Chapter Text
Each step was a wobble, a fight to keep his ankles from twisting in the wrong direction and his knees from buckling. It had been this way since the day he was born anew. No matter how many years passed, he was mostly straw and fabric. An attempt had been made to give him a skeleton of sorts; to stuff some twigs into his limbs for support. It had helped, but not by much, as he still had no joints. It was par for the course now. It was part of being him.
He was the Scarecrow.
For the first time in a long time, he was back in the Land of Oz. While he didn't need a brain- could form perfectly coherent thoughts without one, unlike some who did have a brain- there did come a hefty downside with having a head full of straw and cotton. It meant that every so often, memories would slip away from him, falling deep down where they were difficult to retrieve. Once in a while, he'd lose his purpose. And he knew human beings would suffer from the same thing. He remembered it quite vividly; that feeling of walking into a room to fetch something, only to have forgotten what the something was. Now that he was a scarecrow, these moments were far more common.
He'd returned to Oz for a reason. There was something he had to do. While at times he struggled to remember the something that had brought him back to this place, it was impossible to forget the path that would get him there.
Follow the yellow brick road. Follow the yellow brick road.
All yellow brick roads led to the Emerald City, so it stood to reason that that was where he needed to be. Not for the Wizard. The Wizard was gone. That didn't mean the Emerald City no longer served a purpose.
He walked. Sometimes he stumbled. Arms flailed to help keep his balance. He walked and he walked. Though not a single Ozian stopped him, some he passed would stare with wide eyes. He didn't mind, really. This body that was given to him, no matter how awkward and occasionally itchy… He took pride in it. There was only one scarecrow like him, and he was it.
Follow the yellow brick road.
He didn't know how long he'd already been traveling when he passed a curious cabin, just off the side of the road. Rather, it wasn't the cabin itself that was curious. No, the cabin was old and dilapidated, as cabins often were. What was curious was what surrounded it. Piles upon piles upon piles of chopped wood. Most of it was rotted now, covered in moss or otherwise showing signs of age. Each log had been neatly split, stacked onto its fellows and then simply left behind. There must've been dozens of trees' worth of wood, the piles reaching as high as the cabin roof. Indeed, while most of the trees in the immediate area had been felled, leaving only their stumps, new life was already growing to fill the clearing. Why would anyone chop this much wood, only to leave it? They wouldn't, would they?
Some sort of realization gnawing at him, Scarecrow stepped off the yellow brick road and onto grass instead.
Knocking on the cabin's door led to silence. Peeking through the window told him no one was home. He wandered right up to the nearest pile of logs, then stepped past it to find even more. It was almost like a labyrinth. "Hello?" he called. No answer. He wobbled further away from the road, towards forest, until at last he peered around a wall of wood to spot something gleaming in the sunlight. It was an axe, stained with brown blotches, held high by two metal hands over a metal shoulder.
Scarecrow knew at once what he was looking at. He felt scared, relieved, ashamed and worried all at once. If he had a typical heart, it would've skipped a beat, but alas. He didn't. Neither did the person before him.
"Oh- Tin Man! Tinny! What've you-" he blurted out, only to shake his head roughly. "Here, let me help. Where's your oil can?"
All in all, the journey to see the Wizard of Oz with Dorothy hadn't lasted that long. Even so, worn memories surfaced at once, informing Scarecrow of the Tin Man's particulars. Pure tin wouldn't rust; it would oxidize at most. However, the Tin Man wasn't made of pure tin. He was cobbled together by an assortment of objects, some only tin-plated, and many of his joints were made of unplated iron. It really was unfortunate.
No response came. The Tin Man had become so firmly stuck, mid-chop, that his mouth would no longer open. His eyes wouldn't blink. Perhaps even the mechanics of his mind had stopped moving, and if so, Scarecrow supposed that was for the best. Going by the amount of rust on his body, the dust inside the cabin and the wear on the firewood, he must've been standing here like this for quite a few years already.
Once the oil can was finally found, standing by near the cabin, Scarecrow got to work. He dislodged the Tin Man's fingers first, so the hefty axe could be eased out of their firm grip. It truly seemed as if his old friend was reluctant to let go of that particular tool. Then the wrists, elbows, shoulders… All in an attempt to get his arms down. Rust needed to be scrubbed off to allow for even more movement, but he got there in the end. Then came the eyes, the mouth, the neck…
The more Scarecrow oiled and scrubbed, the more life returned to the Tin Man until at last, he was blinking of his own volition. Eyes rolled towards him and focused.
