Chapter Text
Silence had never bothered Elphaba—not one bit.
Where there was silence, there was peace. She often found herself basking in the comfort that appeared in the absence of sound. When things were silent, responsibility disappeared; she owed nothing to the world.
And yet, when pure, utter silence was all she heard as she approached Munchkinland, she felt no comfort—only dread.
Part of that dread could be attributed to the way she'd always felt, being here. She'd grown up in this place, sure, but it had never been home. Home wasn't a place of ridicule and rejection, of voices telling you 'you don't belong'; it was somewhere warm, loving, and safe.
In her entire life, only one 'place' had ever felt like home—one person.
The very person she'd returned for.
Her boots scraped against the uneven row of bricks beneath her as she creeped forward. Despite the poor visibility, the other cause of her apprehension was clear as day. She didn't need to see to know something was very, very wrong.
A thick, smoke-filled fog suffocated the area, ash and dust polluting the once breathable air. She coughed, and coughed, and coughed, lungs struggling under the debris-filled invasion. Breathe, she thought, forcing her burning throat to fight back. It was just a little smoke; a little smoke that would waste time she didn't have to begin with.
She shoved her face in the crook of her elbow, lungs burning as another slew of coughs came. Her other arm rummaged through the worn-down bag on her shoulder. Eventually, her shaking fingers settled on the cool, metal flask she'd stowed away.
She took a breath (as much as she could, anyway) as her arm dropped from her face. Swiftly, she grabbed a fistful of her tattered dress and ripped; it didn't take much force to get an adequate scrap of the fabric.
Her hands moved vigorously as she pressed the cloth against the bottle's mouth. As the water soaked through the garment, a refreshing coolness washed over her skin. Quickly, she pressed the makeshift filter to her face.
Her chest heaved as she sucked the air in through a gasp. After a few moments, her desperate wheezes slowed, shifting into shallow, measured breaths. She'd try to avoid breathing in too much of the air—her crafting hadn't turned it clean by any means—but she could at least could keep going now.
After collecting herself, she tied the cloth around her face with a simple knot. While the aching in her chest persisted, it didn't worsen, which proved she had at least done something.
Unfortunately, there was no way to remedy her stinging eyes.
Just a minor setback, she told herself. It was of the utmost importance to keep moving—no matter what. She dusted herself off and looked forward.
The thud of her steps sounded deafening in the stillness. There was none of the usual chatter between munchkins as they went about their days, no joyful laughter from children or pattering footsteps as they played among themselves—there was nothing at all. Not even the wind blew as she moved.
It was uncanny. Wrong.
Eventually, she made it to the center of town.
The sight before her squinted eyes filled her with unease. The rows of once simple, familiar buildings had wasted into charred imitations of what they used to be. Her head whipped to the left, eyes settling on the wrecked, crumbling homes that struggled to remain upright. The house closest to her had seen the worst of it; the deteriorating stone walls were plagued with cracks, shards of broken glass sprinkled between them.
The other structures weren't in good shape either—nothing here was. As she walked through the once bustling place, the pit in her stomach only grew. Stalls where vendors would once try to convince one that their products were the best on the market lied broken and abandoned.
It wasn't long before the soft clunk of her shoes against wood broke the ever-present silence. She looked up—before her, stood the Governor's house.
It wasn't exactly a suprise that she'd ended up here.
What was a suprise, however, was the condition of the building—it was in remarkably better shape than the rest.
While it wasn't untouched by any means, it was still—for the most part—in one piece. Despite the natural kindling of dry, dead grass around the area, it seemed the fire had chosen to be merciful here. It didn't exactly make sense, but neither did her blindly coming back, so she'd set aside her confusion.
Besides, she was greatful it remained untouched. With the building still standing, she could do what she'd never had a chance to do before: say goodbye to Nessa. The way she wanted to.
And maybe, just maybe, she'd find something of her sister's to keep.
A part of her protested—this wasn't what she'd come back for. She didn't have time for this needlessly distracting nostalgia that clouded her mind, and yet—
The door swung open under her touch, banging against the hall inside with an obnoxious thud.
That was odd—she hadn't pushed it that hard.
Pushing aside reason, she stepped inside. She'd be quick; get in, get out.
For a moment, her body stilled, the overflowing purpose she'd brought with her melting away. The sight before her was almost mesmerizing. While everything else in Munchkinland had been worn down, destroyed, or worse, this house was pristine—a perfectly preserved memory.
Forcing herself to move, she stepped out of her trance and turned around to shut the door. As her hand pushed it back, the latch that kept it locked caught her eye—it was broken. She looked closer. It hung slightly ajar, the hinges seeming to have grown tired of their job.
She moved to the closest room: the 'living' room—that's what she knew it to be called, anyway. She never really lived much in it.
Light flickered in through a stained-glass window, casting a gentle, golden hue on the room. She walked over to the coffee table, running her finger along the glass surface—it was spotless. How not even a speck of dust snuck in, she had no idea. Perhaps nature had sensed the significance of the place.
