Chapter Text
When Newt had said Percival needed to rest his leg, Percival hadn’t thought he meant actual bed rest. While Percival managed to sleep through most of the first day of enforced rest, by the second day he was ready to smash a window and make a run for freedom. Even living with the werewolves in the forest seemed preferable, if it meant he wouldn’t have to hear Jacob asking if he wanted soup one more time.
“What are you doing?”
Or have Newt ask him what he was doing the second he so much as twitched.
“I need to take a piss,” Percival huffed as he carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Wanna come and watch?”
He ignored Queenie’s scandalised “Language!” in favour of feeling satisfied that his words had brought a blush to Newt’s cheeks, the man glaring but not saying a word as Percival hobbled to the bathroom. It hurt like hell, but Percival clenched his teeth, determined not to show any weakness. He relieved himself and washed his paws, before hobbling back out of the bathroom and flopping down on his bed. Newt looked up from the paper he was scribbling on, and huffed out a breath to blow the hair falling into his eyes away.
“Theseus sends his regards.”
“Thanks,” Percival replied as he sat back, propped up against the pillows and trying to get comfortable. After so many hours in bed, no position seemed comfortable anymore. When his brain caught up with what Newt had just said, Percival turned to look at him. “What? Who?”
“My brother, Theseus?” Newt asked and sat up a little straighter. He was using Percival’s bed as a desk, and Percival’s mother would’ve had a thing or two to say about the dreadfully hunched posture he took on when writing. Not that Newt had great posture in general. And not that Percival noticed Newt’s posture or anything, it was just that with being stuck in bed Percival didn’t have too many things to look at, so he…noticed things about Newt. Like the way a deep furrow appeared between his eyebrows when he frowned in concentration, or the fact that one of his eyes was slightly bluer than the other.
“You know, the one you imprisoned?” Newt prompted.
“Oh. Yes, of course,” Percival waved his paw dismissively. He didn’t remember much of the man, except for the fact that he’d been much bulkier than Newt, and much more foul-mouthed.
“He sends his regards,” Newt repeated, speaking slowly, like Percival was hard of understanding. “He’s going to the market in Fairbush in two weeks and said he might drop by for tea, since it’s on the way.”
Percival was vaguely aware of his mouth working, but no sounds coming forth. Newt sounded so nonchalant, not like he was the prisoner of a beast, but like he was on some sort of holiday here.
“He…what?” He finally managed to produce. “How…when did he tell you that?”
“He wrote me a letter,” Newt replied, holding up a piece of paper covered in messy scrawls.
“He wrote you a…how?” Percival couldn’t wrap his mind around it. When had the brothers started to exchange letters? And how had the letter even been delivered? No mail carriage would ever make its way to the castle, Percival was absolutely certain of that.
“Dougal has been carrying letters for us,” Newt said and shrugged, like it was completely normal to use a horse as a courier. “Theseus wanted to come here with people from the village, all mob with pitchforks and whatnot, but I told him he was being overly dramatic again and I’d prefer it if he refrained from doing so. I said he should come for tea instead, that’d be more pleasant.”
Behind Percival, Queenie snorted. He was thankful that Seraphina wasn’t here, or he’d never live down he fact that he sat there for what felt like minutes, and stared at Newt with his mouth hanging open. For his part, Newt looked between Percival and Queenie, his forehead creased as if he couldn’t understand their reactions at all.
“We can take our tea outside, if you want? So you won’t be disturbed?”
“Disturbed in his brooding, you mean?” Queenie giggled and Percival snapped his mouth shut.
“I don’t care where you take your tea,” he huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Take it in the grand ballroom, for all I care.”
“That’s a wonderful idea! I’ll see that it’s cleaned up.”
Percival turned his head so quickly it felt like he’d strained something in his neck. Queenie couldn’t possibly be serious, could she? From the looks of it, she was dead serious, and Percival felt the urge to bash his head against the wall. What had he done to deserve this? Wasn’t it enough that he had to spend his days as a hideous beast? Why did he have to deal with bossy servants and a ridiculous man who refused to acknowledge personal boundaries atop of that?
“Really? That does sound lovely,” Newt said and sat up straighter. “It would show Theseus what a wonderful place this is.”
Percival’s eyebrows rose as he looked between Queenie and Newt. Had he landed in an alternative universe? Nobody, absolutely nobody, ever referred to the cursed castle as “a wonderful place”, not even Percival himself - and he’d grown up here. Maybe he needed to lock Newt up in a cell again to remind him what a not-wonderful place this was, and that he was still, technically, a prisoner. But then again, his servants would free Newt again instantly, so the entire thing would be an exercise in futility, and an unnecessary strain on Percival’s already frayed nerves.
