Work Text:
When the stag leapt, it was as if Prospero had put seashells to his ears. The rush of air drowned out all other sound and left a tense hum in its wake.
He tightened his grip on Ada, crouched low to the ground to shield her despite the futility of such an effort. The thunderous force of the beast would destroy whatever it pleased, himself included. It seemed an eternity, yet the shadow passed over them and the stag vanished in a matter of seconds. Prospero barely registered the crash as it landed several floors below.
He looked up, eyes meeting Annabel’s in shock. They were alive. They had stared death in the face and it had blinked first. His senses slowly began to return, starting with the weight of Ada in his arms, her fingertips ghosting over the fabric of his shirt.
He grimaced, brushing her hands away and setting her down with as much gentleness as he could muster.
He put two fingers to her neck to take her pulse and found the heartbeat there, though faint and stuttering.
“Where does it hurt?” He asked.
She let out a wheezing laugh. “Everywhere,”
He scanned her body for injuries, taking note of the cracks blooming across her skin. She was splintering like an old porcelain doll, coughing up a strange inky substance instead of blood. Prospero had no idea how such a condition was meant to be treated. His hands hovered over her uselessly. What if there was no cure? What if this was yet another illness he couldn’t fix? He didn’t think he could stand it a second time.
His breath came in too shallow and too fast. He swallowed, closing his eyes against the wave of dizziness before opening them again.
“Annabel? May I have some of the fabric from your nightgown?”
“Oh! Yes, of course.” She looked taken aback by the request but complied almost immediately, tearing strips away from the already tattered hem.
Prospero began tying the makeshift bandages around the places where Ada seemed to be disintegrating the most, as if silk would somehow hold her together. It was better than nothing.
“Does that help at all? There must be something else I can-“
Ada’s voice rattled from her throat. “Don’t bother.”
“I can fix it,” he insisted, more to himself than anyone else.
“But why?” Ada whispered. “You hate me. You’d rather die than be stuck with me, remember?” She coughed through dark-stained teeth. “Nothing I say…will make me good enough...” Charcoal tears streamed from her eyes and her whole body shook with each inhale. Prospero lifted her again, afraid she might choke.
Her words were piercing, filling his chest with the sharp pain of failing lungs. He hardly noticed Annabel had gotten to her feet, brushing off her skirts.
“We really should get going, a second encounter with that dreadful thing isn’t in our best interests…”
“No, I didn’t…” He flailed for words to explain. Ada wasn’t the problem. She could be a nuisance, but he’d been a disappointment long before he ever met her.
“Don’t take it back now.” She spat. “I know you meant it. You were right. Why would anyone love me?” Her face contorted, and cracks began creeping up her neck.
“I’m sorry.” Prospero whispered. “I truly am. What I said was needlessly cruel. And not entirely true, even though I meant it at the time—“
He was cut off by a deafening crash, that of glass shattering, and the frenzied barking of hounds.
Annabel, clearly fed up with their dawdling, took Prospero’s arm and helped him to his feet.
“Let’s not test fate, shall we? The arboretum is this way.” She gestured harshly down the foyer.
“Yes. Right.”
“The stag went toward the dining hall, I think we’d be better off going around,” Annabel said.
Prospero followed her lead, relaxing slightly as the sounds of the hunt faded behind them. The silence was welcome, but of course Ada took it upon herself to break it.
“Why say it? If it wasn’t true?” Her voice was distant, echoing in his skull.
“I…I was afraid.” Prospero replied after a moment.
“Of me?”
“Well, yes. I thought I had made it quite clear that I did not return your feelings and you wouldn’t listen. But…perhaps I was also a bit afraid of myself.”
“What’s there…to be afraid of?”
“I am not sure I…” He huffed out a breath. “I’m afraid…I’m afraid no one is good enough.”
There was a pause, and he felt Annabel’s gaze on him. Her expression was hard to read, falling somewhere between calculating and mildly curious. He laughed nervously. “You must think me conceited.”
Her eyes widened immediately. “No, not at all. You’ve never had romantic inclinations, then?”
He shook his head. “I doubt I ever will. It’s no fault of Ada’s. In truth, I’ve never known why.”
“Oh.” Ada’s eyes narrowed. “But…but Annabel told me…she said you fancied me. That you were just shy.”
Prospero stopped abruptly, whirling to face Annabel.
“You—? Did you really?” He demanded.
A deer caught in headlights, or rather a spider tangled in her own web, Annabel began stammering. “I…I never anticipated…”
“Why? Why would you lie about such a thing?”
“I thought…I thought it strategic to sow discord among everyone. I now see it was a foolish play. It was difficult to trust anyone at the time and….I’m terribly sorry, darling. I regretted it the moment you got hurt.”
