Chapter Text
“He really hasn’t shown any sign of distress? Not even, like, in the tone of his voice? A twitch of the eye? Nothing?”
Tanis shook his head, eyes wide. “He seemed fine. I don’t understand how he can be so unphased.”
The surrounding Lodgers looked at one another, whispering amongst themselves. Helsby looked in the direction of Jekyll’s office, brow furrowed and a scowl dark on his lips. Griffin seemed just as agitated.
Lavender cut in quickly. “We did see him running to his office, and he looked panicked.” She glanced around, hoping to see something closer to sympathy on some of the other Lodgers' faces.
Bird nodded. “He was acting weird when he left the kitchen earlier. He just… stopped in his tracks. Got all stiff and quiet.”
“He saw a spider,” Chabra scoffed.
“We didn’t get a good look at his expression when he ran to his room,” Tanis said, frowning. He cocked his head to the side, glancing at Lavender with an expression that asked ‘you saw what I saw, right?’. She cast her eyes down at the floor.
It was true that as of late, Jekyll had been much too normal. He had handled the explosion with frightening nonchalance, and then had brushed off the discovery of the Lodgers’ secret project like it was nothing. Lavender was not alone in thinking that those events called for some sort of consequence, or at least a reaction on Jekyll’s part. Even a scolding would be better than nothing, and no, that talk he gave to Sinnett and Luckett did not count as a scolding.
The Lodgers had all agreed after the fact that they should have notified Jekyll of their work. Sure, many of them were still nervous of the doctor after everything that had gone down with Frankenstein, but it wasn’t like he was a bad person. There was no real reason for them to keep their project a secret, even if Jekyll would have urged them to work on their commissions first. At the very least, telling him would have prevented the explosion from happening.
Some of the other Lodgers had been terrified of Jekyll after he uncovered their secret; Lavender thought it was a little ridiculous. At the end of the day, Jekyll was the same person he had always been, even if his relationship with the rest of the Society was a bit more strained. And Jekyll would never do anything truly malicious, not to them.
As it turned out, he didn’t end up doing anything at all. To Lavender, that was more frightening.
And then… Lanyon.
Lavender hadn’t even known that Lanyon was missing until Jekyll dragged his comatose body through the doors of the Society. And the doctor seemingly took it in stride. He smiled as he explained the situation to the Lodgers and never once asked for assistance. It was as if he hadn’t been bothered by the critical state of his friend in the slightest!
But Lavender wasn’t convinced. Jekyll had mastered his easy smile a long time ago; he had used it to recruit Lodger after Lodger and keep the Society standing. It was likely that he was using that smile now.
Which meant one thing: he didn’t trust them enough to want their help.
It stung, but it was fair. If Lavender had been in his shoes in the time surrounding the exhibition, she wouldn’t trust the Lodgers, either.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that Jekyll really is having a tough time with everything going on. But he’s not telling us for a reason.” She looked up, jaw set. “He needs some space. If we keep pestering him, we might only make the situation worse.”
Archer shook his head. “If Jekyll’s really having a tough time, we should help. It’s us that’s going to suffer if the Society collapses, and if Jekyll’s the only one keeping it running…” He gestured wildly with his hands.
“I don’t think that Dr. Jekyll is completely untouched by the situation either,” Ito said, pursing her lips. “We should show him that he’s not alone, he’s surrounded by capable scientists. If we can help, we should.”
“How has he once shown that he’s been affected by the situation in the slightest?!” Tanis exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “The only time I’ve seen him moderately bothered was when we caught him running to his office, and that can easily be explained away. It’s freaky! He’s like some sort of robot!”
“I’m with Tanis,” Helsby said. “I’ve not heard a single distressed peep out of that man. If Jekyll wants to deal with everything on his own, so be it. I’m not getting involved with a guy who can’t be arsed to worry about his comatose friend.”
“If Jekyll wanted our help, he’d ask,” Griffin agreed.
Lavender rubbed at her eyes, worry pooling in her stomach. “We have to give him a little bit of grace. Everyone acts differently in tough situations; he just needs some time.”
