Chapter Text
”Beatrice,
I saw it again today. The vision of the beast. I was at a pep assembly and-“
He crosses that part out. She doesn’t know what a pep assembly is.
”I was at school and suddenly all the noise around me stopped and I heard this ringing. When I shut my eyes, I could see him. In his actual form. I nearly fainted and Sara had to keep yelling my name to get me to open my eyes. Then, the noise around me went back to normal and he wasn’t there when I blinked.
This is the third time this week. I’m beginning to think something’s wrong there.
As another twilight passes without contact from you, I begin to lose hope. The unwarranted silence is either indicative of your inability to reach me or the fact that the divide between our two worlds is greater than it seems. Whatever it may be, I won’t stop writing these letters. Not until I know you’re still out there.
Until we meet again,
-Wirt.”
He stared at the twists and curves of his cursive against the stark white paper before unwillingly folding it into three sections and slipping it into an unmarked envelope. He contemplated his actions for a moment before hesitantly licking a stamp and placing it neatly in the upper right hand corner. He didn’t know if you really needed a stamp when sending possibly inter-dimensional mail, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt his chances.
Four months. Four long months without contact from her. Four months of idle waiting, wondering if she would ever read his words. Wondering if she was okay, if her family was okay.
He started writing the letters in order to sort of cope with what had happened out there. It was something his therapist had suggested when he met with her. Well, she more accurately told him to write what he experienced during the day in a journal, but he liked his version better. Talking to Beatrice, even if she couldn’t answer, helped him come to terms with some of the craziness that he had experienced during that time.
Greg wasn’t as affected as he was. At only six years old, the boy didn’t really have a lot of feelings about the whole ordeal. He did admit to Wirt once or twice that he missed Beatrice and that he wanted to go back and see Jason Funderberker (the frog version) sing again, but other than that he played and went to school and annoyed Wirt the same amount as always. Greg didn’t have to see a therapist about what had happened, because he still really couldn’t comprehend what had happened.
He was lucky that way.
As Wirt made his familiar weekly descent to the old graveyard to send his letter over the wall, he wondered mostly if Beatrice was feeling the same sort of emptiness as well. It was the loneliness that sat in the pit of his stomach day in and day out and reminded him that he really didn’t have anyone out there that could understand what he had experienced the same way he did. Well, of course there was Greg, but the boy was usually more concerned in teaching his frog how to tap dance than have a deep, philosophical discussion about their travels that Halloween.
He stopped suddenly, his eyes fixated on the massive wall before him. He took a deep breath as he began to scale the tree that stood next to the stone wall, the letter tucked safely away in his pocket. As he reached the point where he was able to perch on the edge of the wall, he pulled out the crisp envelope and turned it over in his hands a few times.
“Please, just let me know you’re out there.” He whispered, more to himself than anyone else. Hastily, he tossed the letter into the wind and let it fall and twist in the late February air until it disappeared from his view. He didn’t linger afterwards. If he stayed too long he began to feel sick to his stomach. So, he slid back down the familiar trunk of the tree and shoved his hands in his jean jacket pockets, ignoring the biting winter air as he trudged home.
Home. Back to his step-father and mother and Greg and Jason Funderberker (the frog, not the douchebag kid). That was his home, his family.
So why did he feel like his soul was somewhere else?
xxx
He was back. In the woods, that is.
Or, at least he thought he was.
He couldn’t be too sure. There was darkness all around and the cold, stale air that whipped around him bowled so fiercely that he couldn’t quite make out his surroundings.
“Hello?” He called tentatively, unable to even hear himself. “Greg? Beatrice?” He cried, his breathing picking up as he began to panic. Where the hell was he?
“Hello child,” a menacing and familiar voice whispered, sending a chill down his spine. He knew that voice anywhere. “I see you’ve returned to me.” The Beast continued, chuckling slightly. Wirt tried to squint in order to make out the familiar glow of The Beast’s stare, but he could see nothing in the inky obsidian that encompasses him.
