#tgs fake kidnapping au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

comicsnas · 5 years ago

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showtime

WARNING: eye gore!!, violence Disclaimer: this is..... an au where guy fieri isnt a cool and chill dude that just likes food. i am very sorry for what i do to him in this. i dont mean it and if the cops knock at my door i will blame it on hussie word count: about 3.7k. i am so sorry

context john gets kidnapped by his mom dave doesnt panic

Los Angeles, CA, Wednesday

“No matter what happens, nobody cancels the premiere,” you say. “Okay? No matter what’s in the news. No matter how bad it gets. The movie drops on Thursday, and people are gonna watch it. Got it? This is a scare tactic and we’re not falling for it. Even if the world is ending, we are premiering this movie and going through with the promo. With or without me.”

Catalena, your manager, has been with you for too long to think that you’re joking. She was who flew you in from Houston to LA back when you were twenty, who let you sleep on your couch until you made enough money to get an apartment, who thought that the message you had for the world was one worthy of her help. She knows that all of this is real, and that she can’t stop you.

Her face says, Dave, you’re scaring me. Her mouth says, “You got it. Could you at least tell me… what you think is going to be in the news that would make us not premiere it?”

“Something bad,” you say. “Hopefully, anyway.”

She tilts her head. “Are you faking your death?”

“Lalonde and I are gonna disappear for a sec,” you say. “How people interpret that is gonna be up to them.”

“Not like you to leave things up to chance,” Catalena says. “Some will think it’s elaborate PR.”

“That’s why I��m only telling you. Lalonde and I are gonna frame this to look serious, and no one else is gonna know what’s going on. You keep your cool, but don’t let anyone know that you’re in on it.”

“I mean, I barely am.” She gives you a Look, a capital L Look, then sighs and nods. “Fine. So if I hear about your presumed death tomorrow, I won’t freak out. At what point am I allowed to assume you are actually dead, and freak out a little bit?”

“If you don’t hear from me in a week,” you say, “then Lalonde and I have been killed by Betty Crocker.”

Houston, TX, twelve years ago

You’re blind.

That’s not true. You’re not blind. You don’t think you are going to be blind. There is no way that you’re fully blind, because the assassin only got your right eye, so it doesn’t make sense for you to be blind, but you’re blind.

The pain might originate from your right eye, but it’s engulfing your entire head by now, and there is something sticky in your left eye and you can’t open it anymore and it burns, and you’re going to go blind, and then you’re going to die in a ditch, in a pool of your own blood, and this is it. It’s over. You and your half sister fucked around on the internet a bunch, got really deep into some conspiracy theories, and barely two weeks after you made the discovery that Betty Crocker definitely, undoubtedly, literally is an actual alien, someone was sent to kill you.

They didn’t manage, so far. They got your eye, and they broke your glasses, leaving a cut on your nose, and a bunch of cuts everywhere else, and you think you cracked your head open when you fell. But you cut their knife hand off, good and clean off, watched it fall to the ground right in front of you. By the time it hit the pavement, the assassin had already turned around and ran away, leaving you to crumple and suffer here by yourself.

This is it.

“Strider?” Rose says. Before the blood trickling into your good eye ruined your vision, you managed to dial her number and call her up, and now you’re lying on your side with your phone pressed to your ear, imagining her in her college dorm room in New York. You were going to visit her there, years ago, after you ran away from your parents. It never worked out. Neither of you has the money. You really wish you could have seen her at least once.

“Yeah,” you croak. “You at home?”

“At the dorm, yes. What’s going on?”

“You gotta go. She sent someone after me, she’s gonna come for you too. If she knows that I know, she’ll know that you know.”

One of the most comfortable parts of friendship with Rose, you’ve found, is that she never asks you to clarify what the fuck you’re talking about. Either she just lets you ramble, or she knows exactly what you mean. “Shit,” she hisses, and you can hear rustling on her side of the line, hopefully from her getting ready. She probably has a getaway bag somewhere, you think. You have one, but not on you right now. It’s too late for that.

“They’ve already hit me, so whoever she sent to you can’t be far,” you say. You try to blink your eye open, but then it hurts the other more, and it burns. You can’t even tell where exactly. It just burns. “Hurry up, Lalonde.”

“They’ve hit you?” she echoes, still rustling, breathing into the phone. On the move. Good. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you say. “Gonna call an ambulance after this. Just get the fuck out and text me later, yeah?”

Rose pauses. You can hear her pause, you can hear everything go very silent for a second. She says, “You called me before you called for help?”

“Yeah,” you say. She told you, once, that there is a quick and easy way out the window of her second-storey dorm room, that lets her balance over to her girlfriend’s room only a few windows ahead. She can’t hide there, it’s too close, but it’s a start. She’ll figure it out, she always will. She was the first person to ever have your back. “Of course I did.”

On a plane, Thursday morning

“What’s on your mind?” Rose asks.

You’re leaned back, staring out the window, listening to the clicking of her knitting needles next to you. The pilot here doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, just that he is flying two rich people and their car to Washington, DC. Your Mustang is in the cargo part of the plane, a vital part of the plan. You’ll torch it later. It was the first car you bought with your own money, after SBaHJ had become big and you had finally paid off your hospital debt.

Rose’s apartment isn’t that old, she got it after Roxy was born and she decided to move to Los Angeles, so you could help each other babysit. Trashing it still felt wrong. A home is a home, but you wanted it to look broken into, to make sure that people put two and two together. This isn’t a Dave Strider marketing scheme, you both got hit. After all the work that you’ve done, at least some of the public should understand what that means.

“Us,” you say.

“That’s very sentimental,” she says. “Are you sure you aren’t mourning your car again?”

“Shut up,” you say, and blindly swat at her, hitting her elbow. She hits you back, hand slapping your shoulder. “It’s a good car.”

Rose hums. When you look at her, she’s already back to knitting. You have no idea what she’s making, but it looks like a onesie for an octopus. “We will be fine,” she says. “We have to.”

You nod, and go back to staring out the window, thinking about what Alma said. “It’s just,” you say quietly. “We gotta start thinking about the endgame, here, don’t we.”

“Start?” Rose echoes. “Dave, we know the endgame to this. We’ve known for a while. The second you landed in the hospital with a cut inside your eyeball, you and I both knew that this would end in death.”

You don’t say anything. She’s right, of course she is. You knew then, and she knew, as soon as you texted her from your hospital bed, and she texted you back from a Greyhound bus. And you tried to forget, you both did, for a very long time. You almost managed, for a whole decade, until last year, someone made you scared and angry enough to ram a sword through his throat. Until Rose came and disassembled the body on your rooftop, and then helped you burn it. Reality has caught up with you, and someone is going to die.

The clicking of her needles has stopped again. You turn your head to look at her, and she’s looking back at you, and her face seems younger than it should be. She is just as scared as you are. Neither of you ever wanted it to go this far. Neither of you wanted to kill.

“I don’t like it either,” Rose says. “But someone is going to wind up dead, and it sure as shit isn’t gonna be us.”

Washington, DC, now

)(IC: u comin or what TG: yeah about that

You’re on the hood of your car. The children -- and Sally, John’s pet hedgehog -- are with the one sitter you still trust. Rose is in position, which means she is at a remote location outside the city holding Guy Fieri hostage. She has sent you a picture of him tied to a chair and gagged, which means that it’s go time.

All according to plan.

TG: how about you come kill me somewhere else instead of home sweet home )(IC: why would i do that TG: dying mans last request? )(IC: stfu lol this is so obviously a trap TG: wow ok so is yours )(IC: fair TG: just thought that you know TG: john means something to both of us and dont try to tell me no because i know he does TG: so like can we maybe duke it out somewhere where i wont accidentally blow him to smithereens TG: innuendo intended )(IC: UG)( )(IC: gross TG: lmao TG: anyway bethany you know me and you know im comin with c4 in my backpack if im comin TG: do you really want that around your son or can you just get off your ass and meet me here so john stays safe )(IC: u reely think ya have a fighting chance to even get that far )(IC: buoy you set one foot in my house and ya get spearfished TG: yeah not really making a great point for me to come there rn TG: just thought maybe youd wanna be with your guy guy )(IC: who TG: you know TG: guy the guy )(IC: tf

You text her the picture that Rose sent, just Guy Fieri looking miserable, no indication of whether or not you or Rose are with him.

)(IC: )(-EY )(IC: motherglubber what do u think yoar doin TG: yoar??? TG: thats literally not a word. wym you oar?? what TG: anyway im gonna dismember this asshole if you dont agree to keep john safe and come here and im gonna start with the frosted tips )(IC: FIN--E )(IC: cant effin wait to be done with you )(IC: ill come krill ya if its so shrimportant just gimme the location TG: ok shrimportant is actually pretty funny TG: [coordinates] TG: see you soon

She drives a fuchsia Jaguar that looks like Xzibit threw up all over it, because of course she does. You watch it leave from your perch on your Mustang, then slide off the hood. shes gone, you text Rose. get ready to bounce

Before you leave, you turn back toward you car, and gently pat the roof. “See you soon,” you repeat, “for one last ride.”

Look, it’s a good car, alright.

Later on in the plan, once you’ve convinced John to come with you, and Rose has joined you in the no doubt brutal course out of the house littered with security guards, the three of you will pack into this car, and you will drive. You will be tailed, you know you will. Rose and you estimate two to three SUVs with more security personnel that will follow you, and sooner or later, you won’t stand a chance against them.

So, you’ll call the cops. You don’t usually do this -- even during all these years, neither you nor Crocker ever called the police on each other, and technically, you still won’t, today. You will just anonymously call authorities, and tell them about a burning car by the side of the road. Then you will hang up, and you and Rose and John will hop out of a moving vehicle as you crash your beloved Mustang and have it go up in flames. Authorities will come and find Dave Strider’s infamous car, and hopefully that’ll get people talking.

Crocker’s guys will hopefully exit their cars and go looking for you, or at least for John. It’s an easy con from there -- while they look, you will steal their SUVs and drive off toward your safehouses. Simple. No sweat.

“This better work,” you mutter to yourself, then leave your car behind and start climbing the fence around Crocker manor.

You’ve been here once before, while she was out and John was showing you around. You weren’t actively trying to case the place back then, just spending time with your boyfriend and checking out where he grew up, but you couldn’t help how curious you were. You still remember the most important spots, and you did your best to paint a proper picture of them to Rose (you drew a map in MS Paint), so now you have a pretty good idea of where you need to go.

The guard posts, of course, are randomized. You’ll have to take these as they come, and you feel prepared enough, with just your sword and a handful of knives. You’re wearing the kevlar you wore to the Oscars. You’re gonna be fine.

It’s a race against time now, knowing that there is no guarantee when Crocker will be catching on and returning to her house, and knowing that you stand no chance actually fighting her face to face. You climbed in toward the side of the house, because it’s the shortest distance between fence and wall. The front and back yards are ridiculously huge and opulent, and while you would have plenty of gaudy statues to hide behind, you’re not looking to make your way through there.

The first guard spots you right as you hop down off the fence, and your knife is in his shoulder before he even finishes drawing his gun on you. He’s also wearing a vest, but those don’t stop blades, and you take offense in knowing that she made them dress up like that. As if either you or Rose were going to show up with guns. She really doesn’t know you at all. You knock out the guard with a hit of the knife grip against his temple. Maybe you can get through this without deaths.

One of them you comfortably take out from behind a useless fountain placed in this part of the garden for some reason, appreciating how quiet and low-key you can be about it so far. The bigger the ruckus, the sooner she’ll return, so having them all go down in silence is your best case scenario.

It’s the third guard that ruins your track record. You’re almost at the house wall, and you know you’re under the right window, which means all you have to do is scale it and climb right into John’s room, but for that to work you need to have a clean path behind you. Which you don’t, you realize the second a bullet hits your back.

Your vest catches it, but the momentum still knocks you down, and you scrape both of your palms open on the weird break between lawn and pavement. You hate this fucking garden. Who lives like this? You’re gasping for breath and trying not to inhale any grass, dealing with the reality that this is the first time someone has shot at you and actually hit you, and the bullet might not have penetrated skin at all, but Jesus Fucking Christ it still feels awful. Like someone kicked you in the spine, only with a bullet instead of a foot.

Onward. You hear footsteps behind you, and now it’s your turn to kick, hitting them in the face with your boot in the same motion that you’re pushing yourself up from the ground. As they curse and stumble, you draw your sword, but they catch their footing quickly, and you know you only have a split second to act. That gun is pointing at you, again, or still, and they’re going for your head this time, and if you don’t fight now, the journey ends for you here. Someone is going to die, and it sure as shit can’t be you. Your arm darts forward.

The sword goes through their vest, their ribs, and their heart -- you wouldn’t call it smoothly, you really wouldn’t. You can feel resistance with every inch, you feel it right up to your shoulder, and you hate it, and it makes you want to throw up, but you can’t, now. You shove them off your blade and watch them crumple to the ground, and turn right back toward the wall. They are not getting up again. That’s on you, and you can deal with that later. You have to get moving.

Your phone vibrates.

You manage to pull yourself up on a balcony and crouch there, hiding from whatever is going on in the yard now. Other guards must have heard the shot being fired, so you really need to get the fuck out of sight, but this has to do, for now. If Crocker is messaging you, you have to respond, so she doesn’t think you’re in her goddamn garden.

)(IC: yo )(IC: send me proof yoar still with him )(IC: almost there this betta be worth it TG: one sec

As expected. All according to plan, so far. You hope the blood on your sword won’t make the sheath sticky. You’ll have to clean it, later. You don’t want to.

TG: shes asking for proof TG: go ahead. sorry TT: No worries. TT: I know we don’t endorse violence, but honestly, Dawon, after being in a room with him for this long, I am quite happy to do this.

She sends you a picture, and you grimace at your phone. It takes a lot to make you grimace, as a Strider born and raised -- at the same time, you’re not easily shocked or grossed out, but this isn’t great to look at. Fieri’s eye has been pulled from its socket, dangling down his cheek suspended from the nerve, a hole in the eyeball. You hope Crocker won’t be able to tell that this was done with a knitting needle, and forward the photo to her.

TG: hows this )(IC: )(--EY FUCK OFF )(IC: stop i reely like guy 38( TG: yeah well i really like john TG: eye for an eye TG: hurry it up im waiting and theres a second eye to gauge out )(IC: ten minutes )(IC: ur gonna be so sorry buoy

TG: 10 mins TT: On my way.

Okay. Crocker is on her way to a location where there will only be Guy Fieri and a set of elaborate boobytraps which you know won’t kill her, but hopefully slow her down. Rose is on her way here, to help you and John get out of here. That’s plenty of time you still have. Things are going suspiciously well, you think, before you remember the ache in your back and the fact that you killed someone.

You have to get to John.

He’s another two floors up, but you are right in front of a balcony door. For a second, you wonder if you could get into the house from here and do the rest from inside, so you don’t present yourself to the mob of people with guns in the garden. Unfortunately, before you can do that, another person with a gun appears on the other side of that door, mouths an angry what the fuck at you, and draws an assault rifle. Alright, well.

The thing that has mostly kept you from becoming too violent in the past is the fact that you’re fast, and you’re a great climber, so when you hop backward onto the banister of the balcony and pull yourself up to the next one above you, it happens so fast that nobody in the garden reacts. It’s after you’re already crouching behind the balcony, thankfully made of robust concrete, that the shots start hitting it. You do nothing, count the bullets, wait for them to get rid of half of their magazines down there. Then you pull a knife, peek over the balcony, and throw it right into someone’s bicep.

More shots. More ducking and counting. You have two more knives to throw, and you do, rinse and repeat. The people down there are very angry with you now, and very much still able to shoot, but you figure at least their aim will be off, and they’ll be slower. You hope. You haven’t held a gun yourself in fucking forever.

You take a breath, and jump up to grab the balcony you know belongs to John.

As soon as you’re in the open, another bullet hits your back, further toward your side this time, and you almost let go. You let out an undignified noise instead, and hold on harder, focusing all you have into your arms to pull yourself up. Shots are ringing in your ears, and one hits the concrete right next to your head at almost the same time that another one grazes your leg. You hiss in pain, grunt in exertion, pull, pull, and roll yourself onto John’s balcony.

Someone in the garden yells, “Motherfucker!”

You sit, curled up, and pull apart the tear in your pants with your aching fingers to check the wound. It’s not deep, certainly not as bad as the chunk of missing flesh you have in your arm from being shot at last year. It’s fine. You’ll forget about it in a second, when your newest problem will be telling your amnesiac boyfriend that he needs to come with you.

You pull yourself up into a crouch, not more. You don’t want to risk getting shot in the head as you finally face him, so you just do it like this. Hunkered down, disheveled and bloody, you lean forward and knock on John’s window.

#posted ooc #action post #woof #eye gore text -#graphic violence -#eye trauma -#the rest of this will happen in discord :')#mentioned:#fontjoke #comedianrhapsody #mindparkour #jakepalooka sort of

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years ago

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A Moment Of Glory

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Prologue; Venom On White Fangs

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OI BESTIES NEW FANFIC IS DROPPING. After so much complaining (on my part), after so many days spent writing these chapters... The first chapter of the Fake Kidnapping au is here! I was going to post this yesterday but I didn’t have the time, but I’m going to update every Wednesday and Saturday!

This is not beta read! Please tell me if you find any mistakes and please, please, please give me a comment and some feedback! This is the first ever chaptered fic I have made so feedback and encouragement is greatly appreciated!

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Wordcount: 6071

Fanfic summary: Henry Jekyll is a normal man. A normal man who wants a better life for himself. A normal man who suffers terribly under the pressure of his own Society. A man who just wants an escape. A man whose alter ego wants to take back their freedom, no matter what he has to do to get it.

CW [for this chapter]: Thoughts of suicide, depression.

[Ao3]

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Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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As the evening sky rolled on and on at its petty pace over the city of London, the only source of light that managed to find its brief way into the dimly lit office was the small glow from the crack between the door and wall as the door opened, quickly disappearing as it was hastily closed once more. As Dr. Henry Jekyll made his way over to his lone desk, next to shelves upon shelves of his alchemical expertise, he spared no glance to any of his well-known and beloved surroundings, not allowing himself to bask in its pride. He let a bony hand reached out for the small wine-shelf next to his desk, grabbing the first bottle his fingers bumped into without bothering to reach for the lightly used glass right next to him, but instead opting to pop the cork of the bottle as he then immediately brought its head to his lips, sitting down on his chair with a soft huff. The sweet taste of fermented grapes was a welcome, numbing feeling against his tongue as he let the liquid practically flow right down his throat, right into his stomach, right into his bloodstream.

He was used to hard days. He was used to those days where he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and close its curtains, avoiding every and all responsibility and every and all evils that could try to grasp for him. He was used to those days where everything and everyone sought to frustrate him, annoy him, tear him to shreds until his sanity was gone. He was used to those days when it felt like nothing could go right, when everything was against him, when everything was the icing on the cake and he wanted to scream. Today was one of those days.

He had skipped breakfast and had immediately taken a carriage over to one of the many headquarters for the newspapers in London to publish the news of the Grand Exhibition’s postponement. He preferred to have everything revealed in one go and he preferred to have everything reported straight from him before the rumors could fly. That hadn’t made all the questions the reporters had given him any easier, as it was not a good look to shoot it up just a week beforehand, and yet, no matter what the doctor wished, he had no choice but to postpone the Exhibition. The Lodgers were still refusing to participate, and without them, there was no Exhibition. It was humiliating, but it had to be done.