Her sister had always kept it spotless. It was a lovely home, really, all emotions aside; it was a shame she'd never been able to fully appreciate it. Perhaps if she'd visited more, she could've.
No, she thought. No time for regret now.
The lack of dust made her aware of how clean the air around her was. With a sigh of relief, she ripped off the filter and soaked it in. She let her eyes flutter shut as she savored the sensation; it could be ages before she had this again. It was funny, how something as simple as air could turn into a blessing overnight.
It just went to show how fast things could change—how fast they had changed.
As she surveyed her surroundings, searching the couch, the table, the lamps and the end tables they sat upon, nothing particularly screamed 'Nessa' to her. She didn't exactly want to rob the place of its furniture, and it's not like she could fit any of this in her bag, anyway. She'd have to try another room.
She didn't fret, though. She knew exactly where she'd strike gold: the Governor's office.
The memory of her brief visit with Nessa flashed in her mind. It felt like a lifetime ago, now. She remembered how the room was decorated to her sister's liking, how she'd ordained her desk with reminders of her fondest memories, like—
That's it.
She knew what she would take: the Ozdust Invitation. The seemingly insignificant, entirely ordinary piece of paper was the perfect reminder of when Nessa had been happiest. A memorialization of the Nessa she wanted to remember—the Nessa she truly, deeply, loved.
To no one, she nodded. Before she knew it, she'd feverishly bolted out of the room, rushed down the hallway, and—
That's when she heard it.
Behind her, came a small, squeaking shriek.
She whipped around, expecting to see a mouse, a bird, or even proof that the noise had come from her imagination.
What she had not expected to see, however, was… this.
Before her, stood—or, more accurately, shook—a little girl.
Her curled pigtails, tied neatly with two pale blue ribbons, bounced as she jumped back. Her wide, fearful eyes simply stared up at Elphaba.
Elphaba, too, flinched—she hadn't expected to find someone else here, let alone this particular girl.
This was Dorothy. Elphaba remembered her, of course. She'd been the face of that mob set on killing her, the innocent angel who'd saved Oz from the wrath of the Wicked Witch.
And through it all, a lost, terrified, little girl.
Looking at her trembling silhouette now, that much was clear. Despite Elphaba's previous behavior towards her, she held no long-term resentment. She had enough sense to see that Dorothy hadn't wanted to kill her. She was just the weapon that the Wizard and Madame Morrible wielded, the knife they'd used to finish her off.
And so, after her initial suprise, Elphaba felt nothing bitter; only confusion.
She wasn't confused about Dorothy being here (as in Oz)—nobody could send her home, even if they wanted to. Glinda, bless her heart, couldn't cast a spell to save her life.
What she was confused about was her being here. As far as Elphaba knew, nobody had lived here since her sister's death—why would they have? Seeing Dorothy of all people in a place like this made her head swim.
Elphaba wanted answers, but there was no way she'd get any like this. The child before her had attempted speaking a few times, but all that had come out was an unintelligible bout of helpless muttering.
Elphaba stepped back, rasing her hands defensively. "It's alright, Dorothy. I'm not going to hurt you." She promised.
Dorothy's eyes widened even more (so much so that Elphaba began to worry they'd pop out of her head) upon hearing her name. She opened her quivering mouth to speak, but—
"Dorothy? Everything alright?"
A much louder, booming voice spoke instead.
It seemed someone else had decided to call this place home, too.
Again, Dorothy jumped, before peering down the hallway. Her eyes flicked rapidly between the source of the hollering and Elphaba, looking more and more unsure each time she did.
After a moment, she responded. "Um, w-well... I'm... I'm alright, it's just, um—"
Clearly, the poor thing had no idea how to explain what she was looking at. Elphaba could understand how this might be... confusing.
The small dog beside Dorothy's ankles (his name, she didn't remember) began yapping incessantly, springing up with each fierce little bark.
Suddenly, a loud, rhythmic clunking came from behind Elphaba, followed by the creak of a door opening. She quickly bolted to the side, not so much attempting to conceal herself (there was no point now), but instead to get out of the way.
As the excessively heavy footsteps grew louder, Dorothy gave up any attempt to explain the situation. Instead, she pointed a small, shaking finger at Elphaba.
Before she could blink, a familiar, bulky figure barreled out from the hallway.
Elphaba jerked back, nearly knocking into the wall behind her.
She struggled to convince herself that the scene unfolding before her was real; she could hardly believe what she was seeing.
Who she was seeing.
The unaware man crouched beside Dorothy was Boq Woodsman—or the thing he'd become, at least.
He hadn't noticed her yet, being too preoccupied with the terrified girl next to him. Elphaba was thankful for that. The man hadn't exactly kept his distaste for her a secret; quite the opposite, in fact. He'd been one of the loudest voices (if not the loudest voice) in that vengeful mob, vowing to take down the Witch with his fiery, vile determination.
Why he of all people had been so hellbent on killing her, she couldn't possibly imagine.