“I think we just have a simple communication issue,” Pennebrygg said. “I’m willing to go talk to him and clear things up.”
Helsby barked out a laugh. “Good luck getting anything out of him.”
“I’ll go with him,” Luckett said. He stepped forward, brow furrowed. “I’ve been nothing but a pain in his side these last couple of days. I should let him know that I’m here for him if he needs it.”
Lavender buried her face in her hands. “Don’t you think he’ll come to us once he’s ready?”
The group of Lodgers all looked at one another for a moment before turning back to her, answering with a resounding, “No.”
“Fine,” she said, shaking her head. “You can go. But don’t push him too hard.”
Just as the pair turned toward the staircase, a scream came from Jekyll’s office.
-
Jekyll was going to faint.
He had only fainted a handful of times in his life, but every time he did so, it started like this. His hands were buzzing with millions of tiny pinpricks and his fingers had gone numb with the incessant tingling. Cold saturated every breath he took, accumulating in his chest until each inhale felt too thin to sustain consciousness. It was difficult to see past the flurry of emotion encroaching upon his vision. The confusion and anger and stress all blended together to become one whirlwind of hysteria, and it was dizzying. Jekyll wasn’t sure if he was going to laugh, scream, or cry.
The noise that came out of his throat was an embarrassing mixture of the three. “I’m aware that we have a problem; it’s fairly obvious,” he croaked, gesturing to the bloodied centipede wrapped and writhing around the walls. “Why the hell would you release the hallucinations now, of all times? Have you no sense of self preservation?”
He stood from his chair and stumbled as his knees almost gave out beneath him. The beast gnashed its pincers, legs drumming in a tinny chorus. Waves of coagulating blood lapped at the material of his trousers, cold and clammy against his thighs. Jekyll shuddered and leaned against his desk. His chest was so tight, too tight. He was trapped no matter where he went. He couldn’t breathe.
He was going to drown in here.
Hyde wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t mean to set the nightmares loose. I mean sure, it was my fault or whatever, but I was just trying to free Lanyon. You should be thanking me.”
The words refused to cooperate with his muddied brain. Free Lanyon? What did Lanyon have to do with any of this? Clarity fled his every attempt to make sense of it. Jekyll blinked twice before sending a baffled expression in the direction of his shadow. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Hyde rolled his eyes and sneered. Jekyll wanted to throttle him. How dare he do this to him right now, and how dare he look so unaffected by everything? Anger flared up in a fiery wave, and he swayed on his feet. The blood washed across the floor had slowed in its climb, instead acting as an anchor, a chain. It was too thick to move through, too nauseating to look at for too long. He couldn’t breathe through the thick stench of iron and rot.
“Calm down, Jekyll. You’re getting hysterical.”
“Explain to me what is going on right now,” Jekyll seethed, fingernails digging into the edge of his desk with the effort to not fall over. “This is no time for your sadistic little games, Hyde.”
Hyde leaned in close, a grin creeping across his lips. “You look so wretched when you’re scared.”
“Tell me what is going on this instant!” Jekyll barked, vision blinking out for a moment. When it returned, it was filled with flashes of color. The edges of his sight were swallowed by black.
The shadow’s smile grew. “I will if you ask nicely.”
“Tell. Me.”
“Fine, but only because it helps both of us to get him out.” Hyde said. He leaned back and crossed his arms, a smug expression fitting across his face. “Lanyon’s in your head.”
Jekyll blinked. In his head? That made no sense whatsoever. How the hell would Lanyon have gotten into his head? That couldn’t be right.
No, it couldn’t be.
Hyde watched him with gleaming green eyes and Jekyll knew that it couldn’t be right.
Outrage flared up so sudden and burning that Jekyll almost fell over with the force of it, breaths coming too fast, too cold. “Go away.”
Hyde’s eyes narrowed, lips curling into a snarl. “Excuse me?”