"How you doin', old pal?" Scarecrow asked him. "Careful, now. You really got yourself in a bind, here."
When the Tin Man replied, his voice sounded an awful lot like a metallic creak. "... Scarecrow? What are you doing here?"
"Why, I'm… I was headed down the yellow brick road, you see. And then I passed this place. Gosh, that's an awful lot of firewood you have here… Anyway, I couldn't very well leave you like this, now could I?"
The Tin Man's eyes narrowed. Something akin to spite seemed to cross his features. Still, there was no direct response. He rolled his head with an audible squeak, then slung his arms to test their movement. It was all very stiff and full of concerning noises, but it was movement nonetheless. Finally, the Tin Man asked: "How many years has it been?"
"Since when?"
"Since we last saw each other."
"Well… I'm not the right person to ask, now am I? I'm a scarecrow, not a sundial. Or a clock. Or a calendar. Or-"
"You don't know how long you've been missing?"
"Missing?" Scarecrow raised a hand to the back of his head, fingers ruffling harsh straw hair. The use of that word was baffling to him. "No, no, I wasn't missing. I knew perfectly well where I was at all times."
"I didn't know. The Lion didn't know. No one in the Emerald City knew. To us, you were missing."
"Oh."
The Tin Man sighed heavily, and the sound of it was like an echo that clattered around his hollow chest. He hung his head, looking very annoyed by the whole thing. Scarecrow didn't take offense. For as long as he'd known the Tin Man, an assortment of negative emotions had been the norm. Much as he'd proclaimed to be an 'empty kettle' and things like that, the truth was that the Tin Man was filled with scorn, among a few other things.
No, Scarecrow didn't take offense, but that didn't mean he was at peace with his friend's emotional state. Certainly not when he remembered who'd come before the Tin Man.
Metal fists collided with knee joints, causing a loud clang to echo through the woods. "... Well, come on, then. Let's work on getting my legs moving again."
"Oh! Yes! Right!"
A good ten minutes later, the both of them were moving back towards the cabin, and what a fine pair they were. While Scarecrow wobbled and fought not to collapse in on himself, the Tin Man instead stumped and clanked, his torso angled forward in such a way that he was in danger of falling flat on his face. Even as the door was opened and they stepped inside, Tin Man didn't offer any pleasantries, nor smiles. The dirtied axe was laid down across the table, causing dust to fly up and shimmer in what little sunlight made it through the grimy window. Scarecrow was sure that if he had lungs, he'd be struggling to breathe.
"How did you get like this?" he dared to ask.
The Tin Man didn't respond. He walked towards the far end of the cabin, picked up an old cloth and began rubbing it over his face, removing all the brown and red stains to reveal the silvery white that was hidden beneath. He kept his back turned. Scarecrow wouldn't take silence for an answer.
"Hey. Talk to me, pal. Why wouldn't you come inside when it started to rain? What's all that chopped wood even for? You're not bothered by the cold."
Something squeaked and clicked. Then, quite abruptly, the Tin Man whirled around on the spot. He did it so fast that he almost fell, forcing him to tilt his upper body back in the opposite direction just to keep his balance. His legs remained firmly grounded as he did so. Fury was etched into his face, and this too was nothing new.
"Do you know what the Wizard told me?" he demanded loudly, baring silvery teeth. "After we got the broomstick to him? When I asked him to fix the damage that was done to my heart? Do you want to know what he said?"
"I… Well… Gee…" Scarecrow trailed off, scratching at the back of his head again. It was so long ago, now. Most he remembered these days was that the situation wasn't as bad as it'd been made out to be. That he'd seen enough during their journey to be sure the Tin Man, the Lion and Dorothy would all be just fine. And Toto too, of course. Sure, the Wizard was a fraud, but what did that matter? His friends already had what they were searching for. Granted, Scarecrow hadn't stuck around for it. He'd wanted to return to Kiamo Ko and search for his beloved, so he'd slipped away shortly after the group started on their return to the Emerald City.
"I still remember it. As if it was only yesterday," the Tin Man grumbled. His voice lowered even further, into a mimic of the Wizard's. "A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others."
"That sounds about right," Scarecrow replied.
"It sure does, doesn't it? It sure sounds wonderful when you first hear it, right?"