“Oh, Percival, you can wear your blue suit. You’ll look very fetching.”
Fetching? By that point Percival felt like his eyebrows were about to disappear completely. He was a beast. Beasts didn’t look fetching, and Queenie was getting far too excited for her own good, steam puffing from her spout whenever she giggled.
“I’m not going to attend.”
“What? Of course you will! You’re the master of the castle! It would be terribly rude not to. Besides, I bet Newt’s brother would love to meet you-“
“He’s already met me.”
“-under better circumstances,” Queenie finished and pursed her lips. It meant that she was displeased with Percival’s attitude, and Queenie being displeased never boded well for him.
“I’m sure Theseus would like to meet you. Just so he knows that I’m in good hands and that he doesn’t need to worry. He tends to worry. About me. Even though I keep telling him that worrying is pointless.”
Percival suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for Newt’s brother. Trying to look after Newt must be as frustrating as trying to look after a bag of fleas.
“Maybe if my leg is healed enough by then,” Percival replied and stoically ignored Queenie’s quirked eyebrows. He might as well use his injury as an excuse, if it kept him invalid and bed-bound.
“Why, yes, of course. You shouldn’t overexert yourself!” Newt said, his face instantly creased with worry. “How’re you feeling?”
The same as I felt ten minutes ago!
Percival bit his tongue and took a deep breath. “I’m fine, thank you. Go finish your letter, I need to …rest.” He turned onto his side and pulled the blanket over himself before pointedly closing his eyes. At least nobody asked him questions or involved him in planning tea parties if he pretended to be asleep.
***
“Were you always like this?”
“What do you mean, honey?”
“A teapot, I mean. Or a clock, or a cup, or a duster. Were you all always like this?”
“Oh.”
Percival’s breath caught in his throat, though thankfully neither Queenie nor Newt realised that he was awake.
“That’s a very long story, sweetie.”
“I’ve got time.” Newt’s wry smile was evident in his voice. Percival could picture it perfectly, the way one corner of his mouth twitched up a little higher than the other.
“It’s also not my story to tell.”
Percival could feel both their gazes on him and struggled not to shift under their weight.
“So…you haven’t always been a teapot?” Newt asked and Percival relaxed a fraction.
“No.” Queenie’s voice swung with emotion, filling the air with a myriad of things unsaid. “I haven’t always been a teapot.”
Once upon a time people had talked far and wide about Queenie, her beauty and tales of her smile travelling far beyond the castle walls. Women had tried to replicate her hairstyles and a throng of suitors and admirers had followed her around at every ball. But Queenie’s beauty couldn’t be captured in a hairstyle, and no matter the offers princes and dukes made her, Queenie had only ever had eyes for a certain baker. Jacob and Queenie had been engaged, planning their wedding and excited to start a family of their own. And then the wizard had come and their plans, along with the rest of the castle, had turned to dust.
Thinking about it ignited the long-familiar flame of anger in Percival’s chest. It wasn’t right, and it was all his fault. His anger was largely on behalf of his staff, because they didn’t deserve to suffer like this. The portion of anger not spared for them, was directed at Percival himself, because it was his fault. He would’ve dealt, had it only concerned him, living out his days as a beast hidden away in a rotting castle. But because of him they were all doomed to this existence, all cursed alongside him. The worst of it was that Percival could undo it all within the blink of an eye, if only he told the wizard what he wanted to know. But he couldn’t –wouldn’t– do that, and he knew that if he did his staff would never forgive him. It’d be a far bigger betrayal of them, so Percival lived with his anger and his guilt.
“I’ll let Jacob know, I’m sure it’ll be no problem at all.”
His inner monologue had made Percival miss a chunk of the conversation, which had apparently moved to safer topics now.
“Only if it’s no trouble. I just think it might be nice for Percival to have a change of scenery.”
“Of course.” There was a clattering sound that was probably Queenie nodding. “He’s been stuck in here long enough. I’m surprised there haven’t been more tantrums.”
Percival cracked his eyes open. “I don’t throw tantrums.”
“Good morning,” Queenie thrilled and turned on her saucer to smile at Percival. “Sleep well?”
Percival sat up with a huff and ran a paw over his face. He’d slept longer than he usually did, but felt more tired for it. And pretending to be asleep while listening to the conversations of others was more exhausting than he’d thought.
“You look like you need a cup of tea,” Queenie observed and poured Percival a cup. He took it gratefully, only to frown at it after taking a sip.
