Archive of Our Own ^beta

the fight with andrias had been, surprisingly, going very well up to this point. 

he wouldn’t tell them where marcy is. well, not with words; when anne had demanded to know where her friend was, he had just laughed, and glanced to the side of his throne room like she would magically pop out of the shadows. when she hadn’t, he had pulled out his sword and charged at them, and they’ve been fighting ever since. 

anne’s hair is alight with blue, and so are her fists and feet as she dodges the sword with lightning-fast speed. it’s easy to hold onto her powers here, when just the sight of that godforsaken sword is enough to send her into a blind rage. she wants to destroy it just like it had destroyed her all those months ago, wants to make sure it couldn’t be used to hurt anyone she loves ever again, and if she has to set herself ablaze to do it, so be it. 

sasha too is a blur of motion, swords flying through the hair as she dodges blows and rushes in for quick jabs. she hasn’t unlocked any special ability the way that anne has, but she almost doesn’t need it with how quickly she’s moving, how her fury motivates her. for once, working together with her is everything that anne had wanted; except they’re still missing their third, and if she has to beat the answer out of andrias, she’ll do it in a heartbeat. 

andrias had kept up with them fairly well at first, but he’s flagging now, missing every swing, growling viciously instead of using words. he’s been trying to kill anne for awhile now, she knows, but she’s not afraid of him anymore- at least, she’s not afraid to fight against him. 

“it’s over, andrias,” she says, her voice magnified and distorted with the force of the energy tearing through her. “you’ve lost this fight, admit it! now tell us where marcy is!” 

andrias doesn’t say a word. in fact, he just snarls again, and though anne has knocked his sword out of his hand and has her own magic ready to strike, he doesn’t look nearly as intimidated by her as he should be. he needs to fear me, anne thinks, and she summons more of that blue energy to her fists, hovering in the air as the intense blue lifts her off of her feet. “i won’t say it again,” she growls, anger and an overwhelming sense of mourning coloring her tone. “where is she?” 

andrias glances off to the shadows, and the scowl on his face deepens. 

anne draws her fist back, and sasha’s drawing her swords again for a final blow, and she’s never taken a life intentionally before but she can’t stop herself now as she rears backwards and then forwards- 

“-cut,” a voice drawls from the shadows of the throne room. the familiarity of it is enough to make anne’s blue fizzle out, and she drops to the floor with a dazed groan. 

eleven blazing orange eyes slowly open, piercing through the darkness, sinister and sharp. “that’s quite enough, don’t you think?” it says, and it’s wrong, so wrong, the way that the voice is smoothened over and blank, reverbrating through the room. 

“my lord,” andrias protests, “i was so close-” 

“-don’t lie to us, andrias, you weren’t anywhere near a victory. you’re lucky i decided to spare your life. now leave us; it’s time we do things our way.” 

the speaker finally steps out of the shadows, eyes still glowing. it walks forwards slowly, each step loud and echoing through the room. from her position on the floor, anne can hardly make out the eleven eyes, or the face they’re attached to, but she can see their hands- and she knows those hands better than anyone, she’s held those hands between her own and let hers be held in return, she has caressed and memorized every ridge and every dip, she has felt those fingers cling to her, tearstained and desperate. 

anne fights past the fatigue plaguing her, standing on shaky legs. sasha immediately offers her a hand, and anne takes it without thought, leaning on her for support as the speaker from before smiles with a smile that is familiar and foreign all at once. 

“hello anne, sasha,” it says, smiling like nothing is wrong and they’re back at home in anne’s bedroom and she’s just won a game of scrabble, “i’ve come to answer your questions. it’s simply, really. your marcy is gone.” 

sasha’s grip tightens, and she holds onto anne a little bit harder. anne doesn’t even notice. andrias has obediently backed out of the room - though he didn’t look happy about it at all - and it’s just them, like it should be, but not like this. never like this. 

“what did you do to her?” anne asks. it comes out as a strangled whisper; she never imagined that she’d be afraid of her marcy before this, not until this creature had come swooping out of the shadows to steal their victory. her hands clench into fists, and she can vaguely feel the blue tingling inside of her, reawakening. 

marcy, who is not their marcy, just smiles, and she steps forwards again. there’s a wire connecting the helmet - because it is a helmet, anne realizes, placed firmly over her marcy’s head, connecting her to the eyes that peer so mirthlessly at them - to something out of sight, and her movements are shaky and unstable, her legs shaking with each step. the eye in her chestplate stares at them too, and anne yearns to reach for her, to hold her in her arms, to bring them back to a time where they were happy and at peace instead of being trapped here in darkness. 