“We are experiencing some difficulties and hack-ups with the planning,” he had told the eager reporters. “It will be back up and running as fast as possible.”

That was, of course, a lie. At this rate, he doubted the Exhibition would ever happen. Frankenstein had done a good job at convincing the Lodgers that it was disgraceful, that they were selling themselves out like common prostitutes to the eager dogs of society, that telling London about their work meant thieves and ridicule. It didn’t matter what Henry tried to tell them, how much he tried to convince them that without the Exhibition, there would be no Society at all, and without the Society, most of them would most likely get arrested and prosecuted. Without the funding, without the right backing...

The doctor sighed softly, letting his glance move over the many piles of paperwork and documents that laid sprawled all over his mahogany desk, despite his poor attempt at organizing them. Stacks upon stacks of white parchment that, despite the little light that managed to find its way into the room, blinded him. Bills upon bills, taxes upon taxes, more and more expenses that began to pile up and drown him. Their previous sponsors began to pull out and their targeted audience for new ones began to grow hesitant as more and more things with the Society turned into a disaster. The Exhibition was well needed and they had needed it quickly, but now that option was gone and without the Exhibition, there would be no sponsors. Without proof of otherwise, a lot of potential sponsors thought the Society as ridiculous, as dangerous, a house of madmen and women trying to do the impossible...

Another soft sigh escaped his lips. Not only was the Exhibition now postponed, not only were the bills impossible to keep up with, not only were the Lodgers trying to ridicule and prove Henry as a fake scientist and an ‘aristocratic slut’, as they had oh so kindly called him... That was nowhere near the only thing on Henry’s plate right now.

After all, the police were still searching for Hyde.

Brokenshire had, during his latest visit to the Society, assured the doctor that they, of course, believed him and his story about Hyde. He had assured him that getting tricked by ‘former’ criminals who claimed to want to turn their life around was common, especially for the goodhearted men like Henry. However, despite that, they still insisted on searching Hyde’s room and interrogating anyone else who had a connection with him, despite the fire and its culprit being more or less forgotten by everyone else. It started with Rachel, then the Lodgers, and while no one seemed to have told them a different story than the one Henry had fabricated since no one had any other story to tell... It was clear that the Scotland Yard was skeptical.

“I want to trust you, Jekyll.” Brokenshire had said, although his expression had been undecipherable, “You are a good man, and a good man would not lie to cover for a criminal, but you have to admit that the circumstances are... Suspicious.”

The officer’s hand had gripped the doctor’s shoulder, his thick fingers digging into Henry’s fragile body as Brokenshire’s eyes drilled holes into the doctor’s, trying to read him like an open book despite his blankness, despite his nervosity. Brokenshire had kept the Scotsman under his hand for just a moment longer than necessary, but it was more than enough for Henry to grow paranoid, to grow anxious, despite his good attempts at hiding it from both himself and the Sergeant.

If they found out about Hyde, and if they found out that Henry had been feeding them lies to throw them off of their tracks...

The doctor slammed the bottle back onto the only empty spot on his desk, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he tried to catch his breath. His heart thundered within his ribcage, echoing in his ears as he watched his pale hands struggle to keep a steady grip around the neck of the green bottle. He knew he was swimming in the deep end. He knew he was risking getting pulled under the surface and drowned. He knew that there were people who wanted him dead, who wanted to drown him, who wanted to see him struggle and gasp for air and have his lungs fill with water as he began to panic. He knew, and yet he struggled to keep himself steady and still in his chair, his whole body shaking and twitching as he struggled to keep himself above the surface, to keep himself safe. He was completely safe physically, he knew that, and yet... Mentally...

It felt like everything would be so much easier if he would just... Disappear.

The Lodgers didn’t need him and they had told him as such quite often, claiming themselves as independent and without the need of someone to lead them, or protect them from the Scotland Yard or anyone else who wanted the scientists gone. As much as Robert and Rachel liked to claim otherwise, Henry knew he only brought them more trouble than it was worth, and as much as he enjoyed the banquets and dinners he shared with his acquaintances and friends, he doubted a lot of them would show remorse or sorrow if he would disappear. If he disappeared... He wouldn’t have to suffer. But he knew better than to believe that he could just leave. He was trapped with no way to escape. He would be stuck here, in his office, in the Society, until his corpse would rot and he would be forgotten. Until his flesh would be earth and until his bones would be soil. Until his legacy would be an obituary and a moss-covered gravestone. Until then, he would be trapped in this wicked hell he had created. Maybe he would be cursed to wander these eternal halls after his death, after he would finally be put to rest.

Henry grimaced. No, he would rather have hell.

This was worse than hell, after all.

He played with the thought for a moment; the imagination of his soul wandering the stacked halls and marble corridors, his translucent shape silently gliding over the floor as the nonexistent wind grabbed his torn clothes, the thought that the little that was left of his soul would be stuck to wander the place he was so often tied to, the thought that he would be dead, and yet immortal, and watch as the building he put his blood, sweat, and tears into slowly disintegrating into ruin. Once Henry was gone, the sole provider and defender of the Society, what would happen to the place? Would someone else take over and continue his legacy, or would they rebrand and remodel the building into a hotel or something? It was a thought he didn’t want to continue and a question he didn’t want to be answered. Stuck and trapped in the Society he built, cursed to watch as it was torn down and destroyed, forever wandering and wailing and crying for the life he lost...

He would rather have hell, he was sure of it.

He let his thumb trace the tip of the bottle for a moment, the eerie silence ringing loudly in his ears despite the extreme volume of the thoughts swirling around in his head. The room was cold, and yet the wine and alcohol did a good job at warming the doctor up as he brought the bottle back up to his thin lips, eagerly and greedily gulping down more and more of the liquid. In a moment of weakness, in a moment of anguish, he closed his eyes and let his imagination run free. He imagined the wine not being the alcoholic liquid he so often sought after, but instead, he imagined it as one of the many deadly poisons he kept around him in this very room, a prideful collection that a mere handful of people knew about. He imagined the way the warm liquid would trickle his tongue and burn his throat, churning his stomach in such a painful way that he would scream and be left twitching on the floor, dead within moments, gone forever, left to rot until someone would find him in the morning.

If anyone would find him, of course.

It was an easy way out, he knew that, and while he could imagine... He could not afford to be a coward.

But once he was dead, so what if he would be seen as a coward? He would be long gone anyway. What ghost cared about the opinion of the living?

No, no, he could not afford to continue that thought. No, he shook his head, so very carefully placing the bottle back as he struggled to regain his breath. He was going to survive this, he was sure of it, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. He would not let Frankenstein and the Lodgers win. He would not allow them to see how far they had pushed him, how he went so far as to wish himself dead, how much he longed for a single escape, how much he longed for a break where he didn’t have to care, how much he wished he could turn back time and tell Frankenstein to shove her and her damn diseases up her own arse and go away... But done was done, and he was stuck, forever and ever.

‘On to your depressive episode again, ey, Jekyll?’

The mocking tone of his alter ego brought the doctor out of his misery, although it did not earn the blond man Henry’s gaze. He kept his eyes down onto the desk, sneering softly. He should have expected this sooner or later but that didn’t make him any happier of Hyde’s appearance and timing.

“Go away, Hyde. I’m not in the mood.”

‘Oh, I know, but that’s when it’s the most fun to bother you, is it not?’

The alter ego’s specter floated silently through the mirror and over to the doctor by his desk. His ghostly form glowed a soft green, bringing a bit of light into the dark room despite Henry turning his head away and trying to avoid the blond man altogether. Hyde merely placed his elbows upon a stack of papers and placed his chin in his hands, grinning cheekily at the alchemist while he tried to follow his gaze and get into his line of sight. Henry merely sighed.

“Don’t you have other things to do?”

‘Not really. I’m-- you know-- kinda stuck to you. I would not have stuck around if I didn’t have to.’

Henry didn’t even attempt to hide his eye roll as he took another swig of wine from the half-empty bottle. However, instead of the imagination of poison filling his throat this time, giving him the little closure of a dream to be gone and gone forever, his mind was instead filled and turned and crinkled into the thousands of memories of taking his nightly drug, the very same one that had cursed his damned existence in the first place and left him with the living consequence that was Hyde. He choked, a reflex to try to get the harmless wine out of his throat at the pure imagination that it was the HJ7. Soft coughs escaped his lips as he tried to keep the wine from going into his lungs, which only seemed to deepen the grin on his counterpart’s devilish lips.

‘What’s the matter, Jekyll dear?’

“Go fuck yourself.”

‘Now now, no need to be rude, yes? After all, I just want to help you.’

Even through his coughing, the doctor managed to let out a dry laugh.

“Help me? Oh, don’t make me laugh.”

‘I’m not joking! After all...’ Hyde took a dramatic moment to glance over the many piles of paperwork, casually tracing his finger over the title of a bill right next to him, before he returned his gaze to Henry, ‘You might actually be onto something.’

“What-- about killing myself? You do know that if I kill myself, you’ll die too, right?”

‘That’s not what I meant!’

Hyde moved his hands and placed his palms flat against the desk as he began to lean over it, and despite being the same person and not being able to escape either way, Henry did his best to push himself back to hinder the blond man from entering his personal space. Hyde did not stop, however, and soon he was towering over the doctor as Henry’s chair began to tilt back, dangerously risking both the chair and its sitter to fall over. The doctor glanced behind him, before letting his eyes travel back to the blond man once more. One of his eyebrows raised as he gave the other man an unimpressed look, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘You want an escape and you want to disappear, right? You don’t want people to know about you, you want to be forgotten, and yet you fear death--’

“Whatever kind of help you are trying to give me, it doesn’t sound promising.”

‘--Let me finish!’ Hyde hissed softly, ‘ You fear death but you want its benefits. You are not willing to take suicide... But you could fake your death.’

...

“Fake my death?”

‘Fake your death, yes. You could be free, and yet dead to everyone who knew you. Does that not sound tempting?’

Hyde lifted his hand and placed it upon the side of Henry’s face, stroking his fingers over the doctor’s cheek and jaw in manipulative temptation. Henry did not fall for it, but instead turned his head away from Hyde with a soft huff. The idea sounded absolutely ridiculous and yet, much to Henry’s annoyance... He did not want to admit it but it sounded quite tempting. Very much so. He didn’t even need to admit it, as he didn’t need to look at his alter ego to see the grin that began to display itself upon the other’s lips.

“...It does.”

Despite his agreement, Henry merely sighed and turned his head away even more, successfully shaking off Edward’s hand, while immediately taking the opportunity to stand up and walk right past him and the desk. Hyde seemed to freeze for just a few seconds, although it was hard to know if it was because of his target moving, or the doctor admitting to his temptations, and yet it did not take long before he began to look after the doctor, trying to shake off his shock.

Henry continued forward until he stood by one of the only windows in the room, sitting down on its windowsill as he began to look out and onto the world outside. He could not see a lot of it as the theater blocked most of the view but he could still see the evening sky by the rooftops. He could see no stars tonight, as the smoke pollution of the district had long since covered up the natural beauty of the night sky, and yet he could not say that he minded. Watching the city-- his city-- at night was more than enough for him, even if he had to deal with Hyde while observing it.

Hyde watched his counterpart for a second before he began to glide closer once more, following after him. Henry did his best to not turn towards the light but instead continued to keep his gaze straight ahead and straight out the window, even if it did not take long for him to feel the ghostly feeling of cold fingers on his cheek, forcing him to turn and look at the blond man once more. His eyebrows furrowed immediately, although he cocked one of them as he awaited an explanation from the other man.

‘Then what are you waiting for? Fake your own death, make it look gruesome, and you’ll forever be free.’

“...I don’t know if I want that freedom.”

‘What, are you scared of it or something?’

“Let’s say that I do what you tell me to,” Henry started, finally letting his gaze stare right back into his alter ego’s green eyes, “Let’s say I do fake my own death, now, let’s say that I get caught trying to fake it, or that I get found afterward, or that I regret it. What happens then?”

It was not hard to see that the question caught Hyde quite off-guard. His mouth opened as if to immediately find a good comeback, a good explanation or reasoning to such a question, and yet he stopped, and then he closed it again when nothing good came out automatically. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, Henry’s unimpressed look still drilling into his alter ego as Hyde struggled to find a good way to convince the doctor. That was, at least, until the grin returned to his lips and his grip around the alchemist’s face tightened.

‘You could fake your own kidnapping instead.’

Henry’s unimpressed look only got even colder at such a suggestion. His eyebrows furrowed softly, as he tried to grasp what his alter ego was trying to convince him to do. It sounded mad, honestly, but then again... Henry surely had no right to deem something mad or sane.

“Pretend to get kidnapped. You are telling me to pretend to get kidnapped.”

‘Yes? Think about it; You would be free to do whatever you wanted to do, you would have no more work, you could return whenever you want to... And you can also scare the Lodgers. Surely the police would not continue my search when they have to find and help oh poor Henry Jekyll, so brutally kidnapped and held hostage by madmen?’

Despite Hyde’s form only being a figment of Henry’s imagination, the effect he had on the doctor was certainly not so. Hyde grabbed Henry by his arms and pulled him up from his seat, and Henry could only blindly stumble into the middle of his office as the world around him began to melt away, giving way to Hyde’s manipulation with the mastermind himself floating around him like a pesky vulture. He stopped once he was behind the doctor, but he didn’t let the brunet turn and look at him. The blond man placed his hands over Henry’s eyes as he leaned in by his ear, whispering as if to tell him a secret, despite it only being them and their shared mind and body in this room.

‘Consider all the possibilities, Henry. You would be alive for the first time in your miserable life, no rules to keep you back.’ Hyde whispered, and despite his struggling, Henry could not move his hands away from his eyes. His hands grabbed at Hyde’s wrist as he was left blinded and vulnerable, and yet Hyde’s words calmed him, paralyzed him. He could do nothing but stop and take the words in. ‘You would be dead to everyone around you, but you could come back. No strings attached, no if’s or but’s, no consequences. You could be free for however long you wanted to...’

Hyde moved his hands, dragging them over to Henry’s head, gripping at his locks. The gesture was calming, like a mother trying to soothe her child, and yet the grip was tight, aggressive, not letting the doctor attempt to struggle. He continued to hover over Henry’s shoulder as the latter gasped for air, as if being blinded had suffocated him, and yet, as Edward placed his chin upon his head and weighed him down, they both could see it so clearly in front of them; freedom. Real freedom. No restrictions or obligations. A life they could do whatever they wanted with. A life finally worth living, if they only would grasp for it.

‘You could be free for however long you wanted to... If only you would let it happen.’

Hyde’s hands traveled down to Henry’s neck, and just as when he gripped at his counterpart’s hair, the normally peaceful gesture was far from it. His grip tightened and despite his lack of physical manifestation, Henry could feel how the air left his throat and lungs as Hyde kept a choking grip around him. Nowhere hard enough to harm the doctor, but tight enough to prove a point, to show who was in control.

Henry could barely decipher a single thing in their surroundings, his vision melting away and making way for Hyde’s words and temptations. He saw himself walking down the dark streets, he saw himself in the warm and cozy corner pubs, he saw himself on the Thames docks, he saw himself living a normal life, a life everyone but him had, a life everyone overlooked and thought as meaningless, a life he would do anything for. A life without the Lodgers, a life without Frankenstein, a life without the aristocracy... It was so close, and yet it was so far. He wanted to reach out, he wanted to grab it and hold it and cherish the life he wanted so badly, he wanted to hold it against his chest and he wanted to run down the docks and he wanted to sing drinking songs in the pubs.

He wanted to get out of the Society and he wanted to leave the Lodgers behind him.

‘You can see it in front of you, Henry.’ Hyde hummed, ‘Why don’t you go and grab it?’

“I- I can’t.” Henry choked, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, and yet it remained like a rock scratching his throat, suffocating him. “People will recognize me.”

‘You’re an alchemist,’ Hyde continued, ‘You separated the evil from your soul with a single potion. You can change your appearance with one too.’

“Hyde, I-”

‘Ssshhh, think about it. Think about the possibilities.’

Henry knew better. He really did. He knew he couldn’t trust Hyde, he knew he could not give in to his and Hyde’s impulsivity, and yet... As Hyde’s hands continued to tighten their grip around Henry’s neck, as his breath continued to echo in the doctor’s ears, filling his head with the wonderful fantasies of a life he longed for... He tried to keep steady, and yet his knees began to give under him. He tried to gasp for air, he tried to hold himself up, and yet, as Hyde weighed him down-

‘What do you have to lose, doctor?’

So much, was the simple answer. He had so much to lose. So much was at risk and yet Henry did not realize that despite every single alarm ringing through his entire psyche. He could lose everything. He could lose the Society, his friends, everything he had worked so hard for... Was it worth the risk of losing the life he had worked his fingers down to the bones for, only for the life he wanted for a few days, a few weeks, a few months?

‘You have nothing to lose,’ Hyde continued, answering the question himself as Henry began to slowly sink to his knees, completely disregarding his poor attempts at keeping himself up. The specter moved his head to the side of Henry’s, letting his breath tickle the doctor’s skin in such an uncomfortable and repulsive way that Henry had no choice but to continue to listen, if not to merely get Hyde away from him, ‘You have nothing to lose but so much to gain.’

The words echoed in Henry’s head, replaying over and over and over as they slowly sank in, slowly getting processed. He felt how his eyes were wide, how his breathing was hitched, how his body was shaking and yet he could not think clearly for the life of him. He tried to close his eyes, he tried to shake the thoughts and feelings off of him, he tried to turn his head but Hyde kept him in place. Hyde’s hands soon returned to his jaw, forcing his head to turn in the opposite direction than the one he tried to turn to instead. Henry immediately came face to face with the mirror, and he saw Hyde standing behind him, he saw the smile on his lips, he saw the way the alter ego’s fingers dug into Henry’s pale skin, and he saw the way he forced him in place, and yet he could only stare.

‘Look at you, Henry. You changed once, you can change once more. What’s one more little secret in your dirty, mysterious little life?’

“What do you have to gain from this?” Henry choked once more, his eyes soon darting all over the mirror, all over his reflection. He knew fully well that the man in the reflection was him right now. It was not Hyde. He knew full well who that pale skin, brown hair, and red eyes belonged to, and yet he could not see it. He could not recognize it, the same indifference as seeing a stranger on the street, a face you’d forget in just a few moments.

He could change into the man he wanted to be, if only for a moment.

Only for a moment.

‘I gain nothing.’ Hyde whispered, straight into Henry’s ear. He heard and saw every single thought that went through Jekyll’s head in this very moment, and he knew exactly which strings to pull to get him to do exactly what he wanted him to. He knew how to get Henry weak, how to get him vulnerable. The man was practically on his knees already. ‘I gain nothing but the same freedom you would get.’

Hyde was manipulative. Hyde was selfish. Hyde was greedy and never thought about anything but himself, Henry knew that. He knew that full well, and yet his words felt so sincere, so honest, like he actually wanted to help him. Hyde would give anything to watch the world burn and yet, despite those thoughts and warning bells ringing clear in his head; canary birds fainting in the mines of his mind, Henry could not imagine its severity, he could not see the consequences of what was about to go down, the consequences of giving in and blindly listening to Hyde.

‘You could get your revenge on the Lodgers, the people who have wronged you.’ Hyde continued, ‘Let them taste the fear of having lost you, having lost their leader. They would be helpless without you, without your reputation to protect them. You could watch them squirm and crack under the pressure. Let them get a taste of what they have done to you.’

