, which at least solved the problem of what to do with her corpse.

Arthur was silent for what felt like ages, his head dipped low to the ground, feeling the temperature continue to drop. John was similarly silent, out of things to say and with very little to describe. The only sound was Beatrice’s quiet sobbing.

He felt something cold and wet on the back of his neck, and looked up towards the sky. It’s snowing, John said in a dull voice. You need to find shelter. You’ll get cold.

Standing up and walking felt like a nigh impossible task, so he merely dropped his head again.

“Who…” He heard Beatrice sniffle. “Who’s John?”

“...what?” Arthur said. His tongue felt heavy.

“John,” Beatrice said. “When Maggie was…” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “You told a John to shut up.”

Arthur chewed his lip. John said nothing.

“And…” Beatrice said slowly, like she was arranging puzzle pieces. “And at Adelaide’s. There was…Adelaide was talking to someone. Some…some kind of fragment.”

Arthur half-wished that John would start snapping, furiously saying they needed to throw Beatrice off their trail. Instead, the voice remained stubbornly quiet.

“Arthur…?” Beatrice asked, with something akin to trepidation in her voice.

“...you need to go home, Beatrice.” Arthur said.

“W-what?”

“Go home,” Arthur said, and somehow found the strength to pull himself to his feet. “I should have made you leave a long time ago.”

“You can’t-” Now she sounded mad. “You can’t just send me away. You’re not the boss of me.”

“There are things…” Arthur sighed. “There are things at play here beyond your understanding. I shouldn’t have accepted your help in the first place. It was an unfortunate oversight of mine-”

“That’s ridiculous!” Beatrice snapped. “I’m the one who found the tavern! I’m the one who found John Crops and the vegetable car! You need me! And you’ve been lying to me the whole time!”

Arthur sputtered. “That’s not true-”

“It is!” Beatrice protested, and Arthur could hear tears in her voice. “You’ve…you’ve been avoiding questions, hiding things from me, and now you won’t tell me who’s John, what Adelaide was talking about, or anything! I want the truth! I deserve the truth!”

“You’re just a child,” Arthur snapped. “You can’t possibly understand-”

“I’m not just a kid, I’m your partner!”

Arthur laughed-maybe a bit more cruelly than was necessary. “We are not partners.”

“You need someone watching your back,” Beatrice said. “You’d never get this far without me.”

Arthur, John said. Maybe we should-

“Go home, Beatrice,” Arthur said. “I won’t tell you again.”

“You’re not in charge of me!” Beatrice shouted, furious now. “Tell me what’s going on, right now, I-”

“Do you want the truth?!” Arthur shouted back, and he heard her take a few steps away from him. “Fine! You’re right! I can’t see well! In fact, I can’t see at all!”

“What? But you-”

Arthur, not like this-

“There is a fragment in me, Adelaide was right,” Arthur snapped, stabbing heartache and frustration swallowing his better judgment. “I opened the wrong book, and a piece of an entity called the King in Yellow attached himself to me. He calls himself John, and he’s got my eyes, my left hand, and a foot. I’ve been through hell since-every single one of my scars that I know you’re staring at has been from the last few months, just trying not to die. And now I’m stuck in this…” Frustration gave way to fury, and Arthur’s voice rose to a yell. “In this fucking forest with a child and there’s no way out!”

He scooped up the box he had stolen-a wooden, useless thing-and hurled it into the trees as hard as he could. He heard it land harmlessly in the leaves, and wished it had shattered.

“Go on, John,” Arthur said, panting slightly. “Say hello.

I’m not doing this, Arthur, not like this.

“What, nothing to say now?” He glanced back in Beatrice’s general direction. “He usually has something awful to say, I suppose he can’t think of anything horrid right now-”

“Stop it,” Beatrice said, her voice quiet and fearful. “Stop…at least think of a better lie than that.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You’re either lying, or you’re absolutely insane,” Beatrice said. “I don’t know which is worse.”

“I can be insane without lying.” Arthur said, which was true, but not especially helpful.

Beatrice sniffled, and Arthur felt guilt suddenly flood through him again. “I…” Even apologizing felt like too much. “Just…just go home, Beatrice.”

“I-I can’t,” Beatrice said, a sob starting to build in the back of her throat. “I have to find the circus.”

“That’s a foolish plan, and you know it.”

“I-it’s the only plan I have,” Beatrice said, struggling not to give into crying. “I can’t…I can’t ever go home. I did…I did something bad, I can’t-”

“Just-!” Arthur could feel himself getting more frustrated. “Go home, goddammit, go see your brother, I’m sure you have more forests to explore by your family-”

“How do you know about my brother?!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Arthur snapped. “Go, he misses you dearly, I’m sure, and has far more need of you than I do-”

“MY BROTHER’S DEAD!”

Beatrice’s shriek echoed through the trees, and there was a moment of silence before she lapsed back into harsh, gut-wrenching sobs.

“H-he’s…” She cried. “He’s dead, and i-it’s…it’s my fault, it’s all my f-fault, I…”

Arthur froze, even his shivering quelled for a moment. “...Beatrice…” He swallowed. “Jesus Christ, I-”

“I-if you’re just gonna lie to me, fine!” Beatrice snapped, anger mixing with grief. “Fine, I don’t need you! Stay with the creepy, so-called demon in your head, I don’t care, but I-I’m going!”

“Beatrice, wait wait-” Arthur reached out, but heard her take several steps back.

“Don’t touch me!” He heard more footsteps, this time much quicker and getting further away.

Arthur, she’s running off! Hurry!

“Shit-” Arthur started running, his lungs burning almost immediately. “Beatrice! Stop!”

It’s so dark, I can barely see-duck!

Arthur ducked down, and felt a branch brush the top of his head. “Beatrice!” He shouted. “Come back, wait! You’ll-!”

Arthur, look out!

Arthur’s foot caught on something-a root, most likely-and he yelped as he felt himself tumbled roughly. He must have been on a sharp incline, because he rolled downhill, painfully, before his body came to a stop, bruised and battered.

Arthur! Arthur, are you okay?!

“Just-” He tried to rise, and cried out when his body protested loudly. “Fuck-!”

Don’t get up! Give yourself a minute.

“But Beatrice-”

You’re no help to her like this…Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur, why did you do that?!

“She…” Arthur swallowed, shivering again. He could feel a thin layer of snow on the ground. “She asked.”

That doesn’t mean shit! You scared her!

“She was already scared.”

That doesn’t mean you should scare her more.

“Fuck you, John,” Arthur growled. “You were the one that said you wished you could speak to her. You blew it.”

I’m not the one who grabbed the wrong box.

That was John, of course, immediately saying the thing he knew would hurt Arthur the worst the moment he felt threatened. There was no escalation-only scorched earth.

Steely anger solidified in Arthur’s stomach. “Fuck you, you bastard-!”

“Come, wayward souls, that wander through the darkness. There is a light for the lost and the meek…”

Arthur froze, the anger giving way to panic. John went quiet too.

“No,” Arthur whispered. “God, no…”

“Sorrow and fear are easily forgotten, when you submit to the soil of the earth…”

Arthur, John whispered. There is a figure standing at the edge of the tree lines. It’s tall, nearly eight feet, and vaguely humanoid shaped. The snow concealed most of it, but there’s massive antlers growing out of its head. And the eyes…Jesus fucking Christ, the eyes…

“I see right through you,” The Beast said, his voice still as melodic as ever. “And I do not fear you, fragment. I hear you, and I see you sitting on his soul like a demonic possession. Let us speak plainly, then, for there is much to discuss. Have you given my offer more thought, Arthur Lester?”

“You,” Arthur breathed. “You…you killed Maggie.”

“I killed no one,” The Beast said. “Maggie’s death was the result of your own shortcomings. Had you accepted my help, she would be home by now. Beatrice would be as well, for that matter.”

What the fuck is he talking about?!

“I am not speaking to you, fragment,” The Beast thundered. “Wait your turn.”

My name is John, you ugly freak!

“No,” The Beast laughed. “No, it is not. You have no identity. You have no name. And with no name, you hold no power. Perhaps it’s time you remember that. What do you even remember, anyway? Has the Dark World really wiped you so clean, left you so helpless and pliable?”

The Beast’s voice got low and quiet. “Do you even remember who I am?”

John said nothing, and the Beast chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no, then. But I am the one you cast out as the King, the one you stole from. You had my song, and you had my name, but I don’t need either of those things, not here.”

“I don’t want your help.” Arthur whispered.

“The Woodsman is coming this way,” The Beast said. “You will have to battle him for the lantern. That is what you will need. He will not want you to take it, and will fight without mercy and without pain. But if you best him…then you know the prize.”

Arthur, what the fuck is going on?

“He…” Arthur swallowed. “He said that…he said that he could bring Faroe back.”

WHAT?! John shouted. Arthur, that’s impossible, you know that! Nothing gets out of the Dark World!

“You did.” Arthur said, the words slipping out before he could stop it.

That’s not…I didn’t… John sputtered. Arthur, you can’t possibly be considering…

“Her soul will reside in the lantern,” The Beast said. “And you shall have to grind Edelwood trees to oil to keep the fire going. It’s easy-I can show you. She cannot speak to you, as there are some things that even I cannot grant, but she will be able to see you and hear you. You will be with her again. You will be able to tell her you love her, and begin to make amends.”

“...amends?” Arthur whispered, in spite of himself.

“Yes,” The Beast said. “However…”

He heard the Beast hum, as if thinking. “I do not do this for free. There is a price. There’s always a price.”

Arthur said nothing.

“A soul for a soul, a life for a life,” The Beast said. “At least, a soul for a splinter, a life for a whisper.”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. “You want…you want John to take Faroe’s place in the Dark World.”

“Exactly.”

To Arthur’s surprise, John said nothing.

“...I…” Arthur shook his head, but it felt mechanical. “I couldn’t.”

“You could,” The Beast said. “A piece of a monster, or your daughter? The choice is your’s.”

Arthur, I… John started, but couldn’t seem to finish.

“What?” The Beast asked. “You won’t beg for your existence? Fine, then. I don’t wish to hear your sniveling anyway.”

“The lantern,” Arthur said. “It’s…that’s all I’d need?”

“All you’d ever need and more,” The Beast said, and Arthur heard him circling. “The Woodsman approaches. The snow falls. The woods are hungry, and so am I.”

Wind blew through the trees, and for a second, it sounded like moans of pain.

“Make your choice, Arthur Lester,” The Beast said, and Arthur could feel his eyes burrowing into him, seeing every secret, every lie. “Make your choice.”

Chapter Text

Beatrice’s tears felt frozen to her face, and she shivered violently as the wind whipped around her. She wished she could reach out, and use her hands to feel around in the near pitch-black of the forest, but moving her hands meant she would no longer be hugging her core, and the cold would seep in even further.

