Chapter Text
This had been Wirt's worst Halloween in the history of Halloween.
Not only had he tried - and failed - to talk to his crush, Sara, but he'd been stuck with his half brother, Greg, all evening, and he was fed up with listening to the kid's childish, inane chatter.
He was eager to go home, have a cup of tea and melt away into the realm of Morpheus.
Perhaps tomorrow will be better.
“... Wirt!”
“What, Greg?” Wirt snapped impatiently.
“I forgot. Sorry.” Greg said. “I was trying to speak to you for five minutes, though, Wirt!”
Wirt just harrumphed in response, making 0 attempts to apologise for his distracted thoughts.
Up ahead, Greg’s frog friend, whom he'd named R. Bliss was hopping along, croaking contentedly into the warm night air.
“Can we just get home already?” Wirt asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I'm tired.”
‘And sick of your nonsense,’ he added in his mind.
“OK, brother o’ mine!” Greg said, doing an ‘ok’ sign with his fingers - a habit he'd picked up from his dad, Wirt noted with annoyance.
“Come on, R. Bliss, Wirt says we should go home!”
There was a croak, as if in affirmation.
“R. Bliss says let's go!” Greg added, grinning up at Wirt.
“Just… stay close, Greg,” growled Wirt. He was not in the mood to chase a five year old through Comb City this evening, unless he could somehow coax Greg to their front door in the process. And knowing Greg, that seemed unlikely.
He stomped off, hoping Greg wouldn't trail behind or fall into a huff, or -
“Um, Wirt?”
Greg sounded panicked.
Crap. This was not going to end well, Wirt noted. Might as well get it over with. He turned to face Greg.
“What now?” he snapped.
"It's R. Bliss!" Greg replied. "He's gone!"
“Greg, you've only known that frog for like, an hour! He's probably gone home, and we should too!” Wirt snapped. He grabbed Greg's hand and tried to pull him along.
“No! That frog is our frog-”
"No, he is not! I refuse to have anything to do with it!”
“Our frog’s a he, Wirt, and he's called R. Bliss!’” Greg argued, digging his heels in. "I know he's out here, and I'm not going home without him!”
“I can't go home without you!” Wirt retorted, trying to grab Greg again. “Mom will not be impressed if I come home without you!”
“Well, I guess you'll just have to help me look, then!” Greg replied defiantly, folding his arms so his brother couldn't grab his hands again.
Wirt had to bite his tongue to refrain from cursing. Mom would also not be impressed if he accidentally taught Greg some swear words.
If he tried to take Greg home now, a tantrum would be inevitable. And as unappealing as staying out louder sounded, a tangle with Greg-induced tinnitus sounded even less appealing in comparison.
He'd been beaten.
“Fine,” Wirt growled. “But we are not staying out all night looking for that wretched frog!” He hissed.
Greg just stuck his tongue out at him and went waddling off the sidewalk, calling “Bliss! R. Bliss! Where are you? Come on, we should go home!”
There was a faint croak in the distance, and a dark shape hopped along the grass.
Greg tugged on his brother's cape. “There he goes, Wirt!”
“Well, grab him then!” Wirt snapped. He noted that the frog was heading towards Comb City train station. (Well, the smaller, quieter one near the cemetery, not the nicer one in the cory centre).
Greg hesitated, but began waddling after his friend.
Wirt was adamant he wouldn't help Greg out of principle; but, on realising all this was doing was making things run more slowly than he would've liked, he caved and ran after Greg.
…
The two brothers ended up at the cemetery station - it was old, with one platform, a small, unmanned station of stone with a slate roof and a unique ‘wonky’ appearance - that Wirt secretly admired - and that was it.
This was the more rural of the two stations - the nearest hint of civilization being the Comb City cemetery walls, about a mile away. (The other station was more modern and was about 2 miles from Comb City Hospital.)
“Greg!” Wirt hissed, eyeing the empty and creepy cemetery station. This place gave him the chills.
“There he is!” Greg pointed to R. Bliss, who was standing next to an open carriage. Greg turned to his frog, “Come on, R. Bliss, we should go home now!” He chirped. “I can't wait to show you to mom and dad!”
‘Like they'll enjoy having a frog in the house,’ thought Wirt, irritated. But he couldn't voice that aloud, as Greg would either argue or start a tantrum. And he just wanted Greg to grab the damn frog and get ready to go home.
But, as if he could read Wirt's thoughts, and decide he was going to have some fun at his expense, R. Bliss jumped onto the train carriage.