Well, that wasn't entirely true—she knew exactly why—she just couldn't understand his line of reasoning.
She'd saved him. If she hadn't done what she did that day, he'd have died right there in that office. Even being bitter about it was dramatic, in her eyes. Becoming downright vicious—leading a witch hunt with torches and pitchforks and all the theatrics—was another matter entirely.
Looking at him now, she didn't feel angry per se, but she certainly didn't feel anything fond.
He placed a hefty, metal hand on Dorothy's little shoulder. "What's wrong?" He asked.
Dorothy shook her head and pointed again.
Finally, he stood up. With a creak, he looked behind him, and—
He stumbled backwards, nearly knocking into Dorothy (who swiftly leapt away). There was the terrible sound of metal grating upon metal as his jaw dropped. Elphaba could've sworn she watched the shine drain from his metallic face.
He, too, struggled to speak—where there should've been words was instead an odd, strangled noise.
"Long time no see." Elphaba said flatly.
Boq's hand flew to his side, searching for an axe, no doubt, which it did not find. The metallic plates where his eyebrows had once been pushed together with a creak.
His unbelieving silver stare met her eyes, pure horror on his face.
Elphaba could see why—to an extent. Sure, it was a bit of a shock at first. She was dead. But now, she wasn't; she was very obviously alive. It wasn't that complicated once you got past the initial bewiderment.
He flung a finger in her direction, glaring at her with a look so sharp she'd almost felt it sting.
"Why—" He faltered, shaking his head. "How are you… here?"
His sharp question was followed by the hissing of steam. Beneath his neck, the vapor shot out of a valve in short, spurting bursts, seeming to be in sync with his confusion.
Interesting. Despite the situation, Elphaba couldn't help but be amazed at the sight. There was always more to her powers, things she hadn't seen or understood yet; it was fascinating, seeing the inner-workings of something she'd created.
With the utmost effort, she pulled herself from her wonder. She opened her mouth to speak, but—
"You're dead." He spat.
Well, clearly she wasn't. He'd lost his heart, sure, but he still had a brain, didn't he? He should be able to see that much.
"You're—you're supposed to be dead. We… I watched you melt, I—" His mouth fell open once more.
There was no point in responding to his questions. He'd just get even more confused, which would result in even more questions, and she'd be stuck here even longer. The situation had begun chipping away at her borrowed time—she had to go, now.
"I didn't mean to disrupt you," she explained. "I just wanted to stop by. I'll see myself out."
Her eyes flicked to the door—finding something of Nessa's would have to wait. She couldn't afford to waste time like this, not when she was here for—
Suddenly, she had an idea.
Elphaba stepped forward. "Glinda. Have you… where's Glinda?" She asked. A quiet desperation snuck its way into her words, her tone much softer than it had been seconds ago.
"Glinda?" Boq scoffed. "Why would I know? Not like I want anything to do with her."
After a pause, he added, "No one does, anymore."
Elphaba felt her heart drop.
"What's that supposed to mean? Is—is she alright? Did something—"
Her frantic line of questioning was interrupted by the front door opening and obnoxiously slamming against the wall inside.
Elphaba whipped around, and…
What exactly was she looking at?
Slumped against the wall before her was a man—an incredibly peculiar looking man, at that. Where he should've had skin, there was straw. His hair was replaced by stiff, golden strands of the stuff, hardly moving as he leaned forward to drop the bucket he'd been holding with a gentle thud.
His movements followed an odd, broken rhythm, burlap limbs contorting in ways that would make a normal person shriek with pain. There was a soft rustling as he moved away from the wall, and a series of crunches when his stepping ankles bent sideways.
His eyes locked on the bucket he'd just set down, entirely oblivious to the commotion that stirred around him. Elphaba couldn't see its contents, but judging by the gentle slosh it had made when moved, it held some sort of liquid.
Her mere confusion at the sight of the living scarecrow subdued her hostility—for now. Her gaze returned to Boq. His pointed stare, now directed at the figure by the door, remained unchanged. Despite his clear irritation, he didn't seem suprised to see him. That confirmed that this was likely another new resident of the Governor's old house.
Dorothy seemed to recognize the man too. Upon seeing him, her face lit up.
Finally, the man looked up—only, he didn't seem to notice anything particularly odd about the situation in front of him. He didn't seem to react at all; not to Elphaba's prescence, at least. When he locked eyes with Dorothy, though, he perked up immediately.
"Ah, Dorothy!" He exclaimed, rushing over to her and shedding several pieces of straw as he did. He smiled down at the girl. "I was just about to call you. I've got your—" he looked down in his hands for something he clearly didn't find, judging by the way his brows furrowed. His eyes darted back to the bucket by the door.
With a lighthearted shrug, he added, "Well, I had your water. Seems I left it over there."
Dorothy giggled. For the first time since Elphaba had stumbled upon her, she was able to speak coherently.
"Thank you, Scarecrow!" She beamed, a toothy grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Scarecrow? So this man really was a living replica of a farm decoration.