"I would say "yes", but it's starting to feel like a trap now."
"I WAS loved once! By someone who felt that feeling so deeply, she felt the need to steal my heart! To be so careless as to destroy it!" the Tin Man roared, smacking a fist down against the table. More dust took to the air. "For a split second, I still had hope! Because I had friends! But then, after the Wizard had the nerve to say that to me, he left! And then Dorothy left! And you had left, without even saying a word!"
"Oh pal, I'm sorry, I didn't-" Scarecrow tried to get out there, but the Tin Man wouldn't let him finish.
"I guess that brain wasn't worth it, huh? From that day on, it was just me and the Lion! And we… We made it work for a while. We stuck together for as long as we could."
A heavy realization nestled its way into the straw of Scarecrow's mind. He didn't dare ask, but he knew he had to. "Where… Where is the Lion now?"
"Where do you think?" the Tin Man parried, full of venom. When no guesses came, he raised an arm with another nasty squeaking sound and pointed towards the window. "Outside. In the ground. That's how long you've been away! At least long enough that a lion could grow old and pass!"
"Oh no, no, that's…" Scarecrow shook his head harshly, though he knew that once logic factored in, it'd have to be true. Lions wouldn't live as long as people, not even in Oz.
Silence. It stretched on from seconds into what might've been minutes, to what might've been an eternity. Finally, the Tin Man's anger seemed to leave him, like pressure that'd been let off a tea kettle. He heaved another heavy sigh, shoulders slumping. "I don't have a heart, but as it turns out, I can feel sorrow. I can't love, but I can grieve. Isn't that just another cruel twist of fate? It was just me after that, and I didn't know what to do with myself, so I… I started chopping wood. And then I got so used to that, I couldn't remember how to stop."
Scarecrow felt a heavy strain between his eyebrows. A very specific contraction of what would've been muscle, and proof of his dismay. He'd never regretted leaving Oz to be with his beloved. Even now, he didn't, for he knew Elphaba couldn't have stayed and he'd wanted to be by her side. Still, there was something that came close to regret instead. Guilt, he supposed.
He stepped over to the Tin Man, slinging his arms over broad metal shoulders to hold his old friend close. "I'm sorry. I assumed you wouldn't miss me."
"... Where were you?"
"Not in Oz."
"Obviously."
"Sorry. Suppose that wasn't a smart thing to say. Did the Lion keep his nerve, at least?"
"Until his very last breath."
Scarecrow sighed, resting the side of his head against the Tin Man's own. He still felt responsible for that cub, taken from Shiz's classroom all those years ago, which made it all the worse that he'd never taken responsibility. "... Good. That's good," he murmured.
"Are you staying this time?" the Tin Man asked him.
It was a difficult question to answer, especially with the way Scarecrow's thoughts kept tripping over the details. Was he staying in Oz? Probably. There was no real reason to leave. Was he staying here with Tin Man? He couldn't, could he? No… No, he had to follow the yellow brick road. Get to Emerald City. Meet with someone.
"I'm traveling," he ultimately said.
"Down the yellow brick road?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I can't… I…" Scarecrow straightened up again, finally pulling his arms back from where they were resting around the Tin Man's shoulders. He rubbed at his head, hoping it would help ease some of the conflicted feelings. Last time he traveled down the road with this man, it was both pleasant and unpleasant. So much animosity, so many lies… He couldn't do that again.
He couldn't lie anymore. Why should he? It no longer made a difference.
"There's something I have to do," Scarecrow ultimately began, "and I think it's better I do it alone. You won't like where I'm going anyway. … I'm sorry, Boq."
It shouldn't have been possible, but against all odds, the Tin Man stiffened further. The air seemed to turn colder. "What did you just call me?" he asked, and there was a threat laced into his voice.
"Boq," Scarecrow said again.
"How do you know that name?"
Scarecrow smiled wistfully. In a way, the question was a logical one. All those years ago, the Tin Man had made quite a few claims about other people's identities and their nature. He'd talked at length about Elphaba and her wickedness, along with that of her sister's. He'd talked about the lion cub and the reason for his cowardice… But whenever his lack of a heart and cursed body came up, it had only ever been about the Tin Man who was speaking to them in that moment, not the person who'd come before him. Boq Woodsman's name had never been breathed aloud. Still, the Scarecrow had known from the moment he'd first laid eyes on this man. … Well, half a minute later, perhaps. It was sort of disappointing that it hadn't been mutual.
