Chapter Text
Goodbid
Goodbid is not having a good morning. He wakes up sick to his stomach with anxiety and doesn’t want to get out from under his blanket.
He knows he needs to get up and make the others some breakfast or the house might get burnt down, but he can’t bring himself to do it.
He has to go back to that mansion with a banshee in it, and he has to let it pick him up. He has to let it touch him. His stomach rolls and he leans over his bed and dry heaves into a trashcan he has near his bed.
He’s sick. He can’t do it. That’s what he’ll tell them. They’ll have to believe him.
The knock at his door causes him to scream as he presses himself against the back wall.
“It’s just me, Goodbid,” S.G. says through the door. “Can I come in?”
Goodbid sighs in relief. “Yes,” he says shakily.
S.G. cracks the door open before slowly stepping inside. In one hand she has a cup of coffee and in the other she carries a bowl of what looks like oatmeal but smells decidedly different.
“It’s a simple food made in my village for the sick,” S.G. explains when she sees where his eyes go. “It’s so plain that not even I could mess it up.”
Goodbid chuckles lightly and relaxes slightly. S.G. hands him the bowl and sets the coffee on his nightstand.
“It’s a cold dish, so I didn’t risk burning everything down,” S.G. says as she sits on the edge of the bed.
Goodbid cautiously takes a bite. Its texture is similar to oatmeal, but it is smoother and tastes sweeter. It tastes like thick cream with faint hints of cinnamon and fruit.
“This is really good!” Goodbid says appraisingly.
“Thank you,” S.G. says with the cocky confidence you can only find in S.G. before she skittishly adds, “its normally served with fresh soft bread, but we didn’t have any, and I didn’t want to risk setting fire to the kitchen while you were asleep.”
“It’s okay S.G., I like it just as it is,” Goodbid says with a genuine, soft smile. “You’ll have to teach me how to make it.”
S.G. looks at him and nods. Goodbid is under the impression that if she could smile, she would.
“But first we have to break this loop,” S.G. says as lightly as she can, but Goodbid still feels his anxiety come crashing back down onto him.
“I don’t think I can do it, S.G.,” Goodbid says as he starts picking at the fur of his blanket.
“We don’t really have any other option, Goodbid,” S.G. says honestly. “If there were, we would, believe me I don’t particularly enjoy this plan either, but we still have to go through with it.”
Goodbid looks at her and shakes his head. “Glib said that my bones cracked when I hit it last time, what if this time it really kills me?”
“You were unprepared last time. This time you’ll have time to use protection spells,” S.G. reasons. “Besides this time, I’ll have Callisto and Prophis on standby, if you get hurt, they’ll be there to help you.”
“But what if Glib get’s hurt?” Goodbid says, changing tactics.
“He’s a squishy frog, he’ll be fine. Last time he was alright enough to fire off three eldritch blasts at the banshee before he fell back,” S.G. counters, completely unphased.
Goodbid sighs into his hands. “You’re not taking a ‘no’ are you?”
“Nope, we need to end this cycle,” S.G. says, lightly placing her hand on his shoulder.
Goodbid tsks before he slowly nods. “Let me finish this and my coffee and I’ll meet you downstairs,” Goodbid says, stroking his mustache.
“Okay, Prophis and Callisto are already here, so try not to stall for too long,” S.G. jokes as she stands and leaves the room.
Goodbid watches her leave before drawing a shaky breath.
He can do this. He has to do this.
With shaky hands he drinks down his coffee and eats the rest of the not-oatmeal S.G. had made him.
“You can do this Mr. Goodbid!” He tells himself as he gets to his feet, pointedly ignoring how his legs shake like a newborn deer’s. “Your friends are countin’ on ya!” With very false confidence he carries his mug and bowl downstairs. It takes more effort than normal to put on his signature smile, but he’s not Mr. Goodbid without it, is he?
In the living area Callisto and Prophis stand near the door while Canyon lays on the floor, and Glib and S.G. sit on the couch.
Prophis flashes him a kind smile, one which makes his heart yearn for his mother and her warm hugs.
“Are you up for it?” Prophis asks, crossing the room to take the bowl and mug from him. With a wave of his hand the dishes are cleaned before disappearing, assumably into the cabinet where they belong.
“I think so,” Goodbid says, scratching his arm. “I don’t have any other option so I might as well man up and get it over with.”
Prophis nods before pulling him into a hug. “I can wipe your memory of it after if you want,” Prophis whispers. “Or at least I can make Callisto do it. I don’t know if you want me messing around with your memories,” he jokes, nudging his side.