“Go away,” Jekyll repeated, voice low. He took a step toward his shadow, muscles straining through the metallic sludge. “I don’t know why you think that now is a good time to mess with me, but I’m not going to put up with it. There is too much to deal with right now, too much that I need to fix, and I don’t need you added to that list.” He couldn’t see past the fire blazing in his eyes, white hot and dizzying. “Go away.”
“I’m not lying to you,” Hyde snarled. “Lanyon’s been trapped in your head ever since he went missing. You’ve seen him in your dreams; you’ve just been too wrapped up in your own melodrama with the Lodgers to see it. And while you’ve been busy sucking up to your employees, Robert bleeding Lanyon has had every chance to discover our secret!”
The world was blurring into smears of color across Jekyll’s vision, all reds and green whisking together and falling apart before his eyes. His body had gone completely numb besides the ache in his chest and the whistle of air down his throat, the temperature too extreme to tell whether it was freezing or burning. Tears pricked at his eyes. He was going to pass out. He was going to pass out and drown in the blood. He was going to pass out.
Jekyll stumbled back, hand grappling for the desk. “You’re lying to me,” he said, voice weak. “I don’t need this right now. Go away; I’m not going to ask you again.”
“Fine,” Hyde said, voice distant. “I’ll prove it to you.”
Jekyll heaved himself back onto his chair. He squinted his eyes shut and willed the spots of color dancing behind the lids disappear, the heels of his palms kneading at his temples. It wasn’t real. He shook his head in an attempt to knock dislodge the buzzing in his skull. It wasn’t real. The cold slime clinging to his legs wasn’t really there. The centipede was nothing but his imagination. Jekyll’s hands moved from his temples to his eyes, rubbing them as if to scrub the sights away. It wasn’t real. None of this was real. He took a stuttering breath and opened his eyes.
The room was empty. Jekyll sat in silence for a moment, chest heaving as he looked around, searching. The floors were clean. The walls were barren. The air smelled faintly of peppermint. All the bugs and blood and gore had seemingly vanished.
Jekyll buried his face in his hands. All the world seemed to settle, but the dizzy spell continued its spinning, and the buzzing behind his eyes refused to dissipate. He swallowed thickly and raised his head. Nothing. The room was vacant, save for him and the splashes of color still dancing in his peripheral.
He needed to calm down. This wasn’t becoming of a gentleman; it would be a shame if he were caught in such a state. Jekyll took in a slow breath, eyes fluttering shut. He couldn’t hear through the rush of blood in his ears.
Jekyll stepped out of his chair tentatively, backing away from his desk with his arms outstretched in a grapple for the residual balance the counter offered. The ground was solid and dry beneath his feet. He counted four picture frames hanging from the walls, not one even a touch askew. The air was slightly stale with dust but otherwise clean. He still couldn’t shake the cold lodged in his chest. It was only then that he remembered to exhale. The doorknob was cold in his palm.
Jekyll yanked the door open and promptly floundered backwards, falling to the ground in his haste to get far, far away from the figure standing in the entryway. He shook his head, scrambling back with a quickening breath. The entirety of his body buzzed with renewed agitation.
“No,” he whispered, vision falling in and out of focus. “No, no. You’re not real. You can’t be real.”
Moreau loomed above him, dead eyes boring into his. They pierced right through the shell and delved deep into the meat of him. Those watery eyes saw him in his entirety. The charred lips curled over rotting teeth. Disgust.
He could see himself reflected in those eyes and, for a moment, the surrounding face looked just like his.
Jekyll couldn’t breathe. He squinted his eyes shut and turned away, fear too thick in his throat to swallow, stomach roiling. He was going to vomit. He was going to vomit and then he was going to faint.
“Please, get out,” he begged.
Moreau didn’t budge. He stood there, lips curled and eyes incisive, flesh falling from his bones in ribbons. He was being stripped to the bone and Jekyll knew that it was really him who was rotting.
The world attacked him with its whirlwind of tingling pigment. His limbs gave out in his effort to crawl away from the hallucination, and he collapsed into a flurry of pinpricks, bone chill, blaring hue dancing with blaring hue, inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He choked on it.
