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Edward knows things.
Which sounds stupid - everybody knows things, of course. But Edward knows a lot more than what people expect of him.
He knows about his mother’s lies, and what those lies mean. He knows that the explosive divorce that followed the revelation of these lies shook him to his core. He knows that he really, really couldn’t care less about the custody battles he was dragged into - he knows that it’s all for show, and that really, it didn’t matter who he lived with, because neither of them really like him anyway. He ends up staying with his Nan when he’s not at St Churnley’s, and it’s the happiest he’s ever been.
He knows that Elliot is like him - he’s scared of hurting someone. He also knows that he’s a good friend.
He knows Sarge isn’t as scary as she appears, but he’s known that since the day he met her. He knows that she’s tough and strong, but he also knows that if you show up outside her door at 3am and look really, really, pathetic about one of your spider friends dying, she’ll sigh and give you a reluctant hug that has more warmth in it than any hug your mother has ever given you.
He knows that the ongoing feud between Mr Nugget and Mr Chip is better than any soap that his nan watches. The spiders of St Churnley’s report back to him the gossip, and he uses his Am Dram training to reenact the arguments for his friends.
He knows some of his friends are scared of the things he loves. Ollie doesn’t like moths. Milo doesn’t like spiders. Dennis is still wary around Monty. That’s okay. They’re trying. ‘Sides, everybody is scared of something. He doesn’t hold it against them.
He knows the names of every spider that resides in the dusty corners of St Churnley’s. He knows the damp, dark patches of grass where the worms hide from the crows overhead. He knows the routes the ants take when they steal morsels of food from the kitchen.
He knows he is liked by these creatures. They trust him, and he trusts them.
One day, he wakes up to Neil answering the door to a stressed-out looking Elliot. Sarge, apparently, has told him to tell everyone to stay in their rooms.
“And,” Elliot says, his hand going up to his hair nervously. “Berwyn is missing.”
Neil instantly pales. Elliot looks torn - Edward knows that he’s probably dying to ask if Neil’s okay, but needs to finish the task Sarge had given him.
“Go,” Edward mouths. “I’ll look after him.”
Elliot nods gratefully, and then he’s off to the next dorm. Edward lets out a shaky breath.
“Neil?”
The other boy doesn’t respond, still standing by the door. Edward pulls himself out of bed, gently puts a hand on his roommate’s shoulder.
“Neil?” He tries again, ensuring Neil is looking at him this time. “Are you okay?”
Nothing, and then:
“..I’m going back to bed.”
Edward watches, helpless, as his friend climbs back into bed, pulling his duvet up and tight around his head. The plants growing from the ceiling seem to pull inwards, curving towards Neil, and it suddenly seems very, very quiet.
With nothing else to do except wait, Edward sighs and grabs his pillow. He puts it on the windowsill and climbs up, grabbing his glasses from the nightstand as he goes. He watches the mist swirl over the Plagueround, listens to the groans and cries. They’ve become familiar and almost comforting, in a way: the noises of those monsters means that he is home.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there. He doesn’t think of anything; not of Neil, not of Sarge, not of poor, missing Berwyn. He refuses. He pushes it all down, looks at the mist, and tries not to drown in the quiet.
And it is so, so quiet.
So quiet, in fact, that when the silence is finally broken by something calling out his name, Edward almost falls off the window ledge.
Gadfly, the voice says again, and then many, many voices: Gadfly, Gadfly, Gadfly. They sound panicked.
A line of ants are marching under the door, climbing up his bedpost. Spiders descend from the ceiling. Moths flutter in, ignoring - for once - the light overhead to instead land on his glasses.
“What is it?”
Bear-friend hurt.
“Berwyn? You know where he is?”
Follow us. We tell you, Gadfly.
Edward eyes his roommate. The Neil-shaped lump in the other bed rises and falls steadily, so Edward deems it safe to assume that the other boy is asleep. He pulls some socks onto his feet and a hoodie over his pajamas, before following his friends out the door.
To his surprise, they don’t lead him straight to Berwyn. Instead, they lead him towards the staffroom. Standing outside, he can hear muffled voices, all sounding unhappy.