Henry’s breath and body were shaking quite violently, and yet its little noise felt awfully loud in the empty silence of his office. He watched as Hyde moved one hand to the doctor’s hair, digging his slender, claw-like fingers into his scalp while the other grabbed Henry’s chin between his thumb and index finger, holding him in place, forcing him to continue to watch himself in the mirror, forcing him to face his words and his deepest desires.

‘So many sleepless nights, so many days without a single break, working your fingers and limbs down to the bones, for what? They threw you away, they don’t like you, they don’t love you. They want you gone. Why not give them the taste of the medicine they crave so much?’

Henry continued to stay silent and Hyde observed his reactions carefully. The doctor’s mind was a mess of swirling thoughts and emotions and yet it was blank. So much conflict was going on in his eyes alone that, in its turn, confirmed that Hyde’s plan was working. He felt the temptation, he felt the longing and craving and he saw the reasoning. All he needed was a single little push in the right direction...

‘Why not give Frankenstein a taste of the very same medicine?’

Henry choked for the fourth time, a sound that seemed almost like a sob being the only thing that escaped his throat at the mere mention of his former idol. Almost in panic, his breath quickened he tried to tear away Hyde’s hands from him but it was useless. Even without a physical body, Hyde was stronger. He kept him in place and tightened his grip despite Henry’s whimpers, despite his attempts to look away from the mirror.

‘Ssshhshhh, calm down. I’m not trying to hurt you.’ Hyde whispered, feeling how Henry soon stopped his struggling, much more due to mental exhaustion rather than giving in, as he still held onto the alter ego’s wrist, trying to keep him away, but it didn’t change anything at all. ‘It would feel good to leave them, wouldn’t it? Leave the ungrateful bastards behind, they don’t deserve you and everything good you bring them. Let them struggle. Let them realize how important you are to them. Then you can come back with a sob story about how you were kidnapped and tortured, then they will pity you.’

Hyde felt how his host gulped, but despite his silence, it was not hard to see that Hyde’s words began to take their effect. Henry relaxed, fully and willingly this time, while practically melting under the pressure as the thoughts in his mind finally began to become coherent. A little change that went unnoticed by Henry himself, but was crystal clear to Hyde.

Give in to me, Hyde thought, give in to me, trust me, don’t question me.

‘Don’t you just want to see them suffer, just a little? Don’t you just want to be free?’ He whispered instead, out loud, distracting Henry from any possibility of having heard his previous thoughts. He doubted that the alchemist was conscious enough to have noticed them anyway, but Edward would rather be safe than sorry, for once.

“I... I do.”

‘Then what are you waiting for?’

Henry hesitated, and yet his body was soon filled with such incredible excitement and adrenaline, only further exhausting him. He wanted to get back at the Lodgers for what they had done to him, he wanted their pity, he wanted freedom... So many years of getting ‘Rights’ and ‘Wrongs’ logged into his brain, he just wanted to let those go and embrace a normal life where he didn’t have to be perfect, where he didn’t have to pretend to be a model of propriety, where he could just be a man, one of many in the large crowds of London. Not the man on stage, the man in the spotlight, but instead merely a man in the audience, watching, listening, but without responsibility or retribution. Not the man, but a man.

He wanted it, and he wanted it so badly.

“...What do I have to do?”

The few words were out of Henry’s mouth before he could process them, and yet they were barely louder than a whisper, a soft murmur. Hyde stopped for just a moment, although he did not let the silence grow long enough for Henry to realize that. Instead, he moved both of his hands back to Henry’s cheeks, cupping his face in his cold palms, grinning as they stared at each other in the mirror, red eyes meeting green through the contact of glass.

‘Planning, Jekyll. You have to do planning.’

He continued to hold the doctor’s face in place, watching, listening to any possible reaction that Henry let show. Any movement, any thought, any hitched breath or sound that escaped his lips, but Henry stood still, stayed quiet, and listened to Hyde. Vulnerable, helpless, trapped in the grasps of the other man.

Perfect.

‘Start thinking about what you want, what you want to gain,’ Hyde hummed, ‘Think about the man you want to be, think about how gruesome you want your kidnapping to be.’

Hyde was a snake. His macabre venom was evident on his glistening fangs and silken words, carefully woven to ensnare and trap the doctor, and yet Henry remained blissfully unaware. Not oblivious, but merely ignorant and naive, thinking he could turn the venom into medicine. Despite the cold scales slithering around his body like an anaconda waiting to devour him, Henry did not feel scared, trapped, or helpless, even if that’s exactly what he was.

A rabbit in the clutches of a wolf, thinking he could flee.

Hyde dragged his cold hands over Henry’s neck and his shoulders as he let go of him, sending shivers down the latter’s spine. He allowed the doctor the attempt to stand up, although he gave him no attempt at help. Henry’s legs shook as he moved, only furthering the short moment of dizziness that plagued him once he was on his feet, and yet he tried to keep his balance, gulping as he began to stumble over to his desk. Hyde continued to watch him, returning to the mirror they had been staring into just previously, his fanged grin held steady as Henry managed to sit down on his chair once more.

The seed was planted, the cogs were turning.

Hyde was not sure why he was so set into convincing Henry of their little plan, their little secret, but even as the fresh venom continued to drip from his fangs and his tongue as the night continued, watching the doctor struggle to keep himself together to get through his work was quite amusing. Even as he tried to do the little paperwork he could, his attention was quickly stolen by his alter ego, feeding him with more and more ideas, more and more reasons to go through with this little kidnapping of his, further keeping the doctor from trying to shake the idea off, to ignore it, to continue his life like normal.

And now, all Hyde needed to do was to watch it all unfold.

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#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs au #tgs fanfic #the glass scientists au #the glass scientists fanfic #banshees au #banshees aus #tgs henry jekyll #tgs edward hyde #the glass scientists edward hyde #the glass scientists henry jekyll #fake kidnapping au #tgs fake kidnapping au #the glass scientists fake kidnapping au

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years ago

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Anyways since I'm stuck in the country side for a belate midsummer, here is a teaser for the Fake Kidnapping au which, if I remember correctly, is, currently in the lead 👀 for those of you who haven't seen it, I'm having a poll for which au I should write which you can find here! This gentleman is Thomas O'Leary, not technically an OC but I don't want to spoil too much 👀

(honestly, I think most of y'all who have been following the FK au knows who this is fjdkdloef)

#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs au #tgs aus #the glass scientists au #the glass scientists aus #banshees aus #banshees au #tgs fake kidnapping au #the glass scientists fake kidnapping au #banshees art #My art tag

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years ago

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Alright so, I don’t want to nag about the AUs and spam the tags but look, a lot of you guys liked both the Irrbloss Au and the Fake Kidnapping AU, however, due to the fact that I don’t know if I’ll have the patience to write both (especially not at the same time) could y’all give me your ‘vote’ on which one you want? Currently, I have 9 chapters planned of the Irrbloss Au and 6 chapters of the Fake Kidnapping AU (including prologue in both), however, I feel like the FK one would be easier to write as that’s much more of a consistent idea. The Irrbloss one is, obviously, more creative and original but the FK one seemed to be more wanted in general. So, give me your opinion?

Lets say that; Likes = Irrbloss Au, Reblogs = Fake Kidnapping Au.

Or just reply to this post with whichever you would rather see. I don’t want to write something that no one would read and especially since this would be chaptered fics and take a lot of time, so please give me your general opinion or ideas you’d like to see in the chosen fic!

#TGS #the glass scientists #tgs au #tgs aus #the glass scientists au #banshees au #the glass scientists aus #tgs irrbloss au #the glass scientists irrbloss au #tgs fake kidnapping au #the glass scientists fake kidnapping au #tgs fic #tgs fanfic #the glass scientists fic #the glass scientists fanfic #tgs fanfiction #the glass scientist fanfiction

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years ago

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A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 6; The Vulture In Their Midst

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Chapter 7! We are almost halfway through!! Man, I am very nervous about posting this chapter because I feel like it could be a bit controversial... At the same time this is one of my favorite chapters because I really like my writing for this one. Oh well...

Also, some might have noticed that the chapter count for this chapter has gone down; it started with sixteen and now it’s fifteen, however, I’m going to cut it down to fourteen as well. That’s merely because I was a dumbdumb in the planning and made two separate chapters for something that would only fit as one chapter, twice, but y’all are still getting the same content <3

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Wordcount: 7458

Chapter summary: Thomas O’Leary lives the glorious life he has always wanted, but the loneliness grows too much, too quickly. Hyde convinced him to spend a night in the special pubs, yet he is not the only green-eyed monster between them.

Or; Thomas is a lonely bastard and Hyde convinces him to get sum.

CW [for this chapter]: Manipulation, identity crisis, internalised homophobia.

[Ao3]

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Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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Seven days and a night.

It had been seven days and a night since Henry Jekyll’s disappearance.

Seven days and a night had passed since Henry Jekyll had locked the door to his office, only to incriminate the room with broken furniture, splattered blood, a shattered window, and planted evidence.

Seven days and a night since Henry Jekyll ran across the rooftops, laughing and celebrating the life he now had gained, the life he had dreamed of, the life and the freedom he had envied, all by himself, all with Edward Hyde.

Seven days since the police had blocked off most of the street, storming the Society and hauling the Lodgers off for interrogations.

Six days since Henry Jekyll was officially deemed missing.

Six days of Henry Jekyll wandering over the rooftops, reaching the stars, reaching the sun, now free from the life he was so very trapped in, free from the life that had turned its back to him, causing him so much pain, misery, and agony.

Six days of Henry Jekyll finally being free. Six days of the body and name of Henry Jekyll being forgotten by its host and instead being replaced by that of Thomas O’Leary. He had lived in London for well over two decades, and yet now he explored and watched the great city with the same excitement as the naive teenager he used to be, feeling so small between the tall monuments and apartment complexes, letting the world pass on around him in the same petty pace it always did, and yet so much faster, so much more thrilling, exhilarating. There was so much to do, there was so much to see, so many interesting people to meet and yet he didn’t know where to begin. How could he possibly find a simple way to do things in such an overwhelmingly large city, with such an overwhelming amount of things to do? He wanted it all; he wanted to run over the rooftops and let the breeze take him, a wind under his newfound wings. He did not care if he would fly too close to the sun, feeling the warmth kiss his molten feathers like a poisonous display of homicidal affection, sending him falling to his inevitable death in an ocean millions of miles deep. He wanted it all, and he knew that he could have it, if he just reached, if he just dared.

It was early evening, the warm summer sun that had once embraced London like a devoted lover, humanity’s darling, now began to slowly set behind the unforgiving and eternal horizon, a bittersweet farewell to the pleasant day that was now coming to its end but a sure promise for another to come. The days that Thomas had so savored had passed far too quickly for his taste, the nights even more so, and yet he didn’t mind. On the contrary, he longed for the pale moonlight to caress his sensitive skin at night just as much as he yearned for the gentle warmth of the sun during the days. He longed to see the sight of the moon and its many stars, a sure reminder that some things were immortal, some things were eternal, as he reminisced of his days back in Scotland, his days with Morcant, just as much as he longed for the energy and activity upon the streets during the day, a sure reminder that humanity, no matter its faults, would continue on, that they would thrive. Henry Jekyll had always been a happy, optimistic man, and yet now, now Thomas was sure he could feel what true happiness felt like, something he had not felt for years. The stress of having to keep the Society afloat, away from the prying eyes of the authorities and the Scotland Yard, the stress of having to take care of Frankenstein, the stress of having to gather sponsors to fund the Society was long since gone. He did not have to care about any of that anymore. All he had to care about was him, and of course, Hyde.

Hyde would follow Thomas through his shadow, or he would let his ghostly form move around him like a gentle breeze as he rambled on and on and on about how wasn’t all of this so much better than the Society, and wasn’t all of this just what they had needed? Oh, they had needed a break quite badly, alright, and now they finally got the freedom they had so dearly craved. Thomas was, to be quite frank, very happy that Hyde had talked him into doing this. Very much so. As much as he monologued to himself about the sheer beauty of the world around him, he could not even begin to attempt to put his pure happiness into words; such a sweet relief and comforting joy that dripped off of his very person, much like the sweat caused by the warm, humid air. He had the life he longed for, a life he had observed so very closely and yet could never quite reach, now held securely within his grasp. He was unrecognizable, completely anonymous; he saw his acquaintances on the streets and they didn’t even spare him a single glance, they did not immediately call for his attention, abusing his name and his title as if they owned him, as if he owed them his time and attention like a dog they wanted to suffocate with affection to gain his trust, his loyalty, the things that he could be to their benefit for, all the things they wanted from him. They didn’t see him, yet they were staring him straight in the eyes, completely oblivious that the commoner on the street was once a man they envied and respected. They wandered and wondered whatever might have happened to poor Dr. Henry Jekyll, unaware that he was right under their nose, observing their every move, but he would never tell them.

No, he digressed. He did not have time to muse over his secrecy and agenda right now, now that he was walking down the streets of Lambeth, mostly because he had to focus on where he was going to find his way. After all, he was going home to his newly bought apartment for the first time since he... Well, bought it. He would have needed to visit his new home sooner or later, after all, he needed the rest, he needed the recovery and most of all... He needed a shower. As much as he savored his freedom, as much as he savored not having to live up to the aristocracy’s expectations, as much as he savored to live for no one but himself... He had to admit that the soot, dirt, and sweat that had layered and collected itself upon his skin was starting to get irritating and overwhelming, once so used to the neatness and cleanliness expected from people of his sort, he felt a bit disgusting. If he now had access to an apartment all for himself, fully functional with a bed, clean clothes, and a shower, why would he not use it? He didn’t even need to discreetly break into his own house or Hyde’s apartment in SoHo, no, now that he had his own little alibi amid Lambeth district, a place where men such as Henry Jekyll would never be seen in, normally.

Much to Thomas’ fortunate delight, the dark streets of Lambeth were almost empty, save for a few late-night wanderers that were much like Thomas himself. Not a single glance was shared between the strangers, not a single word as they passed, and yet he could only be thankful for such a thing. There were no fake pleasantries and formalities, no social expectations he had to withhold and live up to as the model of propriety that people wanted him to be. He was, as many times stated before, just another man upon the street, another face in the crowd of thousands, as hardly spotted and easily forgotten. He was the man he wanted to be, and for once in his normally miserable life, he did not have to fear the consequences of his mistakes, of a single little miscalculation, a single wrongdoing that would be deemed unfit for a man of his stature. He did not have to fear most of the old consequences that loomed over him, keyword being most, but either way, he digressed.

His steps were light and fleet as he wandered throughout the city streets, letting his eyes roam around the often overlooked scenery around him. He took note of everything that made this street so unique; every newspaper plastered upon the brick walls, every advertisement placed outside the many bars and pubs, every window with the soft, orange light pooling out and casting such a comforting glow upon the otherwise dark street... It was so beautifully picturesque, yet he did not get a lot of time to savor the beauty, no, for soon came to a halt by an old apartment complex. No one could deny that the complex had seen better days, yet it was withstanding the slums so much better than most other houses in Lambeth. He had the luck to get an apartment where the neighbors were few and far in between, and yet most-- if not all-- were of questionable history, just looking for some peace and quiet far away from the normal prying eyes of London, just like Thomas himself. He had a soft hum rising in his throat as he opened the door facing the street, occupying himself with the little noise as he made his way up the many staircases, up and up until he came to the very highest floor. He slank back to the apartment door furthest away from the staircase, tucked away from the rest of them before he began to rummage through his pockets for his keys. A soft ‘click’ was the only noise that was made as the door unlocked, a soft creak echoing throughout the corridors as the door opened. He was quick to slink inside, just as he was quick to close the door and lock it once more, only then allowing himself to take a deep breath.

He was home.

He did not feel like home, of course, as this was merely temporary. His actual home would always be his own little fortress in Leicester Square, never would it be the Society, nor his new little hideout here in Lambeth. Home would be where he could be himself, where he could relax, where he could do what he pleased as he pleased. That was not the Society, that was not the rundown apartment in Lambeth, never had it and never would it be Hyde’s ‘home’ in SoHo, either. This would do for now, but it was not permanent, never would he allow himself to even think that thought. He would probably sell it just a mere month from now, then he would forget ever having owned it in the first place. This was his place to stay, but not his home.

He let another deep breath escape his lips as he kicked off his shoes and began to unbutton his coat, hanging it up by a clothing hanger right next to the front door, right before he looted its pockets and moved further into the apartment. The rooms were sparsely furnished, only a few necessities bearing its barren space, much unlike every other home he had had before this one. It was not filled to the brim with collectibles of various sorts, nor was it filled with displays of anything remotely related to his field of science, the walls just plain and empty as the rooms, much unlike both the Society and his own home. It was empty, the sounds seemed to echo, and yet he liked it that way. It was a clean start, although he had to admit that it seemed like the place was anything but clean. No matter, he liked it the way it was and he was not going to go around renovating the entire place when there was no need for such a thing. Instead he moved further into the apartment, into the living room, to which he placed his second dose of potion upon the mantel of the fireplace, perfectly placed where he would be able to keep an eye on it. He did not want to risk accidentally breaking the flask during his little adventures, nor did he feel particularly keen about losing it, so the mantel would be its new resting spot. He began to trudge towards the bedroom, where he immediately began to strip out of his dirtied clothes and placed them into a stray hamper right next to his closet. He took a simple moment to just stretch, to feel the fresh air hit his warm skin, letting a groan rise from his throat before he shook the sleepiness off of him, forcing himself to trudge into the bathroom, its door right next to the closet as well. There was not a lot in the bathroom, only the mere necessities, yet he was quick to slink into the shower and turn it on, yet standing a bit away from the actual showerhead. He held his hand under the stream of water, taking notice of the temperature until he deemed it warm enough, to which he stepped in and let the warm water wash over him. He could practically feel how the strained and tensed muscles in his body began to relax, allowing him to let out a low groan of mere pleasure, feeling the tension leave his exhausted body. The heated water felt heavenly against his sore skin, he had to take a moment to just close his eyes and stand there, feeling it all wash over him. He felt relaxed, he felt clean, he felt...

Lonely.

When his eyes were closed, he could almost imagine the warm water as the touch of someone that he longed for so very much. When he closed his eyes, he could imagine it as the palms of another caressing his sore back, or it felt like the fingertips of someone good and whole stroking his cheek, so gentle. He loved to be alone, yet he hated the loneliness, and he always had. He had been lonely as Henry Jekyll and yet he had been surrounded by friends and peers, now he was completely isolated as Thomas O’Leary. The heated water upon his thick skin was a pathetic substitute for the human contact he sought so dearly, the human affection, the human touch, the human conversations. It wasn’t even a new desire, he had always been weak for the touch of someone else. Morcant had him wrapped around her pinkie with a mere kiss upon inexperienced lips, a mere hand running over his body like a wolf on the hunt. It had made him melt then, the pure imagination of something of such now even more so. He wanted it now more than ever, so why could he not have it? He was free now, why could he not go and seek out the touch he had to refuse before?

