Chapter Text
The light of the campfire flickers across the ground. It’s late. Late enough for the ever-present eye in the sky to have closed, casting the sky in total and complete darkness. Though that darkness was alive, hovering over everyone’s heads in an ever present reminder of what was done.
Not that anyone outside of those at the camp knew what had truly transpired that day.
Sparrow stares into the dancing flames, tuning out of the conversation happening around them. Planning, Lark rebuffing what he’d seen. Sparrow’s chest felt tight, his hand ached. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten actually physical with anyone. He mostly uses the druid powers he inherited now-a-days. Sometimes a crossbow if needed.
“You okay?” Terry whispers beside him, and Sparrow’s eyes reluctantly pull away from the fire. When did he get there?
“As fine as can be expected,” He replies with a sigh.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Not particularly.”
“Alright, well… Let me know if you do.”
Sparrow just nods before he leans over and rests his head against Terry’s shoulder. He’s tired. The day exhausted him.
At least Lark didn’t die. He isn’t sure what he would have done if he had. Probably lost it, like when he “died” at Oakvale.
“Maybe you should head to bed early.” Terry suggests gently.
“No. I’m fine. Really.”
The hum Terry lets out says that he doesn’t believe him. Which is fine. Terry’s never forced anything, which Sparrow appreciates in that moment. He… Really doesn’t want to talk about what he yelled in the church. He doesn’t want to be poked at to see just how much of what he said was the truth or acting.
Which, to be honest, he’s not even sure of that. He knew he held resentment inside of him, knew he blamed himself, but…
Lark walks over and sits to his other side with a groan.
“Dad really needs to learn to relax.” He complains, twisting to lay out, his head falling onto Sparrow’s lap.
“You could have died,” Sparrow reminds him, reaching out to thread through Lark’s hair gently.
“I didn’t, though.”
“But you could have.”
“But I didn’t.”
Sparrow snorts at his brother, caressing his cheek with the back of his finger.
It’s hard to grasp that resentment here, when everything he’s fighting for is on his lap like this.
“You scare me so much sometimes,” Sparrow whispers.
“We’ll always figure it out. Together.”
“Mm.”
Terry sighs dramatically beside them and rolls his eyes. “No, it’s fine. Don’t act like I’m here or anything.”
“Sorry, Ter. You know Sparrow comes first.”
Grant sits on Terry's other side and Sparrow can see his cheeks darken a bit. Wonder if he’s ever going to confess. Probably not.
“Welcome to the pity party, Grant.” Lark says, grinning at him.
“Thanks. Why pity?”
“My brother was scared I was going to die.”
“I’m pretty sure we were all worried you were going to die.”
“You all worry too much.”
“I think we worry just the right amount.” Terry breaks in.
Sparrow feels himself smile and start to laugh. Sure, he felt exhausted, but his friends always know just how to cheer him up despite that.
“Aahh there’s that smile we know,” Terry says with a grin. “Welcome back, songbird.”
“Thanks,” Sparrow whispers, nuzzling Terry’s shoulder.
The three start to talk, and Sparrow finds his gaze drawn to the Church of the Doodler. He wonders what his brother saw. Was it bad? He’d started crying, said they had to kill it. But why?
“Do you guys think there’s anyone left in there?” Sparrow asks, cutting into the conversation.
“In where?” Grant asks. Sparrow just nods to the church.
There’s a moment of silence before Terry asks, “Why?” Warily.
“Just… Thinking.” He says idly.
“I mean. Probably not? We got everyone in there pretty good. Or our dads did.” Lark says with a shrug.
Sparrow hums thoughtfully. He knows Lark won’t say what he saw, he’s already asked. Lark said it didn’t matter. Sparrow trusts his brother, of course he does… Usually.
But something nags at the back of his mind. Something doesn’t feel right about this. He just can’t put his finger on what.
A thought starts to form. Something he knows he shouldn’t do. But he probably will, because the curiosity will eat at him until he has his answers.
For now, he goes back to focusing on his friends and ignoring their parents.
Sparrow had to wait until there were no more sounds from the camp. He had to wait for his brother’s breath to deepen and slow. He’s never waited anyone out like this. It made him a little jittery.
But once he was sure everyone was asleep, he grabs his coat and slips from the tent, being as slow and quiet as possible before hurrying from the camp.
It was easy to keep track of where he needed to go from the way the spire digs into the underside of the Doodler. It was imposing. Intimidating.
He slips into the church and begins to head for where he knows the throne to be, stepping around dead bodies and knocked over furniture. It’s a little creepy doing this alone, hearing the way his footsteps echo off the walls.
Maybe he shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe he should follow his brother’s lead. Yet he can’t get the questions out of his mind, the worries.
What did his brother see? Why isn’t he telling them - any of them?
Why isn’t Lark telling him what he saw?
When Sparrow comes to the throne, he pauses. Is he really going to do this? He shouldn’t. Right? It’d be better if he turns around and goes back, forget it all, and continue on with what they were planning. Whatever that would wind up being.