Gadfly. Go in. Go in.
He doesn’t think Berwyn would be in the staffroom, but the insects have never steered him wrong before. He trusts them.
With a deep breath, he opens the staffroom door. All at once, the talking stops, and all eyes are on him.
Most of St Churnley’s staff are gathered there (bar the catering team). Sarge stands, stoic as always with her hands behind her back, but her face is pale. Mr Kelly stares off into the distance, expression completely void of any emotion. Tears flow down Mr Hebden’s face whilst Mr Hinks tries desperately to comfort him. Even the awful Mr Moley is there, looking solemn and somehow looking even older than usual. Nurse Lenny sits off to the side, his head in his hands.
Edward swallows.
There is blood on Nurse Lenny’s hands.
Hexmaster Singh (who, upon seeing Edward enter, had hurriedly stubbed out his cigarette) frowns.
“Mr Gadfly,” he says, as gentle as he is able. “I believe you were told to remain in your room.”
Edward cannot tear his eyes away from the blood on Nurse Lenny’s hands.
“Mr Gadfly,” the Hexmaster repeats, but it isn’t until the ants climb down from his hair into the curve of his ear and whisper Gadfly Gadfly Bear-friend hurt that he can finally look away and respond.
“Sir,” he begins, uncertain. The Hexmaster had always had a way of making him nervous. “Sir, I know, but - but the insects… they… they said they know where Berwyn is. They want to help.”
At the mention of Berwyn’s name, however, Mr Kelly makes a noise - a pained, terrible noise, a noise that sends Edward reeling back.
Hexmaster Singh lets out a tired sigh. “Mr Gadfly. I know you are concerned. Please, please, return to your room. We will sort this out.”
Edward isn’t an idiot. He takes in the blood on Nurse Lenny’s hands, listens to the broken sobs coming out of Mr Hebden and Mr Kelly. He sees the hopeless look in Sarge’s eyes.
He wants to throw up.
“...He’s dead, isn’t he.”
There’s no answer.
Edward’s not an idiot. He knows what that means.
His hands fly to his mouth as his eyes well with tears, and horrifyingly he can feel vomit rise up his throat. Someone must see something shift in his expression, because he’s suddenly being maneuvered so that he’s heaving over a flimsy plastic office bin, his vomit covering old school work that might have been Berwyn’s.
When his stomach finally stops rebelling against him, he sits for a long while with Mr Kelly rubbing his back. Edward leans into the touch a little.
Nurse Lenny still hasn’t moved.
“I’m so, so sorry, Edward,” Mr Kelly says. He sounds as wounded as Edward feels. “I’m so sorry. What happened was an - an awful accident, and…”
Edward stops listening to Mr Kelly - as soon as the teacher says the word accident, hundreds of voices start wailing in his ears.
Not an accident! Not an accident! GadflyGadflyGadfly Bear-friend killed.
Edward’s breath hitches. His grip tightens on the bin as his stomach twists again, and Mr Kelly lets out a sympathetic noise.
“..It wasn’t an accident,” his voice is barely above a whisper. Nobody hears.
“It wasn’t an accident,” he repeats, louder, and again - every pair of eyes turns to him. “It wasn’t it wasn’t - it…”
He’s vaguely aware of the adults talking around him as he hyperventilates. The bin is removed from his hands, so he tugs at his hair instead, the pain grounding him until his hands are gently pulled away. He blinks away tears to see Sarge in front of him, holding onto his wrists and looking more serious than he’s ever seen her.
“Edward,” she says, and that makes him freeze. It’s always Gadfly with her: never Edward. He sucks in a breath, forcing himself to pay attention. “Edward. Focus on me. Ignore everything else, alright? Just focus. Breathe.”
Edward breathes. It’s difficult, but he breathes. He follows Sarge’s lead - a song and dance the two of them have performed countless times over the years. This is not the first freak out he has had in front of her.
It is the first one where she is also visibly unnerved.
His breathing steadies eventually. Sarge’s hands are on his shoulders - he focuses on that, their touch warm and grounding and solid.
