Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eliot’s night wasn’t going very well.

It started off great, he found a wonderful bottle of wine that suited his taste buds and a beautiful boy whose name Eliot really didn’t bother attempting to remember. Names didn’t matter here anymore; names came with a face and with that face came feelings and emotions and Eliot really wasn’t feeling that right now.

He had good strong alcohol and a body to use as sex. That’s all he wanted, a distraction, a rush running through his veins and a mouth on his skin until he got lost in it all.

Except whatever his name sucked at giving head, and this bottle of stupid wine wasn’t getting him inebriated as fast as he would have liked. He was still drunk, no question about that, but not nearly drunk enough to replace the thought of how easy it was to snap Mike’s neck as easily as a stick.

Eliot knew he was spiraling, knew that the past few days had shattered him so deeply that he wasn’t sure he could fix it, but drugs and alcohol and sex helped. They always helped, and the fact that they weren’t now was honestly criminal.

What a horrible way to start the night.

Eliot adjusted slightly on the seat, his current boy toy still snuggled against him, probably still thinking there would be something useful for him out of this arrangement. Eliot wasn’t really feeling sex right now, so any hope for the poor boy was gone.

Maybe he would find a deck of card, try his hand at some solitaire, or start up a poker game and steal shit from some gullible first years. Really anything to get rid of the horrible boredom clinging to his skin, making his skin crawl with the need to do something, drink something, anything other than sitting here hoping this shitty bottle of wine would erase all his memories.

He stared up at the ceiling. Maybe he would go through his closet, remodel his entire look. He wanted to burn every single pair of pants and every single shirt that still stank of Mike’s cologne, every shirt that Eliot went through in a desperate attempt to find something new to wear for that asshole.

He shook the thought away. Maybe instead he would just find some more drugs. Drugs always worked better than alcohol right? He could just find some ecstasy or some coke and really dial the night up a notch. That would satisfy the itch under his skin. At least for a little bit.

He was about to stand up and do just that when Alice and Quentin barreled through the door, talking about catching express flights somewhere they were both probably too broke to actually go.

“So,” Eliot said, popping open a decanter filled with whiskey. “Where are you flying off to exactly?”

“England.”

“Oh,” Eliot turned a plan forming in his mind, something to just get away from all of this shit. Quentin and Alice wanted to fly to England. Eliot could get there in seconds. And since he was such a model friend and person, he offered to take them.

They seemed hesitant, of course they would be. Eliot wasn’t apart of their little circle, and of course he wasn’t blind. He would have to be insane not to notice the two of them banging like teenagers going through hormonal fits. A part of him was happy for them, the two nerds had a love story fit for storybooks, but every other part of him was just mad. And not just because of the stupid crush he used to have on Quentin.

Why was it that everyone else in this godforsaken place could have normal-ish, healthy-ish relationships? Why was it only him who could pull the short stick? Sure, he never really tried because commitment was a joke told to people so that they would breed a new generation, but did the first time he ever tried have to be such a massive fuck up?

What bothered him the most about Mike and his relationship wasn’t that it ended in death, sure that was fucked up on so many levels but that was the natural course of things. Mike, or whatever Mike was, killed people. It sucked ass that Eliot was the one to do it, but someone needed to kill him.

What bothered him was the fact that it wasn’t even real. How the only relationship he saw actually going somewhere was fabricated, made up, an elaborate set up for him to welcome the most dangerous person around into their school. It sucked that the only man he started to fall in love with was fake. Eliot was torn between feeling like he was violated, taken advantage of by a horrible monster. But another part of him wondered if he was the monster, if he was the one taking advantage.

So sue him for being a bit of a bitch lately, for being a bit grumpy, for wanting something to do to distract him from his spiraling thoughts because booze and drugs weren’t working like they used to.

Quentin let him come of course, and Alice only looked a little bit hesitant, so he took that as a good thing. He knew her hesitance came from worry, as stupid and patronizing as that thought was.

When he walked through Margo’s and his magical door, he was almost tempted to let the two of them go without him, to get absolutely shitfaced in this pub until he couldn’t remember his name let alone the way Mike’s neck snapped between his fingers, let alone the feeling of Mikes lips against his.

But well, he was intrigued by whatever Alice and Quentin were up to. And maybe he wanted to spend some time with his friends, because whenever he did he felt less like pulling his hair out of his head. He had gotten close to these little shits in the past couple of months.

“So what is it exactly that we’re doing in England?” Eliot said pleasantly, striding briskly behind the couple. Their hands were clasped together and for some reason Eliot wanted to tear them apart. A twisted part of him was jealous. He wasn’t sure if that was because they were happy, or because he wasn’t the one in that position.

“We’re going to Plover’s house,” Quentin told him, barely glancing back at him.

“Plover?” Eliot asked. “Like the author you’re obsessed with?”

“Yeah, well we think there’s a button in his house that we need,” Quentin said, his hand flailing in the air like that cleared anything he just said.

“Ahh,” Eliot said, looking pleadingly over at Alice. “A button.”

“We think that it’s a portal to Fillory,” She fills in. “Or something like that. Martin Chatwin used it to get to Fillory when the world shut him out.”

Eliot linked, trying to remember if he was aware Fillory was real or not. Wasn’t it just a world created by ink on the pages of paper? Fuck, he probably missed so much while getting drunk out of his mind. Not like he regretted that; he was used to being left out of information. He would deal. Or he wouldn’t, he didn’t really care either way.

“Okay, well what kind of button are we talking about?” He continued, wanted to fill up the silence. “A push now for nuclear fallout? Or one of those buttons that comes in a little bag when you buy a new vest?”

“I don’t know,” Quentin sighed. “Just a button.”

“Just a button,” Eliot sighed. “Very informative, thank you.”

They didn’t really talk much for the rest of the walk, which meant it was good that the pub was surprisingly close to the author's house. Eliot wondered if sometimes the man would sneak out there, if so Eliot could hold a little respect for the man.

Penny was standing outside the house when they walked up, staring at his fingernails indifferently. Eliot could appreciate the cold look of indifference even if the man was an asshole. He was at least an asshole who had some taste.

“You guys finally caught up,” Penny said, a smile pulling at his lips when he saw Quentin’s look of annoyance.

“You are such a-“

“What do we do now?” Alice cut in strategically. Eliot was a bit disappointed, watching Penny and Quentin fight was always entertaining, it was like watching two alley cats battle over a scrap of moldy food.

“Well,” Quentin sighed, looking around. “I’m not sure. We have to get in and search the place somehow. Maybe we can come after dark? But I will say I don’t really know the layout so that might suck-“

“Why don’t we go for a tour?” Eliot asked, pointing to a sign sitting on the pathway up to the door. Just like magic, a guide walked out of the door, grinning widely.

“Everyone gather around please!” The man called out. “The tour is about to commence.”

Eliot shrugged, moving over to walk towards the group before any of his friends could say anything. When he started this day off he didn’t expect to be going on a tour through some pretentious author's house, but that was the life of a magician. Endlessly fucked up and weird.

____________________________________

The tour was fun in a cute sort of way. Eliot never really cared for books much, not ever since he came to New York and joined Brakebills. But it was entertaining to watch Quentin barely control his excitement constantly interrupting the poor tour guide. The poor man was just trying to do his job, but little did he know that Quentin Superfan Coldwater happened to be there.

It was endearing in a way, to see someone care so much about something. But it also sucked, because it reminded Eliot that he really didn’t care about anything. He hoped to one day love something as much as Quentin loved Fillory.

They all went to some old motel to wait for night to fall, and Alice paid their way into a very large suite that Eliot very much liked.

