Chapter Text
“My sweetheart’s piano is rat-filled, and mine is infested with bugs.
“The music we make is unnatural, but it sounds just like falling in love.”
The night of the Red Banquet had finally arrived, dark and crisp with a smiling moon that granted just enough light to the guests so that they could find their way down into the crimson decorated ballroom that they had been so gracefully invited to. One after another they arrived at the location, dressed in colorful coats and robes, eyes covered by masks that were ironically decorated to reveal who they were hiding.
Each of them were greeted by both Bad and Ant, welcoming them into the grand room, singing praises of each person’s courage and willingness to attend such a banquet as this one. They spoke with words of honey, hands behind their backs with crossed fingers, as they guided each individual further down into the earth where the beating heart of the Egg awaited them, beckoning with a red glow and whispering promises that all would be okay if one just learned to let go .
For some, it was easy. Easy to listen and relax, feet firmly planted into the ground, tied down with red vines that curled up their ankles like a parasite to a willing host. They listened and believed the muttering promises given to them, each unique to each individual: power, love, safety, peace, choas, time, all were promised to anyone who was willing to ask for it.
Those who gave in easily, small red vines curling up their limbs and neck, eyes glowing an intense red, void of emotion; were granted what they were promised and so much more. For the dark crimson was appreciative of their cooperation and therefore would give them something in return.
Those who resisted, however, only caused minor inconveniences to the Egg and the banquet. As things had been planned for those who might not accept the Egg’s promises so easily. Very quickly, those who refused to give in, eventually cracked and found themselves with the same vines spreading across the server like a disease, red-eyed, and numb to what they once were before their mind was consumed by the voice of the Egg.
Soon, with time, the ballroom was filled with various individuals, dressed formally with their unique masks; though all their eyes were the same shade of red, each one of their minds wiped and replaced only with what the Egg desired of them. All of them had fallen for the trap, had given in to the Egg, and each would not know freedom, even if that’s what the Egg promised.
If anyone had been in their right mind, they would’ve looked upon the banquet in terror at the sight. Red-eyed beings moved about, talking in monotone voices, some eating, others dancing to the slow, waltz playing throughout the ballroom. Scarlet vines hung like streamers, weaving through the hanging golden chandeliers that glowed in a dim light that was just enough to allow everyone to see. The leaves slowly fell from the rivers of red vines onto the crimson tiled floor, trampled over by the feet of the dancers, leaving splotches of scarlet that looked all too much like blood splattered across the polished tiles.
Minus the eerie atmosphere, the banquet would’ve been seen as it was; a banquet. One filled with friends and food, dancing and laughing, long coats and fancy dresses, charming music, and beautiful decorations. A scene that all those who attended took it for as it was, blinded by the Egg, unable to realize that it had been a trap and they were now expendable objects that the Egg could toy with in its conquest to take over the server.
So, because to the guests the event was what they believed it to be, nobody batted an eye when the scamming Doctor was approached by the merciless Warden who had a simple question on his mind.
Stepping over, almost like a beast, stalking his prey, the Warden sauntered over to the Doctor. His tall frame towered over most of the guests, able to pick out the shorter man more easily due to the colorful red mask that he wore. The colors of the Doctor’s mask drew the Warden in like the promising whispers of the Egg, beckoning, daring the Warden to get closer.
Once he was a mere foot away from the Doctor he stopped, clearing his throat to alert the other of his presence, though the Doctor had long known that the Warden would approach him.
Slowly, the Doctor turned, eyes slowly trailing up the Warden until he was met with crimson eyes and a swift bow at the waist. A gold-covered hand extended out to the red and black-masked man, gleaming ruby eyes peering at him past a golden mask flecked with emerald greens that wrapped around dark green hair like a circlet. His mouth was masked as well, a dark gas mask lined with gold hissed out smoke as the hybrid asked a simple question.
“May I have this dance?”
Despite the mask, the Doctor could hear him loud and clear. The voice of the stranger was a familiar sound, one that didn’t seem as sweet as the Doctor thought it should be. Instead of quiet and low, it was commanding and confident. To the Doctor, hearing that cold voice was like hearing a favorite melody in the wrong key, unnatural.
But why should it be as such?
Before the greeting with the Egg, before joining the banquet with everyone else, the Doctor couldn’t remember the last time he ever really spoke to the Warden. For he knew that the both of them were far too busy to ever have time to interact with each other.
So why a dance? Why the familiar voice?