He sighed softly, inaudible compared to the loud smattering of water from the shower. He reached out, blindly grabbing after a bar of soap from its little holder on the wall before he began to wash his body down, feeling the lather and foam pile upon his sensitive skin. He rubbed it all in, letting the warm water wash it off before he moved on to clean his hair. The curly locks seemed to have a vendetta against the ointments, or maybe Thomas was just not used to having so curly hair, but he massaged it in and washed it off just as easily as he had with the rest of his body. He was clean now. He was free now, yet he stayed in the warm water for just a moment, sighing, breathing deeply. He could probably fall asleep like this, and yet he forced himself to turn off the water and wipe it out of his eyes, taking a moment to just lean his head against the wall of the shower, resting, realizing he probably showered too warm as it felt like the room began to spin around him, his knees threatening to give in. It was late, he could probably take this evening to go to sleep, to rest, then he could continue his adventures tomorrow. Then he could maybe go to a bar, a coffee-house perhaps, and maybe he could find someone to keep him company for the day, be it as a mere companion or more. Nothing of this was temporary, of course, but a little bit of company was tempting, even for a mere day... Even for a mere evening.

Yet another soft sigh was the only sound that escaped his lips as he turned off the shower, finally stepping out and grabbing himself a clean towel. He moved the coarse fabric over his wet body, not bothering to dry himself off more than necessary before he tied the towel around his waist and moved back towards his bedroom. He knew that putting on the same clothes would make the fact that he just took a shower useless, so he was quite happy to have prepared and bought a few extra pairs of clothes. Having already placed the dirty clothes in a hamper, he began to search through his closet for something new to wear. It was not much different from his other outfit, no, but it was decent enough clothes that were clean and that’s all he cared for. He knew he was most likely just going to go to sleep anyways, but he had not made up his mind just yet, nor had he bought any nightclothes, so he was quick to put on a pair of pants and shrug on a button-up, their soft fabric feeling so soothing against his delicate skin. He took a few steps back before he felt the edge of the mattress hit the back of his knees, to which he let himself fall back onto his bed, just savoring the feeling of being clean, of being free... Yeah, he could fall asleep like this, and he would sleep well.

‘Oh, Thomas~’

The alchemist cranked an eye open, only to be met with the ghostly form of his alter ego floating over him like a bad omen, a lightning-packed stormcloud looming over a dry forest. His head rested upon the heels of his palms, the blond curls of his hair falling over his face in fur-like tufts, and yet he wore such a devilish grin upon his thin lips. It only reminded Thomas of a wolf or lion baring its teeth, and yet he only let his gaze stay at the other man for a short moment, before promptly closing his eyes again and rolling over.

‘Hey, don’t ignore me!’

“I’m tired, Edward. Let me sleep.”

Even with his eyes closed, Thomas could practically see how Hyde huffed and puffed, pouting like a frustrated toddler, and yet it did not take long until he felt slender fingers wedging themselves between his body and the mattress, forcing him to roll over and onto his back once more. Thomas only let out a soft whimper, finally opening his eyes to face his alter ego, the furrowed eyebrows upon his complex making his displeasure quite clear.

“What do you want?”

‘Oh, I don’t want anything, dear Thomas.’

“It’s Henry.”

‘Oh, is it?’

The blond man grabbed the other’s chin with his thumb and his index finger like so many times before, keeping his counterpart in place to prevent him from struggling or trying to move. The man under him merely raised an eyebrow in return, cockily daring the alter ego to elaborate.

‘Is that what you have been calling yourself the last few days? Are you really Henry, still? When was the last time you truly referred to yourself as Dr. Henry Jekyll?’

Hyde knew the struggles that his counterpart had faced during his life, during the two years since Hyde’s creation. He knew that the other man struggled with knowing who he was, who he was supposed to be, and his creation of Edward Hyde had not made his little crisis any better. Hyde felt how the alchemist tensed under him, he felt how the other man tensed under the pressure of both his words and their meaning. Hyde had hit a sore spot, he was practically salting the many open wounds that the other man tried so desperately to mask, trying so desperately to convince the others around him and himself that it was just a mere bruise and nothing more. Hyde hit a sore spot, and he knew that.

‘Who are you?’

The man formerly known as Henry Jekyll, now going by Thomas O’Leary, merely gaped and grasped for something to say, waiting for the words to flow out of his mouth like they did so many other times before. He wanted to give a good comeback, he wanted to convince both himself and Hyde that he knew exactly who he was, and yet no words came. He was Henry Jekyll, he was Edward Hyde, he was Thomas O’Leary, and yet he was all and neither. He did not know who he was and Hyde used it against him. The traitorous bastard-- all he could feel was frustration towards both himself and Hyde, and he was not going to let that bastard off the hook easily.

“Who are you? You come and question me about who I am?”

‘Oh, but I already know who I am. I’m Edward Hyde, a torn-apart piece of your very soul and everything you hate about yourself, but who are you?’

The alchemist seemed to deflate just as much as he had first puffed up, feeling his heart beat so incredibly fast within his fragile ribcage. He wanted to argue, he wanted to so badly, and yet no words came out. All that escaped his soft lips and hoarse throat were soft whimpers, a pathetic reminder of how much Hyde was really affecting him.

“I... I’m Dr. Henry Jekyll.”

‘Are you sure?’

He wasn’t sure, both of them knew that. They both knew that he wasn’t sure anymore. No matter how much he tried to argue, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he knew perfectly well who he was, they both knew that it was a lie. He was not sure, and probably would never be. He was not sure, all thanks to the hellscape he had created. He was not sure, because he had created Hyde. He was not sure, because he had always hidden his true self behind a facade. He was not sure, because now he hid his identity behind the mask and persona that was Thomas. He was not sure, because as much of a mess as he was, whatever Hyde and O’Leary were supposed to be did not make the situation any better. On the contrary, it just made it so much worse. All he could do was to gulp and pray. He was not sure, and he would probably never be, not today, not right now.

“I... I don’t know.”

‘You don’t know?’ Hyde tsked, ‘You don’t even know who you are. Oh, how unfortunate.’

Hyde’s hands cupped the other man’s cheeks in his palms, moving and turning his head in his hands to observe him, examine him as if he was the scientist and Thomas was a particularly interesting specimen. He watched as Thomas O’Leary gulped, and he watched as Henry Jekyll began to grasp for something to say, some excuse or explanation that would justify his crisis, and yet Hyde merely hushed him softly, not allowing any more room for further arguments.

‘Why don’t you go and find out, hmm? Why don’t you go out and find out who you are?’

“...What do you mean?”

‘Why don’t you go out and seize the night. Seize your desires. Then you might find out who you are.’

“How would that help?”

‘It might not help much, but wouldn’t it feel good? I heard your thoughts earlier. You long for someone. Why wait? Why don’t you go out and get some company to get yourself occupied? Why waste your precious time on being a prisoner to your own mind?

“Why would I waste my precious time listening to you?”

‘Because I’m the one who got you in this situation,’ Hyde purred, ‘without me, you would be stuck in your office, tending to Frankenstein and the Lodgers like a common prostitute. Thanks to me, you are free. Why would you not listen to me? After everything I have done for you?’

He wanted to sink into the mattress, he wanted to find a way to escape and yet he quickly noticed that he was trapped between the bed and Hyde. The frown upon his freckled features did not stay for long, however, as it soon turned to a look of pure irritation, pure frustration. Hyde was right, of course. Hyde was the one who had come up with the idea in the first place. He was the one who convinced Henry to fake his own kidnapping. Without Hyde, he would be stuck in the Society, slaving away to all the work that got thrown at him, although he did not want to think of himself as a... Prostitute, at least not in the context of Frankenstein and the Lodgers. No, he shook those thoughts off, he shook those thoughts off as quickly as he could, and yet the temptations that Hyde tried to plant merely took their place instead. He had to admit that the thought of getting some company, getting someone to keep his mind occupied, his bed warm... It was tempting, just as much as he was disgusted by the thought, but Hyde was such a good tempter, of course he would know how to get the doctor to listen to him. He knew he shouldn’t give in to him, and yet...

‘I know you want to, Jekyll. You long for someone’s touch. Why don’t you go and find a good-looking lad, huh? You have never allowed yourself to experience something like that before. Why not take the chance now?’

Why not take the chance...

There were many reasons as to why he shouldn’t take the chance, most of which were made up by the fact that he knew better. No matter if he had someone else’s appearance, no matter if he was free to do whatever he wanted, no matter how out of his mind he was right now anyway, he knew better than to try to go after men, or anyone for that matter. Hyde could say and complain with whatever he wanted, he could fool around with whoever he wanted, too, but Henry would not allow himself to give in to sinful temptations like that. It had always been like that, after all; Henry was the good man he wanted himself to be while Hyde was free to do whatever he wanted. Henry had struggled with the way he saw men for ages, and Hyde could be a sodomite all he wanted but he would not allow himself to fall for that trick. He did not care what others did with their lives, what ‘sins’ they chose to indulge with but Henry was not going to go around and secure his place in prison, Bethlam or hell for that matter.

But... How much would a single try hurt? If he just went out and fed his curiosity, maybe he could then convince himself that it was nothing for him, nothing he should associate with, and then he could maybe get rid of these desires for good. If he doused the flames that burn within him, maybe he would get rid of them. Like a forest fire, if he made a trench to keep the flames from spreading... Then he could be free, and he could be rid of all the things that Hyde used against him. He could be free, or maybe... Maybe he would realize it was not that bad...

Despite his heart thundering in his chest, despite his head spinning, and despite his mind and body screaming at him to lay back down, he took a deep breath and began to sit up. Hyde moved away immediately, yet the triumphing grin upon his lips never did and as much as it just made Henry sigh even more, the alchemist said nothing else. He merely stood up from his bed and went over to his closet and grabbed a light-blue waistcoat, quickly putting it on as it had been the only thing he had skipped after his shower. He felt trapped and his clothes felt way too tight as he finished dressing, yet he knew it was just his nerves and his mood and nothing else so he did not allow himself to think or focus on it for long. He felt Hyde slink into his shadow as he moved out of the bedroom, sparing no glance at the rest of the apartment as he went to the hallway immediately, grabbing a new coat and hanging it over his shoulders. It was going to be a warm night, and he did not feel like making his dysphoria and displeasure any worse right now, no, so instead he merely unlocked the door with his key and slank outside, locking it immediately after him as well. He took a deep breath, and then he was off, off to indulge in the same sins he had told himself that he would never even think about committing. He was weak, he was vulnerable, and Hyde was all too strong. He honestly wasn’t sure where he was going exactly, yet he just wandered the streets for a bit, making up his little plan within his mind. Right now, he was just happy that Hyde stayed quiet for once in his life, even for just a mere moment.

It was late evening by the time Henry found his way to the tucked-away bar, right by the edge of SoHo. It had taken a lot of walking, yet Henry didn’t mind. The streets were mostly empty anyway, and he treasured every moment he got alone, every moment he got where he was not indulging in the sodomy his soul apparently craved so dearly. It didn’t matter if it was purely ‘sexual’, he knew that the feelings he felt for other men ‘romantically’ were just as wrong and as much as he wished to engage in them, he knew it was wrong of him. He knew it was wrong of him and yet... Hell, he had just faked his own kidnapping. How bad was getting a night with another man in comparison to doing that? No, as much as he had wished to not sink this low, it was nothing in comparison to how low he had already dug himself underground. He was already six feet under and the dirt began to pile, why not beat Satan to the chase by digging his way down to hell himself? He was already going to hell, so how much of a difference did a few more sins make? Not a lot, no, yet it didn’t take long until he finally arrived at his destination.

Technically, he only knew about this very bar because that one gentleman that Hyde seemed to have taken a liking to-- one half of that one couple he seemed to have been fooling around with lately, that was-- had recommended the place to Henry’s alter ego a few days before that unfortunate encounter with Frankenstein and her Creature. It seemed to be a place where the middle class and higher frequented, the men not seeming to have any special preferences on which financial group they socialized with as long as it was one of their own sorts, so to speak, so Henry was not necessarily surprised by that fact. Either way, he followed the scarce instructions that Hyde recalled his little ‘boyfriend’ giving him; turn left by the library, continue onwards until you find an alleyway right next to the Miss Magnifique pub, then you turn to the alleyway and continue inwards until you come to the first door you see. Henry did exactly as Hyde had told him, and soon he stood exactly in front of the place he had been told about. He wasn’t sure how or why it was so easy to get in, barely guarded and barely in need of a password, and yet here he soon wandered down a corridor, being led into what seemed to be a completely normal pub...

Except, of course, for the fact that there were only men here, many of which seemed to be flirting with one another, many of which were openly dancing and touching one another. Walking into the room, Henry could simultaneously feel extremely uncomfortable and yet so... So relieved. Maybe it was the fact that he could see, with his own eyes, that there were other men like him. Other men who wanted the touch of his other, maybe that’s why he was so relieved, maybe that’s why he was so uncomfortable. He felt trapped, like this was all an elaborate scheme to catch him and him alone, to put him in prison for what he felt for others of his gender, yet he knew such a thing was stupidly paranoid. Here he was free. Here he would be free to do what he wanted. Considering how packed the bar was, Henry could only assume that it was a full night tonight, and yet he almost preferred it that way. Then he could hide if he felt like it, then he had a lot of options to choose from...

Except for the fact that he, with his first and only relationship being with a female werewolf around 15 years ago, would probably only humiliate himself at any and all attempts to get a companion.

“First time here, ey?”

Despite the loud noises all around him, the voice calling out to him caught Henry’s attention immediately. His head snapped towards the bar, to which he saw the bartender smiling kindly at him while waving him over. He looked around for a moment, trying to see if he could be gesturing for someone else but quickly found that he was the only one standing around by the doorway, to which he gulped and came closer, sitting down on a lone barstool. He nodded softly in response to the question he had been asked, and the smile upon the bartender’s face only seemed to get softer.

“Oh, don’t worry. The first time at places like these is always a bit intimidating. You’ll get used to it. Would you care for a drink?”

It almost felt like Henry had lost his voice, yet all he could do was to try to clear his throat and choke out an ‘uh, yes please’ in response to the bartender. He honestly was not sure what he ordered but the bartender made sure to keep up the conversation as he worked on his drink, and soon Henry had a pint of something that smelled like honey in his hands. He did his best to stop shaking as he brought the pint to his lips, carefully sipping as he began to look around the room, trying to take in everything and everyone around him. He wasn’t sure where to look. Everyone around him seemed so interesting, so handsome in their own way. It was so overwhelming, yet so exciting at the same time. All the fears and all the disgust he had felt just a few moments prior seemed to be gone. He just felt... Relieved. If he was honest, he might as well just sit here and allow himself to watch the other men the entire evening as well, then he wouldn’t have to fear to ridicule himse--

Oh my god--

The beer lodged in his throat as his breath hitched, making the doctor choke on the alcoholic liquid, and yet all he could do was to try to place the pint down and try to cough it all out as discreetly as possible to not get any attention on him, yet his eyes never left what-- or more like who he had just spotted.

Right there, across the room, sat Robert Lanyon himself.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh no. Nonononono... This was a bad idea. He should get up and leave immediately. If Robert saw him-

“You alright there, mate?”

Once more, his attention snapped back towards the bartender who, this time, was only looking at him with quite a bit of concern on his face. Henry did his best to gulp down what little was left in his throat before he did his best to press out a smile.

“Yeah, uh... Just... Who is that man, over there?”

Henry gestured towards the man in question, of course, he knew who that was. He could not simply forget the face of his best friend of one and a half decade, and yet he didn’t know what else to do or say but to be curious about what the bartender would say about him. The bartender looked where he gestured, then made a soft hum.

“Oh, that’s Robert. He is one of the regulars. Although he hasn’t been here in a while.” The bartender explained, grabbing a random beer glass and wiping it down with a bit of cloth, looking down at the counter, “He was worried for a friend, he said. Hasn’t been seen for a while, apparently. He said he hadn’t been in the mood to come around but he decided to drop by tonight to get some distraction. Awfully talkative and chatty, that man.”

“I... Oh.”

Well, Henry could come to the logical conclusion that he was the friend Robert was worried for. After all, it wasn’t like there had been any other news of any missing people that Robert hung around with, and yet something small, deep within him told him that it wasn’t him. Yet, as he looked at Robert from across the bar... He wondered who else could possibly have done that to him. He looked tired, almost sick, and yet he seemed to be forcing himself to socialize with a couple of other men by the further end of the pub.

Now, he knew that Robert... Had a preference for men, but...

Wait.

Why did he feel jealous?

Oh, no.

The bartender turned back to his work, and yet Thomas couldn’t help but continue to watch the familiar man, feeling something growing inside of his chest, a flame that did not want to burn out yet only grew larger-- he did not know if it was desire or frustration or anger. Despite clearly being miserable, Robert somehow still managed to find a way to look so handsome, and it seemed like Thomas wasn’t the only one that felt that way. He saw multiple lonely men eyeing the aristocrat, and it honestly made him feel disgusted, although he doubted it was because of their intent rather than the fact that he... That he wanted Robert and the fact that... WELL. It was hypocritical of Thomas to be upset that Robert was here. He knew that Robert had the emotional processing of a brick and he should not have been surprised that he sought a distraction from what Henry had caused, especially since this was seemingly the first time in weeks that he was here, and yet... Jealous was such an ugly bastard and especially since Henry knew he could not have Robert. He had tried to tell himself as much multiple times, for multiple years, and yet here he was; acting as if he had forgotten every promise he had given himself. Look, but not touch. Watch, but not grasp. Observe, but not reach. And yet here he was, wanted to do just that. Even if something inside of him was quite upset upon spotting the other man, he did not know if it was frustration over the fact that Robert brushed him aside, or if he was upset about the fact that he all of a sudden got reminded of the life he wanted to escape, or if it was the jealousy of seeing him surrounded by other men that wanted him that got him so fired up. Yet, even through the upset, even through the jealousy, even through the frustration, the overwhelming majority of him felt so incredibly enticed.

‘What are you waiting for, then?’

Oh, no, no no no, Thomas did not want to hear his alter ego. He knew Hyde would convince him to do something stupid. He could not take advantage of his best friend when he clearly was hurting, especially since he was the cause of that. Strangely enough... He did not feel remorse or regret, for having done what he did, but he didn’t want to make it worse for Robert. If Hyde managed to convince him... No, he was going to put his foot down right here.

‘No, no, you aren’t,’ Hyde purred. He did not show a visual form, not as a specter nor a shadow, and yet Thomas could hear him perfectly well, ‘Robert won’t know it’s you. How many times have you not dreamt about him? How many times have you not longed for his touch? Why are you going to give it up now, when you have the perfect opportunity to get what you want? Why not see it as an act of revenge, since Robert thought it was a smart idea to go here in the first place?’

Because he was not going to take advantage of his friend. Robert would not know it but he-- Henry, Thomas, or whoever-- would have to live with the guilt. He was not going to sink so low. Especially since it was so incredibly toxic to see it as an act of revenge. He could not control or police how Robert processed his emotions, no matter how jealous it made him. No matter what he wanted, he was not going to sink so low.

‘You already have to live with the guilt of all the pain you have caused him. Besides, you are not his friend. You are a stranger now. He doesn’t know you. You have always wanted something more with him, have you not, Thomas? Look how miserable he is! He needs something to distract him. Won’t you give it to him?’

...

He did not want to admit it... But Hyde made it sound so tempting... So very tempting, yet he knew it was sinful. Not only for the mere fact that it was a man and a man, but also because he was thinking about taking advantage of his poor friend... He had already caused him so much pain...

‘Just one night, then you can tell yourself that you don’t want more. Just one night, then you can act as if nothing happened. Robert sleeps around and forgets every and all of his little ‘play things’ anyways, what would it matter if you were secretly one of them?’