The beds were soft and the bar was to die for, and he really hoped that it wouldn’t weigh too much on Poor Alice’s check when he snuck a few bottles into his pocket for a later date. He was sure she wouldn’t mind.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck here with you losers,” Penny grumbled, leaning against the window.

“You can leave,” Eliot suggested, leaning against the bar and surveying the weird group in front of him. “Can’t you just zap anywhere you want?”

“He isn’t going anywhere because we need him to plan,” Alice said, shooting Eliot a look. It wasn’t anger, or annoyance, but almost disgust, and he didn’t really care for that right now. “We don’t want to go into the house and spend hours there searching for nothing. Penny, do you remember anything in the book that might have mentioned where the button is?”

“It was a shitty story,” Penny scoffed. “I don’t remember anything other than what I already told you.”

“Are you sure about that?” Quentin challenged.

“Yeah, I am,” Penny said, standing up properly and pointing a finger at Quentin. “So you don’t have to be a dick about it, okay? Let's just get a plan.”

“We could split up to try and cover the most ground?” Alice suggested.

“That’s a horrible idea,” Penny shot back. “Have you never seen Scobby Doo?”

“We don’t have to split up, as long as we get a good idea of where he would have hidden it,” Eliot cut in. “Quentin, you’re the certified nerd here, where would the button most likely be?”

“Oh, um,” Quentin fumbled for a moment, blinking as he thought. “We could start in the study? That’s the most important place in that house, that’s where all this began and ended. If the buttons not there then at least we could get a clue onto some other stuff.”

“Okay,” Alice nodded, and Eliot could see the cogs turning in her head. He wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about, have they really not ever broken in somewhere to steal? He would bet good money that Penny has at some point, judging by the annoyance on his own face. Or maybe that’s just leftover bullshit from Quentin being in the room.

“What about the security cameras?” Alice asked. “Do we avoid them?”

“We can just break them?” Eliot suggested.

“Won’t that alert people?” Penny asked.

“Not until morning,” Eliot shrugged. “I know places like this, good looking security but no one actually gives a crap. They won't notice until morning, so hopefully we’ll be long gone by then.”

“This is the house of a world-renowned author,” Quentin said, like Eliot was insulting him personally.

“And the guard is probably some overworked tired teenager jerking himself off in an effort to relieve the boredom of watching the exact same videos every night,” Eliot sighed, rolling his eyes and standing up, walking over to the couch and collapsing dramatically into it. It was horribly uncomfortable. He didn’t let that show. “We won’t have a problem with security, and if we do we can just erase their memory and send them on their way.”

“Boom,” Penny said sarcastically. “Plan made.”

____________________________________________

The house was different at night in a way that Eliot didn’t want to place.

They walked down the halls towards the study, and Eliot felt something inside him seizing up. There was something off about this place at night, and he wondered if the others felt it. If they did, they were ignoring it a lot better than he was.

Everything inside him was screaming at him to get out. He reached into his pocket and took a swing from his flask instead. The burning alcohol running down his throat helped ground him. They just needed to find this stupid button, then it would be all over.

They entered the study and started looking. For the first time ever since Mike, Elio took things seriously. He wanted to find this button or anything relating to this button as soon as he could. Then he could go back to the cottage and mix up some drinks and get hopelessly drunk.

So while Alice and Quentin were staring into each other's eyes like lovesick puppies he was actually getting shit done, including finding some weird safe in the cabinets behind the desk. He couldn’t help but be a bit annoyed at the two of them for making heart eyes at each other while doing something important, but he couldn’t really place why. He wasn’t one for enforcing work ethics.

“Guys,” He cut in. “Stop love-birding and look.” He calls out, drawing everyone’s attention to him. They crowd around as he performs a quick unlocking spell, reaching in and pulling some papers out of the safe.

He shifted through the first few letters, information about books, Fillory, other endlessly boring and useless shit.

“Boring, boring,” He threw the papers down. “And boring.”

“This could be something,” Alice spoke up, and Eliot looked at her with mild interest.

Quentin read the letter, quickly connecting the dots to figure out that they lied about the death of Plover. That he went missing, and bad connections were made between him and other missing children. It sent something inside Eliot’s stomach twirling. Maybe he had too much to drink.

“It was easier to say he just died I guess,” Quentin said, looking to the side as he processed. Eliot was struggling to find the relevance of this conversation.

“So what happened to him?” Alice asked.

“I have a theory,” Penny called out, and Eliot barely listened as Penny listed off the names of some books.

They quickly came to the conclusion that he was studying magic, but Eliot was less than interested in the affairs of some random author. If he wanted to learn magic, then he wanted to learn magic.

He was too busy looking at the desk, or more importantly, the little holes dug into it.

He looked closer, his fingers running over the dents, they were shaped like fingernails, like someone dug their fingers into this wood repeatedly, and Eliot didn’t know much of this Plover guy, but he didn’t seem like the type to ruin a good quality desk.

Penny slammed books down, and Eliot snapped out of the trance, examining them.

“I’ve never heard of those,” Eliot mused.

“That’s because you’re not a traveler,” Penny said. “This is the entire 101.”

Penny continued to explain why traveling was dangerous, and how Plover blew himself to smitheries and Eliot once again wondered why he should care. He didn’t like this place, this room, this desk specifically.

He pulled out his flask, the unsettled feeling in his gut doubling tenfold without his consent.

“Want a drink?” He offered to Penny, who looked slightly confused. Maybe the two of them never got along, but right now it was evident neither of them wanted to be there, and Eliot could drink to that. “It never empties.”

Penny shrugged, reaching out and hesitantly taking a swig. In the background, Alice and Quentin wandered outside.

“You don’t want to be here,” Penny said, passing back the flask.

“Creepy house in the middle of the night,” Eliot said flippantly, his eyes flickering back down to the scratch marks on the desk. They reminded him of something he’d rather forget. “I’ve seen enough horror movies to know how this ends.”

“That’s not true,” Penny countered, and Eliot’s eyes snapped back up to him. “This place unsettles you.”

“Are you reading my mind?” Eliot asked, a smirk pulling at his lips. He thought his wards were up, and they were fairly strong walls. Possibly the only strong part of him.

“No, I can read it on your face,” Penny frowned, eyes flickering to the doorway. “And I feel it too, the overwhelming wrongness of this place.”

Eliot didn’t have time to respond before he heard a voice cut through the darkness, and Penny and him were scrambling to the door at once. It was only the tour guide, and Eliot guessed that he underestimated the security system here. But the man was very insistent on the fact that they needed to get out soon.

“Okay listen,” Eliot strode forwards. “Is this something that can be solved with money?”

Shit like that always worked on underpaid workers who really had no attachment to the place other than a job they needed to get through the summer.

“You’re not listening!” The man insisted, and Eliot sensed something under the tone.

“Are you mad?” Penny asked, coming out of nowhere to stand beside Eliot. “Or scared?”

Now that Penny pointed it out, the guide was shaking in his boots. Tension was written in every line of his body, and his eyes were darting around ever so slightly. One thing Eliot was good at was reading people, and the man before him was terrified of something. If he was scared for himself, their group, or both was something they had yet to figure out.

“You shouldn’t be here at night,” The man said, his voice calm as if he was talking to a particularly stubborn animal. “So please-“

“What really happened to Plover?” Quentin asked, and Eliot knew that for some reason it was an important question, or else he would have chided Quentin. The reason why they shouldn’t be here seemed pretty important at the moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“Yes you do,” Penny cut in, and Eliot admired his skills at getting to the point and terrifying people into answers. “Ugh, he’s so panicked I can’t get anything from him.”

“Okay, enough of this,” Eliot stepped forwards once again. They needed to cut this conversation in half. He quickly performed some magic, and the electricity filled his blood as it formed in between his fingers. “I’m a supervillain,” He said dryly. “Now talk.”