Taking a deep breath… He sits.
Pain surges through him, his eyes going wide as his vision is overtaken, at first, by white.
Then memories assault him, the past of their family, the poison that has haunted them. But… It isn’t poison. Is it? No, no.
The Doodler isn’t a poison. It isn’t a curse. It’s just… Confused. Confused and desperate. Hurt. So, so deeply hurt. And lonely. And angry.
All they wanted was to be cared about. All they wanted was love. And his brother… Why did Lark say they need to kill it? They don’t need to kill it. It needs help!
When Sparrow returns to his body, he gasps and pants, tears swelling in his eyes. He can feel the remains of static at the back of his head, slowly pulling back. Reluctant to do so.
Strangely, Sparrow is reluctant for it to leave.
Anger settles deep in his chest alongside sorrow, for all sorts of different reasons. His brother’s cruelty and anger that he refuses to let go of, the way all of them have treated this- this confused and scared child.
He looks up at the ceiling, feeling something in his core tug up - up to the main building. Without hesitation, he pushes himself up and starts back up for the church, slowly picking up pace until he’s sprinting through the halls.
Once he’s back outside, he slows to a stop. That thing in his core tugs up and he twists to look back and follows that tug up to the sky.
Is the Doodler calling to him? Should he follow?
After a moment, he gathers the magic he has within him and raises his arms, causing vines to crawl up and along the wall. Without fully waiting for his magic to die down, he starts to climb, working higher and higher.
There’s no fear in him, no anxiety - only determination. He isn’t even sure what he’s doing, he just knows he needs to go up.
And up he goes. Higher and higher and higher until he’s standing at the base of the spire, clutching at it. Wind whips at his face, sending his hair in every direction. Despite the wind, it’s hard to breathe.
It feels like he should be close to the Doodler up this high, from below the spire pierced the Doodler’s skin, yet it still looks like it’s thousands of feet above him.
It’s disorienting, dizzying. He clutches tighter to the spire, knowing if he slips, he’ll die.
Slowly, carefully, he lets go with only one hand and stretches it out toward the Doodler, watching the way its body shifts like oil slick, different textures forming and overlapping in ways that hurt his brain.
Yet the longer he looks, the easier it becomes to observe. Like by being this close, by staring, he’s slowly coming to understand it.
“Sparrow!?”
He rips his eyes away from the Doodler, seeing his friends and family down below, some out of breath, others staring up at him in terror. They look so small from up here.
He looks back to the Doodler, his body leaning forward, trying to push his hand further out.
“Sparrow!” Someone calls out down below.
“I know,” He whispers to the creature above him. “I understand. You must be so confused. So scared. I know.”
Somehow, despite its eye not being open, he can feel it staring. That static sits in his mind again.
“You liked great-grandma Hildy, didn’t you? You liked father and my brother and I. You love us. You love everyone. But it hurts to love. It hurts because people can be cruel and mean, even if all you have to give is love.”
“Sparrow get down from there!” He thinks his father calls, it’s hard to hear and he isn’t paying attention.
“You don’t want to be alone anymore. I… I understand that, too. Father has been… So busy. Focused on my brother. And Lark has felt a million miles away since we came back from the Forgotten Realms. Everyone seems so focused on him. It’s… It’s lonely.”
Why is he bearing his soul like this? Because no one can hear? He isn’t sure, but he keeps going, because he knows the Doodler is listening. How he knows, he isn’t sure, but he does.
“You don’t want to be alone anymore, do you? You don’t want to be angry. You don’t want to hurt. I- I’m tired of that, too. Of hurting. Of being alone.”
“We need to get him down-” “What is he doing up there?”
“Do you… Want to be together?” He offers, and an eye opens to stare at him. There’s shouts of alarm down below, yet he feels no fear.
“Then neither of us will need to be alone. I- I’m not offering what you did with great-grandma Hildy. I don’t want you just… Inside me. I want you to be part of me. We can be together. So that way neither of us are alone ever again.”
A black tendril reaches out to him, shimmering and hard to focus on. Sparrow reaches out for it, feeling his muscles strain as he does. Static fills his brain, drowning out the noises down below.
“It’ll be okay. I promise. I’m not scared of you. Let me- Let me love you. Let me love us. We will be safe. Together. We’ll never be alone again.”
The tendril touches him and it’s- it’s cold and wet and hot and soft and- and- and-
It climbs up his arm, higher and higher and higher. He feels like there should be panic in him, but there isn’t. Then it rears up, releases, and slams into his face, knocking him back and nearly off the spire.
There isn’t pain as it enters him, not like there was when it exited. There’s no suffocation. Just pressure. He can faintly hear screaming below them. Loud and terrified. But they can’t focus on it, not when the sky is entering their body.
It feels like it lasts both forever and an instant before everything stops and stars twinkle above them. For a moment, they stare. Watch the moon. Then their eyes roll into the back of their head, their lids slide shut, and they let go of the spire.