“I think I’ll be okay,” Goodbid says, pulling out of Prophis’ hug to straighten his suit jacket. “Thank ya for the offer though.” Prophis studies his face before nodding. He pats his shoulder before dropping his hands and turning back to the door. He opens a portal to the front door of the castle and motions the others through. Goodbid is in the back because it takes a lot of effort to get his quaking legs through the portal without collapsing.
“Monopoly, you are shaking like a leaf, you sure you’re gonna make it?” Glib asks walking over to him.
“I’ll be better once this is over with,” Goodbid says, swallowing thickly. He runs his hands down his suit, not trying to straighten it, but trying to remove the thick layer of sweat that has settled on his hands.
“Yeah, that tracks,” Glib says jokingly before looking towards Prophis and Callisto. “Does it need to happen at the same time of day, or…?”
“No, it can be anytime, the only thing that has to happen is you two have to be picked up and thrown at the clock by the angry banshee,” Prophis says as he pulls his hair into a low ponytail. Goodbid almost outright laughs at Callisto practically drooling over Prophis and his hair. Goodbid has to give it to Callisto, he really does worship his Eldritch Chaos Monster boyfriend. “Which also means in order to make sure everything goes to plan, we are going to stay out here, isn’t that right Callisto?”
Callisto stares for a whole second longer before slowly nodding.
“Do you have any idea what you just agreed to?” Prophis laughs.
“Huh, what?” Callisto says, shaking himself out of his stupor. “Uh, yeah we have to stay out here.” His face is a little redder when he turns back to the rest of them, but Callisto is never one to admit when he’s been caught. “Which means all of us. S.G. and Canyon included.”
“What?!” S.G. demands. “Why can’t we go in?!”
“Because we can’t risk the banshee targeting you instead of them,” Prophis explains, having the decency to look apologetic.
“With that being said, should anything bad happen, we will be one portal and a mental link away,” Callisto says tapping his head. Prophis nods before flashing them a smile and gesturing for them to go to the doors.
“You’ll make sure we don’t die, right?” Goodbid asks as they approach the doors. He rings his hands one more time before placing them flat on the doors, mentally preparing to open them.
“Yes, I have a number of healing items on standby should anything bad happen.” Callisto shows them an array of magic items before they disappear again.
“Alright, alright,” Goodbid says. He laughs a little manically before throwing the doors open in a burst of bravery. “Let’s get this fucking over with.”
Glib sputters a cough as Goodbid picks him up and puts him on his shoulder, confidently strutting to the stairs.
“Woah, man! Chill! It’s not like we’re on a time crunch!” Glib yelps, throwing his arms around Goodbid’s head.
“Yep, but if I stop movin’, I don’t think these ol’ legs will get goin’ again,” Goodbid says, still walking up the stairs as he pries Glib’s arms off his eyes.
Glib huffs a sigh but doesn’t protest anymore. He rearranges himself on the mustached man’s shoulders and holds on tightly.
Goodbid doesn’t slow down until he is stood in front of the thick oak doors.
“Goodbid?” Glib prompts.
“I’m trying,” Goodbid says before slowly pushing open the door. The hall is pitch black, he can only make out faint outlines of doors and paintings. “It’s the door at the end of the hall, right?”
“Yep, just walk dead ahead,” Glib says, settling on his shoulders. “I’ll tell you if you’re about to walk into anything, I promise.”
Goodbid squeaks out an affirmative before stumbling ahead. He walks blindly forward, the only sounds being the sound of his breathing and the thump of his footsteps.
“Hold out your hands your about to be right in front of it,” Glib says suddenly, digging his heel into Goodbid’s shoulder like he was trying to steer a horse. Goodbid nods and sticks his hands out, only for them to brush against the hard wood of the door. He lowers his fingers to the nob, only to find a bar.
“Shit, right, this thing’s locked up tighter than a drum,” Goodbid says as he grabs a hold of it. “Give me a second. It took two people to open this last time.” He fights and struggles against the bar for several minutes before it gives way with an awful screech of the metal.
“You doin’ okay?” Glib asks.
“Managin’,” Goodbid says honestly as he shakily steps through the door. Just like the last two times, the door slams behind them, still causing Goodbid to jump a foot in the air. “Al-alright,” he sputters. “Walk forward?”
“Yeah, this hallway’s longer than the last one,” Glib says. They settle back into a comfortable silence as Goodbid slowly walks forward.
Every slight noise makes his skin crawl. He hates being blind. He would go as far as to say that he despises being left to wander in the dark more than he hates ghosts. He shakes his head slightly. Now is not the time to start thinking about ghosts. In order to keep his mind from wandering too far off track, he starts counting his steps.