“she has had the privilege of joining her mind with ours,” not marcy says, and her grins widens. “she is our chosen host, and as such, her pain and suffering has been eased. never again will she worry about being left behind, forgotten by those she calls friends. she’s not alone anymore- we have given her peace, something which you two could never manage. but don’t worry, heart, strength- you needn’t worry for your marcy much longer. where you are going is far worse.” 

there is something painful aching inside of anne, one that she shoves off in favor of forcing her legs to work, holding herself up instead of relying on sasha to keep them both upright. she can’t think about how much marcy’s been suffering, how badly she wants to hold her and reassure her that she’s okay, that she’s forgiven, that she is loved, so loved, and there’s nothing they wouldn’t do to get her back. she wants to take marcy by her hands and bring her home, and she can’t do that when there’s some supernatural force puppeteering her body. 

“marcy’s never been alone, you cockroach,” she spits, and sasha releases her grip on anne’s arm in favor of drawing her swords once again. “she’s always had us, and she always will. forever and ever, right, marmar?” 

the grin on the creature’s face twists into a scowl. it’s a foreign look, for once- marcy has never looked that disappointed before. “and here i was hoping we could do this the easy way. no matter.” she pulls out a blade of her own; in sick, twisted irony, it’s a smaller version of andrias’s own, the same sword that separated anne and marcy to begin with. 

anne glances at sasha. “we can’t hurt her,” she whispers, quiet enough that it can’t be picked up by anyone but her companion, “what do we do?” 

“we’ll just have to be careful,” sasha whispers back, and she sounds as choked up about it as anne feels. “cut through the wires, maybe. think you can go blue without hurting her?” 

“i’ll have to try.” anne is exhausted, she can feel the dredges of fatigue dragging her down, but she summons as much energy as she can manage, the tips of her hair floating in color as her fists re-ignite. 

the being that is not marcy smiles again, and she lifts her sword, orange eyes wide and blazing as her body lunges forwards. 

it’s a brutal dance, one that anne hardly remembers after it is finished. she can’t keep track of her own actions, she just tries her hardest not to aim any lethal blows at her friend, to focus on incapacitating her rather than harming her. it’s difficult, because the being puppeteering marcy clearly doesn’t have the same regards, going after them with a wild look in her many many eyes and a gleeful smile on her face. 

andrias never once reappears in the throne room. if he’s watching the fight, he doesn’t make his presence known, and for that, anne is grateful. this is hard enough. 

she pushes and pushes and pushes, and eventually she’s flying forwards, crashing into marcy’s body and pinning her to the floor. those eyes peer into anne’s own maniacally, that familiar smile never once faltering even as anne pins her to the ground, blue energy increasing her strength. 

“what are you going to do, little one?” she laughs, dark and sinister and nothing at all like the way marcy’s laugh is supposed to sound. “you could never hurt this body. you could never commit to the things that hurt you the most- isn’t that right, anne? how long have you been afraid of us? afraid of this?” one of marcy’s hands curls up to caress anne’s cheek, but her nails dig into anne’s skin, and anne growls viciously. 

“sasha, now !” she barks, and sasha slices her swords through the wires connecting the helmet to the room. the orange light in the helmet’s eyes flicker with coding for awhile, and marcy trembles underneath anne’s hands, her body shaking as the numbers flicker and flicker before finally the light completely dies. the eyes close. 

“get it off of her,” anne says, and she doesn’t allow the blue to fade just yet- she’s afraid of what will happen when she does. 

sasha is there in an instant, sitting at marcy’s side. her hands fly to the helmet, and she winces before yanking it upwards and to the side, revealing marcy’s face finally. her skin is pale and haggard, bags under her closed eyes, and her hair is long and stringy, and there are imprints where the helmet was clearly digging into her skin, but she’s alive and breathing and here and anne sobs in relief. 

“come on, marcy, wake up,” she whispers. 

“we need to get out of here,” sasha says, and she’s very tenderly brushing hair out of marcy’s face, stroking her cheeks. “joe’s waiting for us outside the throne room, we should… take her and get out of here, before andrias comes back.” 

they don’t have the box, and they haven’t killed andrias yet, but they have marcy, and she’s more important than anything else in the world. anne summons the last of her strength to stand, and she scoops marcy into her arms, holding her close. marcy’s head slumps against her, and anne’s chest aches, but she powers through, following sasha to the window where joe sparrow is waiting. 

as soon as they jump over the window, and they land safely on joe, anne allows the blue to fade. she’s immediately hit with exhaustion, but that barely matters when she’s slumped on joe’s saddle, marcy still tucked firmly in her arms. sasha has the reins, and she knows the way back to wartwood, and that’s all that matters. 

“is she okay?” sasha asks over the howling of the wind. she looks worried as she keeps looking back, her swords neatly tucked back into place. 

anne glances down at their friend, who is slumbering peacefully in anne’s arms. she looks even more exhausted than anne herself feels, but she doesn’t seem like she’s in any pain, and the eye in her chestplate too is closed, unseeing. 

“i think she’ll be okay,” anne nods, and as the castle fades into a speck behind them, she finally lets herself relax. “i think we’ll all be okay.”