“Where’s Credence?” He was being overly paranoid, but Credence usually stuck close to Percival, making his absence all the more glaring.
Queenie, sensing his unease, smiled reassuringly. “He’s in the gardens with Seraphina, nothing to worry about, honey. They’ll be back soon.”
“Ah.” The tightness in Percival’s chest eased and he took another sip of tea. For all of Seraphina’s aloofness, her soft spot for Credence was so large it could’ve eclipsed the sun. Not that she’d ever admit to such a thing, but back int he day Percival had personally witnessed Seraphina engaging in a glare off with Tina about Credence being allowed a second helping of dessert.
When he looked up over the rim of his mug, Percival caught Newt looking between him and Queenie with a slight frown. He had no doubt about the fact that the man was taking mental notes about their interaction and the things hinted at between the lines. Their eyes met for a few seconds before Newt predictably looked away.
“We were just saying that it might be nice to have dinner in the dining room today.”
“You’ve finally decided to release me from my prison then?” Percival asked. His leg felt much better these days, the pain having lost it’s burning edge and faded into an uncomfortable twinge.
The purse of Newt’s lips instantly made Percival regret his poor wording. Sometimes he wondered if he’d always been this stupid, or if his beastly nature was starting to extend to his brain.
“I never intended to hold you prisoner, merely to ensure your quick recovery,” he replied, looking like he was attempting to set the blankets on fire with his glare.
“I know. I apologise, my words were…uncalled for.” Percival took another sip of tea to wash away the bitter aftertaste of his words. He disliked having to apologise, and Newt caused him to do it more often than he liked. One thing he’d learnt about the man though was that his bad moods, if they could even be called that, disappeared as quickly as they came. Sure enough, when Newt looked up, a smile was back on his face.
“No harm done.”
Percival ignored Queenie’s smug smile as he put the empty cup back on the tea trolley.
“I’ll see about breakfast,” Queenie said and winked at Percival as the trolley started to roll, the doors of the room closing behind it and leaving Newt and Percival in silence. It turned awkward quickly, both of them shifting as if the silence was physically uncomfortable.
“So,” Percival started, trying to find a topic of conversation that didn’t concern his health, or the weather. “In your notebook you also wrote about a colony of…nifflers living near your village?” It was the right thing to say. Newt’s posture straightened and his smile brightened, and he filled the silence easily as he told Percival about his discoveries. He was more animated than Percival had ever seen him before; his gestures were wide and elaborate, and he held eye contact for longer than Percival was used to.
And for the first time since Newt had come to the castle, Percival started to understand that his interest in creatures was genuine. It made a small, treacherous part of his brain wonder if Newt’s interest in him was more than some morbid fascination with an abomination.
***
“I can walk by myself just fine!” Percival was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with his voice, or if everyone around him had simply gone deaf. HIs commands were generally ignored these days and his opinions overruled, like he was a schoolboy who didn’t know any better. It was upsetting and infuriating, and complaining about it didn’t help at all since everyone ignored that too.
And thus Percival was stuck hobbling his way to the dining room with one arm slung around Newt’s shoulder, the man insisting on helping him walk. It was ridiculous all around. For one, Newt wasn’t strong enough to support Percival in any way and wouldn’t be able to hold him if he stumbled, for another if Percival were to stumble and fall he’d crush Newt beneath his weight and then they’d both be injured and unhappy. Not to mention that everyone was going to blame Percival for Newt getting injured, as if this entire spectacle had been his idea.
“You shouldn’t overdo it,” Newt replied, his voice sounding strained despite his best efforts of pretending that Percival wasn’t taller and broader than him by far.
“I’m hardly overdoing it, I’m fine. And look, there’re the stairs, I can hold onto the banister,” Percival pointed out, leaning more towards his right side to put a paw on the banister and removing his arm from Newt’s shoulders. The pain in his leg flared up once Percival had taken the first step. He gritted his teeth and slowed down, always stepping down with his good leg first before following with the bad one. It was slow and tedious and made him feel like a man thrice his age. Newt, to his utter annoyance, didn’t go ahead but mimicked Percival’s slow pace like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Take your time.”
Percival grunted. He could already tell that this was going to get old very quickly. Why couldn’t his cursed body at least heal itself quickly?
After what felt like an eternity they reached the bottom of the staircase and Percival gruffly waved Newt away when he tried to grab his arm again. He hobbled the rest of the way to the dining room by himself, head held high despite how ridiculous he probably looked.