Looking around, the Doctor scanned over the crowd of people before his eyes landed on those who were dancing along to the music, visibly in a trance as they moved about, stepping together in a synchronized symphony of dull color. It didn’t seem like a hard task to partake in and currently, the Doctor wasn’t doing anything, so why should he refuse?
Not to mention, there was something familiar about the Warden’s voice that just pulled him in. More so than the exuberance of the dance, that caused him to place a metal hand on top of the Warden’s beckoning golden one, extended out in question.
“You may,” he finally answered, fingers intertwining with the others’, feeling nothing as neither hand was made of flesh. Neither seemed to notice or care for that matter, each too caught up in steady gazes filled with questions not yet wanting to be asked.
Then, with a silent nod in response to the acceptance, the Warden guided the Doctor over to the group of dancing individuals; a diamond with a demon, a sheep with a human, a king with a god, a fox with a mask, a bird with death.
The Warden then turned, now facing the other as they stood together in the middle of the ballroom floor, swaying bodies scattered around them. They looked at each other, expressionless, both of their faces almost fully covered by a mask. Only red eyes looked at each other, seemingly searching for something that was no longer there.
Looking down at the Doctor, the Warden couldn’t help but feel the strange sensation that he knew who this was, someone important to him from another life. He knew that was a crazy thought though, as he was never outside the prison or Las Nevadas, too preoccupied with his duties as the Warden of Pandora’s Vault. He didn’t have time for relationships. It wasn’t something he could deal with, as it meant emotions. And as the Warden, there was no room for such emotions.
Even still, he had asked the man for a dance, did he not?
He let go of the Doctor’s hand, both of them taking a small step backward to bow at each other, neither’s eyes leaving the other. Then the Warden, the first to rise, stepped forward and took the Doctor’s hand into his again, drawing him all the more closer.
Without a word, the Warden lifted the Doctor’s hand and placed a pale, green freckled hand on the doctor’s shoulder while the Doctor placed a dark hand on his hip, their differences in height making them switch up the placement slightly.
As the music started up again, a waltz with elegant chords, the two slowly started to dance, the Warden taking the lead and the Doctor following.
A one...a two...one...and two…
The two swayed together in near-perfect harmony, following each other’s steps without a single glance down to their feet. Though the Warden took the lead, occasionally the Doctor took over, confidently guiding the Warden through different steps that still followed the rhythm of the melodious chords.
And though the music still rang through their ears, both seemed to be completely entranced by the other. Neither of them said a single word to each other while they danced, though questions ran through their minds of whether or not this was someone they had once loved.
It was all too familiar to them, the gentle touch of the Warden on the Doctor’s shoulder, the smiling crinkles underneath the Doctor’s eyes, to be something that wasn’t something before. Perhaps they had been friends, lovers even, as they seemed to be in perfect synch. Not a word was said about how they would dance, but they continued to dance, eyes locked onto each other as small smiles eased their way onto their masked features.
With every spin and pull, the Doctor realized how perfectly he fit in the Warden’s arms, and with every dip, the Warden realized how easy it was to hold the Doctor close to him, refusing to let him fall.
With every step, every spin, every waltz after waltz, the Doctor started to fall for the Warden, as the Warden did for the Doctor. Not a single word was ushered to the other, not a single clear memory of interactions in the past, not even a name to the other, but even still the two danced effortlessly, unable to let the other go.
However, the Doctor couldn’t go another minute without speaking, so he finally spoke, giving in to his desire to have a conversation with the man. Quiet, subtle whispers of encouragement from the gravelly voice of the Egg seemed to contribute to the Doctor’s decision to talk, as they had slowly been feeding his thoughts with the idea of a life with the Warden despite the short time spent with him.
“I have to ask,” he started, the two of them circling around each other, hands held up in the center as they slowly made their way around each other, “where did you learn to dance?”
Surprised by the sudden voice and question, the Warden blinked, snapping out of his trance as he stared blankly back at the Doctor who waited with playful eyes. The realization that the Doctor was waiting for an answer caused the Warden to flush a light green that was thankfully covered by his mask, before he finally responded, still swaying in time with the other.
“I...I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head lightly, “I wasn’t always this good of a dancer, I can remember that.”
“Hmm,” The Doctor hummed, amusement in his eyes at the answer, “you must’ve had a great teacher.”
“Perhaps,” The Warden shrugged. They then clasped hands again, and the Warden spun the Doctor in time before pulling him back into his arms.