“It’s me,” he rasped, curling in on himself. The world loomed above him, unbalanced in its rotations around and across. He was stuck in its push and pull. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Henry?”
Jekyll looked up and screamed.
Standing not two metres away from him was Lanyon, brow furrowed and a small frown pulling at his lips. He knelt down, reaching out toward Jekyll’s trembling, retreating frame. His skin was pale, too pale. No, translucent. He was glowing a faint blue and Jekyll could see right through him.
Never in his life had he expected to see Lanyon’s ghost. Even his mind couldn’t have grown dark enough to think up such a torment.
Jekyll couldn’t staunch the sobs ripping from his chest. He pushed himself off the ground and stumbled past Moreau, through the doorway, darkness choking his vision so entirely that he could only see through blurred pinpricks, nothing but the tripping of his feet one after the other as he fled to Lanyon’s room.
He couldn’t be dead. He had looked like a corpse before but he couldn’t be dead. His skin had been too pale, his breaths coming too shallow, his pulse languid in his wrist, in his chest, but he couldn’t be dead. No, not the man who had trained his feet in a steady box step, hands warm against his waist as he coached him through a dance. Not the man who had shared expensive bottles of wine with him in his office, skin like golden syrup in the melting light of the afternoon sun. Not the man who had once intertwined their fingers and taught him to crave that fleeting touch. Not the man who had stolen his first kiss.
Lanyon couldn’t be dead.
Jekyll flung open the door to Lanyon’s room and staggered to his bed, chest hollow at the sight. He looked dead. His lips were ashen, body motionless beneath his thin blanket. He lay there like a corpse and Jekyll’s heart plummeted when he realized that he might actually be one.
Tears blurred his slipping vision as he pressed his fingers against the side of Lanyon’s neck, fingers wavering too much to uncover a heartbeat. Jekyll shook his head, dismay mounting in his chest.
“Please,” he whispered, pressing harder. Lanyon’s skin was cold. “Please, Robert. Please.”
A faint pulse thrummed beneath his fingertips, almost too fleeting to catch. Jekyll waited for it to reemerge. After a couple of tortuous, trembling moments, it did.
Jekyll’s knees gave out beneath him, sending him collapsing at the edge of the bed. His chest was heaving, eyes too full of color and stinging with salt to see clearly. He was alive. Lanyon was alive.
“It’s okay,” came the familiar voice from behind him.
Jekyll shook his head, tears dripping from his chin. “No.” The word came out wet and warbled. He couldn’t drag his gaze up to meet the ghost’s.
“Henry,” the ghost tried again, voice soft. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m right here.” A misty knee poked into his vision as the apparition crouched down beside him.
Jekyll squeezed his eyes shut. “No, no. No.”
Lanyon had always been so warm; the ghost felt like nothing. The translucent figure was air against his skin, devoid of life, deader than the body laying in that godforsaken bed. It was a sad attempt at a recreation and Jekyll couldn’t bear to see him like this any longer.
“Henry, please. I can explain what’s going on, but you need to listen to me.”
“No!” Jekyll yelled, head whipping up so fast it gave him vertigo. “I know what you’re doing, Hyde, and it’s not going to work.”
The ghost’s eyebrows creased, a puzzled look stretching across its face. “Excuse me?”
“You’re using the hallucinations against me so you can take control. It’s not going to work this time, so leave me the hell alone!”
The room was eerily quiet as the ghost stared at him, fuzzy in the scope of his sight. Jekyll couldn’t feel his arms. They fell loosely by his sides.
The ghost shook its head slowly. “I’m not Hyde. It’s me, Lanyon. I’ve been trapped in your head ever since the explosion, and I need you to get me out. I swear that I’m telling you the truth.”
Jekyll buried his face in his hands. “I’m not letting you out. Leave me alone.”
“Henry-” the plea was cut off by the creak of feet against floorboards.