“Stupid Arthur,” She muttered, not really meaning it. “Stupid jerk, lying to my face…I’ll find my own way.”

The wind howled, and Beatrice stumbled in the gale, falling down hard on her knees. She winced, annoyed that the snow wasn’t nearly thick enough to cushion her fall.

She looked up, and froze.

Surrounding her, like a bunch of ominous vultures, were Edelwoods, leaking black oil from their faux wooden eyes like human tears. Their mouths were wrenched open in silent agony, and their maws were wide and pitch dark. For a moment, Beatrice thought she could hear the whispers of their screams.

But that didn’t make sense. They were just trees, after all.

“H-hello?” Beatrice called out, forcing herself to rise to her feet. The screams were gone. She felt foolish for her fear, even as her stomach turned from anxiety and vague panic. The Edelwoods stared at her, unhelpful and dooming her to some unknown fate.

Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut, trying to chase away traitorous thoughts of wishing her mother were here to wrap her in a thick blanket, and her father were right next to her so he could pick her up.

“Well, you’re certainly in a pickle!”

Beatrice whirled around, nearly falling over again when she saw someone standing at the edge of the Edelwood circle. He was a man, or at least shaped like one (Beatrice’s gut told her that this thing was the farthest thing from a man possible) and unbothered by the chill.

His hands looked like they were stained a dark, crusting red.

“Some little kid, wandering all alone in a forest at night, during a snowstorm!” He tched. “You’ll be a popsicle by the morning. All of you guys will be, if he doesn’t hurry up and make a goddamn decision.”

“W-what…?!” Beatrice’s teeth chattered. “Who are you?!”

“Oh, that’s not super important,” The being grinned. “But if you gotta call me something, Kayne works pretty well. Here, call it!”

Something flashed in Kayne’s hand, and Beatrice realized he was tossing a coin into the air. It should have come down a second later, but instead, it spun wildly in the air, suspended by something Beatrice couldn’t comprehend.

Her mouth fell open. “How…?!”

“Call it,” Kayne repeated. “Heads or tails.”

“I don’t…” Beatrice took a step back. “What am I playing for?”

Kayne shook his head. “That’s not something you get to know. Now, call it.”

“How can I call it if I don’t know what’s at stake?”

“That’s not-” Kayne’s too-large grin twitched. “That’s not the game.”

“Then I don’t want to play this game.” Beatrice folded her arms, hoping she looked more confident than she felt.

Kayne groaned. “This is why I hate kids…you’re playing the game. You’ve been playing it this whole time.”

“What? I don’t-” Beatrice froze, her heart skipping a beat. “You’re not…are you a fragment thing?”

Kayne threw his head back and laughed. It echoed loudly, so much that Beatrice winced. “O-ho! That’s the first time I’ve gotten that response! Usually it’s groveling, sniveling, along with a healthy dose of ‘oh, don’t kill me Great Old One, I promise I’ll be a loving and faithful servant!’ before I kill them anyway. Anyway, this is better. Groveling gets on my nerves.”

“Then what are you?” Beatrice demanded.

Kayne’s grin widened until it looked like it was touching his ears. “Something incomprehensible, Red. You know, Beastie’s gonna get mad that I’m meddling with his mark, but he’s a bit busy with Arthur and Blondie right now…”

“Arthur?!” Beatrice felt panic curl in her stomach. “Where is he?! What’s going on?”

“Um, I think he’s about to either kill the Woodsman, get killed by the Woodsman, or just in general get fucked over. Who’s to say?” Kayne shrugged. “I’ve been loving the show you three have been putting on so far, even that stupid little bandstand sidequest, but you can’t keep this up forever. I thought you hated him.”

“I don’t-!” Beatrice shook her head wildly. “I don’t hate anyone. I’m mad at him, but…”

“Don’t hate anyone but yourself,” Kayne mused, and Beatrice shivered before she could stop herself. “You’re all peas in a pod, you know that? More self-esteem issues than you can shake a stick at, it’s incredible! Where do you think the name Faroe came from, by the way?”

“What?”

“Faroe, the name he gave Adelaide back at her house!” Kayne cackled again. “Where do you think he got it from?”

Beatrice shivered when another harsh gust of wind nearly blew her over. Kayne’s clothes didn’t even move, and his coin still spun in the air.

Kayne’s eyes followed her’s. “But I’m getting distracted, aren’t I? I’m focusing on you when I’ll be missing the main event if I don’t hurry. So call it. Heads or tails?”

“I’m not playing this,” Beatrice said. “I already told you.”

“And I told you,” Kayne said. “That you don’t have a choice.”

“I’m not scared of you.” Beatrice said.

Kayne’s eyes flashed with something that made Beatrice flinch before she could stop herself. “Yes you are,” Kayne nearly whispered. “And you’re very right to be. So let’s make this easy, birdie. Pick, or I’ll kill you right here, right now. And it won’t be quick and easy.”

Beatrice’s eyes glanced at Kayne’s stained hands, and she thought she might throw up.

“Or,” Beatrice said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “We could play a different game.”

Kayne’s grin disappeared. “Oh, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“It’s a fun game,” Beatrice reassured him. “Have you ever played Hot and Cold?”

Kayne rolled his eyes. “And let me guess; we’re trying to find your little lost buddies.”

“Arthur, yes.”

“And the other one.”

“I-” Beatrice blinked, wondering why Kayne was buying into the whole ‘John’ narrative. “Yeah, sure.”

Kayne stared at her, and for a second, Beatrice worried that she had said the wrong thing, and she was about to die.

Then Kayne smiled again, too wide and too pleased.

“This is much more interesting than groveling,” He said. “Fine then, Beatrice. Start walking.”

She had never given him her name, but somehow she wasn’t surprised.

*** *** ***

“I don’t…” Arthur shook his head. “How can…I don’t understand how this is even possible.”

“The impossibility of it hardly matters,” The Beast said. “What matters is if you love your daughter enough to fight for her.”

Arthur, I… John said, probably expecting to be cut off, but merely trailed off weakly instead.

“What?” Arthur asked breathlessly. “What could you possibly have to say?!”

I don’t know! John growled, but there was a distinct air of panic to his voice, unlike anything Arthur had heard from him before. Fuck!

“Do not listen to it,” The Beast said, his voice urgent and close. “Do not listen to the fragment in your head, Arthur Lester, it has only led you astray.”

“That’s-” Arthur shivered as a cold breeze seemed to pass right through him. “That’s not…entirely fair-”

“Is it?” The Beast asked. “It has killed your partner, for one, using your own hands as the weapons. It killed Emily for seemingly no reason at all. And as for when it was a part of the King…who can even comprehend the minds turned to madness, the bodies ripped asunder, the incalculable suffering caused simply because the King had nothing better to do?”

That’s not… John sounded desperate, almost pleading. That’s not me anymore. I don’t want that to be me anymore.

“Fool,” The Beast thundered, suddenly furious at John’s defense. “Stupid, useless scrap of discarded soul…whatever else could you ever be? You parade as human, as good to save yourself from the Dark World, even though you don’t even know the meaning of the word good! I see right through you, I always have, even when you were whole. You are a parasite, powerless without weak minds to latch onto and mold like clay. You are chaotically cruel, and revel in blood and pain simply because you are more powerful than those you torture.”

The Beast hummed, almost the beginning of a song. “The Dark World is exactly where you belong, exactly what you deserve, and you can never outrun your destiny. Not in my forest.”

John made a strange, choked noise. But he did not argue.

Arthur said nothing, the Beast’s words washing over him like ocean waves. He was vaguely aware of the sound of his own breathing.

“Arthur Lester,” The Beast said. “The Woodsman approaches. Do you want your daughter back, or not?”

“She…” Arthur breathed. “You can bring her back to me? Truly?”

“Make your trade,” The Beast said. “Make your choice.”

Arthur swallowed, and it felt like swallowing lead. “John, I…why haven’t you…said anything?”

...because what is there to say? John said, sounding so completely broken. I can’t…Jesus Christ, I can’t…I can’t ask you to save me and leave your daughter. That’s…I just can’t. I don’t want to go back to the Dark World…God, every moment has been me just trying to avoid that, but…Arthur. He’s right. You know exactly who I am. You know exactly what I was. It’s…I was there for a reason, I expect. Maybe cosmic justice, if there is such a thing. Maybe fate. But I won’t…I won’t ask that of you. I swear.

“Coward.” The Beast sneered, and John did not argue.

“Then…” The Beast said, and Arthur though he heard a sound like wood cracking. Not cracking-growing. “We have a deal.”

He’s reaching out, John said, terror deep in his voice, but Arthur could tell he was trying to remain brave. His hands are made of shadows, but they’re solid as iron, reaching towards your eyes, and-Arthur, I’m so sorry that I couldn’t…goodbye.

He heard the Beast laugh, and something shifted inside him.

“Stop!” Arthur shouted, the sound echoing strangely. He jerked away, waving his arm as if to smack away the Beast. But his hands collided with nothing.

“Stop?!” The Beast repeated, sounded frustrated.

“I-I-” Arthur shook his head wildly. “No. No deal. I won’t…I won’t let you.”

Arthur…!

“No deal…” The Beast growled. “No deal?! Perhaps you are confused, Arthur Lester-”

“I’m not confused,” Arthur snapped. “Not anymore. I don’t…no. I don’t…I don’t trade lives. Not like this. Not ever.”

“It is no life,” The Beast snapped. “Merely a facsimile of a soul-”

“You’re wrong!” Arthur shouted. “Maybe at first, he was, but that’s not who he is anymore! He’s not the King in Yellow, he’s not some nameless entity. His name is John Doe, a name and identity that he chose, and I won’t let you take him! Faroe-” Arthur choked for a moment, but managed to keep his voice steady. “-Faroe wouldn’t want to know that she sentenced someone else there, not so she could…live helplessly in a lantern.”

“You…” The Beast snarled. “You utter, and complete idiot. I offer the deal of a lifetime, and you refuse?! I shall rip it from you myself, leave you squirming and helpless, and alone in my forest!”

He’s circling us, Arthur! John said, panicked. He’s even taller than we thought, Jesus Christ-

“So try.” Arthur said quietly, puzzle pieces he didn’t even know existed slotting together neatly.

“...what?!” The Beast snapped.

“Try,” Arthur said. “I don’t give you permission to take John. So I suppose you’ll have to take him by force. If you’re able, that is.”

Arthur?!

“You…” The Beast sputtered. “You don’t know what you’re challenging me to do.”

“I think I do,” Arthur said, his confidence growing. “This place is unlike the Dreamlands. There’s rules, exchanges, and laws to what can be given and taken, isn’t there? You can’t take anything that isn’t offered. So when I don’t agree…you’re powerless, aren’t you?”