“Where did you learn to dance?” He wondered, keeping the Doctor close to his chest for a second or two longer than needed before twirling him out and bringing him back to their original position, left hands outstretched while the right ones rested on each other.
“Myself,” The Doctor answered with a grin, the Warden only seeing the way the man’s red eyes crinkled in delight.
The Warden chuckled softly, figuring that much. Though he was taking the lead, the Doctor would effortlessly change up the dance ever so slightly, forcing the Warden to follow his lead. He didn’t mind it, of course, it was such a pleasure to see the Doctor dance so gracefully, and with him, nonetheless. However, the Warden was so used to being in control that he couldn’t help but force the lead onto him once he snapped out of his trance and realized how the roles had been switched.
The Doctor, though he didn’t say anything, noticed these subtle changes. In fact, he found them so entertaining that he would purposely start to take the lead, counting how long it would take the Warden to notice, making the whole dance into a game.
For there was something so familiar in the way that he teased and taunted the Warden in harmless little ways, all in good fun. Something that just felt right in the sense that this was a role the Doctor played before in another distant past life.
The Warden took the lead now, it only taking a mere forty-two seconds for him to notice the change, his grip on the Doctor’s hand tightening just a bit as hazy smoke hissed out of his gas mask below annoyed ruby eyes.
With a chuckle, the Doctor followed the Warden’s steps, the tightening grip on his metal hand meaning nothing to him, as he could not feel it. With time, the Warden would relax, knowing he was back in control, all until the Doctor took the lead again.
Eyes now soft, the Warden’s grip loosened, causing him to glance over at the hand, not realizing that he had held it a little tighter than before. A small frown crossed his hidden features for a split second in his realization of what he was doing. He, however, didn’t address it, instead, he spun the Doctor around, the two now standing side by side with one of the Warden’s arms draped across the Doctor’s back
Leaning forward, eyes still on the mechanical hand, the Warden started to wonder aloud. If the Doctor had asked a question, why shouldn’t he?
“Your arm,” he started, “what happened to it?”
Since the left arm was on the other side of the Doctor it was mostly out of view for the Warden who stood on the right. However, he had still caught sight of it during their time together, noting the metallic structure, painted red like his mask, vines swirling around, looking almost engraved into the prosthetic.
Part of him wanted to know what happened to the arm just to offer a better functioning one, for he knew that he could make the Doctor any arm he so desired; but another part of him wanted to know due to genuine concern. For some quiet voice in the back of his mind seemed to say that somehow the arm had been his fault. Though it was a ridiculous thought, never having interacted with the Doctor until recently, the Warden couldn’t help but wonder…
“My arm?” The Doctor muttered, glancing to the side as the two made their way across the dance floor.
“Yes,” The Warden nodded, the two switching sides, allowing him to see intricate details now, the red suit the Doctor wore rolled up to reveal that the forearm was prosthetic as well.
As they stepped in time forward, the Doctor leaning into the Warden’s chest as they danced, red eyes trained on the painted porcelain arm; nobody said a word. The Doctor didn’t answer, seemingly struggling for an answer, searching a crimson jungle of his mind for the memory of what had become of his arm.
“My memory is fuzzy,” The Doctor answered finally, eyes trained in front of him. He didn’t know why the Warden wanted to know about the arm, or why he was even answering him about it, but a little voice told him that it would do them some good to do so.
“I blacked out when it happened,” he explained, the Warden spinning him before pulling him back to the left side of him, “so I can’t quite remember...but when I came to, it was clear that someone had cut my arm off.”
This much was true, as the unclear memories only allowed him to remember so little. The immense feeling of loss and terror, not towards the arm but to that of who was on the other end of the dull shears that maimed him. It was almost overwhelming, the sudden intense feelings in a brain that hadn’t felt such emotions since he was dragged back to the Egg by Punz, hours before the banquet started.
Not knowing clearly what happened, not knowing the important details irritated the Doctor. Had it not been for the Warden preoccupying him in a waltz, the Doctor would’ve broken down in the middle of the banquet, desperate for answers. He would’ve clutched his head and screamed, angry at everything that had happened to him, everything that he couldn’t remember.
Couldn’t? The Egg gibed , Or wouldn’t?
The Doctor snapped out of his thoughts, head looking up at a contemplating Warden, eyebrows furrowed and red eyes slightly narrowed. The Warden had gone silent at the Doctor’s answer, his thoughts overtaking his mind as they danced around each other, metal hands touching while flesh ones hid behind their backs.