“Ah! There you are!” Jacob said and turned around with a flourish, the candles on his arms and head flaring to life along with the ones spread around the table and the torches on the wall. Percival groaned and eyed the elaborate setup with distaste. His staff had gone ridiculously overboard; there was not a speck of dust to be found in the room, every surface gleaming and shining along with candelabras. A giant bouquet of flowers sat in the middle of the table –which explained why Credence and Seraphina had gone to the gardens this morning– and they’d gotten out the good china, the one with the delicate gold trims. It had once belonged to Percival’s grandmother, who’d passed it on to his mother, who’d hoped to one day pass it on to Percival’s wife. Seeing it brought an uncomfortable tightness to Percival’s throat and he forcefully swallowed against it and hobbled to his seat at the head of the table, where he sank down with a groan, glad to take his weight off his leg.
They’d set Newt’s place to Percival’s right rather than on the other of the dining room table. It’d make it easier to talk, but it was also to close for comfort – especially with the change in Percival’s table manners, a necessary adjustment to this body. Next to Newt’s plate sat a saucer full of…cookie crumbs? Percival squinted, but before he could even attempt to work out what was going on, Newt’s bowtruckle jumped down onto the table from the pocket of Newt’s jacket, and started to stuff the crumbs into his mouth.
“Pickett! Where are your manners?”
Pickett, for his part, completely ignored Newt in favour of stuffing another crumb into his mouth despite the fact that his cheeks were already bulging out, making him look like the world’s strangest hamster.
Newt sighed and sat down, putting his napkin down in his lap primly. “Everything looks wonderful, Jacob.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Jacob said, his candles appearing to burn even brighter. “Now, we’ll start tonight off with a pumpkin and ginger soup and toasted bread.” As he spoke the dishes floated into the room as if carried by invisible hands, the bowls of soup landing in front of Percival and Newt without a drop being spilled. A basket full of toasted and buttered bread floated over gently to stand on the table between them.
Percival took a moment to glare at his soup, before he picked up the plate and took a sip. He couldn’t handle a spoon with his claws, but since Newt had been so insistent to have dinner with him, he’d have to deal. When Percival glanced over he was once again thrown for a loop by Newt’s complete lack of reaction. By all accounts, the man acted like having dinner with a great hulking beast drinking soup was something he did regularly.
“The soup is really good, don’t you think?” Newt asked, smiling at Percival.
“Mh,” Percival hummed in reply as he took another gulp.
“My mother used to make pumpkin soup a lot. There was a pumpkin patch right behind our house.” Newt twirled his spoon wistfully between his fingers. As the silence between them stretched Percival became aware that a reply was required of him and he cleared his throat.
“That sounds…nice.”
Newt nodded, staring at his soup like it held the answers to all the universe’s riddles. He looked up abruptly and the words spilled from his lips like he was afraid he’d lose his courage if he didn’t get them out immediately. “They died a few years ago. My parents, I mean. I was ten.”
It was a turn of conversation Percival hadn’t expected and he momentarily looked at Newt over the rim of his plate with wide eyes. The smile was gone and instead Newt sat a little hunched, drawing his spoon through the soup without raising it to eat. The air around them felt heavy with the anticipation of Percival’s reaction, the weight of this being a defining moment pushing down on Percival’s shoulders.
He sat his bowl of soup down carefully and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “I’m very sorry to hear that. That must’ve been very difficult.”
Newt did a weird thing that was somewhere between a nod and a shrug. “Theseus was only fifteen, but he raised me.”
Percival had no idea why Newt was confiding in him, why Newt trusted him with this kind of information, but he nodded and did his best to look sympathetic. Hearing this made him feel horrible about separating the brothers. He’d have to tell Newt that he could invite Theseus for tea as often as he wanted to.
“My mother died when I was five.” Percival had never really talked about it. The people living at the castle knew about it, and he’d never felt the need to share anything about his private life with strangers. They had no business knowing about it, and Percival had never been one to discuss his feelings. But somehow Newt defied the rules, as he’d done from the moment he’d set foot in the castle.
As if to make that point even clearer Newt reached out and took Percival’s paw in his hand. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“It was a long time ago.” Percival’s voice sounded far away and foreign to his own ears as he looked down at the contrast of their hands. His hand dwarfed Newt’s, the man’s fingers long and pale, looking almost white next to Percival’s dark fur. His nails were short and blunt where Percival’s claws were long and sharp, not that Newt took any notice of that fact, squeezing Percival’s claw lightly. His skin was warm and smooth and Percival wondered if his own hands had ever felt like that.
“Still.”
Newt keeps holding his hand until Jacob returns to announce the next course, and Percival finds that his hands feels inexplicably empty when they pull apart.