There was a beat of silence, and then, a strange and terrifying noise, like a distorted roar. The air around Arthur seemed to vibrate, and he yelped, tumbling back and falling roughly. The wind went still, and yet it felt far colder.

Arthur! John said, startled and openly afraid. The Beast has disappeared-everything has disappeared. It’s gone so, so dark, as though he’s swallowed all the light. The only thing I can see are his eyes, his awful, glowing eyes, ringed with red, blue, and yellow, and…Arthur, it’s so much like the Dark World, oh my God-

“I’m here, John,” Arthur whispered. “I’m here.”

“The Dark World,” The Beast intoned, his voice echoing as if a hundred voices were speaking as one. “Is nothing compared to what I can do. Are you ready to see true darkness?”

Arthur took a slow, long breath, and found he wasn’t quite so afraid anymore. In a moment of emotion, he grabbed John’s hand, and gently squeezed.

After a moment, John squeezed back.

“I am far too old to be scared of the dark,” Arthur said. “Much less the empty shadows that stand in it. If you were of any material, perhaps…but can you even touch me?”

The Beast growled, the sound rising to a crescendo, and Arthur laughed. “At least…at least the King could actually reach out and hurt me. All you can do is sing, and a few party tricks.”

The Beast snarled again. “You will never leave these woods, Arthur Lester,” He said. “I do not care how long it takes, the Edelwood will swallow you whole, and you will be condemned to feel your body crack and bend into unnatural positions, and the thing in your mind will watch helpless, silenced to all but me-”

“No thanks.” Arthur said, and let go of John’s hand to grab the lighter from his bag, flicking it on, and holding it out towards the Beast’s voice.

The Beast screamed, and the wind was back, furiously pushing Arthur every which way. The darkness is gone, Arthur! John said. There was…a glimpse of the Beast, and Jesus fucking Christ…he’s made of the faces of the Edelwood trees. All the faces were screaming.

“You…” The Beast wailed. “You insolent, stupid man! How dare you?! How dare you-”

Arthur waved the lighter again, and heard the Beast make a choked noise.

He’s cowering, Arthur. He’s so afraid of the light.

“John’s the pathetic one?” Arthur asked. “At least he’s not afraid of a little lighter.”

The Beast made no sound, and the only noise was the blizzard. Then, the Beast chuckled. “...you could have lived in blissful ignorance, Arthur Lester. You would have been so much happier.”

“Ignorance?” Arthur asked. “What are you-”

He was lying, Arthur, John said, sounding stunned, the mystery unraveling. He can’t…I don’t think he can bring Faroe back.

“Nothing can,” The Beast said, terrifying joy leaking into his voice. “You were right-there are rules here, but the rules never say I have to follow through on a deal. I can only take what’s offered. But there hardly has to be a fair trade. Perhaps some beings will honor their deals…but I hardly have interest in honor.”

“You…” Arthur felt sudden rage bloom his chest like weeds. “You goddamn bastard.”

“She will wander there, for eternity, alone and afraid,” The Beast laughed. “How confusing that must be for a young child, how terrifying to be left behind-first to drown, and then to wander.”

Arthur swung the lighter wildly, but the Beast merely laughed. The wind’s blown out the light, Arthur!

“I cannot touch you, yes,” The Beast said. “But you will not leave this forest. There are others not bound to the same rules as I, and they will give me the time to take you into my trees by force. You will never, ever join your daughter.”

“You fucking-”

“Arthur Lester,” The Beast said, his tone suddenly that of making a deal. “If you wish to take the lantern, it will have to be by violent force, though you’re hardly unused to that-”

“What?” Arthur said, puzzled. “What are you-!”

ARTHUR LOOK OUT!

“Begone, devil!” Arthur threw himself away from a new, rough voice. “You won’t take this from me!”

It’s the Woodsman, Arthur! He…Jesus fucking Christ, he’s coming at you with an ax!

The Beast laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

“W-wait, no!” Arthur tried to scramble to his feet, but the snow clung to his feet like weights. “There’s a misunderstanding-”

“You won’t take this lantern from me!” The Woodsman shouted. “Do you know what I had to do for this?! What I had to do for her?! I won’t let you take her, not to fix your own mistakes!”

“Her?!” Arthur said, and then the final puzzle piece slotted into place with sickening precision. “Oh God, wait-Woodsman, no! He’s lying! Anna’s not there-”

“DON’T YOU SPEAK HER NAME, YOU DIRTY KILLER!”

ARTHUR LOOK OUT-!

And everything went still and quiet.

The last thing Arthur heard was the Beast, laughing and laughing.

Chapter Text

The Woodsman’s gait was heavy and uneven, and he worried he might collapse in the blizzard right there. Half of him wanted to, and he suspected he might have given up right there and then had it not been for the flickering light in the lantern.

“There, now,” He told her, patting the lantern gently, ignoring the sting of the hot metal. “There now, it’s over. We’re…we don’t have to worry about him anymore, we…oh, my God…”

He realized, not for the first time, Anna was probably disgusted with him.

“Your work is not finished here, Woodsman.”

“Get back!” The Woodsman whirled around, fury granting him his energy back, and he swung his ax wildly towards the glowing eyed shadow in the trees. “Get back, I’ll have no more of this!”

“Arthur Lester still lives,” The Beast said urgently. “Are you really going to leave him there? To freeze slowly, alone and forgotten?”

“I…I…” The Woodsman had never been more horrified. Save for perhaps when he found his daughter was gone. “Oh, my God.”

“No,” The Beast said. “There is only me. There is only the forest. And there is only surrender.”

“To hell with that,” The Woodsman said, stumbling forward. “I won’t be your killer, Beast.”

“By leaving him, you already sentence him to-”

“Shut up!” The Woodsman shouted. “Shut up! I refuse…I refuse to believe that death is the only way out!”

The Beast said nothing, merely staring at the Woodsman. “Stop looking at me.” He grumbled, pushing aside leaving to find himself on the main dirt road. He heard hoofbeats, and whirled around in the direction of them, startled.

There was a small, broken down cart, pulled by a miserable looking mule. “Hello, stranger!” The man driving the cart said. He was bundled up tight, but the Woodsman could see red hair and a thin mustache on him, red-faced in the cold. His dark eyes were wide and worried.

“This is not a night for traveling,” The Woodsman said. “Strange weather is afoot.”

“I know, truly,” The driver said. “But the circumstances have forced me out. I’m looking for someone.”

“Looking for someone?”

“Indeed,” The driver’s face twisted. “My…my daughter, in fact.”

The Woodsman thought he heard the Beast laugh over the wind, but couldn’t be sure.

“It’s a bad time for a child to be out on her own,” The Woodsman said slowly. “It’s unwise for her to be traveling alone, when it’s snowing as it is.”

“Oh, I know,” The driver said. “She ran…she ran away some time ago. I’ve been searching for her. Have you seen a little girl, red hair and overalls? She has enough fire to rival the strongest hearth, and a mouth quicker than a locust on grain.”

The Woodsman’s mouth quirked at the description before he could stop himself. “I…I’m afraid I haven’t seen anyone matching that description, sir.”

The driver visibly wilted. “...o-oh.”

“...but,” The Woodsman said. “There’s another man. In need of assistance.”

“What?”

“Just that way, yonder,” The Woodsman said, pointing into the forest. “He’s unconscious, and in this weather, in this forest…it’s dangerous to let your guard down.”

The driver stared at the Woodsman, suddenly suspicious. “And…why could you not help this man?”

The Woodsman felt new shame rise in him like a sickness, and he bowed his head. “I…” He trailed off. “I have my own burdens to bear. He cannot be one of them. I wish…I wish I were strong enough to do so. Strong enough to resist my own darkness that comes with these burdens but…well.”

“...I see.” The driver said, looking at the Woodsman with a strange, unidentifiable look. “If…if you see that little girl, please…please tell her that her family misses her very much, and want her to come home more than anything.”

“I will.” The Woodsman said, and trudged down the road, walking home.

The tears streaming down his face felt icy.

*** *** ***

“Warmer.” Kayne said, walking behind Beatrice, laughing each time the wind blew her around. It didn’t happen so much now, at least. The worst of the blizzard seemed to be blowing over. But now it was replaced with a cold so palpable Beatrice could almost feel the freezing air around her, moving like strange water.

“So, so warm-well, not really,” Kayne laughed again. “In the game, sure, but-”

“I-if you’re gonna be a j-jerk-” Beatrice snapped, her teeth chattering, but Kayne laughed even more.

“Oh! Sounds like someone’s not super grateful for my help,” Kayne said, taking a few steps back. “I know when I’m not wanted, perhaps you can find him on your own-”

“Wait!”

But it was too late. Kayne literally vanished, like a blink-one second he was there, and then the next, he simply wasn’t.

Beatrice forced herself not to call out for him, never mind that the forest was darker than ever. Never mind that she was so, so cold, and so, so afraid. Never mind that all she wanted to do was cry until there were no tears left, and then wake up safe and sound in her own bed at home.

“Stop it,” She scolded herself. “Stop it. You’re…you’re being a baby.”

She walked forward, and squinted.

Someone was leaning up against a tree.

“ARTHUR!” Beatrice shrieked, shrill and desperate. She sprinted forward, tripping badly before skipping to a stop in front of him. It was Arthur, certainly, but he wasn’t awake. He was slumped forward, his head dipped and a gash bleeding sluggishly around his right temple, running down his face like a maroon river.

“Arthur, Arthur,” Beatrice said, shaking him. “P-please, we gotta…we gotta get out of here, there’s monsters, and…and it’s cold, we…”

Arthur didn’t respond.

Beatrice swallowed, her gaze going to his right hand. She grabbed it, and winced at how loose and cold his hands were. “W-we’re gonna…” She rubbed his fingers, trying to get warmth and blood flow back into them, but her hands were nearly as cold as his own. “W-we’re gonna get out of this, it’s o-okay, don’t-”

Icy fingers brushed her elbow, and she screamed, scrambling back in a panic.

Arthur’s left hand, the one with the wooden pinky, was resting on his lap, even though Beatrice was nearly certain that it had been at his side before.

“A-arthur?” She whispered.

Arthur did not respond, but the left hand twitched wildly, making various gestures that Beatrice couldn’t make heads or tails of. Beatrice’s mouth dropped open, and she glanced at Arthur’s legs, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw his left foot twitching.

Slowly, she crawled forward, trying to see Arthur’s eyes.

His eyelids weren’t closed all the way, and through the cracks, she could see the irises were ringed with yellow.

Beatrice stared at the hand, still making incomprehensible gestures, flexing the palm and wiggling the fingers wildly. “...J-John?” She whispered.

The left hand froze, as if shocked into figurative silence. After a moment, it slowly, slowly shaped its hand into something Beatrice knew.

A thumbs up.

“O-oh.” Beatrice said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

John’s fingers uncurled, and flicked strangely at her. “What are you-” Beatrice blinked. “Are you telling me t-to leave?”