Jekyll looked up, cheeks stained and eyes red. Pennebrygg and Luckett stood frozen in the doorway, staring down at him with matching expressions of horror drawn across their faces. Luckett took a tentative step forward, hands out as if he were attempting to soothe a wild animal. Something within Jekyll crumbled.
The Lodgers would never trust him again.
“Dr. Jekyll?” Luckett asked, voice soft. “Is everything alright?”
He took another step and Jekyll snapped. “Get away from me!” he screamed, pushing himself back against the bedframe. “Everyone get the fuck out!”
Pennebrygg’s eyes widened. He pulled Luckett back toward the door, shaking his head frantically. The two disappeared just as quickly as they came.
“Henry!” the ghost cried, but Jekyll had already slumped to the ground.
He couldn’t get enough air. His whole body trembled with the need of it, the desperation for something, anything to draw the buzzing out of his chest. His brain was too fogged with panic and tears to think. He was going to faint.
“I’m losing my mind,” he murmured to himself. “I’m going mad.”
Somewhere far away, Lanyon’s voice continued to plead, but Jekyll’s ears had long since gone numb.
-
For the first time since she had returned to the Society, Rachel was alone in the kitchen. Chabra and Bird had left soon after Jekyll, exiting with a sort of tense, silent air that Rachel didn’t quite understand. The kitchen had been barren since then.
She must have missed something. Sure, Jekyll’s relationship with the Lodgers had been recently strained, but things should have been improving, not getting worse. And all this– this silence, this avoidance, this discomfort–was much, much worse. What had happened while she was gone?
Yes, she must have missed something; she was trying hard not to think about it. If Rachel asked for more information, she would likely find herself wrapped up in an upsetting situation that would be impossible to restrain herself from trying to fix. She had taken a break from the Society just to collect herself, to gain the strength necessary to refrain from butting into other people’s lives like she always does, and she could not let all of that go to waste. No, she could not get herself involved with whatever was falling apart here.
The last thing Jekyll and the Lodgers needed was her “help”.
Still, it was too quiet. Rachel hadn’t heard voices outside her door or a bump from the floor above in too long, and years of working here had taught her that silence in the Society spelled disaster. She should probably go check it out.
Rachel stuck her head out of the door slowly, surveying the surrounding area. The lack of noise immediately made sense: there were no people left to make it. Nearly all of the Lodgers had gathered around the foot of the stairs, huddling together and speaking in hushed, urgent voices.
For a moment, Rachel hesitated. If she got herself involved in whatever had caught the Lodgers’ attention, she would run the risk of being overbearing. If she let the Lodgers continue to plot on their own without intervention, however, there was a large chance that something would explode. Things tended to do that when these scientists were left without supervision.
Rachel took a deep breath and, steeling herself, approached the group. The closer she got, the clearer the expressions on their faces became. Their voices were laced with something akin to fear.
Something was wrong.
She cleared her throat. “What’s going on?”
The group turned to face her, panic glinting in their eyes. “Rachel, thank God you’re here,” Sinnett said, voice wobbling. “Dr. Jekyll’s been possessed.”
Ito smacked the back of his head, scowling. “He’s absolutely not been possessed. He’s just…” she trailed off. She looked around for a moment, brow furrowed. “Something’s happened, but it’s not possession.”
Rachel blinked, fear mounting in her chest. “Dr. Jay? Is he okay?”
Archer shrugged helplessly. “I don’t think so. This has never happened before.”
Her voice sharpened. “Explain.”
“Luckett and I went to check up on him,” Pennebrygg cut in, “and we found him crouched by Dr. Lanyon’s bed, sobbing. He screamed at us to fuck off.”
“He swore at you?” Rachel exclaimed, eyes wide.
“Maijabi says that changes in personality are signs of possession,” Tweedy offered.
Maijabi shook his head. “While unusual behavior is often present in possessions, I don’t believe that Dr. Jekyll is being possessed.”
Griffin looked at the older man like he had grown a second head. “He swore at Pennebrygg and Luckett,” he repeated, drawing out his words.