“Okay,” The man said quickly. Predictable, nonmagic users always were. “But then we need to go.”

“Plover,” Quentin asked. “What was the real deal?”

The man looked around, like something was going to come out of the shadows for him. The feeling in Eliot’s gut increased.

“He was involved in some dark things,” The man said. “There’s a book in the writing room-“

“Yeah, we found that,” Penny cut in.

“Prudence,” He continued. “She didn’t want anyone to know about the unnatural things her brother-“

The lights flickered around them, cutting in and out as the man started to panic. Eliot’s eyes darted around, his hands raising slightly as he prepared for whatever the hell was happening. A woman appeared in front of the man, then they were gone.

“Oh my god,” Alice breathed.

“Where did they go?” Quentin demanded, Alice and him immediately running towards the sound of clicking in front of them.

Eliot looked over to Penny, and the two of them knew that they were right about this house. There was something messed up here, something worse than they had thought.

They followed their friends quickly, not wanting to get separated. Not now that they knew something else was here.

They turned to corner to find the man’s corpse, eyes still open, his mouth sewn crudely shut. All around him, his companions expressed their disgust. But this was far from the first body Eliot had seen recently.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” He said, anxious to leave the building as soon as possible before one of them ended up on that floor, mouths forever shut. The longer he stared at the body, the more he saw it shift into Mike’s, head jerked to the side, blood covering his clothes. “All in favor?”

Thankfully none of them protested, because as much as Eliot loved and cared about them all, he was not above leaving them all here. Penny seemed to be the most athletic of them all, darting in front of the group without remorse. Quentin was close behind, his eyes often trailing back and forth as if looking for a threat.

Alice and him ran side by side, leading up the back of the pack. Eliot wanted out of this house as fast as he could, and he was talented at running away, but the thought of leaving Alice in his dust was just wrong.

Beside him, she stumbled slightly, as if she was pushed, or saw something that stopped her in her tracks. Without even thinking, he reached over to steady her, hands gripping onto her arm.

“Are you okay?” He asked. “We need to move, pronto.”

“It’s time for tea,” A voice called out, and the two of them whirled around, Alice’s hand reaching out to grip onto his. He squeezed back just as hard.

In front of them stood a little girl, no older than ten with plaited hair and a soft smile on her lips.

“I’m not really in the mood for tea,” Eliot managed to press past his numb lips.

“Come on you two,” She said, reaching out, her ghostly hands grabbing onto theirs. The touch felt like ice, seeping all the warmth from his skin and Eliot started to feel lightheaded. “It’s time for tea.”

Eliot fainted, collapsing to the ground with Alice’s hand still clutching onto his.

_______________________________

He wakes up tied to a chair, which is arguably not the worse place he’s ever been tied up.

The back of his head hurts, the dull light in the room piercing his eyes like the worst hangover in the world. He looks down at his hands, testing the restraints around them. They were tied well, but he thinks he could get out of them if he could pull his fingers back far enough.

He looks up, taking in Alice across from him. She looks dazed, but not hurt, which is a relief. At least this one ghost isn’t malicious. He wonders if Penny and Quentin got out. Would they leave them behind? That was a stupid thought, Quentin wouldn’t leave Alice behind, and Penny tolerates them to the perfect amount that he would still grudgingly go back into the house as long as nothing horrible happens.

He wriggles in the bonding again, staring down at his feet, he wouldn’t be able to get out of that easily without his hands, so if he can’t get his hands undone he’s screwed. Except the chair was pretty flimsy, so worst comes to worst he could just snap it and hobble out with the ties around his ankle. He sent that idea away quickly though, because that was so indecent he didn’t even want to debate it.

“Okay, this is a little kinky, even for me,” He says for an utter lack of anything else to say. Alice raises an eyebrow at him, but she seems to loosen up a bit, which was good.

“Would you care for refreshment?” The creepy little girl said, and Eliot stared at her for only a second before turning away, staring intently at the table. There was something about her that awakened something in him, an instinct he had long buried deep inside him.

“Oh, um, okay, sure” He fumbled, half because this was creepy as fuck and half because he wasn’t expecting these memories to suddenly come barreling to the surface. He remembered doing things like this when he was younger, sitting at a table, pouring tea. He wanted these memories gone. “Sounds divine.”

She lifts the cookie towards him and without thinking he leans forwards, much to Alice’s look of horror. The little girl feeds him the cookie, and although dry, tasteless, and probably a couple decades old, it wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever had in his mouth.

“Thank you,” He says, because you’re probably supposed to be nice to ghosts right? Otherwise they’ll get mad, and Eliot didn’t want to die from a very pissed off Anne of Green Gables carbon copy.

Despite the situation being pretty life or death, Eliot was struggling to stay in the present. He was way too sober and everything was rising so quickly that he had no time to properly push them down. He would continue to try his best though, because falling into deeply repressed memories really wasn’t the best idea right now.

“We must get these things off our hands,” He said, his jaw ticking as he stared at Alice, attempting to ground himself in the look on her face. She was here, she was from Brakebills, and as long as he was talking to her he could stay somewhat in the present.

“No magic in the house!” The little girl chided, and he looked over at her, trying to figure out if she was on his side or not. “Be good, or else she’ll take you to the quiet place.”

“We’ll be good,” Alice nodded, and Eliot was actually fairly proud of her. She was strong, both emotionally and magically, but he had noticed her tendency to stand to the side, to keep quiet unless needed. She had a horrible tendency of playing the sidekick in a show where she could easily be the hero. “Right Eliot?”

“Yeah, you’re the boss kid,” He assures her, and Alice smiles, as if she’s amused by him for some reason. The lights flicker again, and the illusion is gone, the girl in front of them suddenly very pale, with dark black blood dried in flecks on her skin, her eyes dead. It makes Eliot want to puke.

“She’s coming,” The girl said monotonously. Footsteps echo behind him and Eliot really wants out of this house. He hates this place and the stupid little ghost girls that remind him too much of people he would rather forget.

The door behind him opens, and in comes a stern-looking woman who looks like the evil version of Nanny McFee. Alice’s eyes widen as she watched the lady and Eliot tried to focus on her, trying his best to radiate the calm energy she would need. Or maybe he was the one who needed it.

The evil nurse lady walks to the little girl and roughly grabs at her hands, wrapping a rope around them in the same knot currently bonding Alice and his hands together. The little girl tried not to flinch, but her fear was plain as the day. He once again struggles to stay in the present.

“Stop doing that,” Alice says, her voice almost panicked with fear and disgust. The woman looks sharply up at her, and Eliot begs her to keep quiet. Things like this always went easier when you stayed quiet and listened to directions.

“My brother is too soft,” The woman ignores Alice completely, and Eliot tries to convey to her in a look that everything would be okay. That they would get out of this. “Caring for you when he needs peace to work. He has no idea how naughty you truly are.”

Eliot really hated how she was behind his back, if there was anything he ever learned in his long life it was to never turn your back on the enemy, and right now he was pretty fucking sure this woman was the enemy. He was panicking, that much was clear, and this time it was Alice giving him the comforting looks.

The woman brought over the tea, placing the cups in front of them.

“Now drink your tea,” She tells them, and Eliot does move, frozen to the spot. Alice is leaning forwards, grabbing a cup and he wants to beg her to not drink, that it’s clearly poisoned or some crap but his lisp are frozen shut and he’s shaking. The little girl looks at him, her eyes wide and scared and he almost starts screaming right then and there. She shakes his head, and he knows that a drop of that tea won’t touch his lips.

“Drink it!” The woman demands, and the little girl raises the cup to her lips and chugs.