A thumbs up, and Beatrice shook her head. “N-no! Hang on, let me…” She gently tipped Arthur’s head back so it wasn’t slumped uncomfortably. “Is that better? Can you see?”

The yellow eyes followed her, and she was rewarded with another thumbs up. “O-okay,” Beatrice said. “We gotta…we gotta make a plan-hey!”

John managed to grab her sleeve, tugging on it insistently before flopping off, pointing off into the woods. “I’m not leaving you!” Beatrice said, feeling tears spring to her eyes. “I-I’m not…” She rubbed her face furiously, refusing to look into John’s eyes, lest she see pity. Or worse, disappointment.

She paused, and then, grabbed John’s hand.

He jerked, as if frightened by her sudden contact, but didn’t pull away. “I’m not leaving,” Beatrice said, looking him in the eyes. “I’m not. I l-left once, and I won’t do it again. I didn’t…” Her voice cracked. “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry I ran away, and got you hurt and i-in trouble, I don’t mean to say and do m-mean things, s-sometimes I just can’t help myself, and I’m trying s-so hard to be better but I j-just keep hurting the people I care about and getting them into trouble and I’m so, so s-sorry that I…” She broke off into freezing cold sobs, feeling more alone than ever.

But then John squeezed her hand. It didn’t feel quite as cold as the other hand.

“I’m sorry.” Beatrice whispered, and he squeezed her hand again. This time, she squeezed back.

She nodded, slowly, wiping her nose. “O-okay,” She nodded. “We’re gonna get out of here-”

“Oh, barf!”

John jerked Beatrice towards him suddenly, as if to pull her out of the way. His eyes were unmistakably filled with rage, and lined with panic.

“Oh, don’t give me that, Daffodil,” Kayne said, striding out of the darkness with exaggerated disgust. “You know I hate these emotional scenes.”

“Go away.” Beatrice said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. She refused to let go of John’s hand.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Kayne said. “You know, Red, I-woah, there! That’s the kind of language you use?! There’s kids present!”

“I-” Beatrice looked at Arthur’s still body, and then back at Kayne. “You can hear John?”

“‘Course I can,” Kayne shrugged. “I hear everything.”

“What’s he…” Beatrice licked her chapped lips. “What’s he saying?”

John’s hand squeezed her’s, and Kayne nodded, as if listening intently. “Mhm, mhm, oh, I hear you pal, but no. You don’t get to make that deal. Not when you have nothing to offer.”

“What’s he saying?” Beatrice repeated.

“Oh, mostly ooey gooey stuff about how he and Arthur both want the best for you, and it isn’t your fault, blah blah blah-” Beatrice squeezed John’s hand. “-but mostly he’s asking for you to be sent home safe. I mean, the guy’s literally begging for it, I’ve only seen him beg like this when Arthur’s life is on the line! It’s funny. I like it.”

“You can’t send me home!” Beatrice said desperately. “You have to help Arthur and John!”

“Um,” Kayne laughed. “Newsflash, kid. I don’t have to do anything. And no way I’d send you home. That’s boring. I don’t do boring. Nah, it’s all on you now.”

“W-what?”

“So here’s the deal,” Kayne said. “I either kill you, or-oh, shush, Lemondhead, I can’t think over all that yelling-or you fight your way out of this, and save yourself, and your little friends.”

Beatrice felt ill. “W-who am I fighting? You?”

Kayne cackled. “Oh, no! No, if you were to fight me…well, it’d go a little like this.”

He snapped his fingers, and Beatrice felt some great, invisible hand hit her hard in the chest, launching her backwards into the forest, her hand ripped from John’s. Her back hit a tree roughly, and she fell to the ground with a wheezing gasp.

“Yeah,” Kayne’s voice was in her ear. “It’d go exactly like that, actually, though probably with more blood, I love blood-”

With a furious scream, Beatrice reached into one of her secret pockets, grabbed her pocket knife, and swung at Kayne as hard as she could.

Kayne yelped, and stumbled back, holding his cheek. After a moment, he removed his hand with a look of amazement, staring at it.

Beatrice had sliced open his cheek, to where she could see his teeth through the torn skin. There was no blood, just flesh hanging like putty, and Beatrice thought she might throw up.

“That smarts.” Kayne said, sounding surprised.

“STAY AWAY FROM US!” Beatrice screamed, holding the knife out with shaking hands.

Kayne stared at her, utterly dumbfounded, and his cheek knitted itself back together before Beatrice’s very eyes. He chuckled, with significantly less humor. “Don’t…don’t do that again. Or I’ll do this.”

He looked over to Arthur.

Instantly, John’s hand contorted, scrabbling wildly at the ground as if trying to run away. His foot twitched, and Beatrice could see new panic in his eyes, even far away.

“Stop!” Beatrice shouted. “Stop, you’re hurting him!”

“Apologize.” Kayne said, completely calm.

“Stop, you’re hurting him, he didn’t do anything to you! That’s not fair!”

“Apologize,” Kayne looked back at her, too relaxed for Beatrice to feel safe. “Or this ends in a very gorey explosion.”

“I’m sorry!” Beatrice sobbed. “I’m sorry I cut you, please, just stop!”

Kayne shrugged, and John’s strange writhing stilled. Beatrice started to rush over to him, but Kayne’s head snapped back to her. “Ah ah!”

Beatrice froze, too scard to see what he might do to Arthur and John if she disobeyed.

Kayne smiled, cruelty lining his features like wrinkles on the elderly. “That’s it. Now. You fight. If you win, I won’t kill you. If you lose…well. The opposite. Duh.”

“I don’t…” Beatrice wished she could make herself stop crying. “I don’t want to fight anyone.”

There was a low growl behind her, and she whirled around with a terrified whimper.

“Well, sucks for you,” Kayne said, his voice fading away. “Because he really, really wants to fight you.”

Out of the darkness, two luminous eyes appeared, drawing slowly closer. Beatrice held out her knife, trembling.

A hound emerged, but not one that Beatrice had ever seen. It was massive, larger than any wolf, with a slick black coat that shined like spilled oil, with breath twice as foul as rotted meat in the summer, and teeth as big as Beatrice’s fingers.

The eyes made her dizzy, and she tried not to look at them too hard.

The monster snarled, crouched low to the ground, as if enjoying her fear.

And then, with a howl like the seven hells, it sprang, mouth open and hungry for flesh.

Chapter Text

“Oh, gross!” Beatrice squealed, poking at the squirming reptile with a stick.

A little black turtle, eyeless and mouthless, crawled along the ground, belly pressed against the mud. It smelled odd, like rotting eggs, even though Beatrice was fairly certain that turtles weren’t supposed to stink like that. Benjamin, Beatrice’s twin brother, made a similar face of delighted disgust.

“Oh, that’s awful…” He giggled. “Why’s it moving like that?”

“Benji,” Beatrice said. “I’ll give you my desserts for a week to pick it up.”

“Yuck!” Benjamin shook his head. “Two weeks.”

“One and a half. Final offer.”

Benjamin grumbled, and poked the turtle with his own stick. The shell was strangely soft, and pulsed under the pressure from the tip of the stick. Benjamin and Beatrice squealed again.

“Okay, fine.” Benjamin said, reaching towards the turtle with hesitant fingers.

“Benji, Beatrice, what are you-” An older man with red hair like the twins emerged from the bushes, frowning when he saw them crouched over something. “What are you up to this time?”

“Nothing!” The twins said at the same time.

“We found a turtle, Dad,” Beatrice said, moving aside so her father could see. “Isn’t he freaky looking?”

Her father frowned, looking worried. “Did either of you touch it?”

“Benji was about too.” Beatrice said.

Benjamin sputtered. “Only because you dared me too!”

“Don’t,” Her father said sharply. “Leave it be. It’s bad news.”

“What?” Beatrice asked, but stepped away, tossing her stick aside. “Why?”

“Black Turtles,” Her father said. “They warp your mind and body if you eat them.”

“I wasn’t gonna eat it!” Benjamin protested.

“I would hope not,” Her father chuckled. “But I’d still prefer you don’t touch it.”

Beatrice looked suspiciously at the turtle, frowning when it crawled under a pile of leaves. “Something that little can’t be that dangerous.”

“You’d be surprised,” Her father said. “I’ve seen dogs turned into monsters when they’ve been hungry enough to eat it. It’s not a pretty sight.”

“Aw,” Benjamin frowned. “Poor dogs.”

“Why would they eat it? It smells bad.” Beatrice said.

“I suppose desperate beings look for salvation in the wrong places,” Her father said, and took the sticks from the twins. “Come on, your mother finished supper.”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t poke at it,” Beatrice grumbled, following her father and brother back to the house. “It was just wriggling.”

“Well, some people say they’re bad omens, too.” Her father said.

Benjamin frowned. “Are they?”

“I don’t think so.” Her father assured him, ruffling his son’s hair. Benjamin squealed, ducking away. “I think they’re just turtles you can’t eat.”

Two weeks later, Benjamin was dead.

*** *** ***

The monster snarled, blankly, and lunged.

Beatrice yelped, throwing herself aside and away from it, landing roughly in the snow. The monster landed unsteadily, and turned it’s awful eye to Arthur’s still form. John was still desperately waving at Beatrice to flee, while also trying to drag himself away with one hand. The process might have been funny had he not been about to die.

“NO!” Beatrice shrieked, throwing her pocket knife at the monster in panic. It sailed harmlessly, the blunt end bouncing off the monster’s rump. It turned back to Beatrice, peeled its lips back, and growled, deep and rumbling.

It looked so hungry, ribs jutting through its sides like jail bars. Saliva dripped from its mouth, an unending river of famine and desperation. Its eyes looked for meat, and nothing else.

“Oh.” Beatrice squeaked, feeling foolish.

The monster turned to face her, slow and unbothered, and she ran, her courage fleeing her as quickly as it arrived. She heard the monster charge after her, and scrambled up a pine tree, jerking her leg away from the monster’s mouth just as it snapped.

“Go away!” She shouted at it, and it stood on its hind legs, clawing at the tree bark, leaving deep gouges. Beatrice grabbed a pine cone, lobbing it at its face, but the monster paid her no heed. It panted, it's hot breath right at Beatrice’s ankles, and she would have been grateful for the warmth if it hadn’t been for the awful smell emanating from its throat.

Beatrice paused, a memory playing in her mind, tinged with grief, but she held onto it tight.

“Y-you hungry?” She asked the monster, and forced herself to reach into another secret pocket. “Hey, doggy?”

She phrased it as a question, because it looked like a dog the same way bacon might have once been a pig, but the monster’s ears perked, almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah?” She asked, unwrapping a piece of salted meat. “You want a treat?”

This time, the monster’s tail most definitely twitched.