He gets to two hundred-thirty-six steps before Glib stops him.
“The door is in front of you, remember this one leads into a staircase,” Glib warns. Goodbid nods slowly as he reaches down and grabs the nob.
He can do this.
He twists the nob.
His grip begins to quake and shake as fear starts to settle in his bones again.
“Glib, I can’t-” he says, tears welling up in his eyes. “I don’t think I can do it.”
“Goodbid, you’ll have to do it eventually. Why prolong the inevitable?” Glib says rationally.
“Because it’ll kill me!” Goodbid snaps. His hands are shaking worse, and he can feel hot tears streak down his face.
“No, it won’t,” Glib says dismissively. “Everyone is right outside, relying on us to get this over with.”
Damn Glib and him using Goodbid’s weaknesses against him.
“Damn you, frog man!” Goodbid hisses as he opens the door. And so what if he cries as he climbs the stairs? Or if by the time he reaches the top, where he can see the bridge and the dancing flames of the torches, he’s shaking worse than a leaf in the wind? Glib’s the only one there to see him, and he’s not above blackmailing Glib into silence.
“Bid, we are almost there, just go out onto the bridge and stop in the middle,” Glib says comfortingly.
“Uh huh,” Goodbid nods as he takes slow steps across the creaking metal. It feels like it takes him a thousand years to get to the center of the bridge. “Now what?” he asks around his thick tears.
“We wait, I guess,” Glib says, his hand fisting the fabric of Goodbid’s shirt. “Last time we were looking at the clock for a few minutes before the- before it came,” Glib says, censoring himself for Goodbid’s sake.
Goodbid nods and forces his eyes to focus on the clock’s face because something about it seems new, but he can’t place what feels so different.
The picture is the same as it was before. A flower field with a tree in the corner. The flowers are in a beautiful bloom and the elf boy sits under the tree braiding flowers together into a crown as he hides from the hot sun. The birds almost look like they are flying across the sky as the fire’s light dances across it. The glass behind the wall shows the sky but provides no light. The sky is bright and dotted with very few clouds, making the day bright and beautiful, perfect for a day at the park.
Goodbid had almost calmed himself completely when a screech sounds from behind him.
“Shit!” He screams when both he and Glib are picked up and slammed into the clock for the second time. He was better prepared, but it still hurts. He crashes to the floor. His vision dances with black dots as he tries and fails to get off the ground. He can see Glib fighting the banshee, blood dripping down his face, but he can’t help him. He weakly reaches for him before collapsing into the darkness.
Suddenly he is standing in a flower field, the warm sun bearing down on him. The flowers and grass dance and sway under his feet and over head he hears birds singing.
“Hi there,” a boy’s voice calls from behind him. Goodbid spins on his heels, readying a spell only to stop when he sees a familiar face sitting under an old tree, making a flower crown. “Remember me?” He asks lightly.
“What the hell is goin’ on?” Goodbid demands as he cautiously approaches the elf.
“You are knocked out and the frog man is fighting my sister. I saw my opportunity, so I took it and brought you in here so we could chat for a minute,” he explains calmly.
“What do you mean you brought me here?” Goodbid asks, stopping in front of the young man- no kid.
“My sister accidentally trapped me in here,” he says, tightening the knots on his crown before setting it on his head. “So, I’ve been here a few years.”
“Are you the one keeping us in this loop?” Goodbid asks, crouching down in front of him.
“Kind of? I’m not doing it on purpose anyway,” the kid explains. “Want one?” He offers his crown to Goodbid.
“Uh, sure? And what do you mean you aren’t doing it on purpose?” Goodbid asks. He sits down in front of the kid who starts gathering more flowers.
“I mean I’m not supposed to be in here, but I am. You weren’t supposed to cause a loop, but you did. So, I can help you if you help me,” he says calmly. “Oh, I’m Sayrn, by the way. I never got an adult name.”
Goodbid feels his heart break at the simple statement. “I’m sorry,” Goodbid says, feeling guilty for cutting this kid’s life so short. He rarely takes contracts that have anything to do with kids. That rule probably wasn’t in place when he took this hit.
Sayrn gives him a genuine smile. “It’s fine, my crazy sister hired you to do it.”
“Did you two not get a long?” Goodbid asks, picking at the grass absentmindedly.
“She loved me, but I was always afraid of her, especially after she became a warlock,” Sayrn says as he tucks his hair behind his ear again. “That’s why she hired you to kill me. She couldn’t do it herself.”