With a smile, the Scarecrow ruffled Dorothy's hair. "Don't mention it."
A loud, frustrated ahem from Boq caught the attention of the other two residents.
His glare towards the Scarecrow turned deadly—if Elphaba thought she'd been getting a lethal look before, this instantly proved her wrong. There was a series of creaks as his clunky arm gestured rapidly between himself and Elphaba.
Despite that, there was still no reaction from the Scarecrow. His eyes followed the gestures of the dumbfounded man before him, a thoughtful hand coming to rest beneath his chin. He seemed to be… pondering.
Elphaba simply stared at him. For a moment, she thought he truly didn't know why her being here—her being back in Oz, her being alive in the first place—was so significant. As much as she would've liked to belive that, the idea of anyone in Oz not knowing her face was entirely too unrealistic.
It was quiet for a bit as the Scarecrow stood there, save for the barking of the frenzied dog. His eyes moved slowly between the two figures in front of him.
Then, before she could blink, he flew back, clamoring into the wall (and a very startled Dorothy) with a crunch.
Slowly, he blinked.
His eyebrows knitted together, an intense astonishment flashing across his face. That didn't suprise Elphaba.
What did suprise her, though, was what quickly washed over his shock. He gazed at her with recognition—and then, a small, disbelieving smile.
"…Elphaba?"
Elphaba?
That was… her name, yes—but it was entirely too strange to hear, coming from a man she was sure she'd never met; a man who should only know her as the Witch.
And the hope with which he gazed at her was strange, too, almost uncomfortably so. It was so different from the terror, disgust, or downright hatred she'd grown so used to being met with.
It was warm. This scarecrow was undeniably happy—elated, even—to see her.
She answered him cautiously. "Yes, that's…" She nodded. "That's right."
Before she could even process what happened next, she felt it—the feeling of being crashed into and suffocated in a hug that threatened to crush her lungs. She would've stumbled backwards, but the vice grip around her held her firmly in place.
Well, this was certainly a new reaction.
"Elphaba," he sighed, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Elphaba, I… I thought I'd never see you again."
In any other situation, Elphaba would've fought back; she would've pushed this strange imitation of a man away from her, but… there was something that made her hesitate. A strange, aching, familiarity. Despite knowing her eyes had never seen him before, her body seemed to… remember.
His arms, which wrapped tightly around her back, felt entirely too right. She undeniably remembered this feeling. It was one that had comforted her many times before, one that had made her feel so wonderfully safe.
And so, instead of pulling away, she simply stood there. In an instant, she was released from the hug. The hands that had been holding her now came to rest on her shoulders, and the Scarecrow looked at her intently.
"Elphaba," he said, almost pleading now. "It's me. You… you remember me, don't you?"
No, she thought, but she decided to at least humor the man. She studied his textured face, taking in every little, scratchy detail, and—
Wait.
She hadn't seen it.
She hadn't seen him.
How could she have? He was different—so different, and yet looking at him now, she felt like it was impossible not to see. In that moment, she felt foolish, very much so; but more than that, she felt shocked.
The person she was looking was dead. She thought he had died.
"Fiyero?" She asked, almost breathless.
Her spell worked?
A hopeful relief washed over his face as he nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm… I'm alright." He smiled. With a nervous laugh, he added, "I was worried you didn't, uh, recognize me."
Elphaba shook her head. "No, I—" she could hardly speak through her disbelief. "I do. I do now. I just…" she trailed off.
"It worked, Fiyero. I can't believe it worked. You're alive." She exclaimed, eyes growing watery. "I thought I couldn't…"
There was a gentle rustle as he shook his head. "You saved my life, I—"
Just then, he stopped. His expression shifted to one of worry.
"Elphaba," he started warily, "I'm so happy you're here. Really, I am. But," he shook his head, eyes darting away. "You shouldn't be. It's not safe. Especially not for you. Things are—"
From beside them, Boq scoffed.
"Happy?" He sneered.
Fiyero waved him off.
"Things have gotten… bad, Elphaba. Worse than they've ever been," he warned. "I don't know why you're back, but…" He trailed off, the implication of his words clear.
Her jaw clenched as she listened to him.
"I can't leave," she said firmly.
Fiyero looked at her curiously.
"I'm here for Glinda," she stated. "I had a vision. Of her, in trouble. Everything's vague—frustratingly vague—and I…. I don't even know where to start, but I—" She took a breath. "I need to find her. Do you have any idea where she is?"
"Glinda?" Fiyero asked.
"Yes, Glinda."
He shot a wary look in Boq's direction. The two locked eyes, communicating something through some sort of language Elphaba didn't speak. She glanced between them frustratedly. This wasn't the time to be secretive. This was urgent, far more urgent than anything she'd ever dealt with before.
"Glinda," Fiyero said once more. "Well, I… uh, the last we heard, she's, well, she's alive—I think she is, anyway." He avoided Elphaba's gaze. "I don't, uh, remember all the details, but I know things haven't exactly been pretty for her lately."