“He was showing emotion. That’s not usual,” Helsby chimed in, just as emphatically.
Maijabi sighed. “Dr. Jekyll may seem sanitized at times, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t human.” He looked around, gesturing to Luckett. “Mr. Luckett and Mr. Pennebrygg reported that Dr. Jekyll was at Dr. Lanyon’s bedside, did they not? He was clearly very emotional, and it likely had something to do with his friend.” His gaze softened, voice dropping slightly. “He’s experiencing quite a lot as of late. It’s possible that everything got the better of him and you two simply walked in at a bad time.”
Rachel’s stomach plummeted. This whole time she had been holding herself back, keeping herself out of Jekyll’s way in an attempt not to be overbearing, when Jekyll had needed her help from the start? This was worse than being smothering; she had ignored someone she cared about when he had needed her most.
Jekyll was hurting, and she ran away when she should’ve been there for him. Now he was hurting worse for it, and it was her fault.
She was a terrible friend.
Rachel couldn’t quell the tremble in her lips. Tears sprouted in her eyes, too thick for her to see through as they fought to fall. She buried her face in her hands and tried not to sniffle too loudly. Shame burned an angry red in her cheeks.
A hand rested on her back. “Miss Rachel? What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, shoulders beginning to shake. She couldn’t speak through the guilt clogging her throat. She should’ve left Hyde alone. She should’ve been there for Jekyll. Nothing she did was ever the right thing.
There was a line drawn somewhere between caring and smothering, and Rachel just couldn’t seem to find it.
“Miss Rachel?”
She raised her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. Jasper had moved to stand between her and the rest of the Lodgers, face drawn into a worried frown. He led Rachel away from the group, into a quiet corner far from prying eyes and curious ears. He looked at her with more care than she deserved.
“I’m fine,” she said, voice wavering. “It’s just… I should’ve been there for him.”
Jasper shook his head. “You didn’t know,” he said. His voice was soft.
Rachel laughed wetly. “I should’ve known; I’m his friend. I should’ve at least asked how he was doing or what he needed.” She dipped her head, eyes refilling with tears. “But I didn’t. I was scared that I would be too much, like I always am. And I neglected him. He deserves a better friend than me.”
“No,” Jasper said, voice firm. “You’re a wonderful friend, Miss Rachel. And Dr. Jekyll will be alright, I’m sure. You can be there for him from here on out, but nothing good can come from beating yourself up about it.”
“I can’t figure it out,” Rachel sniffled. “Everything I do is either too much or not enough. I’m trying to be better, but it’s not working.” She looked away, chin dripping with tears.
Jasper was quiet for a moment. His hand left her back to catch her palm, his fingers intertwining with hers. His grasp was steady.
“You’ll figure it out,” he finally whispered. “I know you will.”
Rachel squeezed his hand. “How are you so sure?”
“Because you’re willing to try this hard, and that means more than you think.” Jasper’s voice was strong, sure. “You’re a friend anyone would be glad to have.”
Rachel withdrew her hand from his and hugged him. They stood there until the tears dried from her cheeks, and when she pulled away, Jasper smiled at her.
“Feeling better?”
Rachel nodded. “Thank you, Jasper.” She looked up toward the door of Jekyll’s office and set her jaw, eyes steeling. “I’m going to apologize to him and offer my help,” she decided. “I won’t go overboard; I’ll only do what he asks from me. That’s all.” She looked at Jasper, brow furrowed. “Do you think that will be enough?”
Jasper nodded. “More than. Two things, though.” He cleared his throat and looked at the floor, suddenly shy. “You’re more than the help you offer. Don’t do everything just because someone asks you to. If Dr. Jekyll ends up asking for more than you can give, you shouldn’t get in over your head.”
Rachel wrung her hands together, a frown tugging at her lips. Shouldn’t she do everything she could to make up for her recent behavior? Jekyll was clearly cracking under the pressure of it all; as his friend, she should relieve some of that pressure.