In front of him, Alice’s head starts to droop.

“Alice?” He whispers, his lips finally freeing with the panic of watching his friends’ eye flutter shut. What was going on? Was the tea poisoned? “Alice stay awake.” He insisted, but it was too late.

Both Alice and the little girl drop, both appearing to be asleep. Eliot looks, the panic rising inside him as he lets out loud and ugly pants, his eyes searching for any indication that Alice was still alive. Sure enough, her chest kept moving up and down, and he let out a sob of relief.

For a second, he lets himself relax.

It was a bad idea, and soon he’s slipping into a memory.

________________________________

“This doesn’t taste like tea,” Eliot says, grinning over the cup at his little sister.

“Of course it doesn’t taste like tea!” Finley sighs. “It’s water that we’re pretending is tea because mom will get mad if we stela her actual tea.”

“So it’s a water party,” Eliot teased, taking another sip of the ‘tea’ before putting the cup down. “At least you got actual cookies for the occasion.”

“Of course I did,” Finley looked scandalized at the idea that she wouldn’t. “It wouldn’t be a tea party without cookies.”

Eliot laughed, free and uncaring and for once in a very long time he felt free. He never felt like he had to pretend around Finley, who was two years younger than him. She saw him as who he was, not who he pretended to be. And she was okay with the real him. Spending time with her made him happy in a way nothing else could.

But of course in his life nothing good lasted. That was the cross he had to bear.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Their father snaps, the door to Finley’s room flying open. The two of them scramble backwards automatically, their cups falling from their carboard tabled onto the ground with a dull thunk. Eliot can see the water seeping into the carpet.

“Nothin!” Finely says. “We were just having some fun Pa.”

“Is that your mother's teapot?” He asks, voice dangerously low.

Finley’s mouth moved open and closed, but no words came out of her mouth. She may have only been eight years old, but she knew fear in the way that only the Waugh kids did.

“Bring it to me,” He demands, his hand out in a gabbing gesture. Neither of them moved. “I said to fucking bring it to me girl!” He screamed, and Finley was in motion, grabbing the teapot and scurrying over to their father, who snatched it from her hands.

“This is priceless,” He said calmly. “This is worth more than you’re entire fucking life.”

His hand darts out faster than anyone could react, slapping Finley across the cheek. She makes a muted cry, her eyes filling with tears and a small wine coming from her lips. Eliot’s breath was coming out in gasps as he stared at his father looming over his little sister.

“You should have the sense not to touch shit that’s not yours,” He growled. “I’ll beat the fucking sense into you, you little insolent-“

“Stop it!” Eliot screamed, getting to his feet and charging at his father, pushing him as hard as his arms could. His father stumbled back a couple of feet in shock and Eliot planted himself in front of Finley, who was crying softly, trying to muffle the sound.

“What did you say to me boy?” His father asked, his eyes flashing dangerously. Eliot’s heart was going to pump out of his chest.

“I said stop it,” Eliot repeated, raising his chin in the only act of defiance he had ever committed. He had let the man beat on him, throw abuse at him, do other horrible things to him, but he couldn’t stand here and let him do the same to his sister. His little sister who was the only person in the world who trusted him.

“What are you doing you little shit?” His father hissed. “Having a fucking tea party like a girl? Did I raise you to be a girl? What are you, some kind of fairy?”

His father’s hand lashed out, the stinging pain of a slap echoing across Eliot’s skin.

“Have anything else to say wise guy?” His father sneered, looming over Eliot with a look that he had seen to many times. A look that promised pain and suffering.

Eliot straightened out, standing as tall as he could in front of his sister, who had backed away as far as she could. He hoped she would make a run for it. Get to the barn where she could hide until morning, until their father passed out on the couch.

“Stop it,” Eliot said, with every small bit of strength and bravery he still had inside him.

His father raised his hand once again, and for the next hour or so all Eliot knew was pain.

______________________________

Eliot pulls himself from the past with a gasp, a skill he learned over years of trauma-induced flashbacks. He gives himself a second to remember where he was, what he was doing, and why Alice was tied up and unconscious in front of him.

He isn’t sure how long he was out of it, could have been a second or an hour, he’s never sure at moments like this. It had been years since his last flashback, and every time he feels this way he normally gets shitfaced until he can’t remember anything at all.

He takes some more calming breaths, his eyes flickering over to the ghost girl beside him. Her head was on the table, and without her face visible, it’s almost easy to mistake her for Finley. The same braided hair, even if this girls was a shade or two lighter. They had the same stature, dressed in the same stupid outfits, and maybe Eliot was still blurring the past and present, but to him it was his little sister sitting there, poisoned and most likely dying. Dead. She was dead. And she was not Finley.

He took a few more breaths, eyes flickering back to Alice before he mutters the untying spell, getting his hands far enough apart that he can make the movements and snap the rope in half.

He wastes no time. There is no time to sit around and mourn his fucked-up childhood. There was no time for him to fall apart. Or continue falling apart, he thinks he’s been horribly broken for a long time, but now is not the time to show that. Alice is depending on him. He likes Alice, he considers her a friend, so there’s no time to gamble with her life.

He can’t get someone else killed due to his idiocy.

He undoes his feet, walking over to Alice as fast as he could, leaning over and untying the ropes with one hand while the other softly tapped her cheek.

“Hey, hey!” He hissed, feeling her start to stir in his arms. The ties around her hands fell to the ground. “We need to hustle; she could come back.”

“Oh my god,” She whispered, her eyes locking onto the ghost. “Do you know what this is?”

“A vaguely whimsical horror show?” He guessed, trying his best not to look at the little girl in front of him. He wondered what her name was. He wondered if it mattered.

“She did this, she really did this to these children,” Alice was getting frantic, her voice rising with every word. “Plover’s sister, she tied them up and drugged them so they wouldn’t disrupt his work.”

“Well, maybe ghost girl can tell us where the button is,” He said, feeling himself start to drift. It was hard to stay present after a flashback, to assign the correct feelings and emotions to the words he was speaking. Right now he didn’t care about the ghost girl. She was dead. They weren’t yet.

He tapped the back of her chair, rapping on it loudly as he tried to wake her. Touching her would be too far. He wasn’t sure if his hands would connect to her skin or go right through. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

She woke with a startle, staring at them with wide eyes.

“My tummy feels bad,” She said. Then she started to talk.

“it’s okay,” Alice tried to maintain, and Eliot could only stare as the girl started coughing blood, the bile running down her chin and face as she looked pleadingly up at Eliot.

Eliot felt sick as the little girl’s face started to blur with his own sisters’ teary eyes look as she tended to Eliot’s wounds that night, a bruise spreading across her cheek identical to the ones covering every inch of Eliot’s skin.

“We have to help her,” Alice said.

“I don’t think we can,” Eliot said, feeling more and more detached by the second. He knew what was going on, knew the girl was stuck in a loop going over her last night over and over again. There’s was no help for her. There was no help for any of them.

The girl went still, a chunky bit of bile dripping from her mouth as she stilled.

“Well, I guess we know how she died,” Eliot said, his voice flippant and uncaring. In reality, everything inside his head was screaming, but he could barely hear it. He could barely feel his own skin.

“Oh my god,” Alice whimpered. “Oh my god.”

“It’s okay,” He said, attempting to be comforting and missing by a mile. He kept drifting in and out of the moment. “It’s over, it’s been over for a long time.”

He thinks he got it better in the end, but he knew there was no better for Alice. Had she seen a child die before? Probably not. Her grasp of death was still new, and he knew nothing of her past but he guesses it wasn’t filled with visions of dead and suffering kids. There was nothing to heal that.