"What happened?" She asked frantically. "Did something happen? Did the Wizard—"
"The Wizard?" Fiyero echoed with a laugh.
She didn't know what was so funny.
"Yes, the Wizard. Did he do something, Fiyero?"
Fiyero shook his head. "No, no. Not the Wizard." He told her, now serious again. "He left. Glinda made him leave after you, well… died."
That meant that Glinda—as Elphaba had assumed—had been in charge of Oz.
If that was true, then why were things so wrong now?
"Then what happened, Fiyero?" She asked through her rising voice.
Fiyero brought a hand to his chin. He looked stumped, suddenly frustrated with himself.
After a pause, he shook his head. "I don't… I can't recall." His gaze dropped to the floor. "My memory isn't what it used to be."
Then, with a grimace, Boq spoke.
"She got thrown out."
Thrown out?
In what world would Emerald City throw Glinda the Good out? She was their darling. They worshiped her, practically kissed the ground her dainty heels walked upon—they'd thrown out Glinda?
It was such a nonsensical idea; so much so that Elphaba wouldn't have believed him, if not for the dark look on his face. She gave him a look of her own in return, a quiet, disbeliving plea that said "go on".
With a creak from his gritted jaw and a growing bitterness upon his face, he continued.
"She tried defending you."
What?
No. No, she'd promised.
The memory of that night flooded back to her, pulling her under before she could even gasp for air.
—
"Promise me!" she begged, pleading as forcefully as she could through her quickly crumbling voice.
It was quiet. Despite all the wrathful shouts, all the clamoring of the mob downstairs, and the quiet, pitiful sobs of the Kansas girl beneath the trap door—it was quiet. The fighting below them didn't matter now; nothing did. All that mattered was making her listen.
She blinked away the steadily forming tears in her eyes. Taking Glinda's shaking hands in her own, she said quietly, "Please, Glinda. Promise me."
Glinda shook her head. Her eyes darted rapidly between Elphaba's, as if they were searching for amother option, or an escape; desperately trying to solve a question that had already been answered. One that had been answered for a long time, now.
She grappled with herself until, finally, she nodded.
"Okay."
Her response was simple, a small, sorrowful admission that her cloudy eyes and bitten lip did not agree with. Elphaba could see that perfectly clear—but that was enough, for now.
Though she struggled, she'd have time to accept it. Time to get used to the guilt that would come when Oz inevitably turned this day into a holiday, a monument of the joyous day the Wicked Witch was slain, and time to figure out what she'd call it when they asked her to name it.
With a shaky nod, Elphaba smiled. It wasn't a good smile, by any means; in fact, it was nothing more than a poor imitation of one—but it was the last thing she wanted to give to Glinda. Something she could remember her as; a promise of her own.
She could go, now—not happily, no, not anywhere close to happily—but she could be, at the very least, comforted.
Glinda would be safe.
—
And yet, Glinda wasn't safe.
"I don't know what she was thinking, trying to make you seem anything close to innocent." Boq said. "But," he considered, a small, bitter smile on his face, "it all worked out in the end."
Now, he seemed to be enjoying this, taking the liberty to continue before Elphaba could tell him otherwise.
"Obviously, they didn't like her little pity party very much; so they took care of her." He explained matter-of-factly.
Fiyero eyed him uncertainly.
Boq went on. "There were riots. Lots. Big, loud, flashy ones—you couldn't miss them. We certainly didn't. I considered joining, myself," he added, somewhat proudy. "Well, after all that, she left. Ran away. She was smart enough to do that much, at least."
Then, Fiyero seemed to remember.
"Ah, right." He noted. "Now, there's someone else in charge—another Witch, is it?" He asked Boq.
Boq nodded. With a scowl, he named the Witch in question. "Madame Morrible," he said viciously, as if trying to get a bitter taste off his tongue. It rivaled the distaste he spoke of Glinda with—for good reason.
Madame Morrible?
Elphaba hadn't thought of her in ages, certainly not since she'd left Oz. If the Wizard had been thrown out, she assumed Madame Morrible would've been, too.
How, then, had she turned Oz into… this?
Looking at everything, it made sense. Munchkinland had been destroyed, to put it simply, swallowed up entirely by a violent blaze. The outskirts of the city weren't much better, either. They, too, were ravaged, grass brown and stale under a damp, clouded sky, earth wet with the smell of rain. She hadn't been able to fly, so she hadn't seen everything, surely. It wasn't hard to belive that all of Oz had been wracked with weather like she'd already seen. Maybe even worse.
Fiyero nodded somberly. "That's why we left. We were in the City, for a while. It was the best place for Dot, here," he said, smiling over at Dorothy, "but not for long." His face grew serious again. "Things got real unruly, almost overnight. It got dangerous, chaotic, and that storm, well… the rain wasn't good for any of us, so we had to get of there."
"Munchkinland is the only place I've ever lived, and neither of them had a better idea, so we came here," Boq added, displeased. "It's not exactly safe, but compared to what happens out there? It might as well be."