Oh, Hyde knew to punch where it hurt. He always did, he knew where his counterpart’s weak spots were and he knew where to hit. It hurt, and it hurt so badly, and yet... Just one night. Robert would forget about him quickly. One night, then he would have proof that this was nothing for him, and his curiosity would be strangled... Curiosity killed the cat.

Just one night.

That’s what Henry told himself as he forced the rest of his beer down his weak and sensitive throat. That’s what he told himself as he stood up from his seat so abruptly that he was sure he was going to fall over. That’s what he told himself as he made his way over to Robert, now left alone as his little ‘friends’ seemed to have found other partners for the night. That’s what he told himself once Robert caught his gaze. That’s what he told himself as he felt himself smiling at him. That’s what he would tell himself when he would give the older man an offer he couldn’t refuse. That’s what he was going to tell himself when Robert would lead him upstairs, away from the crowds, his hesitation just as clear as his vulnerability. That’s what he was going to tell himself.

Just one night.

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Shoutout to Quilna for managing to guess exactly what was going to happen in this chapter with the clues from saturday <3

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Taglist: @artzycreature @jekkiefan

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#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs fanfic #tgs fanfiction #tgs fake kidnapping au #tgs fk au #the glass scientists fanfic #the glass scientists fanfiction #the glass scientists fake kidnapping au #the glass scientists fk au #tgs henry jekyll #tgs edward hyde #tgs robert lanyon #tgs dr robert lanyon #the glass scientists henry jekyll #the glass scientists edward hyde #the glass scientists robert lanyon

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years ago

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A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 11; Worry On The Deathbed

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I was this close to forgetting to post today’s chapter, but honestly, who could have blamed me? As always, I’m exhausted so please do tell me if I accidentally made an error I somehow managed to overlook while reading through sdfsf

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Wordcount: 7685

Chapter summary: Four days left alone in the infirmary is nowhere near pleasant. A visit to his office proves just as difficult for Henry.

CW [for this chapter]: Mentions of blood.

[Ao3]

—— Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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The bleeding wounds and bruised injuries that had once littered Henry’s body had managed to heal both quickly and gracefully; leaving nothing but soft, sensitive, unpigmented skin in its wake, a reminder of what had been that would soon, too, wash away and become forgotten, another metaphorical scar that would always be there, yet would only remain in the sight and memory of its owner. You could never have guessed that he had been hurt in the first place; that his hands had been torn to shreds with glass splinters, you would never have suspected that there had been deep cuts running across his chest, arms, and legs that almost went down to the bones of his already frail and lanky body. He looked perfectly healthy, not a single mark upon his entire figure, his skin had gotten back some of its already pale color, his wounds long since healed.

His mind, however, was not.

His wounds had healed, his sickness had simmered down, the never-ending chill that had tormented him had finally left as he began to regain all the lost blood, not to mention that he did not have to feel like some kind of bandaged-wrapped ragdoll anymore, an ancient mummy stuck in his own tomb, yet the healing of his body had been nothing in comparison to the everlasting plague that clung to his brain like parasites, gnawing and eating away on the tender surface of his mind. It had been four days since he had been found, four days since he had woken up, yet he could expect to live with the consequences of the concussion for up to two more weeks. The concussion was not his main problem, hell, he barely realized that he still had it, but the weakened and vulnerable state of his brain only worsened his already fragile mental health, crumbling beneath his fingertips like a dry cookie, soon turning into nothing more than dust.

Of course, no one else knew that. No one knew how much the doctor suffered under the weight of guilt and paranoia, no one knew how Henry managed to put up the facade of a perfect recovery, but that was only because he was quite experienced in hiding the panic attacks that tortured him at night. As long as he gave them no evidence, no reason to be suspicious, no reason for them to believe that he wasn’t recovering just as well as they had hoped, they would have no reason to believe that he was nothing more than the same man he had always been. As much as they claimed they wanted to help, as much as they claimed that they understood him, they really did not and Henry did not want to be babied even more. Hyde had been right, he was a pathetic excuse of a man and he had to start pulling himself together, even if that meant he had to force himself into the very same box of perfection he had been so desperate to escape in the first place. The first step was to make it seem like he was getting better, make it seem like he was perfectly fine, because if everyone thought he was fine, and if everyone treated him like he was fine, then he would be fine. He was going to fake it until it would happen, it was as simple as that. He had no time for tears and grief and anxiety, even if he sometimes could not keep himself from succumbing to the hatred and misery within him. He spared those feelings until he was alone, when Rachel or Maijabi would come by to leave him a cup of tea for the night, turning off the lights and closing the door behind them. That’s when he allowed the monsters in the shadows to crawl into his bed and tear him limb from limb until there was nothing left, nothing but him stripped to his bones and the very essence of his soul. That’s when he allowed the horrors to dawn on him, the guilt to suffocate him, and the nightmares to get him.

Hyde was still gone. He had done like he and Henry had agreed to many times before; he let Henry live his life while he washed away in the oceans of their shared mind, waiting to be called upon, only this time nothing was agreed on, only this time Henry would not call Hyde back. He had fallen for the same trap he always fell for, he thought he could befriend Hyde, he thought he could trust him but Hyde is nothing more than evil, maybe not at first glance, but the torture and abuse he put Henry through was nothing compared to the devilish smiles and mischievous plans he shared with Rachel. Those were two different Hydes, Henry had the misfortune to be stuck with the real Hyde. The Hyde who had nothing to gain from him, the Hyde who only wanted to see him suffer, the Hyde who thought he knew exactly what he was doing, the very same Hyde who only did it because why shouldn’t he? ‘Why not?’ seemed to be the main cause of action, the main reasoning for Hyde nowadays. Henry still tried to figure out why he did all of this, Henry still came up empty. At least he could be happy that Brokenshire did not seem to suspect the little story he had given him, at least the sergeant hadn’t visited him anytime since. According to Rachel, the man in question had asked of her or Robert to inform him when the doctor was fully recovered. Now it was just to wait.

The alchemist had stayed in the infirmary for the last four days, bedridden for the entirety of it. Neither Robert, Helsby, nor Maijabi seemed keen to the thought of letting Henry move on and do his own thing after his wounds had properly healed, all three seemingly scared that the concussion might make his recovery difficult in combination with his... Mental state. They were convinced that he had trauma and that he couldn’t take care of himself anymore. They practically babied him and Henry hated it. He was a grown man, he was a doctor himself, he knew full well when or when he wasn’t perfectly healthy and especially since it was just so hypocritical for the Lodgers to worry about him, after everything they had done to him... Although it had only taken Robert a stern reminder on the fact that he hadn’t slept for weeks before all of this had happened to shut down any attempt of argument that Henry could have come up with.

“You are a skilled doctor, I’m not going to deny that,” Robert had said, helping Maijabi and Helsby unbandaged Henry’s newly healed limbs, “but you have to admit that you don’t know what’s best for you. It’s three doctors against one, Henry, let us take care of this.”

You don’t know what’s best for you.

That had stung more than Robert had intended, yet it had successfully managed to shut the youngest doctor up and let the three older ones continue their shared work in patching him up. He had to admit that he had been giving them the silent treatment for the rest of that check-up, even if that didn’t even get noticed or acknowledged as nothing more but a “call on us if you need anything” had been needed before they had gone on their merry way and left Henry alone in the infirmary, alone with his thought, alone with his guilt, again.

Of course, he was never really alone. After all, he had Zosi.

Zosi, as it turned out, had been glued to Virginia’s, Rachel’s, or Jasper’s side the entire time he had been gone. Robert came and went and had never been particularly fond of Zosi, so Henry was not surprised that the little dog had not been keen to follow him around. He guessed that Zosi thought Virginia was the one most familiar with his actual owner, and Rachel and Jasper were, of course, the kindest. Maijabi had retold the story of how he had been found, and he had told him that Zosi had been with Virginia in her room after she had gotten the shock of first finding his body. He had to admit that he felt guilty for the shock he had given his apprentice, Zosimos seemed to have done his best to comfort her before he realized why she had been panicking. Once Henry’s friends had left, the grim had camped outside the infirmary door until Rachel came with chicken soup for dinner during the evening, and Henry had not been left alone since. Henry was not allowed out of bed but what the three doctors could not see, they could not complain about, so Zosi followed him even when he was laying in bed or sitting on the windowsill of one of the infirmary windows. He couldn’t easily be spotted by the world outside and it was practically impossible for any of the Lodgers who weren’t in the room to do so too, so he did not run the risk of actually being caught. Fifteen beds with their headboards against the white walls and curtained windows that never seemingly opened grew boring quickly. Henry could probably have felt better being locked up in a padded cell in Bethlam, stuck in a straitjacket while screaming for mercy.

It took four days for his wounds to heal. It took four days of hiding panic attacks, giving in, and letting the older doctors do as they pleased with him like he was some kind of ragdoll that did not know how to take care of himself, but today Robert had promised to let him stretch his legs, if only for an afternoon.

He was sure his friends thought he was recovering remarkably well. Wounds --both mental and physical-- like the ones he had gotten or convinced the people around him that he had gotten were not easily healed, yet they seemed to think that he was the very same, strong-willed man he always made himself out to be. After all, he was good at hiding his emotions and stress. They probably thought that what happened to him, according to Henry himself, had been much less traumatic and much more inconvenient. The concussion gave him a good excuse as to why he couldn’t remember anything, as to why the “trauma” was not setting in, so he didn’t have to bother to act traumatized. Maybe he was, the effects of what Hyde had done to him --the gaslighting, the manipulation, not to mention their actual fight-- had certainly taken a steady grip around Henry’s psyche, yet he could not tell anyone about it, even if keeping it all in only made it hurt more. There was a reason for why he kept having panic attacks, after all. It was a mix between the existential dread and guilt of what he had done that plagued his conscience, mixed with the lies and words and actions that Hyde had so sweetly fed him before literally throwing him into glass shards. Hyde had fed him sugar-coated cyanide on a silver spoon and then he had forced it down his throat, Henry still felt like he choked, but he made sure to only choke when no one was around, when no one was around to question or help him, because did not want to run the risk of... Well, anything. He did not want them to think he was weak and vulnerable and traumatized, he did not want to accidentally slip up about what he had actually done and he wanted to give them no more reason to force him into bed and make him do as they pleased.

They were trying to help, he knew that. Obviously they didn’t think of him as some mannequin or puppy who had no idea how to function but knowing that and realizing that were different things. He had enough on his plate trying to stay above water and trying to keep his little lie together as it was, having the Lodgers on his back and having to deal with his friends babying him was too much. Too, too much. There was a reason why he wanted to leave in the first place. The fact that everyone now acted as if they had always cared about him absolutely disgusted him. It made him feel bitter, angry... Although it made him a bit relieved to know that his three personal doctors, as well as Jasper and Rachel, of course, had taken it upon themselves to shoo every other Lodger out the door every time they seemed to want to check in with him. Even Helsby shooed them off, that man is the biggest gossip in the entire building and Henry was certain that he would be right in front of the crowds trying to get into the hospital wing, had he not been one of the doctors that were currently taking care of the patient in question. Maybe it actually showed that they cared for him, or maybe they wanted him to heal as fast as possible so they could stop caring. Henry did not know, and he did not want to know, either.

The young doctor in question was currently laying on his side upon the hardy mattress of his assigned hospital bed, his loyal church grim curled up by his stomach. Henry was not allowed to do anything at all; no reading, no writing, no nothing so cuddling with Zosi or sleeping away the day was practically his only pastime. It was quite hypocritical of him to complain about such a thing when he, as a practicing doctor, had assigned the very same treatment to many of his old patients. They had potions and serums to heal bone-deep wounds in a matter of days-- hours even, but noooooo, he had to be bedridden for a goddamn concussion... Okay, maybe that one specific symptom of being very easily irritated was the one that proved that he wasn’t recovering as quickly as he would like to, or would like to make the other doctors believe which, in its turn, proved the point that he needed to be bedridden... But that didn’t mean that it made it any more pleasing to have nothing to do. He felt utterly useless, yet he could be glad that Lanyon had promised that he was going to allow Henry to take a walk around the building today. Sure, Henry did not want to, because he did not want to be around the Lodgers, but if he had to spend one more godforsaken moment in the goddamn infirmary he might as well think he was going to go absolutely bonkers. Of course, it was a small price to pay for everything he had done, for the trauma he had inflicted upon himself and his friends, but it wasn’t like he was going to process it any better stuck in the same room for days on end trying to nurse a concussion.

He sighed deeply, turning his glance away from the eternally white ceiling he had been staring at to instead turn his gaze towards the peering red eyes of his little hound. Zosi looked at him with the same innocence and adoration he always did, yet soon he began to crawl his way upwards on the bed until he rested against his owner’s arm that currently dangling over the side of the bed, using him as a pillow. Henry’s free hand moved up towards the little one’s head, gently scratching him behind his two ears with the tip of his index finger and thumb. Zosi didn’t know what he had done, or maybe he did but he did not deem it worthy enough of seeing his master as a bad person. For Zosi, Henry was just the same old Henry he had always been. Maybe that’s what Henry wished that the Lodgers and his friends did. He longed for a time when all of this would be forgotten and when everything could go back to normal if there even was a normal anymore. There was no normal with a building filled to the brim with mad-- rogue scientists, but after Frankenstein, Moreau, Hyde... The ‘kidnapping’... He wanted to go back to a time where everything was like it used to be, now he had only fucked it up even more. He and Hyde had. It would not surprise him if the Lodgers would try to overthrow him the moment he was “healthy” again. Maybe they would kick him out of his own Society, maybe they would pawn him off to Robert and let Frankenstein take the reins. It would not surprise him, although, to be fair, such a theory was quite far-fetched and even for someone as paranoid as Henry, but it wasn’t like Henry had the best... Mental stability right now. Even if he hadn’t done this because of Hyde and even if he hadn’t almost tried to hook up with Robert and even if he hadn’t almost died from losing so much blood and even if he didn’t have a concussion, the severe impact and guilt of his actions would still have crumbled and crippled him. Despite knowing that he was never alone, never truly, and despite having Zosi by his side... He felt so isolated. He guessed it was just to enjoy the life he got from now on, he was sure he had already secured his place in hell after all of this.

Zosi’s ears perking up and his snout turning towards the door successfully alerted Henry of his new visitor before he even heard the footsteps. Soon the noise of two heeled shoes on the sleek floors came to his attention and soon the sound of the door handle turning did as well. He did not turn to look at the new guest, no, he did not have to. He already knew who it was and even if he wouldn’t have expected him, Lanyon’s strong cologne was hard to miss and especially since Henry had gotten so familiar with it. Yet, even as the older man came closer to the bed, Henry did not turn to look at him. He was not sure if it was frustration, jealousy, or guilt that he felt, but whatever it was, it kept him from looking up, even if it didn’t seem like it took long for Robert to notice that he was awake. Henry heard how the older man came closer, sitting down on a chair next to him, and he saw from the corner of his eyes as he took off his cloak and coat and placed them on the chair next to him.

“You’re late.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

It was a rare thing to hear the words ‘I’m sorry’ leave Robert Lanyon’s mouth, such an arrogant and strong-willed man had learned early on that phrases such as ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ was not needed in the life of an aristocrat, yet it only got Henry’s heart to squeeze so tightly. While Zosi refused to move away from his arms, Henry used his free hand to scoop the little rascal up and instead hold him towards his chest, allowing him to sit up instead. Zosi whined quietly but did not complain otherwise, instead snuggling against his owner and accepting his fate. The younger doctor took a deep breath and finally allowed himself to look at the older man. While he had said he was sorry, he did not look much remorseful, no, he had the same expression of a man who was used to his patients arguing, and Henry had done that the entire week. Robert knew it was because of the concussion because it was a well-known symptom that people who got such a nasty hit to the head often got more irritable and had little to no patience, and he knew that Henry hated having nothing to do... And getting taken care of. Having three older --and arguably more experienced-- doctors taking care of him was certainly not something that Henry would have liked, even before this. Things were hard for him right now and Lanyon was no therapist, there was not much he could do to make him feel better. He knew Henry had a hard time processing all the horrible things that had happened to him, especially with the help of the concussion that had made him lose most of his memories of the entire ordeal... Maybe that’s why he managed to convince Maijabi and Helsby to let Henry go for just an afternoon. Robert had to admit he was not used to co-working with two other doctors when it came to a single patient, and he had to admit it was not something he wanted to get used to, either.

“Since your wounds are healed,” Robert started then, his eyes traveling shortly from Henry’s porcelain pale face and down to the grim in his arms, although he was quick to return his gaze to Henry’s face after just a moment, “it should be safe for you to be able to take a shower. Brokenshire has cleared off your office so you should be able to get your clothes and take a shower in the comfort of your own bedroom. Then we can take that walk you have been craving and get you some time to stretch your legs, sounds good?”

It sounded heavenly, in Henry’s opinion. At least it sounded absolutely heavenly to be allowed to take a shower and change into his own clothes. In all fair honesty, he utterly hated the basic hospital clothes from the infirmary and that was solely for the fact that he had to be hospitalized. The fabric was smooth and silky and nowhere near tight, yet it only felt rough and coarse against Henry’s delicate skin. Getting his own clothes back might make him feel... A bit better. Having lived as Thomas O’Leary for two weeks... Well, that’s not easily forgotten, he struggled to adjust back into his normal life more than he liked to admit. But now he could get his clothes, now he could walk around the Society, and everything would be fine.

“Yeah.” Was, however, all he said. He did not tell his friend how amazing it would feel to finally get out of this godforsaken room, he did not tell him how much he longed to finally get ahold of his one sense of remarkable identity, he did not tell him how much he wished he could go out of the Society while also being so very scared of even reaching a toe over the threshold by the foyer doors, afraid to see and meet the world only to have the beloved people of London turn their backs to him, as if they would know the scheme he had set up. That was impossible, of course, yet the paranoia still lingered, a monster under his bed to wait for when he was asleep, grab his ankle and drag him down to the depths of hell. He did not tell Robert any of that, just like he hadn’t and would never tell him about the things he had done, just like he would never tell him about the panic attacks he suffered when no one was looking. He did not say any of that, yet it seemed like a good enough answer for Robert.

The older doctor got to his feet, looking at his coat and cloak for a moment before shrugging to himself, deciding to leave it here for now. He would have to escort Henry back here eventually, after all, as the younger man was still bedridden. It wasn’t like he had actively wanted Henry to be up and about, he guessed he just had the biggest soft spot for Henry and he felt guilty for keeping him here all the time, knowing how much it pained the often so lively and on-the-go Scotsman. He did not want to make things worse for him, not after everything he had suffered through. He was not sure if they should be happy or frustrated with the fact that the concussion had made him forget about most of what had happened to him; on one point, of course, Henry’s trauma did not seem to get as processed as it probably should have been because no matter what Henry insisted, Robert knew that it was still there, but at the same time, they had no way of catching the culprits. For now, Robert decided that it was a good thing. Henry was recovering quickly-- mentally and physically, and that was good. At least so he assumed, at least so he hoped.