“Sit,” Beatrice ordered, and winced when the monster snarled. “O-okay, that’s too far.”

She tossed the piece of meat as far as she could, which wasn’t nearly as far as she hoped it would be, but it would be enough. The monster bounded after the meat, swallowing it in a quick snap, and licking the snow for any traces of flavor left behind.

John was still dragging Arthur away, but stopped long enough to desperately motion for Beatrice to run. She ignored him, sliding down the tree, and breaking off a long thin branch. She hid the branch behind her back, and whistled, a sharp noise that broke the cold air like glass.

The monster turned, staring at her with its horrible eyes.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Beatrice said softly, slowly reaching into her secret pocket for her last and most prized morsel of food; hard caramel candies. “You know why? Because you’re not a monster. You might look like one, and you might act like one, but you’re not.”

The monster growled, more curious than angry, and did not lunge. “You’re scared, alone, cold, and hungry,” Beatrice said, slowly inching forward. “But that doesn’t make you bad. I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to leave. I want to help.”

“I’ve…” Beatrice swallowed, glancing at Arthur and John. They were both equally still. “I’ve met a couple monsters. And you’re not like them. You’re just…you’re just in a bad way. But you can get better. Anyone can. It just…it just takes a little time, and a little help.”

“So,” She held out the caramels. “You want a treat?”

The monster was far less affected by her word than it appeared to be. With a roar like thunder, it lunged at Beatrice, maw open and lightless, prepared to swallow her whole and never let her see the light of day-

Beatrice jerked her stick out, and shoved the blunt end down the monster’s throat as far as she could, wriggling it around a little for good measure.

The monster’s eyes bulged, throwing it off its lunge. It knocked Beatrice to the ground, but immediately stumbled as though drunk, heaving and gagging.

Beatrice scrambled to her feet, dazed. If her plan didn’t work, she probably wouldn’t get another chance.

The monster lurched, coughing like something deep inside it was coming out, and it grumbled like an earthquake before gagging one last time, with so much force it knocked itself off its feet, tumbling into a snowy ditch. A tiny, flat object flew from its throat as though shot out of a cannon, crashing into a tree and falling into the snow.

After a moment, a black turtle emerged from the snow, looked around, and crawled into the roots of the tree.

Beatrice gasped, suddenly feeling herself tremble horribly. On shaky legs, she peeked over the edge of the ditch where the creature had fallen.

In the snow, shivering, was a tiny little puppy, white with orange-brown patches on his face and back. He whimpered.

“Oh,” Beatrice said, not immune to puppy charm. “Hey, little guy.”

The puppy whimpered again, confused and cowering. He was shivering, and ducked when Beatrice reached down to him. “No no, it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.” She said, plucking him out of the snow. He was wet and freezing, and Beatrice immediately tucked him inside her overalls to try and transfer a bit of body heat. The puppy immediately snuggled against her chest.

“John,” She turned, rushing back over to Arthur’s body. “John, look!”

John's yellow eyes stared at the puppy, suspicious. “It’s okay, he’s better now,” Beatrice said, and leaned forward so John could get a better look. “Wanna pet him?”

A thumbs down and a very rude gesture that would have gotten Beatrice in a lot of trouble with her mother.

“Don’t say that,” Beatrice scolded, grabbing John’s hand and placing it on top of the puppy’s head gently. “See? He’s nice.”

The puppy licked John’s fingers, and the hand flinched. “It’s okay,” Beatrice told them both, and maybe herself. “It’s okay. He’s…we’re okay. It’s okay.”

After a moment, John’s thumb carefully moved to rub the puppy behind his ears. Beatrice could feel the puppy’s tail wag against her chest.

“Oh, that’s cheating,” A familiar voice said, and John grabbed Beatrice’s arm again, pulling her away. “You were supposed to kill it.”

Beatrice glared at Kayne, and wished she had grabbed her knife. “You never said I had to kill him.”

“It was implied, and you know that!” Kayne snapped, stomping his foot like an angry child. “Goddammit, stupid fucking kids…!”

“Well,” Beatrice said, breathless. “This kid beat your challenge.”

“Not yet, you didn’t.” Kayne grinned, and with a small pop, the spinning coin appeared over his head again, whirling so fast it was little more than a ball of blurry silver.

Beatrice’s heart skipped a beat, and John’s grip on her arm tightened. “I…we did something else. We weren’t doing the coin toss-”

“I changed my mind-shut up, fucker!” Kayne snapped suddenly, glaring at John. “Ask to take her place one more time, I fucking dare you, see what happens!”

“No!” Beatrice shook her head. “Don’t hurt him!”

“I won’t, not yet, anyway.” Kayne said, and to Beatrice horror, he plucked her knife up off the ground. He ran his finger across the blade lightly, smiling too widely. “You’ve heard the expression about an eye for an eye, right?”

Beatrice felt nauseous.

“Here’s the thing, birdie,” Kayne said. “I don’t like you. And I like most people, maybe not as friends, but certainly as entertainment. And you’re neither. You broke the rules of my very generous game, even Detective Dead-Daughter and company didn’t do that!”

Beatrice sputtered. “Detective what-”

“So here’s what you’re gonna do,” Kayne said. “You’re gonna call it, and if you lose, then I’ll do exactly what you did to me, except with a little more around the other side, back, a little lower…I mean to say I’ll cut your head off with your own knife, and trust me, that’ll take a while-SHUT UP!” He shrieked at John, who was still tugging desperately at Beatrice.

“And if I win?” Beatrice asked quickly, hoping Kayne wouldn’t turn his ire.

“If you win?” Kayne grinned easily again. “Then you get a special surprise.”

“Oh,” Beatrice said in a small voice. “That…um. Doesn’t sound nice.”

“It’s not,” Kayne said. “But it’s better than decapitation, I promise that. So call it, or I will.”

Beatrice stared at the coin, her heart pounding.

“Going once, twice-”

“Heads!” Beatrice blurted out, and the coin fell. Kayne snatched it out of the air, smacking it on the back of his bloody hand.

“Heads to save your head! I like it!” He winked, and the puppy whimpered.

Beatrice held her breath as Kayne moved his hand, looking at the verdict.

After a moment, he frowned. “Aw,” He mumbled. “I was gonna time myself, see how fast I could get your head off. Congrats, kid,” He held up the coin, showing a silver engravement of someone’s screaming face. “Your luck isn’t as shit as I thought it was.”

John’s grip loosened on her arm.

“What…” Beatrice tried not to feel too relieved. “What’s the surprise?”

“A curse.”

“WHAT?!”

“A curse on you and those you hold dear.” Kayne said, humor draining from his face. The air felt still and delicate. “You may not remember the prediction of a witch, but I do. And she was right. One day, your own temper, your own bad luck, your own actions will sentence you to eat vermin, confined to the trees. And no entity, no desperate magic, no actions you take will free you from this. And what normal fellow would want to help you?”

“Arthur would,” Beatrice said before she could stop herself. “So would John.”

“They’re not exactly normal,” Kayne said. “And they cannot be around forever.”

“I’m not…” Beatrice swallowed. “I’m not scared of curses.”

For some reason, Kayne only smiled. “Then don’t be,” He said. “Forget my words if you want. They’ll come back to you eventually-but only when it’s too late.”

A freezing wind kicked up dusty snow, and Kayne laughed. “But in any case,” He said. “You might wanna focus on not freezing to death.”

“Wait-!”

There was a small pop! and he was gone.

“Oh,” Beatrice said when the puppy let out an especially violent shiver. “I-it’s okay, we’re okay, I…”

She knelt back next to John and Arthur, grabbing John’s icy hand and holding it clumsily in her own. Arthur’s lips were turning blue, and snow was sticking to his hair and lashes. Beatrice suspected she didn’t look much different.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered. “I’m…I’m so sorry.”

John merely squeezed her hand.

Beatrice wondered what it was like to die of cold. She had heard that when the end was near, she would feel warm and sleepy, and simply close her eyes and never open them again. It didn’t sound so bad; certainly better than decapitation. Maybe better than whatever curse she was going to bring home.

“Be-a-trice!”

I’m losing it already, She thought. Does Death call your name? That’s nice of Him.

“Be-a-trice!” The voice called again, and now Beatrice realized it sounded familiar.

“Be-a-trice! Are you here?!”

John jerked her hand, and Beatrice realized it wasn’t just her mind, and knew exactly what voice it was.

“Dad?” She whispered, barely able to believe it. John’s eyes didn’t move, but all the same, they filled with shock and hope.

“Be-a-trice!”

“DAD!” Beatrice shrieked, her call escaping from her throat like an uncaged bird. She leapt to her feet, sprinting through the forest, almost blindly. “DAD!”

She saw a small light in the distance, and the light raced towards her. “Beatrice, Beatrice! Is that you?!”

“DAD!” Beatrice screamed, tears welling up in her eyes when she saw a man with red hair and a thin mustache.

She threw herself into his arms and broke down into sobs.

“Heavens, Beatrice, I-” Her father sounded just as choked up, feeling her face. “Goodness, you’re like ice!” Immediately, he took off his heavy coat and knelt down, bundling her up in it. It smelled like peaches and old hearths.

“Dad!” Beatrice choked, unable to say anything else.

“What were you thinking?!” Her father demanded, his dark eyes wide and panicked. “You can’t just run off, not so late in the season, do you have any idea how worried we were?! How afraid I was for you?! What if something happened to you?! What if someone took you?! What if…what if…” He trailed off, cupping her face in his hands, wiping away a few tears. “Oh, I love you so much.”

Beatrice broke into fresh sobs, leaning into her father’s warm, strong hands.

“Let’s go home-” Her father started to stand, but Beatrice grabbed his arm.

“Wait!” She gasped. “Arthur, he’s…he’s hurt.”

“Who’s Arthur?”

“He’s my friend,” Beatrice said, deciding that John might be a bit much to get into right now. “He’s been helping me. I would have gotten into trouble if it wasn’t for him. He’s all alone, cold and unconscious, we can’t just leave him here, Dad…”

“Okay, okay,” Her father nodded, looking like he half-expected this. “We won’t.”

He took Beatrice’s hand, holding her tightly.

“Show me.” He said, and Beatrice dragged him off.

Chapter Text

Arthur felt warm, which was odd, considering he hadn’t really expected to feel anything at all after dying. Maybe the Dark World was a warm one-he had expected it to be cold and uncomfortable, but stranger things had happened.

After another few moments of confusion, he realized he was lying on his back, underneath layers upon layers of soft blankets. He was fairly certain the Dark World didn’t have blankets.

He groaned, his voice hoarse, and blinked his eyes a few times, seeing familiar blackness.

ARTHUR! John’s voice boomed instantly, sounding relieved. Arthur, Jesus fucking Christ, you won’t believe what happened-!

“John.” Arthur rasped, immediately squeezing his eyes shut again, though that hardly did anything to help his headache.

