Chapter Text
Erik glowered out the window at the insolent boy as he ran from Christine’s home. What the devil had he been doing here? His noisy and rude footsteps had awoke Erik from his napping place in Christine’s closet, wrapped in a nest of her clothing. When he had peeked out, the boy had been retreating from her bedroom. The very nerve! Erik grumbled to himself.
He looked up at Christine’s wig on her vanity. He missed her. He always missed her when she was at rehearsal, so most of the time he went with her, though he’d been in the middle of a nap when she had left today. He climbed up the vanity. She was wearing the wig she needed for her costume on stage, and so had left this one behind.
He tilted his head, eying the wig critically. It looked messy. He ran his long fingers and their claws through the strands, adjusting them. From a ornate box on the vanity, he retrieved small plastic butterflies and began clipping them here and there, and then followed up with some rhinestones and tiny bells.
He took a step back and admired his handiwork, though he was still tired and not certain why he had a headache now. He might as well go back to his nap and sleep the pain off. There was nothing worth doing while Christine was gone. Erik wanted to feel close to her, so he crawled into the hole in the wig and settled himself inside to finish his nap. Soon Christine would return, and she would wear her wig and him and everything would be good again. He huffed one last time, thinking of Raoul, then fell fast asleep.
“Erik? Erik, I’m home.”
Erik blinked awake at the sound of Christine’s voice. He tried to call out to her but found he couldn’t.
“Erik?”
His heart was already racing and wouldn’t slow down. He felt sweaty and cold at the same time. What had happened to him? Fear was pouring through him as he struggled to escape the wig, but his limbs were too weak to support him.
“Erik?” Christine looked in her bedroom and gasped when she saw him fall out of the wig. “Are you okay?”
He scrambled to his knees and placed his hands around his throat. His throat felt scratchy and dry and sore, and he struggled to make any noise at all.
“Oh!” she fretted as she picked him up. “Oh, you poor dear! Let’s get you some water.”
She took him to the kitchen where she gave him a sip of water, but he did not improve.
He did not improve despite her staying up all night to tend to him, either.
She tried everything she knew, every remedy she’d ever known, but Erik only seemed to get sicker and sicker. He could barely wheeze out a word here and there, most of the time trembling too hard to even stand up. He was at a loss of what was happening as much as she was. She held him close all night, pacing the floor, praying her maestro would not leave her.
By the next morning, Raoul was feeling good about the situation. He got up, got dressed, and smiled as he thought of Christine. He should call her.
He made his way to the big marble basin on a pedestal in his room and looked into the water, willing it call Christine.
In Christine’s apartment, the tinkle of wind chimes sounded, and she went over to her own golden basin full of water and looked down, not at her own reflection, but at Raoul’s face shimmering in the liquid.
Raoul was about to ask her if she wanted to go to the Seine and try water skiing while being pulled by the turbo powered swan boats, but before he could say anything he took in the image of her red, puffy face covered in tear tracks.
“What’s wrong?”
“Erik is dying!” she cried.
“What?”
His heart started to beat a little faster.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He keeps getting worse. Oh! Poor Erik!”
“Poor Erik!” a voice wheezed from somewhere behind Christine, and Raoul frowned. Was that Erik?
“I’m so sorry, Christine,” Raoul said.
“I can’t talk much longer, my Erik needs me, and I need to be with him,” she said between coughs and sobs. “He’s going to die soon, the poor angel!”
She ended the connection, and Raoul stared at the empty pool of water with growing horror. Had—had he killed Erik?! He’s never thought this would happen, never! It wasn’t what he’d intended at all. He merely wanted Erik to run away! To go live with his own kind, wherever they lived. But to die? No, that was far too cruel, especially seeing how heartbroken Christine was over it.
He immediately headed over to Christine’s to see what the matter was, and if he could help.
She opened the door for him when he knocked, but didn’t greet him. She was too consumed with her sadness over her soon-to-be former angel.
Raoul felt his heart break when he saw the state of his poor fiancée—he’d never seen her like this before. Erik had meant more to her than he had realized.
He was surprised most of all for the pity for felt for Erik, too. The little thing was cradled in her arms, clinging to her shoulder as she paced the floor, humming to him as best she could through her tears. He looked up at Raoul with dazed eyes full of pain, and Raoul choked back a sob of his own.