But that was smothering, wasn’t it? She couldn’t imagine having a friend of hers work themselves into the ground just because she asked them to. She wouldn’t want someone else to do that for her.
So she nodded, pushing down the discomfort that his words brought. “You’re right. I’ll do my best.” She smiled a small smile. “What’s the second thing?”
“It’s much less insightful,” he said with a laugh. “It’s just that, uh…” He looked up at Jekyll’s office, grin stretching into a grimace. “You should probably wait before speaking with him. I don’t think now is the right time.”
Right. Based on the Lodger’s recounts, Jekyll wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. If she was going to have a heart to heart with him, she’d want him to be in the right state of mind to do it.
“You’re probably right about that, too. I’ll give him some time. Thanks, Jasper.”
-
“What did you do to him?!” Lanyon stalked over to Hyde, fists clenched. Anger bubbled up within him, so hot that it scalded his tongue when he spoke. He spat the words out before they could char.
He couldn’t shake the image of what he had just seen: Jekyll, tearstained and cowering by his bedside, looking at him with more mistrust than he had ever been subject to in his life. Like he had seen a ghost.
He hadn’t listened to him because of something Hyde had done, which could only mean one thing. Hyde had hurt him somehow.
Hyde blinked, stepping back. “Excuse me? I wasn’t even there!”
“Don’t fuck with me!” Lanyon yelled, grasping a handful of Hyde’s shirt and yanking him forward. “Henry was terrified out of his mind. I couldn’t make him listen to me, and it was all because of something you did.”
Hyde stilled in his hold for a moment, and Lanyon hoped he was scared. He was so angry he couldn’t see straight, fists trembling and knuckles white with the effort. All he could see was Jekyll crying, Jekyll pleading beside his body, Jekyll yelling at him to leave him alone. Jekyll breaking. How could someone make him break like that? He wanted Hyde to be as petrified as Jekyll had looked.
Instead of cowering, Hyde tipped his head back and laughed. “Impressive. How have you managed to scare him more than I have?”
“He thought I was you,” Lanyon seethed. “He said that he wouldn’t let you take control again. What the hell did he mean by that?!”
Hyde’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed Lanyon’s hand tight, forcing the fabric from his fingers and wrenching his arm away. “Piss off.”
“No!” Lanyon yelled. His voice echoed in the spiral stairwell, reverberating in the tight space. “None of this makes sense. You need to tell me what is going on right now.”
“There’s nothing going on!” Hyde growled. He pushed his palms flat against Lanyon’s chest and shoved him stumbling back. His eyes glinted a venomous green, teeth bared and glinting. He looked dangerous as he stalked towards Lanyon, and it only made the fury flare up even more.
Ss this was going to be a fight, then.
“Bullshit. Why does this mindscape even exist? Why are you here, and how the hell can Henry see you? What have you done to him?”
“It’s none of your goddamn business!” Hyde spat, voice raising.
A cruel laugh exploded from Lanyon’s throat. He hadn’t realized he could be this angry, so enraged that the raw emotion burned his skin and bittered the backs of his teeth until the words poured out of their own volition. It washed over him in one, large wave and he wanted it to drown Hyde, too.
He swung his hands wildly, feeling half like a madman as he stormed toward the other man. “It absolutely is my business! Henry is my friend, and I refuse to stand by and let you hurt someone I care about!”
“You don’t care about him!” Hyde shouted, voice laced with acid. He sprang forward like a viper, teeth sharp and fists clenched. “You’ve never cared about him, so don’t try that shit with me!”
Lanyon stumbled back, out of Hyde’s reach. Hurt clashed against anger so violently it made him dizzy. “Never cared about him?” The words were sour in his mouth. “Who are you to tell me how I feel?”
“Never!” Hyde repeated, his eyes so cutting that they hurt to look at. “You haven’t cared for him as a friend, as a coworker, not even back in college. He’s never been anything to you but a plaything.”
“Of course I care about him!” Lanyon said, distraught. “And I want to know what’s going on, because I want to help him! Because I care about him!”