“Edward,” she says. Her voice is soft. Her voice is never soft, but it is now. “You said it wasn’t an accident.”
Bear-friend hurt Bear-friend killed killed killed
“The insects…” Edward shudders. Sarge squeezes his shoulders.
“The insects,” she repeats. “Are they telling you that it wasn’t an accident?”
Edward nods. His head feels so, so heavy.
“Okay. Okay, Edward. You’re doing well. Keep breathing for me, okay? Good.”
Sarge inhales, quick and sharp.
“Edward. This is important, now. Did someone hurt Berwyn? Was he pushed?”
YESYES Bear-friend pushed YES Splashy it was Splashy it was SplashySplashySplashy
Edward gasps and curls in on himself. He tears his hands out of Sarge’s grip, covering his ears as hard as he can as he wails.
“No, no, make it stop, I don’t want this, I don’t want it anymore, make it stop, please, please, please-” distantly, he could feel that Sarge was trying to pry his hands away from his ears, that the teachers were talking frantically above his head. The insects around him wouldn’t stop screaming. They were all over him: hoards of ants crawled over his skin, under his pajamas, making him itch. Moths swarmed his face, clouding his vision. The spiders in his hair wouldn’t stop telling him about murder and murder and killing and murder and death and Bear-friend and murder and -
“Peter!” Edward finally gasps. He hates that he does. “Peter, no, it was Peter, it was Peter, he pushed him, he killed him, it was Peter, nononono please, make it stop, makeitstopmakeitstop I don’t like it, I - Berwyn. Berwyn. Peter killed -”
And then he’s not talking at all because he’s wailing, he’s making noises he’s never made before, and his vision blurs as tears and snot run down his face, and he’s clawing at his ears to make it stop and if he was more present he would definitely notice the blood that starts to appear under his nails, and there’s talking around him and hands on him and he can’t see or hear or think at all.
Eventually, it stops. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but when he comes to, the lights have been dimmed and someone has put a pair of chunky headphones over his ears. A soft pair of gloves have been clumsily pulled over his hands.
He looks up. Most of the teachers have left, now. It’s just him and Sarge, who is sitting close but not too close, with that steady gaze he’s used to.
“You okay?” she says - Edward can’t hear it through the headphones, but she mouths it clear enough. “Stupid question. Are you back with me?”
Edward nods, small and hesitant. Sarge nods back, and gestures at the headphones. He takes them off.
“This is the plan, Mr Gadfly. Alright?” Sarge’s voice is quieter than usual, but still authoritative. Strong. Edward listens up.
“Mr Kelly has made you hot chocolate, see -” Edward looks at where she points, and sure enough, a still-steaming mug of cocoa sits waiting for him. “You’re going to drink it, otherwise his feelings’ll get hurt. And you know how sensitive Mr Kelly can be.”
Edward doesn’t smile, but his shoulders do relax slightly. He picks up the hot chocolate in his gloved-hands and takes a sip: it’s the perfect temperature.
“Once you’ve finished, I’ll take you back to the dorms. You’re going to have a solid night of sleep. And then -” She inhales. “Then, we’ll take it one day at a time. Alright?”
Edward looks away.
Sarge sighs.
“C’mere,” she says, and when Edward looks back up she has her arms raised slightly. There is no hesitation, this time, in how quickly he puts down the mug and buries his face in the rough material of her fatigues. Her arms wrap around him, one hand rubbing his back somewhat awkwardly and the other resting on top of his head. He buries his face deeper, his eyes clenched shut. He wishes this is all that existed. Just him and Sarge and Mr Kelly’s hot chocolate. He wishes he wasn’t Edward at all; he wishes he was a woodlouse, or an ant, or something else small enough to be practically invisible. He wishes he didn’t know what he knows. He doesn’t like knowing things. Knowing things hurts.
When they pull away, Sarge says nothing about the snot and tears on her jacket. In return, Edward says nothing about the fact that her eyes are visibly damp.
“C’mon, kid. Let’s get you to bed.”
They walk out the staff room, hand in hand.
The bugs are silent.