Oh, sorry, John said, sounding embarrassed. Are…you alright?

John had never quite grasped the concept of an inside voice, and Arthur had long given up trying to get him to understand, but at least he wasn’t actively shouting anymore. “I think…” Arthur swallowed. His throat felt dry. “I think I’m alright. What…where are we?”

Beatrice’s house.

“What?!”

She came back, Arthur. She saved us both.

“...oh,” Arthur said, entirely unsure what to say next. “Can…describe the room? Please?”

We’re in a small, homey room, John obliged. I’d say it’s about late afternoon, and it’s snowing gently outside. Not at all like the blizzard. There are simple paintings on the wall, mostly of landscapes, and some crochet art as well. We’re in a small bed with white sheets, and on the nightstand to our left, there’s a pitcher with water and a cup.

“Oh, thank God,” Arthur said, struggling to find the pitcher for a moment before his hand closed around a handle. “Hold the cup for me.”

Sure.

Arthur guzzled the water greedily, pausing when he heard muffled talking. “John, is there…?”

That’s Beatrice’s family, probably, John said. She has…a lot of siblings. I counted at least four, and I’m pretty sure there’s more.

Arthur frowned, thinking about her brother. “How did we get here?”

Her father found her, and she led him to us. There was… John trailed off for a moment. There was a scuffle beforehand. But it’s alright.

“What kind of scuffle?”

Silence.

“John…”

There’s clean clothes on a chair in the right corner of the room. They left them out for you.

“Clean clothes?!” Arthur said, with the same excitement he might have used if John had told him they had left him several gold nuggets. “Don’t think I’m forgetting about what you said, though.”

Hm.

Arthur tugged on the new clothes, relieved that the fabric didn’t stick to his skin, even if he still felt like he desperately needed another bath. “Do you think…” Arthur paused. “Do you think we can just walk out?”

You’re certainly not a prisoner here. They actively saved you.

“I suppose you’re right…did you see what happened to Beatrice when we got back…?”

A woman-her mother, I think-yelled at her, cried, hugged her for a while, and then yelled at her a bit more while crying. Beatrice was crying too. I think…she was happy to be home. Even with the yelling. There was a lot of yelling. I can’t believe you didn’t wake up.

“Well,” Arthur said. “I was knocked out. What happened to the Woodsman? And the Beast?”

They just…left.

“John…”

I’m telling the truth. The Woodsman looked…distraught, I suppose, and left. The Beast followed, egging him on to finish the job and kill us. Beatrice came back after that.

“Odd,” Arthur said. “Where’s the door?”

Straight ahead. Can’t miss it.

Arthur felt his hand close around the doorknob a second later, and pushed it open carefully. The muffled talking grew louder. He could hear a few young children chattering with each other, and shifting that sounded like glass or porcelain.

“For heaven’s sake, Beau,” A woman’s voice said. “Can’t you just-”

He heard footsteps, and a surprised shriek right next to his ear. Arthur reeled back with a startled gasp, and flinched when he heard something crash and shatter on the floor.

Arthur! John barked. Relax! It’s someone from Beatrice’s family. A sister, I think. She has red hair, dark eyes, and freckles like Beatrice, and is wearing a simple dress and apron. She dropped several plates on the floor, breaking them.

“Oh,” The woman said, sounding embarrassed. “You’re up.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Arthur said, just as embarrassed. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” The woman said, and he heard scraping, and figured she was probably cleaning up her mess. “You scared the devil out of me, just about. I didn’t expect you to be up so soon-no, don’t help, I got it, my mother would have my head if she knew I let a guest help out.”

Arthur had kneeled down to blindly help her clean up plate shards, and paused. “Um…sorry, who are you?”

“Bonnie,” The woman said. “And you’re Arthur Lester.”

Arthur opened his mouth to demand how she knew that, and then remembered where he was. “Did…Beatrice tell you that?”

“No, my father. He’s the one who brought you home.”

“Where’s-” Arthur started, but winced a bit when he heard a door squeak open loudly.

There’s an older woman, John supplied. Crow’s feet around her eyes, and her red hair streaked with gray. She’s shorter, and looks rather tired, but she seems happy to see you. This one is Beatrice’s mother.

“Oh, Mr. Lester!” He heard her say happily. “I’m so relieved to see you up and about…how are you feeling?”

“Um,” Arthur said, slightly overwhelmed. “Good, I suppose…I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality-”

“Oh, please,” Beatrice’s mother said, emotion suddenly choking her voice. “I’m the one who ought to be thanking you. You helped bring my baby home.”

Arthur blinked, suddenly deeply uncomfortable, especially considering he hadn’t done much in the end. “It, um. It’s nothing.”

John gave an exasperated sigh, unimpressed.

“I’m Mary, sorry,” Beatrice’s mother said. “And you’ve already met Bonnie, it seems. Bon, I’ll get the plates if you finish setting the table and get Mr. Lester to his seat.”

“Sure,” Bonnie said. “Follow me, sir.”

“Just Arthur is fine.” Arthur said, because people calling him by his last name always made him feel old for some reason. Then he frowned. “Wait, my seat-?”

“Of course!” Mary said. “The absolute least we could do is offer you a half-decent meal.”

“O-oh, no, I couldn’t possibly intrude-”

Arthur, just fucking take it. You’re starving.

Arthur supposed he couldn’t argue with that.

“Oh,” Arthur said, before he got distracted by the constant noise of the busy house yet again. “Sorry, where’s Beatrice?”

“In her room,” Mary said. “She’s grounded until the day she dies.”

Arthur managed a chuckle, unsurprised. “Will she…um. Be joining us? Is she alright?”

There was a long pause. She looks strange, Arthur.

“She…” Mary coughed. “She didn’t want to join us for dinner.”

Arthur tried his best not to let his face fall in disappointment. “Ah.”

“I can tell her to come down, actually-” Mary said, perhaps seeing Arthur’s hurt in spite of his best efforts.

“No, no!” Arthur shook his head quickly. “It’s alright, really, I’m sure she’s exhausted, and I don’t want her to do anything she doesn’t want to on my account.”

“...alright,” Mary said, unconvinced. “Dinner should be ready soon. Bonnie?”

“Right this way, Mr-” She coughed. “I mean, Arthur.”

*** *** ***

John gave up trying to remember the names of Beatrice’s numerous siblings immediately, just telling Arthur vaguely that they were all redheads and had names starting with B.

He still noted two empty seats at the table. One for Beatrice, and one for her long-gone brother.

Dinner was chaotic in a way Arthur was thoroughly unused too. He had never had a large family, and only child his whole life, and found himself immediately overwhelmed by the consistent talking and multiple conversations going on at the table, some of which included him, and some of which didn’t, but were all happening at the same volume.

He half-expected himself to tilt into panic at the commotion, but surprised himself in his own ability to weather the noise.

Perhaps it was because all of it felt so kind, opposed to snarls and sharp teeth he was used to.

Sometime near the end of dinner, when his stomach felt miraculously filled, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

It’s Beatrice’s father, the man who pulled us from the snow, John said. He’s slightly shorter than you, with red hair just the same as the rest of his family. He had a simple, well-groomed mustache, and is wearing simple clothes.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Arthur heard him say. “I was going to step out for some air. I was wondering if you might like to step out with me.”

I think he wants to talk to you, Arthur.

And there was the panic that had been so absent in Arthur previously, bubbling in his chest like water preparing to boil over. “Um,” Arthur said, unsure how he could escape a conversation like this one. “Sure, I suppose.”

He stood up carefully, the chatter from the kids at the table never ceasing. Beatrice’s father handed him something-a coat, and Arthur shrugged it on. “I’m Adam,” He said. “Apologies for not introducing myself until now.”

“No worries.” Arthur said, worried.

John guided him out the door, and Arthur felt a bit startled by the sudden change in noise. He went from a warm, loud, cozy room, to a near silent frozen night within seconds. He hugged the coat closer to himself, grateful he wasn’t shivering.

Adam said nothing for a moment.

“...listen,” Arthur said, suddenly feeling very afraid of the silence, wondering what Adam knew. “I can be out of your hair quickly, I promise, I barely have any items-”

“Thank you.”

He’s turned back to us, Arthur, John said. He’s tearing up.

“God, it was a blizzard when I found you two,” Adam said, his voice choked. “The entire time I was looking in the accursed forest, I kept thinking that every root was a body, every noise was my daughter’s last breath, and I couldn’t stop imagining myself finding her cold and stiff, and-” His voice broke off, and Arthur heard him take a steady breath to calm himself. “I can’t…I can’t possibly thank you enough.”

Arthur stayed silent, entirely unsure how to respond. He’s nearly crying.

“I can’t…” Arthur swallowed. “I can’t take much credit. It felt like she was guiding me most of the time.”

“All the same,” Adam said. “I’ll be forever in your debt for keeping an eye out on her. She’s got a talent for getting in over her head.”

You have that in common, certainly.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Adam said. “What exactly were you doing out there, so deep in the woods?”

Arthur paused, trying to think of exactly how to explain it to Adam and also, preferably, not explain it at all. “...I’m lost.” He said simply.

He heard another exasperated sigh from John.

“I suppose I should have figured,” Adam said. “Most folks in these parts are lost. Where are you trying to get too?”

“...Arkham. Massachusetts.” Arthur said, unsure if ‘Earth’ was too broad.

“Hm,” Adam said. “Can’t say I ever heard of it. Apologies.”

“I don’t suppose you know how to get out of these woods.” Arthur said.

“Sure I do.”

WHAT?!

“You-?!” Arthur sputtered, startled. “How?!”

“Easy,” Adam said, almost sounding amused. “You go through them.”

Arthur scowled before he could stop himself, and Adam laughed. “Sorry, sorry, I know that’s not what you want to hear. Especially now that winter’s come. But you made it through the autumn. Congratulations.”

“I suppose…” Arthur said, trying not to sound as frustrated as he felt. “I suppose I’d like some physical directions. Like, turn right at this oak tree, or something of that ilk.”

“These woods aren’t made for directions like that. Can’t you feel it?” Adam asked, and a cool breeze blew past Arthur’s ankles. “These woods are older than me, older than my grandfather, maybe as old as the world itself. They grow and change with time and space, bending to adapt to each new resident, hiding their secrets just enough to stay Unknown, but moving just so you can follow the path out.”

“I’ve been following the path,” Arthur protested. “And I’ve just become more lost.”

“You look pretty close to the end of this stretch of your journey to me.”

“How could you possibly know that?!”

“I have a knack for these sorts of things,” Adam said. “That’s why I went after Beatrice and not Mary. Heaven knows she wanted to go, but we couldn’t leave the children alone. Not after-”

Adam’s mouth audibly snapped shut, and Arthur stared at the ground, knowing what he was thinking about. “Beatrice, um,” Arthur said quietly. “She mentioned her brother. That he…well. Was gone.”