He ran to Christine’s bedroom and tore the herbs out of the wig, cursing himself for ever trying such a wicked plot. Christine said nothing as he rushed out the front door once more, her attention only on Erik and how he grew weaker and weaker.
“Please!” Raoul cried as he burst into the specialty shop. “You have to tell me what cures this?”
He held the herbs up with a trembling hand.
“What do you mean?” the man behind the counter asked and frowned.
“The gremlin—he got very sick from this. He’s going to die! I didn’t want that! You have to tell me how to fix him!”
The man tutted and rearranged his glasses.
“No refunds, young man.”
Raoul turned and fled, tears running down his cheeks. Erik was dying and it was all his fault! No, no—he couldn’t let this happen.
He ran to the nearest library and went right up to the library’s information desk. There was a kind looking man behind the desk, dark hair and dark eyes and a warm smile, a contrast to Raoul’s frightened and disheveled appearance.
“How can I help you?” he asked politely.
Raoul glanced at his nameplate on the desk. “Daroga”, it said. Raoul knew he was in luck because Daroga was the highest level of librarian there was. Surely this man would know what to do.
“My fiancée has a gremlin she thinks is an angel and I accidentally almost killed him with this—“ he thrust the fistful of herbs forwards, “—and if he dies she’ll never get over it and I have to know how to cure him and make him better so my fiancée will stop crying because I would do anything for her, please, please—“
The Daroga looked mildly concerned.
“A gremlin?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Raoul sobbed. “He eats chickens and scares cows and lays eggs and he’s small and has yellow eyes and no nose and he can talk but he never talks to me and my fiancée loves him because he said he’s an angel but he’s not and I don’t know what he is and all I know is that he got very sick from these herbs.”
Raoul sniffled hard and lamented his lack eloquence in that moment. But every moment spent explaining was another moment lost and he was panicking.
“No nose...” The Daroga furrowed his brow as he examined the herbs. “Ah, I think I know who you’re dealing with. He’s sick, you say?”
“He’s dying!”
“Hm. Hopefully not—here is what you need.”
The Daroga wrote down a few things on a piece of paper.
“You’re going to get these items from the store,” he explained, “and you’re going to mix them together in a can. They need to soak up energy from the sun for a few minutes at least, so while you’re on your way back from the store, you need to keep the can at the level of the sky, do you understand?”
The Daroga showed what he meant, taking a can of soda from behind his desk and holding it as high as he could in the air.
“Keep your can at the level of the sky,” he repeated.
“Can at the level of the sky,” Raoul agreed.
“Good luck,” The Daroga told him, and handed him the paper.
Raoul ran to store as fast as he could. He scanned the items on the list. Unsweetened iced tea in a can, a package of skittles, a handful of rose petals, a slice of pear and gorgonzola. He frantically purchased each item and, once he had paid for them, shoved each one into the iced tea can. He held it up for the sun to charge it as he ran back to Christine’s as fast as he could, desperately hoping he wasn’t too late. His arm kept getting tired and lowering, but he tried his best to hold it up the whole time.
“Christine,” he wheezed as he nearly doubled over in the doorway. “Is he—?”
“He’s very weak,” she fretted, wiping away a tear.
“Let me see him, please.”
She placed him very gently on the couch, his little hands reaching for her as she pulled away, fear filling his eyes, but he was too weak to move from where he had propped up against a pillow.
“I went into town to find medicine for him,” Raoul explained softly, kneeling in front of Erik. “The Daroga said this would make him better.”
He carefully brought the can up to Erik’s mouth, but Erik couldn’t drink it.
“I’ll get a straw,” Christine said, and sprang up to fetch one from the kitchen.
Erik blinked at Raoul and struggled to breathe, all of his malice gone.
“I’m sorry,” Raoul whispered. “I only wanted you to go off somewhere and leave us be. I never meant to hurt you.”
Erik looked far off in the distance, trying to comprehend his words.
Christine brought the straw back and put it in the can, then helped Erik hold his head up enough to drink. Raoul was afraid he was too late, but after a few moments Erik began to grow stronger, little by little. He managed to sit up, then to grasp the straw with his claws. His breathing evened out, and he stopped trembling. Soon he just looked tired instead of on death’s doorstep.
“Oh, he’s going to live!” Christine wept over him.