He let out a chuckle, trying not to let bitterness get the best of him. "For all that talk of how I didn't have a brain… You don't have one either, do you?" he asked, rapping the back of his fingers against the Tin Man's head. Sure enough, there was a hollow thunking noise.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You were so wrapped up in what'd been done to you, it blinded you. But we were already friends long before either of us was made of straw or tin. That is, our paths did cross… at school."
The Tin Man's eyes narrowed, sweeping up and down Scarecrow's physique before settling on his face again. They stared at each other unblinkingly for a moment, until at last, the truth seemed to settle. "Fiyero?"
"You got it," Scarecrow said with a lopsided smirk.
"What- Why didn't you say something?"
"It's sort of insulting that I'd even have to say something, to be honest."
But the Tin Man wasn't having it. He was getting riled up into anger all over again, indignation so strong that Scarecrow was sure a fire might erupt within that big furnace of a chest of his. "You lied to us!" the Tin Man shouted.
"No!"
"Yes! You said you were just a humble scarecrow who was very bad at his job!"
"That was technically true. I'm lousy at scaring crows, and humble enough not to talk about the job I had before that."
"Who did this to you? Was it the Wicked Witch?" the Tin Man demanded, and Scarecrow felt some strength leave his body. It was clear from the darkness in his friend's eyes that even now, after all these years, the hatred remained.
"Yes, but… It's not what you think," he stammered.
"Why would you want to ask the Wizard for something like a brain, when you could've asked him to turn you back to normal instead? Was it ever about that at all? Is that why you left before we could give the broomstick to the Wizard? Were you just playing dumb? You were, weren't you?"
"Just calm down, pal."
Scarecrow attempted to place a hand on the Tin Man's shoulder, but that was precisely, most decidedly and utterly the wrong move. He was shaken off at once, shoved backwards with a harsh hand that a body made of straw couldn't begin to oppose. It left him stumbling and wobbling, hitting the wall beside the door with a dull thud.
"Pal?" the Tin Man echoed, full of indignation. "What are you talking about? We're not friends! We were never friends! Not even in school!"
"Of course we were."
"No! You were so arrogant, you thought everyone liked you! And for a little while, you even fooled me into thinking that! But if we were friends, I'd still have my heart! I wouldn't be THIS!"
The sentiment left Scarecrow shocked. Confused. Unsure of the leap of logic that had been taken to get there. He tried to formulate a question, only to be distracted when the Tin Man stepped towards the table and snatched up the axe again. Metal fingers rapped against the handle. At once, Scarecrow held up both hands in a defensive manner. "Wait just a clock tick! You aren't making any sense."
"If you were really my friend, you would've been there," the Tin Man snarled, taking a step closer. The cabin's wall's seemed to shudder from the impact of his massive foot. "You would've come to visit! But you didn't even notice, did you? What Nessa was doing to me? That she kept me imprisoned in her home? That she revoked travel rights for every single munchkin just to stop me from leaving?"
"What? No, I-"
"You were too busy," the Tin Man spat at him, still closing the distance and raising the axe up over his shoulder, "setting up a marriage to someone you didn't even love!"
"Boq-"
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"
The axe was swung. Not towards Scarecrow's face, but an area next to it. Much as he tried to duck, he couldn't dodge the blade entirely. It sank into his shoulder, severing fabric. He felt nothing. Even so, his eyes widened. Not with fear for himself, as Elphaba's spell had ensured he couldn't die from something like this. No, there was fear for the words being spoken and the horrid, hateful expression he was being met with.
The axe's tip had gotten lodged in the wood behind him and stayed there, even when fingers released the handle. The Tin Man stepped back again, shaking his head before looking towards the ground. "... We're not friends," he said once more.
Scarecrow's knees bent and with a careful maneuver, he tried to duck out from underneath the axe's blade. The fabric of his shirt tore further in doing so, and straw began to spill down from his shoulder. It scattered all over the floor, and he quickly grasped at the top of his sleeve to stop his torso from losing even more filling.
"I'm sorry for what happened to you," he said, and he meant every word. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I should've stayed in touch. Should've realized you never showed up for the wedding. But… It's so much more complicated than that. You know that, right?"
The Tin Man scoffed, still not looking his way.
"Elphaba told me what happened. She cast that spell to save your life."
"Well, maybe she should've let me die!"