“...yes. Her twin, Benjamin. We called him Benji, usually.”

Arthur swallowed. “I…I’m so sorry.”

The silence that followed seemed to stretch to the Dreamlands and back. Arthur began to worry that he had said the wrong thing. Surely Adam had heard enough condolences to last a lifetime, and sorrys wouldn’t bring Benjamin back. They never did Faroe any good, after all.

“...Beatrice got sick, a few weeks ago,” Adam nearly whispered. “It seemed like a cold, nothing more, but it turned dangerous fast, and we worried for her. Benji…Benji didn’t want her to be alone, you see, he knew how much she hated being alone. We had told him to stay away, but…” Adam chuckled weakly. “They both had a talent for getting into places they shouldn’t be. He ended up getting sick too. And Beatrice got better, but…” Adam made another choked noise.

He’s covering his mouth, facing away from us, John said, in a strange, hushed voice.

“I’m so sorry.” Arthur said, stupidly, wishing he could think of something better to say.

He heard Adam take a shuddering breath. “And you?”

Arthur startled before he could stop himself. “M-me?!”

“You got the same look I see in the mirror, friend,” Adam said, and Arthur felt like he was under a microscope. “You don’t have to talk if it’s too painful, I understand-”

“N-no, I just…” Arthur stared at the ground again, unable to look at Adam. “It…God. It never ends. The grief. The regrets. And I’m just…I’m so fucking tired of feeling like this all the time.”

The silence stretched even longer than it did last time, and Arthur wondered if that maybe wasn’t the best thing to say to someone who had just lost their own child little more than a few weeks ago.

“It’s woods.” Adam said finally.

Arthur blinked. “Pardon?”

“It’s woods, that’s all it is,” Adam said. “The grief, anyway. You can’t go over it, you can’t go under it, so you have to go through it. It’s a big forest, but it can’t last forever.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Arthur whispered.

“I think you might have lost the path, then, friend,” Adam said. “But I don’t think it’s impossible to find it again. And it’s not all bad, I don’t think so.”

Arthur nearly laughed. “How can…how can this possibly be not all bad?”

“What’s your favorite season?”

What? What the fuck? Where’s he fucking going with this?!

“U-um…” Arthur said, startled. “Spring, I guess?”

“Hm,” Adam said. “I’m more partial to autumn. I’m going somewhere with this, I promise.”

“Sure.” Arthur said doubtfully.

“See, spring and autumn aren’t real seasons, not really,” Adam said. “They’re segways. Spring is a road that takes us from winter to summer, and autumn takes us from summer to winter. They’re strange places, really, times when things grow and die all around, so fast it’s hard to keep track.”

“Grief’s a bit like that, I think,” Adam continued. “Takes you from one place to another. A bit of a bumpy ride, too. But there’s…there’s a reason people love spring, and love autumn. There’s strange beauty in the in-between, in the liminal space of healing. There’s so much love in it; that’s all grief is, really, love trying to find a new place to go.”

“Where…” Arthur’s face felt wet, and he fought not to sniffle, trying to casually wipe away tears. “Where’s it meant to go, then?”

“Most of it?” Adam hummed. “Back in memories, in my experience.”

Arthur balked for a moment, wondering what else Adam and his family might have seen. “And…the rest of it?”

“Into the people around you. The path through the woods isn’t supposed to be walked alone, after all.”

Arthur was quiet, his mind racing. “...thank you,” He managed to say. “That’s…very kind.”

John had been strangely quiet, but then, John had been strangely quiet quite a bit in this strange world.

“Don’t try to force yourself through the path, much less on your own,” Adam said. “If I can help you with one thing, let it be that.”

The door behind Arthur opened, and he looked back, expecting to hear John confirm it was Mary, or perhaps Bonnie.

Instead, John choked. Beatrice?!

“Beatrice?” Arthur repeated, unable to keep himself from being shocked.

“Hi, dad,” Beatrice said in a strange whisper. “Um. Hi, Arthur.”

“Hello.” Arthur said, stunned.

She’s wearing a blue dress now, and an oversized coat. She won’t look you in the eyes.

She won’t look you in the eyes, Arthur thought, but didn’t say anything.

“Can I, um,” He heard Beatrice shuffle. “Can I talk to Arthur please? Alone? Just for a second?”

“I think you’re grounded.” Adam said.

“No, I know,” Beatrice said. “It’s just for a second. Please, dad?”

Adam hesitated, and then Arthur heard his body weight shift. He’s nodded, and is turning back to go into the house.

“Don’t stay out too long,” Adam said. “It’s freezing.”

“I won’t.” Beatrice said.

Arthur didn’t say anything.

He heard the door open, and shut, leaving him and Beatrice alone in the empty night, a million unsaid words between them.

Chapter Text

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Beatrice asked suddenly, and John watched her hold up four fingers.

Arthur blinked. “Wha-” He frowned. “I’m not playing this game.”

Four.

“Four.” Arthur said.

“You just said that-” Beatrice huffed. “That’s cheating, he told you.”

“I’m not sure what you expected me to do then, I can’t see it.”

“Hmph.” Beatrice said, and she took a few steps before sitting down on the steps of her porch.

Arthur leaned against the railing, scratching at the wood with his finger. “...what did you tell them, anyway? About where you were? About who I am?”

“Not much,” Beatrice said. “Just that we wandered around a bit, you kept me out of trouble. I didn’t say anything about the tavern, or John Crops, or-” Her face looked sour. “...or Maggie.”

Arthur nodded, apparently unable to think of anything suitable to say back. John tried not to be hurt that Beatrice refused to look at him, and failed.

“...I’m sorry,” Beatrice nearly whispered. “I was mean, and I ran off, and I almost got you-”

“Beatrice, no,” Arthur said immediately. “I’m…I’m the one who’s sorry. You were upset, and I did nothing to help you. I shouted at you, scared you, and…well. You weren’t wrong, either. I hadn’t been telling you the truth about what was going on. I’m sorry.”

Beatrice didn’t say anything for a moment, pulling her coat closer to herself. “...I met John. Kinda.”

“Oh?” Arthur asked, sounding surprised. “How’s that?”

“I came back and saw you all unconscious and stuff,” Beatrice said. “And saw your eyes were open a little bit, and followed me. Your left hand was still moving and could make gestures.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, and neither did John, too scared to break the silence.

“Um…” Beatrice wriggled. “Can you tell him I said hi? John, I mean?”

Arthur chuckled, breathy and light. “He can hear you.”

“What?” Beatrice looked confused. “How does that work? You share your hearing but don’t share anything else?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted. “The entire arrangement is still something I’m getting used to, honestly.”

“Well…” Beatrice said, looking like she wanted to ask more questions, but resisting. “Um…hi John.”

...hello, Beatrice.

John was so nervous it hurt, his hand twitching slightly in spite of itself.

“He says hello.” Arthur said, sounding like he felt just as awkward as John.

“Thank you…” Beatrice trailed off for a moment before she steeled herself. “Thank you for holding my hand in the storm. I was…” She wiped at her face, her voice becoming choked. “I was scared, really scared, and cold, and I know you were scared and cold too, but you were still trying to help me and protect me, even though I was mean to you. It…it meant a lot.”

I… John faltered, entirely unsure how to respond. Arthur, please tell her I was just as scared, and she helped me too. Thank her. Please.

“...he says thank you to you too,” Arthur said softly. “Sounds like you were very brave, Beatrice. We couldn’t have made it without you.”

“I saved the puppy too.” Beatrice said.

“What?”

Um, don’t worry about it Arthur, it’s not important-

“There was this big monster dog,” Beatrice said, gaining a bit more steam now that she got to talk about her accomplishments. “And he told me I had to kill it, and I said no way, and I stuck a stick down the monster’s throat, it barfed up a Black Turtle, and here-!”

The puppy stuck its head out of Beatrice’s coat, still bundled up with her. It looked at Arthur curiously, and yipped. “I still don’t know what to name him-oh, right, you can’t see. I’ve got a little puppy, he’s white with red spots around his back and face-”

“John usually does the describing for me, you don’t have to worry about it,” Arthur said, and John could hear concern in his voice. “Um, who told you that you had to kill it-”

Arthur, don’t freak out-

“Some weird monster guy called Kayne.”

“WHAT?!”

The puppy whimpered again, and Beatrice winced. “I-it’s okay! I outsmarted him!”

“You…” Arthur sputtered, and John could tell he wanted so badly to rage, but didn’t want to scare Beatrice. “Jesus Christ, you met…?! He’s the one who sent me here in the first place!”

“Oh.” Beatrice frowned, and tried to look casual, though John could see the nervous look on her face as clear as day. He decided not to relay it to Arthur. “Well…he was annoying. Super rude, even, but it was fine. I handled it.”

“Handled it-oh my God,” Arthur shook his head. “God, I…I’m so sorry. That’s…that’s not something anyone should have to go through. Much less a child.”

“It’s okay,” Beatrice said, smiling a bit now. “It’s not your fault. ‘Sides, I’m pretty tough.”

Arthur chuckled. “You’ve certainly proved that.”

John was quiet, and wished once again, that he could speak through his own voice into the world. It was odd. Besides the vague desire for his own body (not that he really knew how to go about that) he had never wished he could speak to someone personally. Unless it was to yell at them.

But he really, really wanted to speak to Beatrice. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to say.

Though there was one thing he wanted to say.

Arthur, tell… He trailed off for a moment. Tell her that she saved us. Please. And…that her brother’s death wasn’t her fault.

Arthur winced. “John…”

“What’d he say?” Beatrice perked up.

Arthur hesitated. “He said…he said you saved us-”

Beatrice grinned brilliantly. “Well, I know that-”

“-and that your brother’s death wasn’t your fault.”

Beatrice’s smile vanished in an instant, and she pet the puppy absentmindedly. “...oh. Um…right. I told you about that.”

“Your father filled me in on the rest of the details,” Arthur said quietly. “I’m…I’m so sorry, Beatrice.”

Beatrice was silent for a long moment, staring off into the snowy forest. It was dark, the night swallowing up anything that lay beyond the warm light of the home’s lanterns.

But within the lanterns, nothing seemed quite so awful anymore.

“...it…it was my fault, though,” Beatrice said, her voice wobbly. “I didn’t…I asked for him to keep me company, I was…I was just so lonely and scared, and I knew I might get him sick too, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even…”

Fire and earth, John thought suddenly, remembering the witch’s prediction Beatrice had told them about. Fever and burial.

“Beatrice,” Arthur said gently. “That absolutely wasn’t your fault.”

“But I-”

“Listen to me,” Arthur said urgently. “John and I have seen…we’ve seen a lot of cruel, evil people. Too many. People who have killed.”