“Hey, where are you going?” Greg asked, and he scrambled aboard after his amphibian friend.
“Greg, come back!” Snapped Wirt, and he dashed after his half-brother to try and retrieve him before the train departed.
He darted into the carriage, not at all realising the door had slammed shut behind him.
…
“Greg, we need to leave!” Wirt hissed, grabbing Greg roughly by the collar. “Come on, or we'll be far away from home before long!”
Greg struggled against his brother’s grip. “I have to find R. Bliss, Wirt! He's our frog!”
“No he isn't! But hurry up and get him, or I'm leaving you on this train!” Wirt huffed, releasing Greg with a shove. He wasn't going to deal with a tantrum tonight, if he could help it.
Greg was quick to recover and sauntered off to look for R. Bliss.
“Hello? Where are you, R. Bliss?” He called.
There came a croak from under a table two rows from where they had boarded, and Greg, delighted, toddled to retrieve him…
Only for the train to emit a loud, high-pitched whistle.
“GREG!” Wirt shouted.
It was too late. The train roared to life, and rattled out of Comb City.
Wirt began cursing under his breath, watching helplessly as the lights of home, shining in the distance, blurred away into the shadows.
His heart sank as they passed the cemetery walls and he realised they had officially left Comb City.
If he and Greg got out of this, he was so grounded - probably until college.
…
“This was all your fault!” Wirt snapped, his hand quivering, threatening to smack Greg in the head.
“Huh?”
“If you'd kept a hold of your… blooming frog, we wouldn't be in this mess!” Wirt had to take a minute to pinch his nose and breathe.
“Oh. Sorry, Wirt. What do we do now?”
“Um, I guess we'll see if we can get off at the next station and figure things out from there.” Wirt replied, feeling his anger deflate rapidly - despair was blooming in its place.
After all, in his mind, ‘figuring things out from there’ was a lot more daunting than he’d care to admit, but Greg seemed satisfied with this answer.
“When can we get off, brother o’ mine?” He asked, after a beat.
"Don't call me that,” Wirt retorted. “I'm angry with you for getting us in this mess.” He sighed. “I guess I'll just have to ask the conductor when the next stop is.”
He looked around, and then jumped as footsteps were heard, and a pale man, with salt and pepper hair, came in. He was wearing a white dress shirt, a maroon vest, black pants with a leather belt, bearing a gold belt buckle with the letters CCRC (Comb City Railroad Co.) and the logo (a train riding into a sunset) and smart looking black shoes.
“Excuse me?” Wirt said politely. “When’s the next stop?”
The man who had emerged just shook his head. “Sorry, boys, but this train will be travelling for some time.” He said solemnly.
“Oh boy, Wirt! Do you think we'll be here overnight? A week?” Greg asked excitedly. He loved adventure. And mischief.
Wirt didn't. He very much didn't.
“Oh, longer than that, boys,” said the conductor, looking at the boys sympathetically. Wirt didn't like the look. It felt as though they'd told him their grandma had died or something like that.
“I’m very sorry, but we're not supposed to be here,” Wirt said sheepishly. “We don't have tickets, or money to pay for tickets. Can you please let us off at the next station? I’m sure our… he hesitated at the use of the next word, but forced it out of his mouth “-parents could sort out any issues this is causing.”
“Again, I'm sorry, boys, but this won't be stopping at the next station.” The conductor replied.
“Is this an express train or something?” Wirt asked curiously.
The conductor gave Wirt an odd look, as if he'd just asked a silly question. “Well, call it what you'd like, but we're still not stopping.” He said kindly, but with a sorrowful look in his eyes.
“Not stopping - look, our mom will be worried about us!” Wirt snapped. “Can we please just get off the stupid train?!”
“Wish I could help you, boys,” said the conductor, shaking his head sorrowfully. “But we're heading to the afterlife, see, we're scheduled to stop where we're scheduled to stop, and we aren't stopping at the next station.”
Horror dawned on Wirt. “You mean we… Oh my gosh, Greg, we need to get off, like, right now!”
“But-!”
Wirt just barreled into his brother, and the two boys went flying out of the train carriage.
The last thing Wirt heard was the banging of the carriage door against the train, the screech of iron, and the conductor shouting something, his voice lost to sparks and steam.
Then, he blacked out.
…
When Wirt opened his eyes, he saw they had landed in what looked like a forest. He looked back for the train tracks to follow them home…but his bones turned to ice when he realised they had gone - as if they'd never been.