He moved closer to Henry’s bed and held out his hand to help the younger one up to his feet, Henry hesitated, but in the end reached out his free hand to let Robert pull him up. He still held Zosi in his arms, quite similarly to how a sick child would hold their teddy bear, yet he knew he could not carry him the entire time. He gave his church grim a kiss on his fluffy forehead before letting him down on the floor, allowing Zosi to walk for himself before the doctor slipped into his shoes that laid neatly on the floor by his bed. Zosi did not move far, no, on the contrary, he seemed to refuse to let his owner move further than a foot away from him. Henry did not mind, obviously, but he could not help but stretch once his shoes were on and he was ready to finally get moving. His joints popped quite loudly, he saw how Robert seemed to wince at the mere sound, yet Henry himself merely shook it off, and silently they began their walk, church grim practically herding them to their destination.

The silence that had lingered between them did not disappear as they continued on their way and as they trudged through the empty corridors, yet words did not need to be spoken. Robert held his head high and his back straight, just like he always did, yet Henry remained a bit hunched, almost feeling naked and exposed in the simple hospital clothes he had been allowed. He could be thankful he was not wearing a hospital gown, of course, but that didn’t make him feel any less... Bare, vulnerable. He envied Robert for seeming so well-put-together; it seemed like the moment that he got the news that Henry had been back and the moment he was allowed to ‘play doctor’ with him, he had returned to his normal, snobbish self. Henry did not mind, of course he did not, because he was happy to see his friend feel better and, in the end... That was the Robert he had fallen for, yes, but he wondered how in all circles of hell Robert managed to go from a complete wreck to all of a sudden act and behave as if nothing happened. The only difference was that he was... Well, more protective now, affectionate, maybe. He always seemed so reluctant to leave Henry’s side and he had, honest to god, suggested that someone keep guard to make sure that no one tried to kidnap Henry again while he slept at night. Henry could understand it, of course, but what he couldn’t understand was the fact that he all of a sudden seemed so... Sentimental? The man who so often kept his heart locked in a tiny metal box, put away in a dusty wardrobe hidden between myriads of knick-knacks in a rotting attic was now freely touching and telling Henry how much he appreciated him. Not a moment seemed to go by where Robert did not seek out to have his hands on Henry’s knee when he was visiting him in the infirmary, not a moment went by where he didn’t try to press himself close to Henry’s side, not a moment went by where he did not subtly tell the younger man how much he had been missed, how glad everyone was that he was back and safe and alive. Robert never explicitly mentioned that he had missed Henry, he never uttered anything as personal as an ‘I missed you’, yet Henry already knew that saying that others or everyone did something meant Robert included, at least so he hoped. Robert had just... Always been so non-sentimental and non-confrontational, he did not seem to want to start with all of that now, either, when both of them had to process everything that had happened and especially since they both had such different views and perspectives about the entire ordeal, but instead he resided in what he always did... He hid it between the lines, both hoping and wishing that Henry would and wouldn’t notice it.

But Henry did, yet he did not say anything.

The corridors were empty, for a moment Henry really did wonder if they were the only ones in the Society. His quiet thoughts seemed to not go unnoticed by Robert, however, who quickly filled him in that most of the Lodgers were currently in their labs, having resumed their projects now that they knew that everything was... Well, fine. Their leader-- their Henry was back and he was safe, it had severely brightened everyone’s mood and it seemed like everyone finally had the energy to pick themselves up and continue with what they had done before. No one could deny that whatever happened to Henry had been, well, a traumatic experience for everyone all around, after all, it was always traumatic to have a loved one or a friend kidnapped like that and especially when it took so long since he returned... Not even knowing if he would ever return but now he was back, and the Lodgers seemed to celebrate by finally working on their experiments again. If Henry was going to be honest... He had not even expected that they would have stopped. After all, all they seemed to care about was their work, but maybe he was just bitter. He didn’t even have to be, the Lodgers clearly cared for him but... No, no, he shook those thoughts off of him, merely giving a soft hum of acknowledgment to the words Robert told him. Maybe it was not a good idea to get out of bed; the bright lights together with the complex interior of the Society, and having to process all the suppressed emotions that began to bubble up to the surface much against his own will, only gave him an even worse headache, yet he did not want to turn back. He wanted to take a shower and he wanted his clothes, then he could sleep the rest of the day away with Zosi by his side.

After far too many staircases for Henry’s taste, they soon came back down to the first floor, turning the corners and wandering through the hallways until they would arrive at the doctor’s esteemed office. However, as they got closer, it did not take long until they saw that the entrance to his office was open, the mahogany carved doors standing wide open and blocking off the sight of the rest of the corridor from the angle the two doctors entered from. Henry almost felt like he stopped dead in his tracks, yet he only hurried his pace once he heard noises coming from his study. What was going on? Robert seemed to notice how Henry quickened his steps and he grabbed after his arm, yet Henry did not allow it to stop him. They were walking into the foyer corridor from the side, he saw the doors wide open right in front of him, someone was in there, in his office. He knew that he didn’t have to care about it, yet the same instinctive protectiveness that always gripped him when it came to his private space only began to claw at him more and more and more-- he had to see the intruders, he had to tell them off, and yet, as they moved past the open doors, as they stood on the threshold to his study... Henry just stopped.

They hadn’t seemed to have heard either him or Robert, yet Henry could not help but stare.

In his office were Virginia, Pennebrygg, Sinnett, and Lavender, all seemingly cleaning and repairing the study.

They had not gotten far as they seemingly had just started; the entire study was still a complete mess of broken furniture, scattered papers, and broken glass, yet there was no longer blood everywhere. Henry could only assume that the police had taken most contaminated pieces they could find for their investigation, yet it did not make anything better for Henry. Pennebrygg and Sinnet were moving broken furniture, Lavender and Virginia were picking up the debris, yet no one saw them, no one looked towards them. Henry... Henry felt frozen in place, paralyzed against his will as he saw what used to be his office. Everything was destroyed; the mirror, the desk, the chair, the only things that remained untouched were the dozens of glass cabinets lining the walls. Blood-- his blood-- had stained the hardwood floor and the carpet where his desk used to be, and all the finished and unfinished paperwork he had worked ages on were torn to unrecognition, scattered like cheap confetti around his once so respectable office.

He had done this.

He was the one who had destroyed his office.

He knew that, of course. He had known that the entire time, so why did it all of a sudden feel so horrible?

Because Hyde had convinced him to destroy his own office, his only safe space, and his only source of pride in this entire building. He had convinced him to flip the desk he had spent so many nights sleeping on, he had convinced him to hit the chair over it and break it into smithereens, he had convinced him to tear all of the important documents, he had convinced him to spill his own blood on the scene. Hyde had not said it, but he had encouraged it, and he had planted the seed of destruction in Henry’s mind. They could have done so many other things, yet Hyde had convinced him to destroy the only room he felt... Happy in. Now everything would be gone, gone forever, and he would have to replace everything he had broken-- his office, his second home would have to be completely replaced thanks to him--

“Oh, Henry!”

Oh no... They had already spotted him.

Virginia had been the first one to notice Henry and Robert, having stood closest to the doorway while using a broom to move away all the broken glass and shredded paper from the floor. Her greeting of pure surprise and delight had quickly alerted the three other Lodgers in the room, now everyone’s attention was on him and Robert, Zosi by their heels. Henry’s eyes scanned them all; they looked shocked, yes, yet the clear happiness upon their expressions were hard to miss. It looked like it took a lot of self-control from all of them to not immediately abandon their ‘jobs’ and jump the doctor, yet it took a long moment for Henry to even fathom why. He... Might or might not have forgotten the fact that, well, he had been ‘kidnapped’ for two weeks and he had refused to see, meet, or speak with any of the Lodgers that weren’t Jasper, Dr. Helsby, or Dr. Maijabi. Maybe their happiness and shock were not so surprising after all, yet Henry only felt like he was about to pass out.

“What are you doing?” He managed to press out, his throat suddenly feeling clogged and his voice sounding so faint, yet the shock was clear in both his face and voice. No one else seemed to notice it, though.

“Well, since the Scotland Yard has all the evidence they can get from here, and since you are back now, Sergeant Brokenshire gave us permission to fix the office up for you!”

Sinnett spoke with such pure enthusiasm and excitement, soon small nods of acknowledging agreement arose from the people around them. Henry was not freaking out, definitely not, of course not, why would he be freaking out? It wasn’t like he just realized the fucking mess he has made of his one safe space and it wasn’t like the Lodgers began to invade his space without his permission, either. It wasn’t like Brokenshire had cleared the case and it wasn’t like Henry had no idea what they were doing with it either. Absolutely not, no, he was perfectly fine and--

“Oh, huh, it seems like there is a loose floorboard here.”

OH NO.

Henry watched in silent horror as Pennebrygg stepped and re-stepped on the carpet right over the plank, the very floorboard he had detached to hide his notebooks, yet his clear fear was not noticed by any of the Lodgers, no. Pennebrygg moved the carpet to the side and tried stepping on the plank again, and much like before, he got the golden opportunity to hear the empty creaking, he gave off a hum as he soon dropped down to his knees and asked Lavender for a few nails and a hammer from a random toolbox by the side. Lavender obliged, soon the automatonomist was already hammering down the floorboard in its place.

thudthudthudthud.

Henry was not sure if it was his heartbeat or the sound of the hammer against the nail that echoed so loudly against his ears, feeling like a pole got pushed through his heart with every creek of the metal digging into the wood. All he could feel was how his heart beat faster for every hit, yet he could not see or realize what was happening as the room began to spin and everything seem to blacken around him, soon he lost his balance. He felt himself falling back and yet he did not get far before he felt a pair of strong arms grasping him, keeping him upright. His knees continued to give in under him yet he felt how the arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly against the person’s chest.

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down, slow down...”

Well, Henry hadn’t moved voluntarily at all, yet he did not blame Robert's slightly confused words of comfort. The world still seemed so dark around him, his ears began to ring while his limbs numbed, yet he felt how his body was dragged-- lifted? Moved, he felt how his body was moved until he was sitting down on something soft and quite familiar... Was it his couch? It must be, there weren't many other options that it could be. He felt how two hands wrapped around his own as his back was leaned against what seemed to be the backrest of the couch, yet it took a moment or two before he managed to regain his vision. He blinked, taking a deep breath as his vision slowly, slowly returned to him, yet it did not take long until he saw how everyone seemed to have gathered around him, all of them looking at him with concern and worry. Robert sat on his knees in front of the younger doctor, and it was his warm hands that were wrapped around Henry’s cold ones, yet his voice stood out from the rest of the ringing in Henry’s ears. He still felt so dizzy, despite sitting down, yet it only seemed to get worse and worse, he could not focus.

“Henry? Henry? Do you need anything? Are you alright?”

One of Robert’s hands came up to Henry’s cheek, brushing his thumb over his delicate skin. The alchemist’s eyes fluttered wide open, yet it did not do much, his surroundings still cloaked with a thick veil of shadow despite how he slowly began to regain his ability to look around him. It was a wonder he even managed to hear and understand what Robert tried to ask him, and yet, with a single, raspy breath, all Henry managed to choke out was a quick, fleet, hurried “I need to get out of here”. He had to get out of here, he felt so faint, he had to get out of here before he actually passed out, just being here... No, no, he could not be here for a second longer, he could feel the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and his ribs began to press into his lungs in sheer panic. Robert seemed taken aback by the request, yet he was quick to pull Henry up to his feet and hold the younger man against his side, supporting him as they hastily left the room with Zosi close behind them. Henry did not see the way Robert turned his head back to give a slight glance to the Lodgers left behind them, showing that he was just as confused as they were, yet just as concerned.

Well, he wasn’t really confused, or at least Robert did not believe that he was. After all... It might even make sense that it was hard for Henry to see his office, poor Henry probably got reminded of the night he was abducted, the way he was attacked after seeing his office in such a state... It must be so hard for him, yet Henry was so strong. He did not need to be strong now, though, no, Robert was going to help him. He continued to lead Henry out, out and into a corridor to the side, opposite of the one that they had come from. It did not take long for him to find a bench, and he was quick to sit Henry down there instead as Zosi already seemed to have realized the older doctor’s plan and jumped up there himself, keeping close to his owner while pawing at his leg to give him a bit of support. Robert did not resume his previous position of kneeling on the floor, but instead sat down on the free side next to Henry, keeping an arm around his waist... Just to support him, Robert told himself, and for no other reason at all. Henry’s head tilted, soon it was laid rested upon Robert’s shoulder, yet his shaky breathing never got soothed, soft whimpers breaking through.

“Come on, deep breaths,” Robert started, “in and out, in, hold, out, hold, you know that pattern, don’t you?”

Henry followed the instructions that Robert gave him, yet it did not stop him from getting hiccups, metaphorically and literally. He did his best to repeat the breathing exercise Robert coaxed on to him, yet he got no moment to question why Robert seemed to have latched onto the idea of an exercise like that so quickly that he just had it ready for Henry. Henry repeated, and soon he felt how the shake and rasp in his breathing calmed down, luckily nowhere near as close to a panic attack as he had felt like. Now he just felt... Tired. The dread and the worry still held a tight grip around him, yet he slowly felt how the ringing in his ears stopped, how he managed to regain control over his limbs, how he finally began to see clearly again.

“I think it’s best if I get you back to bed now, Henry...”

Robert’s murmur was almost hard for Henry to hear, yet the older man was already expecting the alchemist to protest, and sure enough, his suspicion had been correct.

“No! No, it’s fine, I’m fine, I just...” Henry struggled to come up with a logical excuse to his behavior, a logical excuse that would not leave him locked up in that damned infirmary again. He waved his hand dismissively, hoping it would help his case, “It’s... The office... I... I do not want to see it anymore.”

“I suspected as much... You won’t have to go back there, at least not for a while. How about we go down to the kitchen, hm? Your blood sugar must be low, I’m sure Rachel would be happy to cook something for you.”

Henry stayed silent, for just a moment, as if he was thinking through the suggestion... Or maybe he just had trouble processing the words, the offer that Robert laid out on the table. After a while, he gave a slight nod, moving his head from Robert’s shoulder to do so as well. He did not turn to look at Robert, yet that seemed to be enough for the older man.

“Ready?”

“Hmm...”

Robert, once more, helped Henry up to his feet, his arm never moving from around Henry’s waist. Actually, Henry could not even notice it, even if he would have tried to, no, it just felt too comfortable for something he would notice. Robert stayed closely by his side, supporting Henry through every step of the way, yet he also made sure to look out for Zosimos, making sure that little rascal still stayed with them. Zosi followed them closely, eyes firmly held on Henry as they resumed their silent walk down to the kitchen. This time it was not silent for tension or frustration, no... This was merely an empty silence. Not necessarily comfortable but not uncomfortable either, and that was good enough. That would always be good enough, at least for now, as nothing more was needed, as nothing more had to be said.

They continued their walk, and while Robert continued to hold Henry against him, and while he continued to assist him the entire time, he could not be more thankful that Henry... Was safe. Sick, yes, but he was alive and they were going to keep him that way. At least they did not have to worry for him on his deathbed, at least not now, at least not for a while.

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This chapter was fun to write specifically for the floorboard part. I’m also sorry if the title of the chapter scared y’all-- no I’m not <3

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Taglist: @artzycreature @jekkiefan

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#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs fanfic #tgs fanfiction #banshees writing #banshees fanfic #tgs fake kidnapping au #tgs fk au #the glass scientists fake kidnapping au #the glass scientists fk au #tgs henry jekyll #tgs robert lanyon #tgs dr robert lanyon #the glass scientists henry jekyll #the glass scientists robert lanyon

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years ago

Text

A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 5; Laments Of What You Have Lost

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Chapter six! Happy days are over, now it’s just angst to come.

I also changed the name of this fic, with the courtesy of one of my friends who isn’t even in the fandom and has never read that fic, who helped me choose a better title! I have also gone through and changed some of the formatting on the older chapters because I’m a big dumbdumb head and did not do that when posting <3

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Wordcount: 6707

Chapter summary: Robert Lanyon does his best to help the Scotland Yard in the search for Henry Jekyll, but all the stress is bound to get too much, sooner or later.

CW [for this chapter]: No warnings apply.

[Ao3]

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Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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Seven days.

It had been seven days since Henry Jekyll’s disappearance.

Seven days had passed since Robert Lanyon had stumbled into the previously locked office, only to be met with broken furniture, a shattered window, and blood splattered upon the entire scene.

Seven days since Robert Lanyon ran to the police station, crying and begging for Sergeant Brokenshire to come with him, to come with him and inspect the scene, to come with him and find Henry.

Seven days since the police blocked off most of the street and hauled off the Lodgers to interrogations.

Six days since Henry Jekyll was officially deemed missing.

Six days of Lanyon coming into the police station every morning in hopes for any possible updates on Henry, in hopes that he could be of help.

Six days where Dr. Robert Lanyon, a man so known to preen under the mirror for every moment he got, a man so known for his medical expertise, stopped taking his own advice. He had almost stopped eating, he barely slept, but how could he possibly take care of himself, how could he possibly be able to rest when his best friend, the man he had loved for over one and a half decade was gone, maybe for good? How could Robert even attempt to think about taking a break, to take care of himself, until Henry was found? How could he possibly find the need to rest when he knew that someone had hated his beloved Henry so much that they decided to kidnapping, and possibly to murder him? How could he possibly think of anything else knowing that, at this very moment, his dear Henry might be getting tortured? How could he take care of himself, knowing that if he didn’t do anything, Henry might be lost forever? Was he supposed to stand still on the sidelines, leaving everything up to the police while he just had to keep himself together and pray that Henry would be found? He would rather die than to let someone take his beloved alchemist from him. He would do anything for the younger one. He had fought tooth and nail to keep the Society up and running, just because it had made Henry happy, and he would do absolutely anything to see that smile upon his pale complex, just one more time... He would do anything to get Henry back. And everything he did. He would do anything and everything in his power, just to get Henry back to safety.

The warm, orange sun that found its way through the glass window of the carriage indicated that it was late afternoon, shining so brightly and warming the doctor’s skin, almost comfortingly. Like every day for the last week, Robert had spent the entire day by the police station, doing his very best to give Sergeant Brokenshire as much information about the missing alchemist as possible in a naive hope that it would, somehow, give them enough insight to find the offender. He had given the policemen lists of every friend, business partner, acquaintance, and possible rival in hopes that it would help the investigation, so very desperately clinging to the hope and belief that he was being helpful, that they might find Henry if he just helped them, despite only feeling like he was being in the way, keeping the police back from doing their actual job despite Brokenshire saying otherwise; he had not seemed like he thought that Robert was being in the way but rather, on the contrary, it seemed like he was greatly appreciating the doctor’s help and insight. He more or less expected Robert to come by every morning, making sure to brew a kettle of tea for the two of them as they sat down to go through anything and everything that had to do with the disappearance and search for Henry Jekyll. Luckily, Robert gave much more information about the younger doctor than any of the Lodgers had managed to do. After all, he knew... Or assumed that he knew... What Henry did in his spare time, who he socialized with, and Henry had often confided in Robert when it came to those who were opposed to him and the Society, but that didn’t mean that Robert knew a lot about Henry. The realization had been terrifying, but he had come to terms with the fact that there seemed to be things that no one knew about the Scotsman, things that he refused to tell anyone. Despite that, Robert did his very best to tell the police everything that he did know, trying to ignore the gnawing at his heart.

“Was there anyone who actively tried to shut down the Society? Who actively wanted Henry gone?” Brokenshire had asked just a few days earlier, during the first interrogation. His notebook had been held tightly in his hands, pen ready to go, and yet he had kept his gaze at the doctor.

“There was a handful. Henry didn’t tell me much about them, said that they were not worth either of our time, but he has always had a strong rivalry with... What was the name... Richard Crawford? The man who wrote in the newspaper a few days ago.”