“Like…” Beatrice wiped her face. “Like Kayne?”

“Like Kayne,” Arthur said. “And you…you’re not one of them. You’re not a killer. What happened to your brother was absolutely not your fault.”

“...that almost makes it worse,” Beatrice said. “That…that it was no one’s fault. That it happened for no reason.”

“...I suppose there is less comfort in not having anyone to blame,” Arthur said. “But it…maybe it happens the opposite way too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe if bad things can happen for no reason, good things can happen for no reason to.”

Beatrice looked thoughtful. “...maybe.”

There was silence for a long moment, before Beatrice glanced back up at Arthur. “Um…Kayne said something else too-”

“Anything Kayne says is a lie.” Arthur said shortly.

“Oh,” Beatrice said. “So you don’t have a dead daughter, then?”

John made a sputtering noise, despite having no mouth, and Arthur choked.

You don’t have to tell her if you don’t want too, I don’t think-

“No, I…” Arthur paused, and then sighed. “No. That’s…that was true.”

“Oh,” Beatrice nodded sagely, looking Arthur up and down. “That makes sense, actually. You act like a dad.”

“Do…do I?” Arthur said, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Sure,” Beatrice nodded, smiling slightly. “I don’t think you ever stop being a dad. Even if your kids aren’t around anymore.”

“Hm.” Arthur said, looking away. His voice sounded choked. “I…I never considered that.”

In a moment of reckless emotion, John reached his hand out, and took Arthur’s right hand silently. After a second of terrifying stillness, Arthur’s grip readjusted to more comfortably hold his left.

“Can I, um…” Beatrice sounded embarrassed. “Can I see John’s hand?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“Can I see your hand?” Beatrice asked. “Please?”

...why?

“He asked why.”

“Just wanna.”

It wasn’t a very satisfactory answer, but with great hesitation, John reached his hand out, and Arthur turned back to face Beatrice. After a moment of staring, Beatrice took his hand, examining it carefully.

(The last person who held his hand was Maggie, choking and dying, and her grip had been like iron, and it hurt, and even as John squeezed back he knew it was useless, and he was so afraid that Beatrice might turn to feathers if he touched her again-)

Beatrice’s hands weren’t icy anymore, and he could feel the calluses that the Highwayman had described back in the tavern. She turned his hand over, examining the lines on the palm, nodding to herself.

She did not die.

“Mhm,” She said, tracing one of the grooves. “Mhm. Right. I can’t read palms.”

Arthur barked a laugh. “Were you trying to?”

“A little,” Beatrice admitted, and John chuckled. “I dunno what any of them mean. Can John play piano too?”

“No,” Arthur said. “In fact, he was having quite the moment at the vegetable people party.”

Arthur, shush. Shut up.

“Oh, yes,” Arthur said, ignoring John’s toothless growls. “Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so panicked before at the thought of little more than a performance-”

John wrenched his hand out of Beatrice’s, and clapped it over Arthur’s mouth. Arthur said “mph!” with more drama than was necessary, and Beatrice giggled uncontrollably, which was the ultimate goal.

“Guess that’s why you wouldn’t let me be your partner,” She said. “You have John, and all.”

“Well,” Arthur said, pulling John’s hand away. “Normally, I’d let you on the team. You’ve more than proven yourself by now. But we can’t stay here. John and I have other business to attend to far off elsewhere. And I think your family needs you here.”

Beatrice was quiet, looking thoughtful. “...yeah,” She said. “I guess you’re right. I’m the funniest one, after all.”

“Should have gone into comedy instead of acrobatics.” Arthur said.

“Maybe,” Beatrice said, and John saw her smiling. “Maybe.”

*** *** ***

“Miss,” Arthur said the next morning, downright embarrassed with the amount of fussing that Mary was doing. “I really don’t need all this-”

“Nonsense!” Mary said, and he felt her straighten the coat she had gifted him. “I’d never send a guest out into the cold without proper clothing and a good meal for later.”

“It’s not that cold anymore.” Arthur said weakly, but couldn’t deny he was grateful for the extra warmth.

He was standing on the family’s porch, and John had told him the sun was rising over pristine snow. The children in the house were all asleep, save for Beatrice, of course, who was watching with her parents as Arthur was given his bag back, stuffed to the brim with supplies.

“Be careful out there,” Adam said. “Stay on the path. You’ll find your way out.”

“You sound awfully confident.” Arthur said.

“Well, I am.”

“I can’t…” Arthur swallowed, fighting to keep his emotions in check, though this was more kindness than anyone had shown him in perhaps years. “I can’t ever imagine how to pay you back for your hospitality-”

The earrings! John said suddenly. Arthur, the earrings the tavern keeper gave you!

“Oh!” Arthur said, fishing around in one of the smaller pockets of his bag. His finger pricked slightly when it ran into something slightly sharp, and he pulled out the pearl earrings he had been given as extra payment for Beatrice’s story. “Here. Take these.”

“Where…” He could hear Mary’s surprise. “Where did you get these?”

“They were a payment,” Arthur said, unwilling still to reveal what Beatrice had lost. “Nevermind for what, it’s not important. Take them.”

“We couldn’t possibly-”

“Please,” Arthur said, holding out his hand more urgently. “What am I going to use them for? You need them more, you could sell them. They look fairly expensive.”

“We…” He heard Adam say. “Perhaps we could…use the extra money. For the winter.”

“Take them,” Arthur said. “I insist.”

After a moment, he felt someone take the earrings from him. “Aren’t you just full of miracles?” Mary said, her voice filled with awe.

Adam’s holding out his hand for you to shake.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Adam said, and Arthur managed to find his hand and shake it. “Thank you for everything.”

Arthur just nodded, worried his voice might crack if he spoke.

“Bye, Arthur,” Beatrice said, sounding gloomy. “I’m…I’m not gonna see you again, am I?”

After a moment, Arthur shook his head. “I don’t…I don’t expect so.”

He heard a small sniffle, and a shuffle, and then a surprised noise from John. Arthur, she’s coming at you, arms out, she’s gonna-!

Arthur nearly stumbled back at John’s sudden fear and confusion, only to feel a small pair of arms close around his middle. “Oh.” He said, his voice a bit choked.

After a moment of hesitation, he leaned down, and hugged her back tightly.

“Bye Arthur,” Beatrice said, and then, a bit quieter: “Bye, John.”

“Goodbye, Beatrice.”

Bye, Beatrice.

“...he said bye.” Arthur whispered.

*** *** ***

He’s in the trees, Arthur, John nearly whispered, a little after Arthur had begun the trek away from Beatrice’s house. The Beast is here.

Arthur froze, and took a breath. “...I’m not afraid of him,” He whispered, and then louder: “We’re not afraid of you.”

There was silence.

No song? John asked.

“No song,” The Beast said, sounding reluctant. “None for you.”

He’s hunched along the trees, hiding from the sun. He looks so much smaller now, Arthur. Just a shadow, nothing more.

“You can’t touch me,” Arthur said. “You can’t touch either of us. You can’t have us.”

“As if I’d want you.” The Beast snarled.

The pure, useless venom in the Beast’s voice made Arthur smile. “Sour grapes.”

“What?!”

“Nothing,” Arthur said, turning to face where the Beast’s voice was coming from. “You can leave now. There’s nothing left for you to say to us.”

“I have come to offer you peace, one final time,” The Beast said. “What awaits you back home is more hardship. More monsters. More pain and grief. And you know this. You know you are walking towards a new hell. Perhaps into a deeper circle than this one.”

Arthur frowned. “...I know.”

“And you don’t have to,” The Beast said. “Give me the fragment. I can erase it all. I will lift you out of these woods and into somewhere better, away from the heartbreak and depravity. You will never want, never desire, never end, if that is what you choose.”

Arthur. He’s lying.

“I know,” Arthur said, placing his gloved right hand on John’s left. “I know he’s a liar. The only way out of these woods is through.”

The Beast snarled. “You are a fool, Arthur Lester. You are both fools, utterly and completely.”

“The Woodsman didn’t kill me,” Arthur said. “Perhaps you ought to worry about your own before you worry about mine.”

He flinched, Arthur!

“I did not,” The Beast snapped. “My only regret is that I will not be able to watch the powers that be render you limb from limb, tear that useless piece from your mind-”

My name is John Doe.

“It is not!”

“If I didn’t know better, Beast,” Arthur said. “I’d say you were getting desperate.”

The Beast snarled like a dog, but Arthur didn’t flinch.

“...fine,” The Beast snapped. “Leave. You will only find more pain on the other side of the Unknown. I will find more souls to collect.”

“Not always,” Arthur said. “Someone will see through your lies, Beast. And it’s going to happen sooner rather than later.”

“What are you, a prophet?”

“No,” Arthur said. “Just a Wanderer.”

He heard the Beast hum, almost thoughtfully, though it was laced with rage. “...leave, then. Enjoy your sorrows; present, past, and future.”

“You don’t scare me,” Arthur said. “You don’t know what’s coming. And I’m not quite as afraid to face it as I was.”

Silence.

He’s gone, Arthur, John said, sounding amazed. He ducked into the shadows, and…the world, it’s…it’s melting away, almost like a streaking watercolor painting.

Arthur held completely still, terror suddenly shooting through his veins like fire. What if the Beast had tricked them, one final time, and this was the end? Sent to the Dreamlands, or the Dark World, or someplace new altogether?

And then he heard people talking.

Arthur! John said, sounding shocked. We’re in an alley, next to a busy street, we…oh my God, Arthur…it’s Arkham! We’re back in Arkham!

Arthur took a shuddering breath, fighting to keep himself from breaking down into relieved tears. “Oh, Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ, we…fuck. Fuck.”

I know, John said. I know. Take a moment. Breathe.

Arthur reached out blindly until he felt the wall, sliding down against it and taking several deep breaths. He could hear the busy street of his home, people milling about, completely unaware of the man and his seeing-eye-god on the edge of a breakdown from relief.

It’s afternoon, John said, his voice as quiet and soothing as it could be. The sky is gray and cloudy, and there are a few snowflakes around us. Frost covers some of the pavement, and the air is still. No one will bother us while we’re here. We’re safe.

“Do you…” Arthur took a shuddering breath. “Do you think the Beast was right? About there being nothing but more pain and suffering?”

...no. I don’t think so. At least, not all of it. It’s like Adam said. Beauty in the in-between.

“...joy in the Unknown.” Arthur whispered.

...we’re not done, though. There’s still so much to do.

“...I know.”

But… Arthur felt something-or rather, someone-grab his hand gently. But we can do it.

Arthur squeezed John’s hand back. “Yes. We can.”

He stood up on steady legs, and brushed himself off. He took one final steadying breath, not letting go of John’s hand.

Into the unknown?

Arthur nodded. “Bravely and confidently into the Unknown.”

And Arthur Lester and John Doe stepped back into Arkham.