“And yet you didn’t think it prudent to apologize then?” Prospero winced at the volume of his own voice.
“I don’t think an apology would have been helpful, in that instance.”
He glared at Annabel for a long moment before conceding. “…I suppose that’s true.”
“If you wish to remain friends, I expect you will not do something like this again?”
“Never! You have my word.” Annabel seemed sincere enough. As sincere as she’d ever be.
“I promise the same.”
He nodded curtly, then turned on heel and began walking again. There was more to be said, but this may have been the worst possible time. With any luck, they’d live to see a moment better suited for tea and lengthy discussions.
He had hope for himself and Annabel, but as for Ada…she was like a rag doll in his arms, her breathing growing fainter by the minute.
“Ada,” he found himself blurting. Her eyes opened blearily to stare at him.
“Could we…do you think we could ever be friends?“ He wasn’t entirely sure why he asked. It was probably the looming threat of death that motivated him, since Ada’s company wasn’t much more appealing now than it had been earlier that day. But he’d had few friends in life, and he guessed the same was true for her. It might do them both some good.
“Psh. You don’t have to pity me. It’s not the same, anyway.” Ada mumbled.
“I know. But it’s another sort of love, isn’t it?”
“Not the kind in fairy tales.”
Struggling to come up with a rebuttal, Prospero looked away, taking in the threadbare carpets and peeling wallpaper. Rain lashed against the roof of the academy and water had started to leak through the ceiling. The castle was clearly in a state of disrepair, and he wondered why he hadn’t noticed it sooner.
“Annabel is your friend.” He said eventually. “She stayed and tried to save you. Montresor didn’t bother, you know. I told him he should help and he refused. I reckon he and Will got to the arboretum ages ago.”
“Yeah, well. Montresor never claimed to be a gentleman.”
“Fair enough,” Prospero sighed.
There was a pause. “So we’re…friends now?” Ada asked tentatively.
“I…I suppose we are. Yes.”
Ada laughed, though it sounded more like she was retching.
“Too bad I hadta go get myself killed, huh? Sorry I won’t…be a friend much longer…but it’ll be okay while it lasts, I think.”
“Don’t say that.” The words came out sharp. “You won’t die.”
“And how do you know?”
“You’ll be in good care, love.” Annabel said, coming to place a hand on Ada’s shoulder. “I’m sure Nurse Dolly will know what to do.”
“Your wounds seem fairly superficial,” Prospero added. “If they can even be called wounds. How do you feel?”
“Like everything's cloudy. Like…I could be swallowed up by the ground and just…disappear.”
Prospero turned to Annabel. “How exactly did this happen, again?”
“She manifested in the presence of the stag.” Annabel explained. “It attacked her, there was a flash of light and then…” she gestured to Ada, rotting from the inside out. It was like nothing Prospero had ever seen before, but familiarity meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. He was unable to cure a disease that he had seen over and over again; not a single case out of thousands had brought him closer to relieving anyone of the ailment. He had failed. Ada would be one among so many others.
The sound of floorboards creaking in the distance jolted him from his thoughts. The noise was loud and clumsy, as of someone running, or rather dragging themself inelegantly through the hallway.
Less than a moment later Montresor hobbled into view, looking as though he’d just escaped a tornado. Which was sort of how he always looked, but Prospero noted that he was in exponentially worse shape than when he’d last seen him. Will was no longer attached to his hip but trailing several paces behind, still carrying the crutches and wearing an utterly dejected expression.
“…speak of the devil.” Prospero mumbled.
“So he’s not in the arboretum after all.” Annabel said, crossing her arms and marching past Prospero.
“You look terrible, dear, what on earth happened?” She called out, her tone slightly condescending.
Montresor’s head snapped up and he seemed to take in the three of them for the first time.
“Queenie!” He yelled, breathless. “Queenie, he ain’t real, he’s not—“ His eyes were wild, his movements erratic as he approached Annabel with speed that was impressive for a man who could barely hold himself upright.
He seemed to realize this and promptly collapsed at Annabel’s feet. She stared down at him, unimpressed.
“It’s Will, he…he ain’t real, the stag—ran him clean through right before my eyes—and…and then he was gone but then he was wax an’ now he’s—“ Montresor rambled, both his face and voice betraying absolute terror. It was a strange look on him, yet a perfect fit at the same time.
“You aren’t making any sense.” Annabel tapped her toe impatiently.
“Please, Ma, you gotta believe me—it’s…Jesus fucking Christ. Y’know what? M’just gonna shoot myself.”
Montresor let his head drop to the floor.