Brokenshire had held Robert’s gaze for just a moment, then he had nodded to himself, almost as if it had confirmed an already rising suspicion that the Sergeant had. He had written the answer down onto his notes, then he had thanked Robert for his time and sent him off for the day, and yet it almost felt like that same day was repeating over, and over, and over, and over. Robert would come to the station, he and Brokenshire would go through people Henry knew, who could possibly have a bad bone to pick with him, and then Robert would be sent off and yet return the very next day. It felt like he had forgotten time, he could barely keep track of what day it was and yet he could only count from the day Henry went missing. He felt delirious, like a mad man as he stumbled around the city, trying to make sense of everything that just seemed to have no meaning whatsoever. He could not fathom that anyone would be mad enough to kidnap Henry, a man with so much good in that golden heart of his, the very same heart he wore on his sleeve for everyone to see and grasp. Everyone had rivals, Robert knew that, and yet the fact that none of Henry’s would ever be bold enough to do such a drastic thing... It scared him. The possibilities were endless. It could very well be angry criminals from Blackfog in search of revenge after what Hyde did to the bazaar-- after all, everyone knew that Hyde had used to work for the Society. Of course they would reach for the leader since Hyde seemed to have vanished in thin air. Robert couldn't care less about Hyde or his fate, all that he cared for was Henry, his sweet Henry, and yet...

The doctor let out a shaky breath as he leaned his aching head against the carriage window, holding his gaze and letting all of London roll past him in undecipherable heaps of colors. The exhaustion and misery that riddled his weakened body was not only a mortal curse upon him, but it was also more than obvious for anyone that would take a single glance at the man he now was; his once well-built body seemed to begin to collapse under all the pressure, a simple week of barely eating having made him thin and frail already. His dark skin did nothing to hide the dark bags under his droopy, dry eyes, while his so often delightfully fluffy hair was now just a heap of thick curls plastered onto his head, his freckled complex only seeming to get paler and paler by the moment. He knew he was losing his grip around himself, he knew that he was falling into a dangerous pit of despair, he knew he was risking losing himself as much as he was risking losing Henry, and yet he just simply could not find the strength to dig his way out and hold his head above the water of the bottomless lake he was getting dragged into. He would always refuse to admit it... But he wanted a break. He wanted a break so badly. He wanted to go home, eat, shower, sleep, and hope to wake up the next morning knowing everything was a dream, or maybe he would pray that Henry would come back and explain that everything was just a massive understanding, that the destroyed and bloodied office was merely an accident or some sort of twisted joke. He wanted Henry to come back and say that everything was fine, that he was fine, and that nothing bad had happened. That everything was just a misunderstanding.

Robert wished, and he dreamed, and he hoped, but he knew that such a truth was far-fetched, if not naive.

Only the soft rumble of the carriage upon the cobblestone broke through the heavy silence as he watched London roll past him, as he watched the townsfolk going about their days. It was a very pleasant one, objectively speaking, as the warm sun stood high upon the clear, blue, cloudless sky of the London summer, its pleasantly warm breeze giving a bit of heat to the normally cold streets. He could see young and old gentlemen alike chatting with each other, or escorting their ladies through the many parks and streets that dotted around the enormous city, and he watched parents playing and walking with their children down the streets by the Thames, letting them watch the boats. They rolled past another park, and Robert could hear the loud music playing, even through the carriage.

Everyone just seemed so... Happy.

In all honesty, it just made Robert feel nauseous; nauseous to know that there were people who could go on about their day, knowing that the people that they loved were safe, not having to worry about if they would never see each other again. He wanted to be happy, he wanted to enjoy the pleasant day like the rest of them, but he could not do that without Henry. He wouldn’t allow himself to enjoy such things until he knew that Henry was safe, until he knew that he was alive, fine, and happy. Until then, the townsfolk of London could have their bright days and pleasant company, but Robert would not spare himself such a thing, no matter how much he wished to get out, to get out and seize the day, to go home, get himself cleaned up, to go to one of the many bars that he so often frequented, to find a good-looking lad, to chat him up...

He shook his head violently, not even knowing what he was doing until he felt his forehead bonk against the thick glass. The only sound that he let escape his lips was a soft groan of mere pain, yet he knew that he deserved it. He would not let himself lose enough dignity to do such a thing. What a poor taste it would be to try to get some company in his bed while the man he loved was probably getting tortured somewhere. What a poor taste of a friend he would have been. What a poor taste. No, he would do no such thing, no matter how much his mind and body longed for someone to keep his mind off of things, yet old habits die hard. When you go in search of something every time you are met with stress, pain, suffering... It was hard to not seek it out, just for that little moment of happiness. He was exhausted, he just wanted to rest, but if he was going to give in and let himself actually take a short break, he would not sink low enough to invite someone to his bed like that.

Yet, much to his delight and to his horror, it did not take all that long until his carriage came to a halt outside the Society for Arcane Sciences, the very same building he had visited probably thousands of times by now, the very same building he had helped his best friend build, the very same building he now dreaded to get closer to. He did his best to calm his nerves as the coachman jumped down from his seat to let the doctor out, and yet the aristocrat only gave the other a mere nod of acknowledgment as he stepped outside, even if he did take a moment to just stand where he stood to watch as the carriage drove away, leaving him in front of the building, alone. He stared, yet he only allowed himself a quick, deep breath, before he gathered enough courage to start his march up the stairs. He opened the heavy doors with a soft groan before slinking into the scarcely lit foajé. He had to squint to see anything at all, and yet, like every other day this entire week, the normally loud Society was eerily quiet. The echo of a needle drop would have been heard throughout the entire building, the silence was consuming, almost deafening, but like every other day this entire week, the first thing that caught Robert’s attention was not the darkness nor the quietness, no, but instead, it was the doors leading up to Henry’s office, now marked off with police tape. No one was allowed in, no one was allowed out, and no one would be until Henry... Would be back. Until then, the only ones allowed within that very office, the very same office that Robert had become so familiar with, the very same office that Robert associated so strongly with his dear friend, was the Scotland Yard...

He took a deep breath, quickly shaking his head to get rid of any unpleasant thoughts before he quickly swayed his course, making a beeline for the corridor to the right rather than walking straight ahead, up to Henry’s office. He had to admit that he did not know his way around the Society very well, yet he would rather take a massive detour than to walk the --objectively much easier-- route that went past the alchemist's office. He refused, and he would refuse to take a single step closer to those red doors for quite a while. He would rather walk a thousand stairs and come late than to be near that godforsaken office. If every single glance his eyes laid upon those doors made his head swirl with thoughts about what happened to his Henry, and who would be cruel enough to do something so wicked, something so violent and inhumane to such a good man... No, he did not want to get close. Instead, he did his best to calm his nerves, opting for the longer route to get to the attic.

As the doctor silently wandered through the empty halls and empty corridors, he noticed the source of the stillness quite quickly; every parlor was empty, yet he could hear and see multiple Lodgers silently working in their labs, not holding a single conversation with each other. All that could be heard was the soft, low rumble of whatever project they had picked up, and yet, much like Robert, no one seemed to be in the spirits of socializing, to go out and enjoy the nice day. Instead, they all opted to isolate inside, to try to get their minds off of everything, to get their minds off of their lost leader and friend. Robert knew that the Lodgers would refuse to admit it, but it was obvious to see that Henry’s disappearance had affected all of them. Maybe it was in concern, in worry for Henry, or maybe it was in fear that they would be next, but no matter, every parlor where most Lodgers normally bid their time remained empty as Robert walked past, ignoring the haunted emptiness and loud silence. He did his best to hold himself together, mostly by pressing his limbs close to his body, his arms held behind his back, as his heavy and fleet steps echoed throughout the corridors, mimicking the way his dear Henry held himself up but either way, it did not take long until he arrived at the attic. As expected, Virginia Ito waited for him outside the door, holding a briefcase filled with alchemical hijinks with one hand while the other clutched Jekyll’s notebook tightly to her chest. The little church grim that normally had followed Virginia so closely lately was nowhere to be seen, but Robert didn’t care for it, just as he did not care for how terrible Virginia looked, too. The kidnapping of Henry Jekyll had certainly affected his young apprentice, and while Robert was sympathetic, he had neither the time nor energy to express or care much for it. He was here for Frankenstein and Frankenstein alone-- although not to brew her medicine. That’s not why he was here. That’s why Virginia was here, because she knew alchemy and she could, somewhat, decipher Henry’s notes about Frankenstein’s condition and her cure, but Robert was here because he was the only licensed medical doctor in this entire building, or at least he assumed. Dr. Helsby and Dr. Maijabi had both refused to take over Frankenstein’s treatment either way and since no one but Henry was both an alchemist and a doctor, Lanyon and Ito had to team up to take over Henry’s job.

“Ready?”

Virginia gave a slow nod, pressing the notebook closer to her chest without saying anything else. Robert took that as an invitation to enter the room, so with a deep breath, he grabbed the door handle and pushed the door open. Much to their delight, they found Frankenstein exactly like they had found her all the previous days since Henry’s disappearance; obediently sitting on her bed with a book on her lap, no struggle, and no fuss. Neither of them were surprised by the fact that her Creature seemed to be nowhere to be found, as he seemed to have taken the silence and emptiness of the Society to wander around the vacant halls, but it was not like anyone minded. Frankenstein herself, however, barely looked up from her book, but instead opted to only give a short glance and curt nod to Virginia, before she turned back to her text. Robert couldn’t help but sigh. He did not care what Frankenstein thought of him, what she thought of his work, but he had to admit that her ignorance was only getting frustrating but even then, no one said anything as Virginia and Robert went on with their respective work. Virginia immediately began to flutter through Henry's notebook for the correct recipe, and although Robert wondered briefly where on earth she had gotten it, he did not wonder for long as he soon turned his entire attention to the frau, reluctantly stepping closer and reaching his hand out. For every single step he took, the deep frown upon Frankenstein’s wrinkled complex only seemed to deepen, yet he merely sighed when she didn’t seem willing to cooperate.

“Frankenstein; arm.”

It sounded more like he was commanding a dog rather than trying to coax his patient into doing as told, but with how much Frankenstein had been acting like one, he did not care to treat her as anything but the female canine she decided to behave like. He was not going to beat around the bush with fake formalities and pleasantries, he just wanted to get out of this goddamn room and get this entire appointment over with, and thank god that Frankenstein seemed to realize that they both wanted the same thing. She gave off a dramatic huff, not turning her gaze away from her book for even a second, yet reluctantly moved one of her arms and reached it out for the doctor to do as he pleased. Knowing both of them wanted this over with as quickly as possible, he wasted no time in rolling up her sleeves to check her vitals, praying that Virginia would be quick with the medicine, and yet, as Robert continued with the routine check-up, and as Virginia did her best to decipher her senior’s cryptic notes and handwriting, no one could deny that the silence that followed was anything but an awkward, tense one. The only sounds that broke through such an uncanny quietness were the ones of the glass rod in the beaker Virginia tinkered with, together with the rustling of pages as Frankenstein continued to read, and yet it only seemed to make the unwanted stillness even more unpleasant. Sometimes the doctor and the junior neo-alchemist would glance back at each other, but not for long, and not so that the other would notice it. Both were nervous, although Virginia even more so. Maybe Robert was nervous but whatever feelings he harbored within him was quite massively trumped by the burning frustration, lighting him up from the inside like explosives. He did not need to look at Virginia, the way her hands shook so gently or the way her eyes darted over the room, to know that she was on edge, but he did not need to look at either her or Frankenstein to know one thing;

All of them would rather have Henry Jekyll here, at this very moment, being the one to do this check-up.

Of course, it was obvious to know why Robert would rather have Henry here, considering that the older doctor had never signed up to take care of an old hag --and that was to not mention the fact that Robert just wanted his Henry back--- but for Virginia and Frankenstein, it was not as evident. As much as Virginia adored her idol, just like everyone else, she was nowhere near a fully trained neo-alchemist and she was nowhere near having ever studied in the medical field. She was not fit to be in charge of someone’s medicine and especially to jump in halfway through the recovery process having little to no idea what she was doing, with only a notebook filled with cryptic instructions to her guidance. While Frankenstein could say whatever she wanted about Jekyll, she would have to appreciate the fact that he, at least, had been a fully trained alchemist and a licensed doctor who had willingly started to take care of her, even if it turned reluctant in the end. She should have been happy for what she had because now she was stuck with a prude of an aristocrat and an enthusiastic, yet inexperienced alchemist who had little to no idea what she was doing or whatever Jekyll was rambling on and on about in his notes. The messy handwriting was near to impossible to read, and yet that wasn’t the worst part, as he kept backtracking and jumping through the text. You might as well have thought he expected someone to try to steal or sabotage his notes, what with the way he practically made it read-proof, and yet Virginia could not for the life of her figure out an actual reason for why he would make it so complicated, yet she did her best to follow his memos. She had done this recipe over and over for the last six days and yet it never seemed to get any easier for her, and Frankenstein was to no help, either; as much as she bragged about being an expert alchemist, she seemed to have little to no clue about the diagnosis and treatment that Henry had given her, and trying to read his notes herself was practically impossible, as she could barely read her own already. Henry’s messy scribbles would be complete greek to her.

From what Virginia had managed to decipher, it took almost double the time that Henry had specified for her to get the same result but luckily, it did not take long until she held a vial of glowing, bright blue solution between her pale fingers, and she couldn't help but sigh in relief. She wasted no time in quickly packing up most of her briefcase of supplies before she turned back around to face the aristocrat and the older scientist, and it did not take long to notice the fact that Frankenstein still had her entire face pressed up against the book while Robert seemed to have circled a few rounds around her, doing whatever it was that doctors did. Virginia surely had no clue but she trusted that Robert... Kinda... Knew what he did, and yet she only let a brief hesitation grab her before she went closer and gently cleared her throat, successfully gaining the attention of Robert and Frankenstein. She gestured slightly towards the vial in her hands, still not saying anything, but instead taking the soft nod that Robert gave her as a sign that she was allowed to get closer and hand the vial to the patient. The patient in question, however, eyed the liquid for just a moment before she grabbed the flask and moved it to her mouth, gulping down the entire thing in mere seconds, before handing the empty glass vial back to the apprentice. Robert took the moment to glance at Virginia, who gazed back at the older man as she moved back to the little brewing station she had set up. They gave each other a short nod, and Robert did not seem to hesitate to immediately opt for the door, not waiting for Virginia to get her stuff before he had already left. He could not stand a single second more in this godforsaken attic and especially not with them. He despised Frankenstein with a raging passion and, honestly, he doubted the Lodgers were any better after what they did to poor Henry. He did not care if Virginia was Henry’s favorite Lodger, he did not care if she had not been as involved with Frankenstein as the rest of them, he was still pissed. He wasted no moment in tearing the door open and practically stomped down the corridor, and yet he didn’t bother to try to cool off. All he wanted was to go home, go home and hide and imagine that Henry was with him, he did not want to think about the fact that his Henry was gone and that these godforsaken Lodgers and Frankenstein acted so sad and upset about the fact that he was gone when he knew that they didn’t care. They had insulted Henry, they had practically spat on both him and his work and now they were going to turn around and act upset about the fact that he was gone? Oh, oh, it made Robert’s blood boil. His poor Henry, the same Henry who did everything for these ungrateful bastards, was now gone and he had told Robert everything about the Lodgers’ behavior towards him. Robert was pissed. The residents of the Society could be thankful that he had much more self-control than he really wanted, otherwise he would have told them everything he really thought-

Despite his silent rage and despite his eternal wish to just go home, he did not leave the Society once he was on the first floor. No, he continued down the stairs until he arrived at the kitchens. The doors were closed, just as he had expected and just like every other day this week, and yet he took that as an opportunity to take a deep breath and actually try to calm down, to cool off. He could not deny that he was mad. He could not deny that he was furious. He could not even try to deny that he was absolutely miserable and yet he knew that Rachel and Jasper had it bad enough as it was, with their own emotions and their own processing. They did not need Robert’s grief and anger on top of that. He knew Rachel was going through a lot, especially; as much as he disliked Hyde himself, it had been clear that he was dear to Rachel, but now she had lost him and now she was running the risk of losing Henry too. They had both known the alchemist for almost one and a half-decade, of course they both were going to get hit hard but such a thing like this... Yet, as much as Robert rarely felt sympathy or even guilt, it would not feel right to dump everything he was feeling onto poor Rachel. No, he had to calm down. He took in a deep breath, counted to ten, then let all the air and all the pressure out of his body. It did not help a lot, but it helped somewhat, and he took that as good enough before moving closer to the doors, bringing his hand up to give a soft knock, then waiting.

Silence...

He listened carefully, yet he could not hear anything for a long while, before he heard soft footsteps moving closer to the door. He took a step back as the door opened, hesitantly, only a small crack between the door and the doorframe revealing the sight on the other side. Jasper was carefully peeping out from the creak, yet he did his best to smile softly at the sight of the doctor, opening the door wider to allow the older man to step inside, while he himself went back, further into the room.

Robert kept his steps slow and light as he moved inside, just as carefully closing the door behind him as he watched Jasper trudging back to his seat on top of one of the counters, and yet it did not take long for Robert to spot Rachel, just a bit further into the room, tending to a stove full of simmering pots. Much like Robert himself, Rachel had clearly seen better days; the low ponytail she usually was seen sporting was now replaced by a tight bun to messily keep together her wild fray of thick locks while her apron was stained and dirtied. Her tanned skin looked pale for her complex and just like Robert, she had dark shadows clinging to the undersides of her eyes like murk spots clouding her skin. Jasper was probably the most well-put-together out of the three of them and yet that didn’t say a lot, as it only seemed like his already thin frame had only gotten lankier under the oversized clothes he wore. His hair seemed unwashed, and badly hidden under the awkwardly placed cap he wore upon his head. Much like everyone else, his skin had only gotten paler and it seemed like he was having an awfully hard time sitting still and not quivering. As expected, Zosi was laying next to Jasper on the counter, yet he did not remain in that position for long as the werewolf soon picked the little one up, holding him tightly to his chest while burying his face into the grim’s fur. Jasper had explained a few days ago, when questioned about a wave of particularly bad nausea that seemed to have stuck with him, that he had managed to smell all the blood in Henry’s office and the scent haunted him, confirming that it was Henry’s blood and not the ones of whoever had kidnapped him, as everyone had hoped. Jasper did his best to keep his nose and his senses occupied most of the time, either covering them completely or residing in the kitchens where the many smells were the strongest, and yet it didn’t seem to help a lot. Even though Robert’s soft look of sympathy went unnoticed by the younger man, he did not keep his attention on him for long but instead turned it back to Rachel quite quickly. She hadn’t seemed to notice him yet, but it did not take too long for her to do so. She turned her head towards him, and yet she just stared blankly for a few seconds, as if she was trying to figure out who she was looking at. Robert was patient, stood still, and remained quiet until she seemed to finally process what she saw just a few moments later.

“Robert,” she breathed, like she was relieved to see him, and yet, knowing her, she probably was, “how are you? How did everything go?”

“Brokenshire has suspects and Frankenstein did not fuss.”

“Good, good...”

She repeated Robert’s words under her breath, as if she was trying to hammer home the meaning behind them, yet it did not take long before she turned her attention back to the pots. She checked and lidded most of them, before taking a step back from the stove. She wiped her hands on her already dirtied apron before she turned and finally focused fully on the doctor, doing her best to press out a smile.