Erik slowly drank the rest of his special drink, and Christine and Raoul had never felt so relieved in their lives.
“Christine, you look exhausted,” Raoul said. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll stay here and watch out for Erik, okay?”
Christine resisted at first, but she truly was tired, so she lay down on the couch and fell asleep almost instantly. Erik watched her sleep as he picked the pieces of fruit and cheese and flowers out of the can and ate them. Raoul watched Erik.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered, and Erik’s bright yellow gaze was drawn to him. “I didn’t know how much you meant to her.”
Erik licked his fingers and chewed a rose petal, juice dripping from his lips.
“Do you forgive me?” Raoul asked.
Erik sneezed, and Raoul took the fact that he turned his head to sneeze on the cushion instead of sneezing in Raoul’s face as a sign of forgiveness.
Erik stared with slight remorse at the stain on the couch cushion a moment before turning his attention back to the can. He turned it upside down and shook it over his mouth, dripping crumbs down onto his waiting tongue.
“I’m not your biggest fan, you know,” Raoul continued. “But she loves you, and I’d do anything for her. I guess we’ll find a way to get along, somehow.”
Erik tilted his head and paused, and for a moment Raoul almost thought he was going to speak to him. There was an intelligent glint in his eyes, and he looked deep in thought. Raoul held his breath.
Suddenly Erik flung the empty can into Raoul’s face. It bounced off his nose with a clank and fell to the floor.
“Ow!”
Raoul put his hands over his face and fell back to sit on his bottom. Erik ignored him and his cry of pain, instead crawling close to Christine and grabbing handfuls of her hair, burying his face in the locks. She slept on.
It was the turning point for them. Christine embraced Raoul when she awoke, and then picked up Erik and hugged him. Raoul made an effort to be nicer to Erik ever after that, and Erik never flung anything into his face again. Whenever Raoul’s eyes strayed to his hiding place in her wig when they were out, he tried to smile, or at least not to frown.
Once, Erik even joined them on a walk in the park one Sunday afternoon, not in her wig but walking beside her. Christine held onto the crook of Raoul’s arm with one hand, and stooped a little to the side to reach down and hold Erik’s hand. The strange trio drew an occasional glance, most followed by a tip of the hat and a pleasant greeting.
Off in the distance, a man yelped.
“It bit me!” he shouted. “What is that?!”
A strange black snake with frills around its face quickly slithered away.
Christine gasped at the sight. Raoul thought she was scared at first, but upon closer inspection, she was smiling. He glanced down at Erik, who was maskless, and staring after the snake with a strange expression of parental pride. A second glance at Christine made him realize she too was staring at biting creature with that same look.
Raoul bristled on the inside, but said nothing. It had not escaped his notice that the snake was the exact shade and color as Erik’s egg shells.
All weirdness aside, Raoul supposed he didn’t mind that Erik was part of the family. He was like a strange little pet, a cat or a dog or something a little smarter and also grosser. He could live with that, he supposed.
The weeks came and went, and soon their wedding date drew closer.
Christine insisted that the wedding be held at night, and what’s more than that, on a night of a full moon. Raoul couldn’t understand why she’d want that, and she would only say that she wanted it and not explain why, but if his Christine wanted to marry during the middle of the night under a full moon, who was he to say no?
Soon the wedding was upon them. Christine was beautiful in her giant hoop skirt dress and towering wig (a wig which, Raoul noted, was oddly absent of Erik). She looked positively radient, and the coating of glitter all over her certainly added to this. The bright moonlight shone in through the stained glass windows and made everything sparkle.
The church was full of friends and well-wishers despite the late hour. Everything went wonderfully, except for when it was time to exchange rings. Raoul had, at her request, let her arrange the ring bearer. He assumed it would be some dimple-cheeked child of a friend of hers, or perhaps a trained bird that would swoop in and alight on her shoulder. He trusted her judgment, and didn’t feel nervous at all when she smiled sheepishly at him when the ring bearer was slightly late.
Suddenly the tall doors to the church opened up with a whoosh, and a tall dark figure entered the building in long, determined strides.
Raoul’s face fell. That mask—
That was—
That was Erik’s mask.
But this was a man, six feet tall at least, strong but lanky limbs and a regal bearing. He swept down the red carpet that was rolled out for the happy couple, and Raoul could do nothing but gape. Was this—?