Annabel blinked at Prospero in shock as if to ask if her ears were failing. Prospero blinked back, equally flabbergasted. By the time the astonishment faded, both of them had missed the opportunity to comment on Montresor’s slip of the tongue.
“What’s got him so riled up now?” Prospero asked Will instead.
“See, uh, I’m not entirely sure? It’s…well, I think—“
“Shut up.” Montresor growled. He lifted his head just enough to glare at Prospero. “I’m tellin’ you there’s somethin’ wrong with him.”
Will flinched at the accusation.
Prospero scoffed and rolled his eyes. “And you’re so very trustworthy. Will, can you retrace the events of this evening?”
“Mhm!” Will nodded a little too enthusiastically. “Uh, I woke up ‘cause of the commotion and there were hounds everywhere—quite frightening really—and they were chasing me so I ran off into the hall. Took some quick turns to lose the hounds, but then I realized my slipper was gone, and I couldn’t find Monty so I went back. Found him eventually. And I’ve been tryin’ to help him ever since but, uh. It seems he’s had a scare of sorts? I don’t think he’s happy with me.”
“‘Cause you’re a fuckin’ liar.” Montresor grumbled.
Prospero’s brow furrowed. Something was off.
“You came to our room while Ms. Poppet was giving instructions. Do you have any recollection of this?” He asked.
“Golly, uh…m’not sure? It’s a bit fuzzy y’know, I’ve mostly been terrified.” Will laughed nervously.
“Bullshit,” Montresor snapped. “You were ‘bout to tell rattlebrain off when the stag fell from the sky and skewered you like a piece a’ meat. I made the mistake of saving your sorry ass and then—“ he stopped himself abruptly, seeming to reevaluate before he continued, voice rising, “—and then you know what you did, god dammit. Either you know and you’re lyin’ or you don’t know because you’re. Not. Will.”
“Eheh, dunno what he’s talking about. He's probably still concussed, right?” Will’s eyes darted rapidly between everyone present, hoping for one of them to take his side.
“I ain’t concussed,” Montresor leveled Will with a furious glare that had him shrinking into his robe.
Fed up with this charade, Annabel took Montresor by the shoulders and tried to haul him upright.
“Come along now. We don’t have time for this.”
Montresor slapped her hands away with a viciousness he usually directed at anyone but her.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” He seethed.
Prospero glanced between the two of them, at the twin expressions of fear on their faces.
“Very well then,” Annabel said, collecting herself in an instant. “After all that hassle to keep you alive I’d prefer if you stayed that way. But I suppose it’s your death sentence.”
“It is.” Montresor agreed.
Propero looked pointedly at Annabel, trying to gauge her thoughts. Clearly she had a plan for Montresor, or else she would have allowed him to bleed out hours ago. And evidently Montresor wanted nowhere near Will, nor did he want help from Annabel. If only Ada wasn’t flaking away by the minute. With great reluctance, Prospero accepted his fate.
“I’ll help him. You and Will take Ada.”
The woman in his arms had fallen unconscious at some point, though he could still feel her breathing. He shifted, allowing Annabel to take Ada’s shoulders and Will to lift her legs. Once she was safely removed from his care, he offered a hand to Montresor.
“May I help you or not?”
“Whatever.” Montresor said through gritted teeth after a moment of deliberation. He allowed Prospero to lift him to his feet and leaned heavily on his shoulder as they began walking.
“You believe me, right?” He mumbled, almost sounding desperate. “I saw him die. I saw it. That’s not Will.”
Prospero remained silent, staring blankly at the way ahead. Given what he knew about doppelgängers, it was entirely possible for Will to duplicate himself. He assumed these duplicates would function like his rats, disappearing when he was out of specter form. Montresor’s account raised so many questions. Had there always been more than one Will? Did Will contain a multitude of people, all sharing one skin? Prospero didn’t know exactly what Montresor had seen, but he was starting to understand why it terrified him.
“I believe you.” He sighed, lowering his voice. “I’ve been studying specters since we got here. What you described should be well within a doppelgänger’s abilities. Though I didn’t think he’d be able to cheat death.”
Montresor frowned. “Did he, though? Or was he replaced?”
“You should put your feelings on the matter aside,” Prospero advised, partially to hide the fact that he had no good answer to give. “We need that sort of power with us, not against us. And you hold sway over everything Will does.”
“Not everything,” Montresor mumbled.
Prospero raised an eyebrow but made no comment.
It was a long trek to the arboretum, made doubly exhausting by their limited mobility. When they arrived, they did so battered and significantly worse for the wear than when they started out. Still, they fit the label of a team a bit better now too.
Prospero wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing at this point in the game, but only time would tell.