That was the last straw. Scarecrow raised a hand of his own, slapping the back of the Tin Man's head. At once, more of his torso came spilling out from the torn fabric, but he barely noticed. Instead, he quickly adjusted his grip to stop more collateral damage. All his attention was on the Tin Man, whose eyes had widened.
"Don't say things like that, you idiot!" Scarecrow snapped at him "I was just joking before, but you really are the brainless one of us, aren't you?"
"What sort of life is this that she saved?" the Tin Man demanded in turn. He smacked a hand against his chest, and there was a loud thump. "Look at me! I can't feel anything! I can't eat! I can't sleep! I can't even go out into the rain for too long!"
There was something else. Something unspoken. Something far more difficult to put into words, even if Scarecrow understood it only too well. Now, more than ever, did he understand. He knew what Elphaba's spell had done, not just to the Tin Man but to himself. 'Stay alive' was the plea, and now here they were, the wish granted. They would stay alive until the end of time, no doubt, even as friends and loved ones grew old and perished. Just like the Lion. Like her.
No act of charity went unresented, no matter how hard Scarecrow tried not to resent it.
"I know," he said firmly. "Trust me. I know. I'm the same. … Well, apart from the rain thing. It just makes the straw a little musty and the cotton a little clumpy."
The Tin Man threw a quick glance his way before breaking eye contact again. He marched over towards the axe to yank it out of the wall again. Not a word was spoken. It seemed like now that he'd gotten all of that contempt and misplaced blame out into the open, he had nothing left to say. That didn't mean that Scarecrow had run out as well.
"Listen. Elphaba did these things because she cared about us. She wasn't wicked."
"I know!" the Tin Man shouted towards the wall, shoulders hunching. "Don't you think I realized that?!"
"Huh?"
"After we found out the Wizard of Oz was a fraud- just a man from Dorothy's world hiding behind the curtain- I got to thinking… If Elphaba was telling the truth about that, what else was true? It had to be all of it, right?" Tin fingers started rapping along the axe's handle again, rhythmic and restless. "The Wizard, the fraud, sent us to kill the one person who'd been opposing him for years. And we fell for it. So what did we kill her for?"
Scarecrow felt a light smile tugging at his lips. Something bittersweet and sad. He stepped over to the Tin Man and when he placed a hand on his shoulder, it wasn't shrugged off. "I've got good news. We didn't kill her."
"What?"
"Water melts her? You seriously believed that? C'mon… She faked her death and hid beneath a trap door, then left the land she loved so much. But her supposed defeat unified all of Oz, so she thought it was worth it."
The Tin Man turned his head at last, staring Scarecrow's way. He looked astounded. "... You were with her all this time."
"Yeah, guilty as charged," Scarecrow admitted with a shrug. More straw fell to the ground, and he sighed. "Do you think you can help me with this? I need all the filling on the inside."
"Yes! Of course. I… Sorry. I didn't mean to… cause damage," the Tin Man stammered awkwardly, already setting the axe down to lean against the cabin wall.
They spent the next few minutes crouched on the floor, gathering up all the straw and stuffing it back into Scarecrow's torso. Once all that was done, Tin Man took a sewing kit out of a drawer and got to work with needle and thread. It took so much focus, his mouth was pressed into a thin line the entire time. Only when they were sure the entire gash was closed did they try moving the straw back up towards Scarecrow's shoulder and arm, to make sure everything was divided evenly. It was uncomfortable, but that sort of work was just what came with a body like his own.
"Aahhh… That's better." Scarecrow rolled his arm backwards, stretching it out to test it. The stitches didn't budge.
Tin Man took his time with putting the sewing kit back where it belonged. Then he turned his attention back around again. "Why are you traveling down the road?" he asked a second time, more sober now.
Follow the yellow brick road. That's right, with all the tension he'd almost forgotten. He had to follow the yellow brick road.
"I have to get to the Emerald City. There's a message I have to deliver to the Good Witch, Glinda," he said.
At once, the Tin Man's facial features darkened. Scarecrow had expected that to happen. Elphaba- the Wicked Witch- was a touchy subject, but then… So was Glinda. How could she not be? Scarecrow rather doubted that the Tin Man would've gone to see her after the Wizard left. Without a heart to love her, there was only resentment.
"What's the message?" Tin Man asked him, his voice monotonous.
"... The Wicked Witch is dead."