Fiyero glanced out the window. "Not much happens here, anymore, except the fires," he said, almost shuddering—it wasn't exactly hard to imagine why, seeing how clearly flammable he was. "But it's all right, as long as we stay inside. They never seem to reach this place, anyway, and they drove out everyone else, so… yeah, I'd say it's pretty safe."
It was quiet once more, then. Elphaba stood for a moment, thoughtfully, trying to make sense of the onslaught of incredulous things she'd just heard. There was no easy way to process everything. She couldn't really think clearly or comprehend everything; at least not yet. There was exactly one thought at the forefront of her mind: find Glinda.
She needed to find Glinda. Everything she'd just been told made that abundantly clear.
With a swift precision, she retied the makeshift filter atop her face. Fiyero looked at her curiously, while Dorothy seemed both frightened and intrigued. Boq simply raised an eyebrow.
"I need to go." She stated, simply and urgently. She grabbed the strap of her bag, making sure it was secured on her shoulder, and headed for the door. She'd almost reached for the handle, when—
She felt a scratchy hand tug at the sleeve of her dress.
She whipped around. Before her, stood Fiyero.
"Elphaba," he started, seriously. "If you're going to find Glinda, then I… I want to go with you."
The statement took her by surprise.
Go with her?
She'd intended to do this alone—she hadn't even been expecting to see anyone on her way, much less these specific people. She had her plan (her incredibly flimsy plan, but her plan nonetheless) laid out perfectly. That plan didn't include other people.
"Go with me?" She asked.
"Yes." He nodded a few times. "Yes, if you'll have me." With a wary glance away from her, he added, "I'm worried for her, too."
Elphaba clenched her jaw, thinking it over.
What harm would Fiyero of all people cause? He was simple. She knew him. He wouldn't complain, or slow her down—she didn't think so, anyway. She surveyed his clearly inhuman form, how his appendages twisted and turned unnaturally. If his bones didn't break from that (did he even have bones, still?) then she was sure he wouldn't be injured easily.
Besides, she liked Fiyero—loved him, really. In all of Oz, they were undeniably the two that cared most about Glinda. They'd work well together; they always had.
The more she thought about it, the more she welcomed the idea.
Sure, she thought. Why not?
Just as she went to invite him, a much angrier voice stole her chance.
"What?"
Fiyero flipped around at the sound of Boq's disbelievingly scathing voice.
"What?" He echoed, innocently enough.
Boq gave a series of awkward, stilted scoff-laughs, truly dumbfounded. If Elphaba didn't know better, she would've thought this was a reaction of impressment.
"You're going with her? Going with her?" He looked completely aghast, his feeble words melting into huffy, incoherent mumbling.
"You know, Fiyero, I've always wondered—" he started, shaking his head with yet another scoff, "—I've always wondered, just how brainless is he? This," he waved his arm between the man before him and Elphaba, "this tells me exactly what I need to know!" With a bitter laugh, he added, "God, you really are a moron—it's a miracle you've managed to stick around this long!"
Despite the relentless chastising, Fiyero simply blinked, shrugging indifferently. "I want to find Glinda," he said plainly.
Boq looked disgusted. "Glinda?" He hissed. "Really? Glinda?"
Fiyero just stared at him. It was incredibly odd to see someone so furious go against another whose reaction was as empty as a blank slate. Elphaba almost wanted to fight back for him, but he was entirely too calm, undoubtedly unphased. To him, this might as well have been a friendly conversation.
Then, Boq's expression shifted to something of trepidation. "You can't go with her. Not when—" his eyes flicked down at Dorothy, who looked between the two uneasily. He left the last part unspoken.
Fiyero looked complentative, for the briefest of moments, before his expression shifted to something more lighthearted. With a smile, he waved Boq over.
"Come with us, then." He offered. With a quick look to Dorothy, he added, "both of you."
Now, Elphaba was the one to interrupt.
"What?"
Even though she was going to invite Fiyero along, she hadn't yet—who was he to extend an invitation he hadn't even received himself?
Besides, to be quite honest, she didn't even want Fiyero to come with her; she would allow it, and she would appreciate his company, but she didn't need him to be there. Her feelings regarding the other two were much less favorable.
Dorothy was a child. Elphaba didn't know how old she was, but she looked to be a very young teenager at most. Point being, she wasn't an adult—she would need to be looked after. Even if Elphaba wasn't the one paying attention to her, she'd distract Fiyero, and they couldn't afford distractions, especially ones that needed to eat and sleep.
And, of course, there was that dog. In all the times Elphaba had seen him, he'd never once left Dorothy's side—not of his volition, at least. Surely, he'd want to come too.
Boq was another matter entirely. She didn't even want to entertain the idea of his companionship. He'd been nothing but bitter, cynical, and altogether unpleasant in the brief time Elphaba had been here; the thought of having to travel with him for however long they'd be out was… nauseating.
Her pointed glare met Fiyero's confused face. He'd become denser since she'd last seen him, clearly.