“Show yourself, Beast!” He shouted, choosing to ignore the way his voice wavered with fear. “Wait! How are you even still alive? The Woodsman blew out your lantern-soul-thingy. That killed you, right?” He questioned, furrowing his brow in confusion. “Are you even technically alive?” He mumbled.
“Silence!” The Beast roared, shaking the trees around him. The wind blew him back a bit and Wirt stumbled as he fell to the forest floor amidst the leaves and dirt. “You take me for a fool, believing that I had only kept my soul in one place all these years,” he murmured, his deep baritone somehow invading all of Wirt’s senses even though he couldn’t see the figure. “You think you’ve defeated me, but you’re more in danger than ever, child.” He laughed quietly, almost mocking. Wirt frowned at that.
“You’re just a vision, a nightmare!” He shot back, pulling himself up from the forest bed and shaking the dirt off of his palms. He ignored the blood from where his hand had scratched a rock during his fall. “Besides, I’m not a child. I’m like, a sophomore in high school.” He retorted, feeling the inexplicable need to clarify this to the invisible being.
“If I’m just a nightmare, then wake up.” The Beast ordered with a growl.
Suddenly, the wind stopped blowing and Wirt stood still for a moment, wondering what had just happened. He felt a familiar unease in his stomach and wanted more than anything to break the threatening silence that followed as the howling wind ceased.
Before he could say anything, however, before he could even breathe, he saw it.
The Beast.
A flash of blinding white and a millisecond later it was over, but he knew what he had seen.
And as he shot upright in his bed shouting from the fear, he didn’t dare open his eyes for fear that if he looked around his messy bedroom, he would see the ominous figure with his gaping, soulless eyes standing there before him. Instead, he screwed his eyes shut tight and gasped for air as he realized that he was home, he was safe, and that there was no Beast. This was just another nightmare that his therapist had explained was a consequence of his “near-death experience” and would fade in time.
Why did this one feel so real, though? why did he believe he was actually there?
“Wirt?”
The small voice pulled him from his panicked reverie and he forced his eyes open, blinking away the tears that he hadn’t even noticed had formed.
Greg stood at the foot of his bed, Jason Funderberker clutched tightly in his arms. The frog’s sock-clad feet dangled limply in the air as Greg pulled him and his pet on top of Wirt’s bed to sit by the teenager.
“Are you okay?” Greg asked, barely above a whisper. His hair was tousled from sleep but his eyes were wide awake and his voice held that same innocent tone as always. He didn’t know any better, perhaps he never would.
“I-I’m okay,” Wirt lied, sounding unconvincing even to himself. “What are you doing up out of bed?” He questioned, shifting the focus off of himself.
“I heard you shouting again and I came here with Jason to check on you!” Greg exclaimed happily, his grin beaming brightly against the darkness of his bedroom and Wirt found it in himself to even crack a weak smile at that. “Were you dreaming about being chased down the street by a giant lizard in a tie?” He asked, his eyebrows perking up so high they nearly disappeared in his hairline.
“Uh, sure, yeah Greg. I was dreaming about that.” He admitted shakily, not wanting to scare his little brother with the truth. He knew it was foolish not to confide in maybe the only other person on earth who could understand what he was going through, but Greg was also six and still held onto his childlike innocence despite everything. He didn’t need Wirt ruining that with pointless fears.
It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream.
As he walked Greg back to his own bedroom after stopping to fill up a glass of water for Jason, he noticed a small cut on the palm of his hand. He squeezed it, watching the small beads of red surface as he put pressure on the wound. He blinked, feeling the scrape from the rock as he fell on the forest floor again. His stomach turned as he re-tucked his brother into bed and exited the small room.
It was just a dream, he repeated to himself. He wiped the traces of blood against the fabric of his pajama pants. He must have scratched himself in his sleep and that was what manifested as the rock in his subconscious. That was the only explanation, it had to be.
He shivered as he crawled back into bed, the breeze flowing in from his open window almost taunting him. His alarm clock read 3:47 am. Three hours before he had to be up for school. He wasn’t sure if he could get back to sleep.
Just a dream. Just a stupid, meaningless, nothing dream.
He shut his eyes and told himself this same mantra over and over again until he drifted off again.
Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.