For the Warden, certain memories were distorted for him as well. Memories of being in Pandora’s Vault had gaps in them, some clearer than others. He could remember that he was the Warden, the one in charge of the prison, and therefore he had to take his job seriously. He could remember the inner workings of the prison, all the time, effort, and blood that he had put into the prison; making sure that it was truly inescapable. He could remember hiring Bad and Ant as guards to help occasionally, happy to have those on the side of the Egg helping him out. He could remember inventory, the key cards, the cells. He could remember all of that, no problem.
However, memories that weren’t as coherent were an amalgamation of screams, of blood, of endless tears, and the cold feel of dull weapons stained with blood he knew not to be his own. All memories that the Egg promised were better off hidden, better off forgotten.
Memories that would make you emotional, The Egg reminded , its hoarse voice layered with warnings.
So, choosing not to look into his opaque memories, especially the one that raged like lava, smelled like potions, and stung like a kiss of disloyalty followed by cries of betrayal, the Warden took the Doctor’s metal hand in his and pulled him away from the dancers.
“What are you doing?” The Doctor asked, glancing back at the crowd before looking back at the Warden in confusion. He hadn’t expected a reaction such as this, unsure why the Warden was suddenly acting the way he was.
“Shhh,” The Warden urged, his voice a quiet hiss, red smoke escaping the gas mask before disappearing behind his pointed ears covered in gold.
The Doctor watched in curiosity as the Warden gently held onto his metal arm with one hand while the other delicately ran a finger down and around the red vines that twisted and engraved themselves into the arm. The Warden was observing the arm, the features, the look, the feel of the cold metal underneath his fingertip.
With a shaky exhale, the Warden shifted his gaze onto the Doctor. “Can you feel that?” He asked, a finger still tracing a curling vine around the Doctor's wrist.
Shaking his head, the Doctor slowly looked away from the Warden to the arm. “No,” he whispered, “I can’t feel anything.”
The Warden pulled his hand away, and though the Doctor claimed that he didn’t feel anything, it pained him to see the Warden stop. There had been something so intimate about the small action as if the Warden had done something similar in the past several times before. The ghosting feel of a finger running up and down his arm felt all too familiar, though the end of his real arm stung in phantom pain at the touch. The Doctor wasn’t sure why this was such, the warmth on his arm and torment on his shoulder, but he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he looked back up at the Warden from his prosthetic, studying his features as he tried to decipher just what the Warden was doing.
The Doctor watched as a guilty-looking gaze, which was hidden behind a red haze, slowly looked away from the arm, traveled up his shoulder, his neck, and finally to the red mask of the Doctor. He tensed ever so slightly, his deep wine-red eyes staring up at ruby eyes, waiting for the Warden to make the next move.
Then, with a shaky breath, the Warden reached out with his other hand, gently bringing it up to the Doctor’s face, both of them ignoring how the Doctor flinched at the action, almost subconsciously too.
“H-how about...How about this?” The Warden questioned in a whisper, gently putting his hand to the side of the Doctor’s face, cradling his head tenderly, brushing a thumb where the mask ended and dark skin started. “Do you-”
“Yes,” The Doctor immediately answered, leaning his head into the Warden’s touch, bringing up his other hand to wrap around the armored wrist. “Yes...I feel that.”
Though his skin burned like lava where the Warden’s hand rested, the Doctor didn’t mind. He ignored it and the quiet, rapid whispers in his mind that told him this was somehow wrong. For the Doctor could care less, wanting nothing more than the seemingly cold-hearted Warden’s gentle touch.
The Doctor ran a thumb over the top of the Warden’s hand, turning his head slightly to the side to lean more into the burning touch. With a shaky sigh, he closed his eyes, feeling both safe and at edge, but all the same, he was falling for him.
It was the same for the Warden, looking down at the masked man with the painted arm, he felt emotions he was sure he wouldn’t ever feel. Emotions that made him want to be with the Doctor. Emotions that wanted to protect the Doctor, putting him before anything else. Emotions that made him want to tell the Doctor how beautiful he was. Emotions that brought along fear, something that the Warden did his best to repress and hide in order to keep up his facade as the prison’s warden.
He bit down on his tongue, stopping sweet words from coming out and showing that the Warden could be caring, could be soft, could be loving .
Instead, he did his best to keep quiet, letting the Doctor lean into his touch as they stood halfway on the ballroom dance floor, metal hand in armored hand.