She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him 'absolutely not', but another, high-pitched voice piped up before she could.
"Could we?" Dorothy asked, looking between Elphaba and Fiyero hopefully.
Elphaba was at a loss for words. She hadn't expected either of the two to accept his offer, and she definitely hadn't expected that acceptance to be so eager. Dorothy, who she'd seen be nothing more than a fearful little girl, asking eagerly if she could come on a trip through Oz that had no clear end? That was something she certainly hadn't seen coming.
It impressed her, to say the least. She would've reconsidered her immediate refusal, had she had the time to think it over, but she didn't; not with how quickly Boq jumped in to intervene.
"What? No."
He looked between the three other people, suddenly outnumbered. They each received something different when he looked upon them: Elphaba, a glare of pure disgust, Fiyero, something akin to disappointment, and Dorothy, an intent, concerned gaze. With an uncomfortable sounding creak, he knelt down to the girl's level.
"Dorothy," he started gently, much more gently than he'd been seconds ago, "I don't… I don't think it's a good idea for you to go out there. It's dangerous. We don't even know how much worse things have gotten, or what's waiting out there, and—" he glanced towards Elphaba warily, his look saying perfectly clear what his words had not.
He looked back at Dorothy. Then, a little panicked, he said, "Listen. It won't be easy, if it's just us. I know that, but—" he shook his head. "I'll—I'll find a way get you everything you need. You'll be fine here. We'll be fine here—we can be. I… promise." He shot her a tiny, anxiety-ridden smile. "Okay?"
Dorothy didn't respond right away, instead looking at him with something reminiscent of pity. Comfort did little when you were trying to comfort yourself too, it seemed.
She gave him a little smile, as if to console him for only a moment. After a pause, she became thoughtful. Boq's eyes searched her face for even the smallest hint of acceptance, which they did not find.
Then, she turned toward Elphaba. "Excuse me?" She asked softly.
Once again, Elphaba was taken by surprise.
"…Yes?"
"Once we—once you find Glinda, do you think she could help… fix things?"
The question was innocent enough, but it stumped Elphaba.
Fix things?
She hadn't been considering that. She hadn't been considering anything that came after finding Glinda. She didn't even know what she was going to do when she did find her, or how she was even going to get her safe in the first place; she just knew she needed to.
Elphaba shifted. "I don't know," she answered honestly. She didn't want to lie to her.
Dorothy's face fell.
"But," Elphaba continued, "Glinda's… good," she said. Glinda was a lot more than good, to Elphaba, at least, but it was the simplest way to explain things. "If there's anything she can do to help, I'm sure she will."
That answer seemed to satisfy Dorothy. She turned back to Boq, small smile ever-present as she talked to him.
"You're worried. I know that," she acknowledged. "But I don't want things to be like… well, like this," she motioned past the door, towards the outside, "Forever."
Despite how gently she spoke, how delicately she explained, the words did little to calm his worries. In fact, they seemed to do the complete opposite, the troubled frown on his face only growing as she talked.
"N-Not that I'm not happy here, of course!" She backtracked, giving him a small, sympathetic smile. "But it's.. well, it's like you said. It's not easy."
Boq averted his gaze. "Well, sure, it's not easy, but—but it'll be fine, Dorothy." He repeated.
She took a moment to think, seeming to try and figure out how to get through to him.
Eventually, she continued. "Things used to be good here, at some point—you told me that yourself, Tinman," she told him.
Tinman? How odd. Elphaba supposed she wasn't wrong—that is, technically, what Boq was.
"Well, I haven't been here long enough to see that, but if it's like Miss…" With a quick pause, she looked to Elphaba.
"Elphaba," she told her. They hadn't been properly introduced, had they?
"If it's like Miss Elphaba says," she went on, turning back to Boq, "If finding Glinda really could fix things, if it could make this place good again, then I want to help." She explained. "I don't want to sit around and wait for something to happen. I want to help." She repeated, more serious this time.
Looking at her now, she almost reminded Elphaba of her younger self; determined, and a little foolish, of course—but foolishness like that always came with a good heart.
She wanted to help. That was all Elphaba had ever wanted to do. How could she argue with that?
Boq found himself at a loss for words. The small interaction seemed to have pulled all the fight from him, instead leaving a tired—and slightly annoyed—man before them, a man so unlike the hostile one Elphaba had met earlier.
After a few thoughtful moments, and a sigh, he gave up.
"If that's what you want." He agreed; though it hardly sounded like much of an approval. With another creak, and a ill-suppressed wince, he stood up.
Dorothy thanked him profusely, which he quietly acknowledged before brushing off the rest of the excessive thank-you's. She looked down at her feet. There, sat the dog, who tilted his head curiously at her. With a gentle motion, she bent down and scooped him up.
"We're going on another trip, Toto," she whispered, scratching behind his little black ears.
Toto, who did not seem to speak English, simply barked in response, though the enthusiasm in his yelp made it seem like he understood.