Hyde’s scowl darkened, voice coming out as a growl. “No, you don’t. You don’t deserve to know shit.”
“Stop telling me that I don’t care about Henry! He means more to me than anyone else I’ve ever met!” Lanyon ran his hands through his hair, feeling half hysterical. He hadn’t meant for something that personal to escape his lips, and he cringed as it bounced off the walls of the stairwell. But they were true, he realized, and he let the certainty of them solidify in his voice. “I need to make sure that Henry is safe, because I can’t stand to see him hurting like that. You have no right to say that I don’t care for him.”
Though the conviction had settled comfortably in Lanyon’s chest, it seemed to have the opposite effect on Hyde. The other man bristled, head shaking so vehemently that Lanyon worried for the state of his neck.
Lanyon tried again, taming his voice into an emphatic plea. “Tell me the truth.”
“The truth will only make you hate him!” The words exploded out of him with such force that Lanyon wondered if he had even meant to say them.
His feet were moving before he knew what he was doing. Lanyon walked over to Hyde in long strides, gathering his hands in his. His skin was cold against his, and his eyes had widened into something much more vulnerable than the spitting display of anger just moments before. Lanyon looked into his eyes and was met with fear.
Finally, Hyde was scared. Except Lanyon wasn’t sure he wanted him to be scared anymore.
“Nothing,” He breathed, “could make me hate him.”
Hyde shook his head, glowering. “You don’t know that.”
“Try me.”
They stared at one another, each waiting for the other to back down. Lanyon could feel Hyde’s indignant breath against his chin.
Just as Lanyon decided that he wouldn’t be the one to surrender, he realized what they were doing. It seemed that Hyde recognized this at the same time; they sprang apart as though the other had burned them, faces blazing. Hyde gathered his arms to his chest and hissed, taking a threatened step back. Lanyon felt dizzy.
How was he supposed to get any information out of Hyde? He was more akin to a wild animal than a rational human being. There was no way he could get him to crack.
Perhaps he could figure it out without him; he was in Jekyll’s head, after all. There was sure to be some evidence of what was going on somewhere. He had seen his dreams, for Christ's sake. He had more access to this information than ever before.
Lanyon’s eyes widened. His dreams! Hyde had been mentioned in the last dream he had observed; he remembered it somewhere in the midst of melting bodies and Jekyll’s hand in his. They had accused him of Hyde, whatever that meant. And Jekyll had understood. It had terrified him.
Jekyll had always been secretive about Hyde. His ‘assistant’ had appeared seemingly out of nowhere on one random night, quite literally falling out of the inky sky and into a flower bed, according to Rachel. Jekyll had refused to explain where he had found him, and it wasn’t until the shitshow at the Blackfog Bazaar that Lanyon had actually had the opportunity to meet this assistant of his. He was elusive, appearing in the dead of night and disappearing completely the moment his face had been plastered on Wanted signs across London. Lanyon had never even seen him with Jekyll to get a straight story out of the two of them.
No, he had never seen them together. Not until this mindscape version of Hyde had spoken to him in the form of a hallucination.
And when Lanyon had tried to speak with Jekyll, he had said something about Hyde taking control. Something about letting him out. It wasn’t possible to let a hallucination out of your head, right?
Unless Hyde wasn’t a hallucination.
Lanyon went cold. He turned to Hyde slowly, face ashen and eyes wide. Hyde startled at the change in his expression, taking another tentative step back. There was something hidden in his face, beneath the sneer pulling at his lips. Something like dread. Like he knew what Lanyon was about to say.
It all made sense.
“Are you…” Lanyon began, breathless. Hyde looked at him and Lanyon hoped that he would cut him off before he was able to ask his question. He didn’t.
He wasn’t going to stop him; the realization was heavy in his stomach. He had to ask.
“Are you Edward Hyde?” It sounded stupid, asking a man who looked just like Hyde if his name fit his face. But he knew what he meant. He could see it in the way he froze, the way his expression contorted.
Lanyon watched the terror wash over Hyde's face, and he knew that he was right.