But that was impossible. Train tracks didn't just… disappear. How could they?
He began slapping his face, trying to wake up. He must have banged his head too hard in the fall.
He was about to ask about the tracks, when he realised something; maybe they'd rolled down a hill or something, and ended up in here after jumping out of the carriage.
That… that made sense.
“Did… did we make it?” he asked instead, warily rubbing his head.
“I dunno,” shrugged Greg.
Wirt looked around. There was nothing but tall, dark trees; looming over them like malevolent guardians of the night. No sign of any houses, or business, or even a signalbox they could entreat to for help.
“Where are we?” Wirt asked himself, feeling terrified. Even if they had just rolled down the hill, or whatever, he still couldn't see how to get back home again.
He was about to panic when Greg grabbed his cape and shook it, pointing up to something ahead.
There was a soft glow in the distance.
...
Relieved, Wirt shuffled closer to the light, hoping this meant there was an adult nearby who could help them get home. He was very out of his element at this point and eager for help.
There, up ahead, lit by the light of an old lantern, was a tall, burly figure, in dark clothing and a big hat. Despite his appearance, which Wirt might have assumed meant he was younger, this man looked to be older - about in his 50s, or even early 60s.
“Maybe Big Hat man can tell us where we are,” said Greg, and he ran towards him...
“Greg! Wait!” Wirt's heart dropped to his stomach when he realised the man had an axe in one hand, and he ran after Greg.
…
To Wirt’s astonishment, the man was talking to a bluebird - and furthermore, the bird seemed to be talking back.
OK, so they were lost, possibly far away from home, and now they've found an axe wielding maniac who talks with animals, how else could this night get worse?
“Excuse me!” Greg called out, prompting the man to turn around. “Me and my brother Wirt are lost. Where are we?”
OK, there was Greg’s big mouth making things worse.
Wirt’s heart was in his mouth, and he was sweating with fright.
The man blinked in surprise. “You are in the Unknown,” he told them, not unkindly.
“The… the Unknown?” Wirt asked in frightened astonishment. “Where is that?”
“The Land between Life and Death.” The man answered, putting his axe down against a stump. “I am the Woodsman,” he added.
“Oh, um, hi.” Wirt said lamely. "I'm Wirt, and this is Greg, my-" he sighed, "half-brother."
“And this is my friend, Beatrice.” Added the Woodsman, gesturing to the bluebird.
“Beatrice?”
“Yeah, hi, that's me.” The bluebird answered, in plain English.
Wirt's jaw dropped in astonishment! Birds did not talk back home! How was this possible? He had to be dreaming!
Greg seemed less bothered by this - but then, he was rarely ever bothered by things, especially huge or strange things.
Wirt had wondered if this had been some strange restoration of balance between the two considering his own overly fretful nature - an equilibrium of temperaments in their mother’s sons.
The Woodsman turned to the boys. “You two must carry out the next chapter of the Tome of the Unknown.” He said, with a manner that almost seemed… fatherly. “Only then can you two go home,”
“What's the Tome of the Unknown?” Wirt asked sheepishly. He had never heard of such a book before.
He heard a noise, and turned his head slightly to see Greg messing about with R. Bliss again. He scowled at his half brother before turning back to the Woodsman.
“It contains all the stories of those who travel through the Woods.” The Woodsman answered, his voice gentler now.
“Ohhh… kay?” Wirt still didn't understand what that meant, but he didn't understand anything that was going on, anyway. A talking bluebird, a strange Woodsman, and some magical book… he thought the whole thing to be little more than nonsense.
“And where is this Tome of the Unknown?” He challenged.
The Woodsman merely pulled something out from his coat.
It was an old brown book, with the words ‘The Tome of the Unknown’ printed in curling black lettering. It was… beautiful, despite the cover being old and worn.
“What are you, its guardian or something?” Wirt asked.
The Woodsman nodded. “I keep the book safe and therefore, keep all that is forgotten, safe.”
“F-forgotten?!” Wirt asked in alarm, wondering what that meant, exactly? Would Mom and Thomas forget him? Greg?
“Do not worry, child," siad the Woodsman, patting Wirt's shoulder gently. "You boys will still make it home, but only if you follow the story in this book. Trust in it, and you will return.”
The Woodsman skimmed through the book. Wirt tried to see if he could read what the book actually said, but he didn't catch sight of much, just words like, ‘Lady in White’... ‘King Toad’... ‘Moon’... None of this made sense to him.
He was still having a hard time believing this was real. He must have bumped his head in the fall.
Right?