“No, not for her, she just keeps reliving it,” Alice said, and Eliot stands up. He needs to get Alice out of here before she starts screaming, or the evil nanny comes back and decided to kill them too. “Over and over, we have to help.”

Eliot drags her up and out of the room. He wants to help, but he knows what happens to kids like that girl. To kids like his sister. No matter how many times you help them, there is never enough. There will always be one time you’re too late.

_________________________________

“Finley,” Eliot gasps, dropping his book bag and running to her side. She was sitting on his bed, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. She had lost all her tears already.

She had a black eye, and her short sleeves revealed the finger-shaped bruises. Eliot had no doubt there would be welts on her back.

“El,” She whimpers, and he holds her close, feeling her shake against him. “You weren’t there.”

Eliot felt himself shudder, and he holds her as tight as he can without hurting her more.

He was fourteen years old and he had a bad day at school. He guessed Finley’s day was worse. She was homeschooled by their mom, since their father didn’t believe that women should be educated. No one in the town cared enough to fight him about it.

Normally, whenever their dad got mad or drunk and went after the youngest Eliot stepped in. He was used to it by now, getting it equally at home and school. None of his other brothers cared, they turned away with regretful looks and begged the two of them to simply behave. As if that would help.

Normally Eliot was there to take their father’s anger. But he wasn’t this time.

“You weren’t there,” She sobbed. “You weren’t there and he-“ She cut herself off with a sob, and Eliot cried with her. He knew what happened, he knew what happened when you were all alone with their dad. He should have been there to protect her.

He held her until they both couldn’t hold anymore, until there was work to be done and it would only get worse if they kept sitting there on his bed.

He found her in the bathroom the next morning, their mothers’ bottle of pills empty on the ground beside her.

___________________________________________

Alice and him made their way out, Alice silently crying the entire time. Eliot felt more real with every second he distanced himself from the little dead girl. He couldn’t wait to go back and fall into bed with some handsome stranger and a bottle of the most expensive booze he has. Maybe he would smoke a bit until his lungs burned and that all he knew. The burn of drugs and alcohol.

“We should go back in there,” Alice said the second they get out.

“Shhhh!” He shushed her. “I’m trying to think. I’m out of cigarettes, this is dire.”

“Oh my god,” It was Quentin, walking towards them, and embracing Alice in a tight hug. Eliot could really use one of those right about now. “You’re okay.”

“We’re great,” Eliot said bitterly. “We’re both great.”

“Where’s Penny?” Alice asks.

“Knowing him, Disneyland,” Quentin snarks. Eliot’s sure he’s nearby. He’ll show up within the next few seconds. Eliot really needed a drink, but his hands were shaking too badly to grab at his flask. He could still see Finley’s face playing across his eyes.

“What if he got to Fillory?” Quentin asked, a haunted look in his eyes. “What did he do to Martin?”

“What are you talking about?” Alice asked, and Eliot was lost. Well, he was lost before this but he was especially lost now.

“I saw something in there,” Quentin said after a moment, his voice shaky. “Who Plover really was, what he was doing to Martin Chatwin.”

“What was he doing?” Eliot asked, strangely calm for the screaming echoing in his head.

“Oh my god,” Alice said, making some sort of connection. Eliot was sure he could too, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be wrong.

“The poor kid just wanted a button to Fillory, so he could escape this monster who, by the way, generations of idiots like me have been worshipping like a literary god,” Quentin took a deep breath, and Eliot started to float. “Who was learning magic to get stronger, to travel, who was wanting to grow extra fingers to do more spells.”

Quentin was close to something, that much was clear. He was always so brilliant.

“What if the beast wasn’t from Fillory? What if it was someone who had access through children he liked to tell stories about,” Quentin paused, taking a breath. “When he wasn’t drugging and raping them.”

Eliot didn’t listen to the rest, he was too busy staring at a spot in the ground, a spot in the dirt where a single branch lay, torn from a tree. He drifted outside of himself, outside of the memories that still got him even after years of repression and pushing.

Hands grabbing his, the feeling of hay under his skin, hands grasping at nothing, screaming without anyone to hear him, his voice swallowed up by the expanse of a farm, a piece of the wooden roof falling a couple of pieces away from him and if he could just reach out and grab it-

He was torn back as he saw Penny running up to them. Once again, he wasn’t sure if he was gone a second or longer. Time was a meaningless blur when you couldn’t tell if you were standing in the front yard of a house or in the back of a barn pinned down with nowhere to go.

“Well, guess I still have the capacity to be surprised,” He said because he needed to speak, to scream, do anything but think. “We thought you ditched us.”

“What happened to you?” Alice asked, Eliot wasn’t interested in the answer.

“Man, I traveled into a fucking tree, bout a mile off,” Penny sighed. “Trying to get away from that crazy Prudence’s dungeon.”

“Not so precise with your travel huh,” Eliot said, reaching into his pocket and handing Penny the flask.

“Shut up,” He said, but there was no heat.

“Wait,” Quentin cut in, and for some crazy reason his voice helped ground Eliot to the moment. He grasped onto it, hoping Quentin would ramble. He always rambled. “What dungeon?”

Then the voice was gone, running out of Eliot’s fingers just like that. Time smeared, smudging across and he didn’t feel like himself anymore. His body was moving, responding and listening and moving but there was no one there to dictate it. He was just a floating mind going crazy in a body riddled with liver problems and daddy issues.

He wasn’t fully aware of himself again before that Prudence bitch came back.

“Why in the world are you out of your playroom?” She demanded.

“This is going well,” He said, staring at her indifferently. He wondered if she would kill him. He wondered if he would care.

“Where the hell is Quentin?” Penny hissed.

“He’s coming,” Alice replied.

“You’re all going to the quiet place,” She demanded. And great, just what he needed. Some peace and quiet to let his mind wander until he went insane.

Quentin came in to save the day, detailing how he hid photo’s all over the house revealing exactly what sick things Plover did to Martin. Prudence seemed to have some sense of sick loyalty to her brother, disappearing at one in order to not tarnish her brother's name.

They got to work immediately. The room wasn’t large, almost all concrete except for the packed dirt floor. There were handcuffs on the wall, and Eliot felt sick staring at the bloody handprints on the wall. He wondered how long these children had been living in this absolute hell with a woman who treated them like monsters, how killed them without remorse for a disgusting brother.

They got to digging, Penny and Quentin taking the lead with the only two shovels they managed to find. Alice and him stood behind them in horror. Eliot looked briefly over at her, debating if she would appreciate it if he pulled her into a hug. She looked like she needed it.

It wasn’t easy, seeing these kinds of horrors playing out in front of you, knowing that you were digging up a young boy’s corpse, knowing that you witnesses another young girl choke to death on her own blood. Eliot hated how used to it he was. Obviously it bothered him, there’s was no denying that it was never easy to see the suffering of children. But when you grew up the way he did, well it was easy to start seeing it as normal.

Within minutes, the corpse was dug up, and Eliot stepped forwards, staring at the pile of bones in the shallow grave. It reminded him of his own sister’s small grave in the garden behind his family home. He had stood in front of it not unlike this, surrounded by his family members who sobbed about a life taken too soon and how they should have seen the signs. Eliot was really glad that this time he wasn’t surrounded by people lying to themselves over how they died.

Quentin was the one to lean down, brushing the dirt cautiously away from the bones and carefully pulling out a little box with a clear lid. Eliot felt the relief despite himself.

The longer he was in here, the soberer he got, and when that happened the memories kept coming back, the pressure in his chest growing into the black hole that Eliot modeled himself out of. He hated regressing to this, to the angry defeated mess he was at his little sister’s funeral, to the angry boy he was from that day out, hating everything around him with a resigned thought that there was nothing better than this.

