Chapter Text
When Tyler wakes up, it's daylight again. He sits up on the couch and looks around. Wednesday is nowhere to be seen.
It was too real to be a hallucination, he realizes. While in the cell, he spent hours—no, days—in mental conversation with her. In those fantasies, she was different, of course. She was someone who could accept him. Madness creeps up slowly, carefully, and imperceptibly, leading you to the edge of the abyss. When you collide with reality and see the collapse of all your hopes, you fall in.
Wednesday, who was here yesterday, was like the one who came to tell him about his father's death. Cold, mocking, hateful.
His gaze falls on the empty mug of vervain infusion. This detail doesn't fit, but Tyler doesn't want to fool himself anymore.
He gets up, gets himself ready, and packs his breakfast. Crackers, nuclear-proof Twinkies, and canned meats are in the cupboard. He's just putting a sandwich in his mouth when someone behind him says,
"I see you're feeling better."
Tyler carefully chews his food before turning around and saying,
"I see you're not."
Wednesday doesn't react to the taunt. She looks at Tyler as if he were a guinea pig and she had a bunch of tests planned for him that day.
"The last time I was here, I only looked behind the mirror for the evidence the sheriff had collected. There were newspaper clippings and notes in your father's or his friend's handwriting. But I think I missed something. I want you to open the drawer of the table underneath the mirror and rummage around in there."
"What were you doing in Willow Hill that night? What did my dad find?" Tyler asks, realizing he's never even considered these questions before.
Wednesday tells him everything from the beginning. When she mentions the urns filled with animal ashes, Tyler feels a little queasy. When she describes the basement and the cells in it and the goals and motives of the woman whose name immediately vanishes from his mind, his throat tightens with anger. With one sweeping gesture, Tyler sweeps everything off the table. A tin can flies through Wednesday and lands on the floor behind her.
"After Mom passed away, Dad brought home an urn containing her ashes. He couldn't answer my question about why we weren't allowed to say goodbye to her. Was she there? Was she mentioned in the LOIS files?”
"Tyler," Wednesday says, looking at him impassively. "I don't want to be Galpin Sr. 's lawyer, but he lost his wife, he must have been devastated and..."
"Shut up," he cuts her off. "Don't defend him. Don't you dare."
Tyler stands up, walks over to Wednesday, and asks again:
"Was my mother involved in this program?"
Wednesday tilts her head slightly, as if considering her answer. Then she says quietly:
"I'm not sure."
Tyler steps around her and goes to the closet to pull out an old pair of combat boots. His hands are shaking as he tries to lace them up, cursing under his breath.
“Where are you going?” Wednesday stands over him, looking disapprovingly.
"Jerico. Home. Spit on his grave. I'll grab a few things from the cache, then head north. Or not. Burn Nevermore first, and then..."
"Enough!" Wednesday suddenly barks. Tyler looks up in surprise. "Learn to control yourself," she continues in an icy tone. "Your inability to cope with your emotions is killing me, both literally and figuratively."
Tyler is washed over with shame, then anger. Just like that time in the cell when Wednesday said he was a nobody, and that Laurel chose him because she knew he would be easy to manipulate.
He feels the pressure on his temples, feels his shoulders tighten. It's Hyde, trying to get out. Tyler exhales slowly. Now is not the time.
"Let's see what's in the drawer under the mirror," Wednesday repeats.
They only find a family portrait in a wooden frame. In the photo, Tyler is about five years old and sitting on the lap of a woman who leans down to kiss the top of his head. Wednesday looks at the photo so intently that a crease appears between her eyebrows. Tyler sets the frame down on the table.
"It was easier for him to put us both away than to deal with her death or the fact that I would inevitably inherit the Hyde gene," Tyler says, turning away. He picks up the dishes and wrappers he had swept off the table in his rage.
Wednesday is still looking at the photo as he cleans up a puddle of sauce from a can of gravy on the floor.
“How did you kill Laurel? How dare Hyde hurt his Master?” she asks when he’s finished cleaning up.
“She wasn’t my Master anymore,” Tyler says. “I just… knew it. Knew the bond wasn’t working anymore. But Laurel was so sure of herself that she didn’t even think to give me any orders first, before she unchained me.
"Because she was held in the county jail? Or because... Family, pack, like werewolves..." Wednesday starts to roll on the balls of her feet, muttering under her breath.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to think."
"No offense, but have you considered that this isn't your thing?" Tyler says venomously. "When you interfere, there are only more casualties. Last time it was your headmistress. This time, I suppose it's the entire staff of Willow Hill."
Wednesday shoots him a dark look and presses her lips together.
“Nothing hurts like the truth, does it?" he manages to say before she passes through the wall and disappears.
Tyler decides to go through all the supplies stored in the cabin, change his clothes and head out towards Jericho.