“Christine de Chagny,” Erik purred as he grabbed both of her little hands in his large, gloved ones.
Raoul stared, stupefied.
Erik bowed low and brought her hands up to the molded lips of his mask in imitation of a kiss, and she looked beyond ecstatic. He straightened up again and reached one hand up to his mask, lifting the stark white porcelain just enough to bare his thin and terrible lips. He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. Time stood still for Raoul.
“Congratulations, my dear,” he murmured against her, his lips curling into a grin, showing off his sharp, inhuman teeth.
She beamed up at him and threw her arms around him in a hug—one that, Raoul realized with horror, was most definitely not the first they had shared—and Erik tipped his mask back in place and hugged her tightly, laughing that deep, hypnotic laugh of his that made Raoul’s stomach do a flip.
Was this Erik? Was that how he talked, low and seductive and rich? Did that voice come out of him even when he was small? Was that hug just a little too overly familiar? Why was he big?
Christine looked positively giddy as Erik broke away from the embrace, and, taking her hands in his once more, turned to Raoul and grabbed his hands. He placed Christine’s hands in Raoul’s hands, and when Raoul looked down at their hands after Erik let go of them, he saw they were both wearing golden marriage bands on their fingers. He looked up at Christine, who was grinning at him, and his worries washed away like trash on a pristine beach. Christine loved him. That was all that mattered.
He leaned in to kiss his bride on the lips, and the guests all applauded. They were married.
Guests and friends came up to congratulate them, and then it was time to dance. The music started up, and Raoul realized with a start that Erik was singing. He could see, now, why Christine thought he was angel—the voice certainly fit. Erik stood in front of the microphone, in front of the band, and crooned sad love songs while watching the de Chagnys slow dance together.
“What’s going on here?” Raoul marveled as they watched Erik on stage.
“He gets big sometimes,” Christine said, and shrugged nonchalantly.
“But how? Why?”
“The full moon,” Christine replied, smiling up at her maestro.
“What? Did—did you know this would happen?”
“Oh, yes. It always does! Every month! I wanted him to be like this for our wedding.”
She sighed a dreamy sigh, resting her head on Raoul’s shoulder as they danced. Erik’s voice rang in Raoul’s ears.
“Is he always this... eloquent?”
“He is,” she agreed.
“He can talk normally? All the time?”
“Of course! He always sounds just like he does right now.”
He let this thought sink into his brain.
“Are you kidding me,” Raoul breathed as he realized not only had Christine been living with this gremlin man for years now, but that Erik, both in gremlin form and in man form, would be living with them forevermore.
But—
He looked down at Christine, who had never looked happier.
“I love you,” she whispered to him.
He kissed her cheek.
“I love you too.”
After the dancing was over, it was time for the 27 layer cake. Erik disappeared somewhere, but Raoul couldn’t tell where. He was too busy helping Christine hand out slices of cake. At last they took their own plates of cake and sat down at the place of honor at the long table.
It all looked like a fairy tale. Long white tablecloths covered the tables and strings of tiny glowing lights hung above them. Gold candelabras lined the tables, and vases of deep red roses were placed between these.
“I wonder where Erik ran off to,” Raoul mused aloud between bites of cake.
Christine giggled around her own bite of cake, and lifted up the tablecloth so they could peek under the table.
There was Erik, all six feet of him, hunched under the table with his legs scrunched up to him, his mask and gloves set aside. He was eating handfuls of cake, not caring about how messy the frosting was. Although he was a normally proportioned person at the moment, his eyes still held that wild spark in them.
“Champagne?” he asked, licking frosting from his face.
Christine took the bottle of champagne from the table, and Erik held out a cupped hand. She poured some into his hand, much to Raoul’s disturbance, and Erik raised his champagne filled hand in a sort of toast.
“To the happy couple!” he said, with all the elegant gallantry in the world, then sucked the champagne up from his hand.
Christine followed suit, taking her champagne flute and gesturing for Raoul to do the same. They each raised their glasses a moment then downed the drinks.
“To us,” Christine said sweetly.
“To our future,” Raoul agreed, and placed his hand overtop hers on the table.
He really was excited to start their life together, and she looked just as excited to do so. He gazed lovingly into his wife’s eyes and pretended he definitely did not hear the sounds of Erik sloppily eating cake under the table.