They left as soon as they could, Eliot barely about to stop himself from screaming as they walked away from the house. As much as he tried to leave the memories behind along with the ghosts, they followed him. Of course they did.

He remembered the feel of his sister still warm in his arms, the way her face looked when he found her the next morning, the feeling of a fist pounding into his, the feeling of a hand crawling up between his legs.

He pulled out his flask and took a drink, his teeth clinking against it in an attempt to ground himself more to the present. He couldn’t wait to go back and get so drunk he would be out of it until next Tuesday. The further he got from the house, the more he started to relax, even with the memories crowding him. The house was the source, and once he was in his own saferoom he could forget. He was good at forgetting.

“We have to go back,” Alice said, stopping and turning towards the house. Eliot turned to look at her like she was insane.

“Come on,” Quentin said softly.

“No, we have to go back Quentin,” She hissed.

“And do what?” Penny challenged. Eliot already knew the answer. Alice hated when things were out of control, when she couldn’t alter the outcome to what she wanted. It was nice sometimes, having someone so determined, but at times like this there was no space for stubborn stupid determination. They needed to leave, and maybe it was just because Eliot was good at running, but sometimes being a coward came with benefits.

“Help those children!” Alice answered, looking at them like they were insane. Eliot walked forwards, torn between screaming at her to just give it up and hugging her and telling her that everything would be alright. Whatever got them out of there fastest. “You can’t seriously be thinking about leaving them there.”

“They were there before we were born.”

“Trapped!” Alice insisted, her voice raising slightly. “This is exactly the kind of thing that we should be able to fix.”

Eliot wasn’t sure how to tell her that there was no fixing this, in death or in life it followed you no matter where you went like a black stain on your soul.

“There are ways to clear a haunted house,” She said, her voice leveler. She was looking at Quentin, which was smart, because he was the only one that would let her go on with this fantasy. But that wasn’t what she needed right now.

“The house yes,” Eliot cut in, and her eyes flickered to him, almost betrayed. Her eyes told him that she thought he would understand. That she expected him to want to save them too. But Eliot knew better than anyone here that it was hopeless. “It doesn’t help with the ghosts.”

He wanted it to. He wanted more than anything to think that he could stop their suffering, that it wasn’t all of their fates to live out their horrible childhoods over and over again. He wanted it more than anything, but wanting led to hope and hope was a dangerous game to play.

“There are rituals in almost every civilization,” She continued to reason.

“To prevent this, not reverse it,” Eliot maintained. A part of him hated how he was the one to do this, to crush the almost childlike hope she had for a better world. But the other option would to be to let her think she could fix the unfixable and Penny and Quentin weren’t willing to destroy that quite yet. He stared into her eyes, begging her to let it go, to understand what he was trying to tell her.

She only turned back towards Quentin, a final plead.

“We have to help them, there has to be something,” She said quietly. “Those kids, they did nothing! This is so unfair.”

“You don’t say,” Eliot said sarcastically. What child did anything to deserve a fate like that?

“You’re not helping,” Quentin said, glaring at him and something inside Eliot broke.

“I’m the only one helping!” Eliot snapped. His heart was pounding inside his chest and anger started to break through the forced apathetic mood he placed over himself. He looked back up at the house, and in the window he saw the outline of a girl with braids. All he saw was his sister. “Life isn’t fair, why in the high holy fuck should death be different?”

She was staring at him and he knew she was hurting him, but there was no hope. They was no helping, you either suffered alongside those kids or you grew the fuck up and learned how to cope yourself.

“To think you can change anything is such an act of monumental ego,” He said, and he knew he was out of line but he was starting to drift and fast and if he didn’t leave right now he would start crying, the memories would overwhelm him and he would be lost. If making them pissed at him got him out of there than he didn’t care. He would still have Margo when she got back. “I mean who the fuck do you think you are? You are just some arrogant little twat. So suck it up.”

She was crying, and apart of him wanted to take it back, to wrap her up in his arms and tell her it would be okay, that sometimes things were out of her control and t sucked but the sooner she learned that the easier it will be to not get herself hurt. He hadn’t taught Finley that soon enough to save her, so maybe he can save Alice.

“Shut the fuck up!” Quentin predictably said, because they were in love and Eliot didn’t matter, he was just some drunk fuck up who said the wrong things at the wrong time and got everyone he cared about hurt or dead.

Eliot turned around and walked away before the tears could run down his cheek. Penny refused to meet his gaze and wasn’t that fun, even the resident asshole thought he was a dick.

He didn’t have the strength to look back up at the little girl and boy one last time as he walked down the path.

A part of him felt like he was turning his back on his little sister. He felt like he was failing her one last time.

__________________________________________________

Quentin and Alice were cuddling on the couch, Alice pretty much unresponsive as she stared at the ground. Anger, sadness and guilt swirled in her eyes. He felt pretty much the same way. He was drinking from the bottle and ignoring the way the past and the present started to mix together as he watched a younger him and Finley sit on the ground beside him, both quiet as she held ice to his swelling cheek.

He took another sip of the alcohol and couldn’t wait until this little pow-wow was over and he could go upstairs and take whatever drugs he kept for a rainy day.

Penny went and touched the button like the idiot he was, and a part of Eliot knew that was going to happen. You hand them a portal into a new world and of course the only person who didn’t want to go would end up touching it. Eliot almost wished it was him who nabbed it. Nothing like diving headfirst into a dangerous magical land to help satisfy your suicidal ideation.

He shook the thought out of his head and turned away from the couple on the couch to go upstairs to his room.

As soon as he was out of everyone’s sight he let out a shuddering breath, the empty bottle slipping from his hands and landing on the carpet with a dull thunk. It reminded Eliot like the thunk of his dad's boots and he cringed away from the thought, his hands reaching up to pull at his hair.

He just wanted to stop the boredom that came with another night of pointless drinking and sex. He just wanted something new to take his mind off of Mike, not something that would send him spiraling into even worse thoughts and memories.

“Fucking hell,” He sighed, pulling open his bedside drawer and searching through the contents. Some condoms, a couple of rings, a joint or two, but nothing that he wanted.

He could smoke a joint, but those never really helped with moments like this. He needed the good stuff, the drugs that erased all his memories and knocked him out into blissful unawareness. The kind of stuff that made you puke every five minutes once you were coming down, the kind of stuff that made even Margo frown in disapproval.

He swore it was in this drawer, where else would it be? He hasn’t used it in at least a year, he wasn’t an idiot and he knew that drugs of this power weren’t good on a regular basis. These were used for when Eliot started slipping into the past and that only.

Maybe he put it in his dresser for safekeeping, that would make sense. He stood up, swaying slightly as the world spun around him. He was drunk as fuck, but it wasn’t helping. All he could hear was his father's voice in the back of his head, calling him a fairy, a faggot, a no-good fuck up. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it all to fucking stop right this instant.

He was halfway across the room when the door blew open and Quentin came in, arms crossed and face set in anger. Oh god, he probably thought he looked intimidating. Probably here to fight Eliot for Alice’s honor. Straight couples were like that.

“Ever heard of knocking?” He hissed, leaning against the wall so he wouldn’t face plant.

“What the hell is your problem?” Quentin challenged.

“Do you want the list chronological or alphabetical?” He asked sarcastically, sneering at him. Quentin only got madder, which was admittedly kind of cute.

Okay, so maybe Eliot wasn’t entirely over his stupid little crush on the man, but he also knew when things were hopeless, and Quentin was clearly in love with Alice and for a little while Eliot was in love with Mike. Or whatever the hell Mike was.

“Stop joking around Eliot,” Quentin hissed. “You were acting like a dick out there for no reason and Alice doesn’t deserve that.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Eliot scoffed. “But she needed to hear it.”