There, the two of them stood, one looking fondly down at the other while an internal conflict ate away at him, breaking everything he once thought he was. Meanwhile, the other enjoyed the soft touches, eyes closed, drawing in shaky breaths as the faltering smile tried to ignore the searing pain on his skin from the contact and the screaming rings in his ears.
On the outside, it looked like a pair of lovers in embrace. Two individuals enjoying each other’s touch and company, standing close together with the Warden almost acting as a shield for the Doctor, covering him completely with his tall and large frame. On the outside, the actions had seemed to be as such, just gentle touches shared between lovers.
However, to the rest of the guests, there was something unnatural about it.
“Hey Bad…” Muttered the cat, glancing over to his demon friend who had just left the ruby red diamond to check up on the Egg that overlooked the ballroom in the corner of the grand room.
“Hm?” Hummed Bad, looking up from the healthy red leaves attached to the vines protruding from the darkness of the Egg’s corner and into the ballroom. “What is it Ant?” He asked, walking over to his friend’s side.
“Look,” Ant instructed, nodding his head towards the two standing still on the ballroom dance floor, his snake-like eyes slightly narrowed. “What do you make of that?”
Bad followed Ant’s gaze out past the guests, his tall stature allowing him to spot the Warden and Doctor standing close together in a loving embrace. He tilted his head, hesitating at the sight, unsure what to make of it.
“You don’t think that can be a problem?” Ant questioned, raising an eyebrow as he watched Bad. He had expected his demon friend to answer right away, but for whatever reason, he had hesitated, holding back words Ant thought he would hear.
“I-I don’t think so,” Bad stuttered out, frowning slightly as he looked at Ant, “Why would it be?”
Ant sighed, shaking his head lightly. He knew, if anything, Bad saw him and Skeppy in the same position as the Warden and the Doctor. However, he also knew that the Egg had plans for the two, more so than the rest of the guests, so he didn’t want their previous connection messing that up. Even if they had no clear memories of being connected prior, Ant didn’t want to risk it.
“Them getting back together can be potentially dangerous,” Ant pointed out, his tail flickering cautiously behind him, “they weren’t always on our side, this might put them back the way that they were.”
Bad waved a hand in the air. “Nonsense,” he stammered, “we’ve got them on our side, didn’t we? So long as the Egg is in charge, they’ll be stuck under its spell.”
Ant glanced back at the two before looking back at Bad. “I think we should ask the Egg what it thinks,” he suggested, “this might not be the way it planned things to go.”
With a sigh, Bad nodded in agreement. “Yes, let’s ask,” he muttered, stepping towards the dimly lit Egg, stationed away from the guests that were occupying the grand ballroom. Though he didn’t think it was much of a problem, too thrilled to have his diamond friend back, it couldn’t help but be completely sure that nothing would go wrong.
After all, they had come this far, convincing just about everyone to join their banquet, brainwashing them all in the process; why abandon it all and risk total domination?
They stood in front of the glowing Egg, covered in vines and leaves of different shades of red before giving it a small bow at the waist, holding it as they talked.
Ant explained what he had seen, how he feared this might mess with their plans, that it might break the Warden, thus losing their most valuable piece at the time. And with that, in time, they would lose the Doctor, the perfect host for the Egg, a voice for it. He feared that from happening and expressed those fears to the Egg while Bad stayed quiet, listening.
After he had finished, the Egg took a moment to answer; entering their heads with amused laughter that rang through their ears, causing them to stand straight again at attention.
Amusing, amusing , it whispered, fear not, my loyal servants. I have a plan for the two. I will make sure that we don’t lose them again .
Bad and Ant both looked at each other in slight confusion, neither of them expecting such an answer. However, they trusted the Egg and believed its words to be true. So if it did have plans for the Warden and the Doctor, even if they hadn’t been revealed to them, they decided they would go about their ways during the banquet; without worry of what would become of their past friends from another life.
Both of them thanked the Egg, giving it praise before they turned and headed back to the ballroom, nobody even noticed that they had been gone.
The two friends looked at each other silently before Bad gave Ant a small nod of acknowledgment and turned to find his friend, leaving Ant alone. There, he stood, slightly away from the crowd of the guests, eyes watching the Warden and the Doctor.
A small pain of jealousy washed over him before he scoffed and looked away, deciding it was best for him to go on his way and make sure that he kept the banquet running as it should. As he did so, he wondered that if the Egg’s plans for the two had to do with what it had promised Ant.
Love, perhaps, he thought, perhaps it’ll use that.
And use it, the Egg planned to do.