With Toto clutched tightly against her chest, she pattered over to Elphaba.
"Thank you, Miss. Elphaba," She grinned. After another bark from Toto, she added, "he says thank you, too."
Elphaba gave an appreciative nod. "You're welcome. Both of you."
After that, she found herself standing beside Fiyero, almost excitedly; though that excitement seemed to be mixed with the smallest bit of apprehension. She shifted from heel to heel, eyes darting between Fiyero and herself.
She'd be foolish not to be anxious—and that anxiety bloomed the growing respect Elphaba now had for the girl. It was a much braver thing, to be worried about something and do it anyway, than to rush into something without fear; a much smarter thing, too.
Dorothy then turned to Boq, who stood, lost in thought, a few feet away. Her look was nothing short of expectant, a quiet impatience quickly growing on her face. After a moment, she spoke.
"Well?" She asked, ponytails moving with a gentle swing as her head turned curiously.
He raised and eyebrow. "What?"
"You are coming, aren't you?"
She sure hoped not—but she was running out of time to care. Their odd household antics were taking up far too much of her time. If he wanted to come, then so be it; she just didn't have time to worry about him.
"No, I wasn't planning to," he answered, puzzled. After a frown from Dorothy, and a pause, he added, "I don't think I could—not with all the rain, or… or any of that. It would be too difficult."
The disappointment on Dorothy's face quickly shifted to worry. "Well," she started, anxiously, "What if you rust? I don't know how long we'll be gone, and I'd hate for you to be stuck here for… for however long that may be," her voice rose. "Just thinking about it is dreadful!"
Elphaba could've sworn she saw tears well up in her eyes, to which the other two reacted quickly. Fiyero patted her shoulder. "It'll be alright, Dorothy," he reassured her. Then, with a glance at Boq, he added, "Though, I have to say, that does sound pretty awful. Compared to being stuck here for… well, however long this takes, coming along doesn't sound so bad, does it?"
Elphaba had never seen someone worse at comforting another. His response simply made Dorothy more upset.
Boq stuck his hands up defensively. "It's—It's alright, Dorothy," he told her. "You don't have to worry about me. I'll be—"
"Are you done yet?" Elphaba interjected, tapping her foot impatiently. Glaring at Boq, she said, "I don't care what you're doing. If you're staying, then stay, and if you're coming, then come—but figure it out. Now."
He looked suprised, then complentative. With a serious look to Elphaba, who was nothing short of irritated, one toward Fiyero, who smiled far too encouragingly at him, and a final look to a sad, little Dorothy, he sighed.
After a heavy, somewhat dramatic sigh, he resigned.
"I'll come."
Dorothy lit up once more. Fiyero looked happy enough. Toto simply panted, staring mindlessly at the floor; he seemed indifferent. It seemed Elphaba was the only one actively displeased by the new member of their party, but, like she said—she didn't have time to worry about it.
She wouldn't worry about him out there. He'd keep to himself, or to Dorothy, or Fiyero. It didn't matter. He wouldn't slow her down if she didnt acknowledge his presence.
So, with a huff, she nodded. "Fine." Then, she adressed all of them. "Ready?"
Dorothy and Fiyero nodded. Boq looked unsure, before giving a small, uncertain 'hm'. Elphaba shot him a look. The question was strictly rhetorical—she'd already wasted enough time.
"I need to gather some things," he said, sounding almost apprehensive under her fierce, loathing stare. "For Dorothy." He clarified, quite bitterly.
Unbelivable.
"Five minutes."
He should be grateful she was willing to give him anything more than a millisecond—he didn't deserve anything more than that. Certainly not five entire minutes; but she figured letting him be satisfied now would save her from his relentless complaining later on.
He hardly acknowledged her, instead clunking down the hallway and towards the office. There was the sound of rummaging, and a few metallic thuds of different volumes and pitches as he gathered whatever was important enough to delay them.
Quietly, Fiyero turned to her. "Thank you," he smiled. "He's not so bad—not anymore. It'll be fine, I promise." There a small laugh that punctuated his words.
"I can only hope so." Elphaba said, only half-joking. She really, really would lose her sanity if Boq was this awful for days on end.
After a moment, the heavy footsteps resumed, and Boq found himself back with the others. With him, he had a small basket, which he handed to Dorothy. Inside were cans of… something, some sort of food, and small, tiny blanket (for Toto, presumably). In one of his own hands was an oil can—an incredibly worn down one, at that. In the other was an axe.
"Is that all?" Elphaba asked.
He nodded.
"Alright, then," she said, seriously. She looked at each of her new companions. Dorothy looked prepared, Toto in one arm and basket in the other. Fiyero seemed alarmingly calm, given the situation, but ready, nonetheless. Boq's eyes met her own. They were unethusiastic, so much so that she considered telling him not to bother coming then and there—but she swallowed the words.
This wasn't perfect; not by any means. It was anything but ideal, but it would do. She'd deal with it.
So, with a determined look, and a hand against the door, she adressed them all.
"Let's go, then."