He stood back up and stumbled over to his dresser, not wanting to hear Quentin continue to chew him out. He couldn’t really handle people yelling at him right now, not when any voice he heard had the potential to blur with his fathers.

“What the hell are you doing?” Quentin asked, still sounding mad but more confused. Eliot barely had it in him to answer, too busy pushing things around to try and find the little baggy he hid so long ago. He really needed to start remembering this shit. “Hey! I asked what you were doing.”

“I’m trying to find a bag of drugs Quentin,” Eliot said dryly, glaring at the man. “Now if you have nothing better to do than yell at me, please leave the room and schedule an appointment with my assistant, I’ll be sure to get back to you soon.”

His hand brushed against the plastic of a bag, and Eliot nearly sobbed in relief when he pulled out the little baggy of colored drugs.

“Oh thank god,” Eliot groaned, relief rushing over him. Maybe now the blurred lines between reality and the past would separate, maybe finally he could escape into the darkness for a bit. It was kind of like dying, except more peaceful.

“Give me that,” Quentin was suddenly striding forwards and reaching towards the bag.

“No!” Eliot hissed. “Fuck off.”

“I’m not letting you drug yourself Eliot,” Quentin replied, reaching forwards again, Eliot moved back as gracefully as he could while very drunk. “At least tell me why the hell you’re acting like this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eliot said, still backing up as Quentin walked towards him. Eliot was distantly aware that he was being backed into a corner, Quentin looming in front of him. His vision shifted and for a second it was his father, a sneer on his face.

”So you think you’re gay you little fairy? Maybe this will change your mind.”

Eliot shook his head, dispelling the voice from his head. He needed the drugs now.

His fingers shook as he opened the bag, reaching in as fast as he could to attempt and get a tablet out. Quentin was faster, hands darting out and grabbing the bag from his fingers, taking away Eliot’s last attempt at sanity.

“No!” He yelled, reaching forwards and Quentin back away.

“Stop this Eliot,” Quentin said. “You’re scaring me. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Give it back!” Eliot pleaded, stepping forwards in an attempt to get back his little bag of release. He needed it, needed something to stop the torment in his mind.

The world swirled again as he attempted to move forwards, and he stumbled, crashing into the wall beside him, his head bouncing off of the wall as he did so.

“Shit!” Quentin said, darting forwards. “Are you okay?”

His hands reached out to grab at him, his skin touching Eliot’s and just like that Eliot was gone.

”How do you like it now you little fag?”

Hands clutching onto him, fingers digging into his side, smearing him with dirt and hay. He withered and screamed scratching and fighting best he could but there was no one around to hear his cries, to hear his screams. The barn was too far away for anyone to get him.

A hand crept between his legs, tugging on his pants and Eliot wanted to die.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” He screamed, batting at the hands touching him, clutching onto him. Even after they left he felt them leave they were there. Romain his skin, digging into his side, soiling him with their taint for years to come. Eliot choked back a sob.

The room blurred in front of him, and he slid down the wall, unable to tell if it was plaster from his room or the solid wood of the barn. He dug his fingers into his skin, his perfectly manicured fingernails digging into his skin.

His name was Eliot Waugh. He was in Brakebills School for magic. It was nighttime and he was drunk as hell.

He repeated it over and over again as he sat there until the barn and his father fell away and it was only Quentin standing there, hands in the air and a panicked look on his face.

“Eliot?” Quentin said, his voice shaky.

“What?” Eliot said, too exhausted to feel mad anymore.

“Are you okay?” Quentin asked, his voice soft as he sat there. Eliot wondered how long he had been gone. Long enough for Quentin to have time to sit down at the very least.

“Am I okay?” Eliot asked, and how funny was that? Was he okay? The better question would be if he was ever okay. He was sure the answer was no. “What kind of bullshit is that?”

“Eliot,” Quentin said, and he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Quentin could barely handle his own emotions; it wasn’t fair for Eliot to pour his own onto him. He just wanted Quentin gone so he could drug himself to the high heavens until he didn’t remember this night anymore.

“Shouldn’t you be with Alice?” Eliot snapped, forcing himself to build himself back up brick by brick. He may be a drunk sobbing mess splayed across the floor, but he could be dignified too. “Tending to her wounds?”

“She’s worried about you too,” Quentin grumbled. “I was just mad, but she insisted there was something else. I think she’s right.”

“There is nothing else,” Eliot lied. “I’m an asshole, shouldn’t you be aware of that by now?”

He managed to pull himself to his feet, and Quentin scrambled to copy him. Eliot wanted to move past him, but just the thought of brushing past someone else made him shudder, so he stayed put.

“Yeah you are an asshole,” Quentin started.

“Why thank you.”

“But,” Quentin continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “You’re never that much of an asshole for no reason. So spill. I’m not leaving until you do.”

“No reason?” Eliot snapped, glaring Quentin down, who managed to hold eye contact. Eliot was the first to look away. “Do you know what I learned tonight?”

“I learned some pretty fucked up shit too,” Quentin shot back. “I learned my hero is a child molesting monster, you’re going to have to be more specific about what you learned. And why that caused you to lash out at Alice the way you did. Even if you were hurt and drunk she didn’t deserve that.”

“Of course she didn’t deserve that, but she needed it,” Eliot snapped. “She needed to learn what I did that night. And that is that there is no fixing the past or present. There is no hope to save kids like that. The little boy, the little girl, Martin Chatwin? They all suffered, and yeah, it sucks, but what the fuck can we do about it? Kids like us don’t get the luxury to forget, to ignore what happened because even in death it follows us. She needed me to be an asshole because otherwise she would be stuck in the fantasy that everything gets better at some point. Well, newsflash, it doesn’t.”

Eliot panted, his finger raised and he felt unsteady, like he was going to fall over at any second. It wouldn’t be a surprise.

“Children like us?” Quentin asked, and Eliot blinked.

“What?”

“You said children like us,” Quentin said evenly and Eliot instantly caught his drift. “That’s what this is about isn’t it? This is personal.”

“Don’t read into this,” Eliot scoffed, fear starting to circle through him.

No one knew of his childhood. Not even Margo, who knew almost everything else about him. Of course she suspected it, she was the one to talk him down from the last bout of flashbacks he had suffered through after seeing his older brother at the store. But he was never able to properly open up to her, to let her know exactly what happened in that little farmhouse, what happened in that barn.

“No, I want you to tell me the truth Eliot,” Quentin said, stepping closer. “Is the reason why you’re trying to drink yourself to death?”

“I am not trying to drink myself to death,” Eliot scoffed. “I’m trying to drug myself to death.”

Quentin gave him a look that said that he was very much not helping his case.

“I don’t have a death wish Quentin,” Eliot scoffed. It wasn’t entirely true. Death or life, it didn’t matter. Apparently either way he was trapped in an endless cycle of horror. “Are you going to leave yet?”

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Quentin said stubbornly.

Eliot said nothing, only sighed and sat down on his bed, pulling a bottle of wine from the bedside table. Quentin sat beside him, conscious of the space between them. Eliot was thankful for that.

He took a drag from the bottle, knowing he couldn’t really get anymore drunk, but the liquid on his tongue was a comfort. He held the bottle over to Quentin, who hesitantly grabbed it, taking a long is himself.

“Look at us,” Eliot sighed. “Two sorry sacks of human beings.”

Quentin passed the bottle back over.

“You can say that again,” Quentin sighed, before practically chugging a quarter of the bottle.

They sat there in silence for a while longer, the two of them staring at the wall.

Eliot was trying to not think, and it was bit easier now with Quentin by his side and tons of alcohol running through his blood.

