Chapter Text
Napoleon could tell his time was almost up. He had a feeling this moment would come ever since he started getting paraded by his hoard of menacing guard dogs. It really went to show how pathetic he really was. He knew that the other animals were starting to resent him, it’s why he killed anyone who stepped out of line, anyone who dared to oppose him.
He knew that they’d soon revolt against him as well, and if one of those lesser animals could stand up to him, then the rest will follow, so he needed to scare, or kill them, in order to get them to obey, even if it meant betraying the commandments that once defined an era.
It was too late to turn back, though. These days, when he looked into the mirror, he didn’t see the young, naive Berkshire he once was, dreaming about freedom alongside his comrades, he instead saw his reflection morph and twist into that of farmer Jones’. In every reflective surface, he didn’t see himself, he saw the face of Pilkington, Frederick, and Jones staring back at him. It got to a point where he ordered Squealer to remove every mirror in the farmhouse, and like an obedient dog (or pig in this situation), he’d do what he said. Napoleon hated to admit it, but having Squealer on his side was a life-saver, that pig could turn black into white and everyone would agree. Having him as an adversary would be a waste of good talent.
Speaking of a waste of good talent…
Snowball, the one that got away.
Though he’d never admit it to anyone, and sometimes even tried burying this thought in the back of his mind (but to no avail), Napoleon believed that he and Snowball could have been the perfect duo to rule over the farm. If only Snowball wasn’t such a nuisance, disagreeing with him at every chance, coming up with stupid ideas, being the leader Napoleon only wished he could be.
It was clear from the start that Snowball was the farm favorite between the two, with his charismatic and eloquent nature. If Old Major were still alive, he’d praise Snowball and scold Napoleon.
Well, at least Squealer worshipped his every move. Plus, he also had Minimus, who’d create songs and poems praising him, as well Boxer, whose signature catchphrase was that he was always right.
But what did he do to the hardest worker of the farm, who believed that he was right even when he was spouting absolute nonsense? That’s right! Sell them for whiskey.
However, no amount of alcohol could get him to forget the things he’s done. If anything, it only made him remember them more. No matter how many mirrors get thrown out, it doesn’t stop him from resembling those farmers. When looking down the whiskey bottle and seeing his reflection, he saw himself going from pig to man, and from man to pig.
During one of his drunken stupors, Napoleon lashed out and had thrown one of his whiskey bottles, nearly hitting Squealer in the process. He went to bed feeling terrible that night, and was so hungover the next day that Squealer had spread the news that he was dying due to Snowball’s poisoning. That, of course, was unfortunately not the case.
Now, here he was. A mere shell of who he was before. He didn’t even need to look in a mirror anymore to realize how much he’s come to resemble Jones, even wearing one of his old suits, which surprisingly fit him considering the fact that he was a pig and Jones was a full grown man.
Point is, Napoleon knows that what happened to Jones will happen to him soon. He saw how the animals looked at him when they saw him and the other pigs walking on two legs. Even when the other farmers were invited for a small get together, he could see some of the animals sneaking peaks through the windows, looking at him with the hate they once looked at Jones with.
He was in a tough spot, so he did what he knew best. He knew that the guard dogs couldn’t guard him forever and Squealer could only squeal for so long.
Once the farmers left and the farm grew silent, when the animals had probably finished plotting his death and agreed to overthrow and execute him in the morning, Napoleon snuck past his inebriated comrades and ran. At first on his hind legs, but when that didn’t take him very far, on all fours. He was still in his suit, decorated by his medals. He ran down the familiar path, racing down the long pasture and slipping through the hole in the hedge.
“Coward…”
“You never deserved to lead if you gave up this easily.”
“All animals are equal, but not including you.”
Despite promising himself he’d stop drinking after the last incident, he couldn’t help but chug a bottle or two, sometimes even three, just after the slightest inconvenience. He thought it’d make the voices go away, but it only made things worse. Racing through the woods, parts of his suit got caught on branches and ripped, but that didn’t matter. Then, the realization hit him. Why he had chosen to run this way in the first place. He began losing speed, growing tired. He had also been drinking this night too.
Napoleon treaded through the unfamiliar wood for God knows how long, every uncertain noise felt like a noose slowly tightening around his neck. After some more walking, he could hear the rustling of some leaves in the distance, as well as muffled voices.
A million thoughts came all at once.
Had the animals found him already???
Maybe it was a pack of wolves.
What if Jones and his family had been living in the woods and now they’ve all become savage beasts who’ve become dead-set on killing him??
Napoleon tried to slowly creep up on the figures, who he’d decipher to be at least one girl and one guy. As he parted the hedge to look at his soon to be antagonizers, he saw–
“OH MY GOD THERE’S A MAN IN THE BRUSH.”
The woman yelled, and the present figures, three to be specific, turned to see what the disturbance was.
No. Fucking. Way.
…
“Is that Comrade Napoleon…?”
A male voice spoke out.
Napoleon must’ve gotten mauled by wolves and was now in hell, or maybe he tripped down a slope and fell into a pit of thorns, because this could not have been real. In front of him stood a white mare with ribbons in her mane, a brown cart horse with a bandage wrapped around one of his hooves, and a white boar. All of which looked like they were staring at a ghost. Similarly to Napoleon, who thought he was now being haunted by a bunch of ghosts.