“Oh, I see,” Goodbid says. He watches the kid make him a flower crown for a moment before slowly asking, “so how do I help you, so you’ll help me?”
“Easy, in the middle of the room, there is a fancy looking rock,” he says looking up at Goodbid for the first time. “Break it and kill my sister’s ghost. The loop should end then. Here,” he puts the crown around Goodbid’s hat. “Now you’ll wake up, you’ll be in pain but remember this: break the rock, kill the banshee.”
Before Goodbid can respond pain flares through his body and he opens his eyes to a dark room. He is laying on the ground, bleeding sluggishly. Gritting his teeth, he pulls himself to his feet and stumbles forward.
“You’re alive?!” he hears someone, probably Canyon, shout, but he doesn’t have time to respond. He has to find that rock.
An obvious battle rages over his head as he navigates the maze of cogs and gears before stumbling into a clearing under the bridge. In the center is a glistening crystal on a marble pedestal.
“Fancy indeed, kid,” Goodbid mumbles. He coughs into his hand, bits of blood splattering onto his sleeve. He lifts his briefcase over his head before smashing it down onto the crystal with all his force. It shatters like fragile glass.
He hears the banshee shriek mournfully, but the pain washes numbly over him.
“Kill her! It’ll break the loop! Kill her!” He yells, praying someone is still there to hear him. His vision dances with spots of color and he sways on his feet. The banshee shrieks in pain swiftly followed by cheers. With a smirk he lets the pain knock him back out.
The last thing he sees before everything fades to black is the clock’s face. A beautiful flower field, swaying in the wind, and a tree with birds on the branches. But under the tree, there is no elf boy.
*
When Goodbid comes to in his bed, he almost throws a righteous fit. Like hell was he going to do that to himself a second time! But before he can work up his temper, he feels bandages wrapping his torso.
“Oh, good! You’re awake!” Prophis says, sitting down the book he was reading. “We were starting to get worried.”
“Did it work?” Goodbid asks hoarsely.
“Yes, it is the twenty-seventh,” Prophis says as he brings Goodbid a glass of water. “Drink.”
Goodbid takes it with a grateful smile and downs it in two gulps.
“How did you know that would work?” Prophis asks as he takes the glasses back. “Breaking that rock.”
“The kid in the clock told me.”
“What?”
Goodbid laughs at Prophis’ confused expression. “Yeah, the lady’s brother’s soul, whose name was Sayrn by the way, got trapped in the clock. He told me if I broke the rock under the bridge and killed the banshee the loop would end. Oh, and he made me a flower crown,” Goodbid says with a weak smile.
“Oh, that explains the weird flower pattern on your hat,” Prophis says as he picks up the hat and gives it to him. Goodbid inspects his hat and sure enough around the hat is a faint flower pattern, like it was painted on.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Goodbid laughs.
“Indeed,” Prophis says with a soft smile. “Oh, I should probably tell the others you are awake.” Prophis leaves the room, and a few moments later there are several thumping feet before his door is thrown open and S.G. launches through the door, followed by an equally enthusiastic Canyon, and a much calmer Glib.
“You did it!” S.G. shouts, throwing her arms around Goodbid and pulling him into a death grip hug.
“S.G. don’t rebreak his ribs!” Glib snaps at her, but her hold only loosens slightly.
“Well, you know what would be great for his ribs?” Canyon asks.
“I swear to God if you say a cuddle pile,” Glib threatens only for Canyon to smile even wider.
“A cuddle pile on S.G.’s bed,” he says smugly.
“He’s been demanding a cuddle pile ever since we got back,” S.G. explains while Canyon and Glib light into an argument.
“I’m willin’ to do a cuddle pile,” Goodbid says as he slowly gets out of bed. “As long as y’all mind my injuries.”
“Deal!” Canyon says before running to S.G.’s room. Goodbid and the others follow behind, much slower.
They had just got settled on the bed when Prophis sticks his head in the door.
“Callisto and I are headed home, if you need us, you know how to contact us,” he says quietly before disappearing back down the hall.
Goodbid smiles and lets his head fall back against the pillows. “Night, y’all.”
“Night,” Canyon purrs.
“Good night,” S.G. says quietly.
Glib grunts, already mostly asleep.
It doesn’t take long for sleep to take Goodbid, he is still extremely exhausted, after all. In his dream he is in a field with two other elves sitting in the distance. One is a woman, who looks vaguely familiar, having her hair braided with flowers, and the other is a young boy with a flower crown sitting on top of his long white-blonde hair.
He wakes up happy and calm but thinking one thing clearly.
Never fucking again.