“I worry myself sometimes,” Eliot grumbled. Quentin went though all this troubles, so Eliot was willing to give him one tiny tidbit of information. Maybe it would be enough to send the man away, satisfied that he helped enough. “I worry that I’m going to get everyone I love killed.”

“Eliot,” Quentin sighed.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Eliot interrupted before he could say anything else. “You wanted to know what was wrong and there, that’s what’s wrong.”

“You haven’t killed anyone.”

Eliot only laughed, memories of how easily Mike’s neck broke under his fingers, how Eliot barely even debated it before casting the spell. It wasn’t even Mike, and Eliot wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. Did he kill the beast’s vessel? Or an innocent man who had no idea what was going on?

Eliot glanced quickly over at Quentin, who wasn’t looking over at him. Eliot should kick him out right now. Out of his room, out of his life. As much as Eliot tried to ignore it, he felt attached to Quentin, his puppy dog eyes, stumbling words, his cute face. Eliot was getting attached, and that meant he would inevitably end up hurting him.

“Mike wasn’t your fault Eliot,” Quentin said quietly.

“Like hell it wasn’t,” Eliot snaps. “I killed him.”

“You had no other choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Eliot maintained, refusing to look over at Quentin, who took another sip of the wine before speaking.

“Like there was a choice to go back and help those kids?”

Eliot turned to glare at Quentin, who only raised an eyebrow. He got him there, and that was frustrating. How come it was Quentin who was able to break past all his bullshit? The man could barely hold normal conversation.

“This conversation is getting tedious, I don’t know what you want from me,” Eliot said evenly. He just wanted this encounter to be over. He wanted Quentin to leave so that he could reach down and pick up the pills Quentin had dropped, spilling them all over the floor.

“I just want the truth,” Quentin said, as if it was that simple. “Come on Eliot, you know almost every messed-up thing about me, but I know nothing. You told me about Logan, but that’s it. Trust me, you can’t leave this kind of shit bottled up or else you end up-“

“Drinking yourself stupid every night?” Eliot suggested, a flash of anger running through him. Why did Quentin feel entitled to pull all this shit up? Not even Margo pushed him about this. She understood that it wasn’t something meant to be picked at.

“Pushing everyone you love away,” Quentin countered. “Attempting to take what looks like some very illegal drugs, and yeah I guess drinking yourself stupid every night.”

Eliot didn’t know what to say. He knew he had shitty coping methods, but methods were methods. If they worked, they were enough for him. He didn’t care how much destruction he brought down onto himself as long as he stopped spiraling, stopped remembering.

“I just want the truth,” Quentin continued. “You owe Alice and I that.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” Eliot snapped, anger rising faster than anything else. He stood up, suddenly wanting space between Quentin and him. He owed neither of them nothing. His broken pieces were his own to hold onto until he was a bloody mess, their blood was not entitled to stain it as well. “Why are you so desperate to hear my sob story? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because I care for you,” Quentin protested. “And you’re destructing in front of my eyes and I can’t lose another one of the people I care about!”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it,” Eliot said before he could stop himself. Quentin only glared. Eliot guessed he deserved that.

“You don’t have to tell me El,” Quentin sighed after a moment, his hands running through his hair. Eliot wondered if it was a nervous tick. “I’m not here to force anything out of you, that would be wrong of me.”

“Thank you,” Eliot said softly, his anger draining out of him fast. He sat back down beside Quentin. He found he didn’t have much energy left, the ongoing panic attack he’s been having for the past hour or so was starting to take a toll.

“I can make assumptions,” Quentin continued. “But I’m not going to. You can talk to me whenever you need to. I’m here for you.”

“Why are you being so nice,” Eliot complained, because this was getting way too touchy-feely. “Aren’t you mad at me?”

“Maybe a little bit,” Quentin chuckled. “But well, I guess I just want to give you what I never really had.”

Eliot looked over at him at the admission, furrowing his eyebrows. That as actually pretty sweet, it was adorable.

“So yeah,” Quentin said, because his random spurts of social awareness could only last so long. “If you need anything, I’m, um, I’m here for you.”

Eliot decided to do something brave. He slowly shifted over until he was close enough to rest his head on Quentin’s shoulder. Quentin tenses, probably waiting for Eliot to pull back and flinch like he did before, but even though the memories were a lot closer than Eliot ever wanted them to be, he was stubbornly holding onto the present.

“I think you need to go to bed,” Quentin said softly, resting his own head on top of Eliot’s. Neither of them moved.

Eliot was probably one sip away from being blackout drunk, but he found that he didn’t want to forget this moment. His entire life consisted of shitty moments and trying to forget those shitty moments, but for once he let the dark things swirling inside of him come out and he didn’t feel like flinging himself off the nearest cliff.

This was the first time in a while he felt complete safe and loved. Sure, he knew Margo loved him, but her brand of tough love made it sometimes hard for them to connect, even though he loved her to bits. Quentin just seemed to have something else, something that helped to finally stitch up the torn pieces of him.

Quentin reached over and took another sip from the wind sitting on the bed beside them. Eliot wondered how drunk the other man was. Judging from how much he drank, nowhere close to where Eliot was, but Quentin also had a much lower tolerance, so who even knew.

“Thank you,” Eliot said softly, picking his head up off of Quentin’s shoulder. “I know that I can be, a lot sometimes. But thank you for not giving up on me.”

He turned to look at Quentin who was staring back at him with a look Eliot was way too drunk to decipher.

“Of course,” Quentin whispered, his voice low and husky. “Anytime. I love you man.”

Eliot smiled, a sad smile, but a smile anyways. A part of him really wanted to kiss Quentin right now. But he couldn’t and that kind of sucked. Quentin smiled back, and Eliot wondered if it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Yeah,” Eliot said a bit breathlessly. He knew he shouldn’t say it, not this vulnerable and not when he meant a completely different thing than Quentin did. But he said it anyways. “I love you too Q.”

Before Eliot could even think, Quentin was pushing forwards, breaking the space between them to kiss him.

Eliot barely had time to process the feeling of Quentin’s lips on his, how soft the touch was but so sweet all the same. Then Quentin started to kiss him harder, his hands cupping Eliot’s cheek and Eliot reached up to grab the back of his neck. The kiss hungrier, more demanding, and Eliot almost got lost in it.

Before he remembered who they were, where they were.

He couldn’t do this to Alice, no matter how drunk they both were. So he pulled away, even though it broke his heart to do so. He wasn’t that selfish, and he knew they would both regret it to the ends of the earth if they went any further.

“Oh my god,” Quentin said, blinking as realization hit him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- I mean, I don’t-“

“It’s okay,” Eliot tried to convince him. The words fell flat. Eliot wanted to do nothing more but to pull Q back in, to kiss him until they were both painfully sober and the guilt fell away from Quentin’s eyes. But they both knew they couldn’t do that.

Eliot wasn’t above sleeping with other people’s boyfriends, as shitty as that was. Normally he was too drunk to say no or convince himself it was wrong and he was plenty drunk right now, but Alice was his friend. Quentin was his friend. He couldn’t risk ruining this more than he already had.

“I should go,” Quentin said, standing up and swaying slightly. Eliot wondered how much wine he really had drunk, how much he had before even coming up here. “I should really go.”

He was gone before Eliot could say another word.

Eliot sat there for a long moment, thoughts blending together along with time as he sat, replaying everything that happened that night.

He stared at the little pills still lying on the ground, their bright colors so innocent and childlike, becoming to him. It would be so easy to reach down and pop a few into his mouth, to forget that stupid house, to forget Quentin and his encounter, to just forget everything that had happened in the past couple of weeks.

Instead, he turned his back and laid down on his bed, closing his eyes and drifting off into an uneasy sleep.

He’ll deal with it later; he was good at that.