“What did Brokenshire say? Who does he suspect?”

“He didn’t say. He just said that they have reasons to believe that it is... Someone Henry has had troubles with before. He said they had some evidence against a specific person but he refused to elaborate.”

“And Frankenstein?”

“She is getting better but I don’t know if Virginia is reading Henry’s notes correctly, so it might slow down the progress.”

“And you?”

Robert stopped, then blinked.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. How are you?”

“I...”

In all honesty, Robert had no idea how he was-- Hell, he could barely remember who he was at this point. He had no idea what he was doing, he had no idea what was going on... All he knew was that he felt miserable and exhausted, and yet he didn’t know how that was. Rachel’s question had put him on the spot, and yet he struggled to grasp for words, a possible explanation to how perfectly fine he was and how wonderfully functional he was. Yet, of course, those words feel flat upon his own ears before he could even get them out of his mouth. He tried to grasp for words, opening his mouth in hopes that something good would come out, and when nothing did, he closed it again. Then he tried again, and again, until he finally stopped, knowing nothing he would attempt to say would make anything better...

Luckily for him, he did not have to struggle for much longer as Rachel soon gestured for him to stop, sighing softly as she brushed a few strands of wild hair out of her face. She took a step closer, placing both of her hands upon the doctor’s elbows, almost as if to keep him in place just as much as she tried to comfort him. This was probably the most affectionate the two of them had ever been to each other, especially since they weren’t even close friends, but it was clear that both were hurting right now, and both needed... Just a little extra care, just a little extra kindness, maybe.

“Robert, take a break,” she whispered, not to keep her words a secret but just to not overwhelm either of them while doing her best to get her and Robert to look each other in the eyes, even if neither wanted to, “you deserve it. When was the last time you slept? Ate a proper meal? Went outside?”

“When was the last time you did that?”

Rachel stopped, if only for a brief moment.

“I’m... Doing my best. Jasper is helping me.” She took a deep breath, “Please, just take a break. You deserve it. Henry would want you to.”

“Henry is not here to tell me that. I can’t rest until he is found.”

“But what can you do that would make a difference right now? Everyone is searching for him. The police are working on it. You have worked yourself down to the bone but this is as much as you can do. Please, just take the evening off. Get some rest.”

Robert wanted to say no. He wanted to say that he could rest once Henry was found, or once Robert himself was dead, depending on which came first, but until then he would not allow himself to rest. He wanted to say no, and yet he knew better than to argue right now. Rachel did not need his stubborn fussing on her plate right now, even if he knew that he would not have to run the risk of being on the sharp end of her knife if he tried to argue right now. Rachel was not the same, and as much as he was thankful for not risking getting stabbed, he knew that both of them just... Needed a break, no arguing, no fussing. Just... Just peace. Still, he hesitated for a long moment, feeling how Rachel began to stroke her palms over his elbows in an attempt to soothe him, while Robert himself let his gaze travel down to the floor, before he finally sighed, letting his gaze travel back up to her face.

“Alright... Fine.”

The smile that quickly grew upon Rachel’s lips was probably the most genuine one that Robert had seen since Henry’s disappearance, yet his musing over such a thing was quickly cut off as he felt the shorter one wrapping her arms around him in a tight, yet hesitant hug. Robert could not even process it before he felt himself returning it, despite having been caught so off-guard. They wrapped their arms around each other and held onto the little comfort they both could give each other, the little comfort they both could share until their Henry would be back... But even then, they did not hold on to each other for long. They both let go, if not a bit reluctantly, as to not overstep each other’s boundaries. It was far too short for both of their likings, yet also far too short than what they actually needed, even if neither said it.

“I’ll... I should probably go home. Good evening, Rachel, Jasper.”

He nodded in a silent farewell to both of them, getting it returned by Jasper as Rachel waved him off, doing her best to keep ahold of the smile that she wore upon her lips before she turned back to the stove. Robert watched her for just a little moment, then glanced at Jasper, before he finally let himself turn around and leave.

Of course, he had lied-- well, technically he was going to go home... But only briefly. Only to take a shower and change clothes. Then he would let himself lose the dignity he had sworn to hold onto by hitting the molly-houses and gentlemen’s clubs he so adored. The truth hurt, he knew that, and yet he knew full well that Rachel was right-- he could not do more than he already had. He could not continue to work himself to the bone when he knew he could do nothing. All he wanted was some rest, something to keep him distracted, and all he wanted was someone to keep him company in his cold and empty bed. All he wanted was to feel something good, even if he knew he would only feel worse afterward. What was an eternity of pain and guilt to a moment of pleasure, a moment of happiness, a moment of calm?

When he would close his eyes, when he would feel the touch of another man under his palms, when he would feel another’s body upon his own, maybe he could believe that everything was alright. Maybe he could dream that it was Henry, that Henry was not gone, that he was here with him, and that it was Henry under his fingertips. It was pathetic, he knew that, and quite disgusting too, and yet he did not let those thoughts grip him. Instead, he left the Society as silently as he had entered, hailing a cab to take him home. He would lament about what he had lost later, for now, he would let the night begin.

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This and the next chapter are probably going to be two of the more... Controversial ones of this fic, I'm still a bit unsure if it's a good idea to go with the plot I have planned but it's too late to change now so I'm just going to hope that I manage to incorporate everything well. This fic has also knocked down four of my most popular fics and is currently going after Eyes Of Difference like a hungry hyena. Needless to say, Ao3 seems to like this fic lol

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Taglist: @jekkiefan @artzycreature

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#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs fanfic #tgs fanfiction #the glass scientists fanfic #the glass scientists fanfiction #tgs fake kidnapping au #the glass scientists fake kidnapping au #tgs robert lanyon #tgs virginia ito #tgs frankenstein #tgs victoria frankenstein #tgs jasper kaylock #tgs rachel pidgley #the glass scientists robert lanyon #the glass scientists virginia ito #the glass scientists victoria frankenstein #the glass scientists rachel pidgley

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years ago

Text

A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 4; Dried Blood On Silver Trinkets

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Ahhhhh.... Five chapters in, we are a third through my dudes! It’s only getting worse from here. I’m not sorry. This is also a very short chapter but don’t worry, the long chapters will be back by Sunday! I also feel ill and almost fell asleep trying to read through this, please tell me if you find any mistakes!

Also! I’m adding a taglist for this fic (if it works, of course, as I’m having the tags at the bottom of the chapter) so if you’d like to be added, please shoot me a message/ask/reply and I’ll add you! The only ones added right now are those that explicitly stated they wanted to be added as I have no idea if the other peeps who liked the post about the taglist liked it for the sake of liking it or... Actually wanted to be added sdfsdf

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Wordcount: 4819

Chapter summary: Constables Jenkins and Wipple are put in charge of investigating Dr. Henry Jekyll’s office. Sergeant Brokenshire wishes that the Lodgers actually knew their leader.

CW [for this chapter]: Mentions of blood.

[Ao3]

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Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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“Oh my god.”

They had not even taken a full step into the doctor’s office, and yet Constables Jenkins and Wipple might as well have thought they were stepping right into a butcher’s shop. Their eyes darted, neither able to decide where their gazes should land first. There was just so much going on in the rubble that used to be an office. Broken furniture, scattered and torn paper, not to mention the blood and all the broken glass.

Both of the police officers had, of course, seen their handful of gruesome scenes in their careers. They had seen everything from street fights or quarrels gone wrong to gruesome mass murders, and yet... Maybe it had something to do with the toxic smell of old blood, sweat, combined with the general scene that sprawled out in masses around their feet that made it all seem so much more... Horrific. The fact that the victim of such a crime was such a beloved man, as well as the possible intentions and reasons for all of this to have been caused in the first place... It got both Constables on edge. Neither dared to step further into the room, yet they let their eyes continue to scan over it, in hopes of finding a good clue on where to start. The coagulated blood that clung to the shattered glass and furniture seemed to indicate that the scene was quite old, maybe a whole day, yet it made them even more nervous knowing that it had only been a few hours since Dr. Robert Lanyon practically broke through the doors of the police station in hysterics, demanding that Sergeant Brokenshire came with him. The man had been so upset that the officers had barely been able to get out what had happened from him, and yet they had rushed towards the Society as soon as he told them.

“I don’t know what happened,” Lanyon had said, sounding like he had ran all the way from the Society to the station, “Please, you have to come with me. Henry-- his office is trashed and there is blood everywhere and he is gone--”

Wipple and Jenkins had observed the way Brokenshire had tried to calm the hysteric doctor, but with little to no avail. In the end, the Sergeant had called for assistance as he and the aristocratic doctor had traveled to the Society, and it certainly had been well needed, especially since Brokenshire had to travel back to the Society to interrogate the Lodgers... And here Jenkins and Wipple stood, in the doctor’s office, having had the actual investigating job pushed onto them as the other officers seemed to have bailed from the post and instead resided to keep the crowds outside at bay or escorting the rest of the Lodgers out of the Society. What had once been a room of great pride and dignity was now nothing more than a horrible ordeal of smashed furniture and shattered glass, blood topping the whole thing off. The desk had almost been snapped in half, blocking off the door and having made it increasingly difficult to enter the room, and a chair with the legs smashed off laid upon it. Further into the room laid a full-body mirror; its glass side faced down with its shatter spilled out on the floor surrounding it. The wine-red carpet where, assumingly, the desk had once rested upon was now stained with blood that darkened the already dark fabric, and the window displaying the view of the Diodati Theater had been opened but was still smashed, like whoever had broken in had crashed through the window but opened it when they left-- seemingly with the doctor, yet the remains of the window on the city street were enough to gather the curious crowds of passersby and scared acquaintances. The only things that remained untouched were the dozens of glass cabinets and displays that covered the walls of the room, together with a sole couch and a grandfather clock. Everything else was destroyed and stained to unrecognition.

It seemed like someone had wanted the doctor gone, and it seemed like Jekyll had put up a fight.

The noises around them seemed to echo in the high-walled room, as not only could they both hear their own breaths so eerily loud against their own ears, for a moment making them feel like they weren’t alone in here, but they could hear their poor colleagues trying to disband the crowds outside through the broken window, they could hear other officers going back and forth through the Society as they gathered and escorted the Lodgers and whoever else happened to find themselves within these walls at this very moment, hauling them off to interrogation, and they could hear the slow, even, and yet loud ticking of the grandfather clock by the fireplace, only further reminding them that they were losing precious time by stalling. They both gulped, yet it only took a short moment before the two of them glanced at each other. Jenkins soon turned his gaze back to keeping it straight ahead of him, soon he began to move further into the room as Wipple closed the doors behind them, giving them a bit of privacy for their investigation, even though no one was close to the room anyways.

“Well... One thing is certain;” Jenkins started, scratching the back of his neck as he continued further into the room, looking it over, “something very bad seemed to have happened to Jekyll.”

“Oh, that’s to underestimate it. I would not be surprised if some pauper would find him dead in a ditch at this very moment.”

Jenkins took a deep breath, clearing his throat slightly as he tried to decide where to start investigating first, desperately wanting to avoid the inevitable conversation he and his colleague might have started otherwise. Turning back to see Wipple crouching down by the broken furniture next to the door, Jenkins took a short moment to decide that the split and bloodied mirror seemed to be a good call. He moved closer and kneeled down, carefully observing the large glass shards covered in blood just around the frame as he did his best to avoid sitting on or crushing any of it. A thin, gloved hand reached out for a bigger, sharper piece, carefully bringing it up to his face for a better view and inspection of it. The delicately dried blood seemed to fall off at a mere gust of wind hitting it, and yet there were pieces of broken skin clinging to the uneven edge of the cracked end. Jenkins furrowed his thin eyebrows. The remains of skin indicated that someone had either intentionally tried to hurt Jekyll, maybe to actually cause a scene, or Jekyll had tried to defend himself with whatever he had on hand, yet it was hard to say which option it was. No matter the reason, the Constable wasted no time in digging up a plastic bag from his pocket, packing the blooded shards into them so they would be able to investigate the evidence later. They were not as advanced with humane evidence as they would like to imagine, neither Jenkins and Wipple themselves nor the Scotland Yard as a whole, but it was at least something. Either way, Jenkins couldn’t help but wonder... Had no one heard this mess when it was caused? Something so violent-- the doctor surely must have screamed, surely would have tried to kick up a fuss to get someone to come and save him. Had no one heard him? The blood could be anything from twelve hours to a whole day old and anywhere in-between, Dr. Lanyon had only come to check up on the other doctor a few hours ago... But surely some of the other scientists must have heard something. Brokenshire was investigating some of them right this very moment, surely he was asking the same question that they were.

“Do you reckon that someone must have heard something?” Jenkins asked his colleague then, “after all, almost thirty people in a single building-- someone must have heard or noticed something. I doubt Jekyll would have gone out quietly.”

“I don’t know... maybe no one was nearby? The walls seem thick, maybe it’s... Uh, soundproof?”

Jenkins merely gave off a slight shrug before he turned his attention towards the other officer, most of the bloody glass now secured in the plastic bag and rendering the mirror as cleared. Wipple seemed to have moved on from the desk and was now walking around the office, looking over the many glass displays that the doctor had kept. They seemed to be filled with all kinds of alchemical elixirs and spooky serums and god-knows-whats, although Jenkins had to admit that he really had no clue what all those bottles actually were for. Yet, soon his attention stopped back at Wipple, as the other man seemed to come to a halt before a specific glass display. His eyebrows seemed to furrow in pure confusion, observing what seemed to have caught his eye, although he only made his colleague curious.

“Finding anything interesting?”

“No...” Wipple hummed, a chubby finger coming up to scratch his beard in thought while his other hand reached up to carefully touch the glass upon the display, rubbing his fingers together right after, “I didn’t know Jekyll seemed to have such a great interest in poison, though.”

Jenkins watched him for a moment, soon hurrying to stand up from where he had been kneeling on the floor, yet moving carefully so as to not crush or stomp on anything important on the floor as he moved closer to his colleague. Much like Wipple had said, the entire shelf was filled to its metaphorical brim with exotic poisons and toxins; everything from hemlock to cyanide, strychnine to arsenic, quite the collection you’d expect from a madman. There were even a whole bunch of titles that neither of the Constables had ever heard of before, and yet everything was carefully and neatly labeled and placed within the cabinet. It looked just as respectful as all the other displays that, upon closer inspection, only seemed to contain medicine and alchemical ingredients. Neither Wipple nor Jenkins would probably have noticed, had they visited the office at any other time and any other circumstance.

“Does anything seem to be out of its place? The offender might have tried to use the poisons against him.”

“Considering that the display door is locked and there is dust on the glass; most likely not.”

“What do you reckon Jekyll used those poisons for? Do you think he’s just collecting them or something?”

“I mean... What would he use them for otherwise?”

They glanced at each other, yet it only took a moment before the both of them cowered, looking away from each other in the opposite direction in mere shame of the silent implication and suggestion that they shared. Wipple scratched his neck a bit awkwardly while Jenkins cleared his throat, rocking back and forth on his heels as they both tried to look anywhere else but at each other, trying to focus on anything else but the silent implication that the doctor had done anything but merely collected all of these poisons. It was accusatory and immoral to think such a thing of the good doctor, and yet... They couldn’t deny that it certainly was strange to collect exotic poisons and do nothing with them. Well, at least they could be glad that it didn’t seem like the display had been touched for a while; that gave one less possibility that the doctor might be... Well, mad, or dead already. No, no, they had no time to think about that, they shouldn’t think about that. They had to hope and think that the doctor was still alive and was not beyond saving for them to move any further with the investigation, so Jenkins shook his head softly. After all, they had to continue their work. Every minute was sacred and every second lost could only further put the doctor in danger and-

...

Hold on, what was that?

A soft glimmer from under a few shredded documents caught Jenkins’ attention quite quickly, yet he felt entranced by the soft shimmer. He moved closer before he even fully realized what he was doing, yet his steps continued with the same caution as before. He crouched down, carefully turning the blood-stained piece of paper over and placing it aside before he looked back at what seemed to have caught his attention. Two pieces of silver jewelry, both stained with dried blood as well. Huh, strange... He couldn’t ever recall the doctor wearing rings, or necklaces for that matter, he didn’t really seem like a jewelry person-- not that he had been looking at Jekyll’s hands or neck, of course! He could just never recall seeing the doctor wearing jewelry at all, ever...

His gloved hand reached out, picking up both of the silver trinkets and holding them up to the light, further inspecting them. His eyebrows furrowed softly as he twisted and turned the pendant and the ring in his gloved hands, a bit unsure what he should look for before he turned the ring over, showing it’s inside. His eyebrows only furrowed more and yet he was quick to check the backside of the pendant of the necklace as well.

Engraved in both was the name ‘R. Crawford’.

Crawford... Oh god...

Richard Crawford... That Richard Crawford? One of Jekyll’s biggest competitors?

He hastily stood up, holding the chain of the necklace with his closed fist as he held it up in the light, showing it towards his colleague, yet he almost blurted out the words before he even realized what he was saying.

“Wipple,” he started, “I think we found our first suspect.”

---

“So, Miss Ito, you were Dr. Jekyll's apprentice, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And how long have you studied under him?”

“About four years.”

“Did you know him before that?”

“No. I only first met him when I moved to England, and that’s when he offered to help me with my studies.”

Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire nodded slightly, quickly scribbling down the answers onto his notepad. The soft scratches of the pen’s tip upon the delicate paper were the only sounds that broke the fragile silence in the room, counting out the soft hum coming from the Sergeant, before he looked back up at the woman sitting on the opposite side of his desk. Miss Virginia Ito sat straight-backed against her chair, both hands curled into the black fur of a certain Church Grim currently snoozing upon her lap. Normally, Brokenshire did not allow animals in his office but... He had to admit he had a soft spot for little Zosi, and the boy had refused to let the Lodgers-- specifically Virginia-- leave without him, just as much as he had refused to leave Virginia’s side when it was her turn for the interrogation. Brokenshire only let his gaze be focused upon the pair in front of him for a short second, before he turned back to the notepad, double-checking every question and every answer he had just asked the young woman and every other Lodger before her. At least he could be thankful that Virginia was the last of all of the lot to be interrogated; she was much more well-behaved than the rest of them... Not to mention that one Frankenstein, although he really could not blame them for being upset and fussy. They had been thoroughly confused and scared when the Scotland Yard began to haul them off to the station, no one seemed to have any idea what had happened during the night. The news of the disappearance of their leader and the state of his office had only seemed to scare them even more.

“I see... How close were the two of you before his disappearance?”

“He was closer to me than most of the others, I would believe, but he was close to all of us regardless...” Virginia stopped, then cowered, “Well, used to be, at least.”

Brokenshire let his gaze return up to Ito quite quickly, silently quirking one of his thick eyebrows to allow her to elaborate. She hesitated, and the Sergeant did not miss the way her hands seemed to get buried further in Zosimos’ fur, only showing her clear nervosity even more.

“...Well, we-- the other Lodgers and I-- have not been seeing very... Eye-to-eye with him on things lately.”

“Is there a specific reason for that?”

“... The arrival of Frankenstein seemed to complicate things for us.”

“Go on.”

“I-” Virginia stopped again, this time moving a hand from the dog on her lap to move the bangs out of her eyes. She began to grow frustrated, so much was obvious between the both of them, yet it was clear that she tried to contain it, “...How much do I have to tell you?”

“Everything. Everything that could give me a bit of insight into what possibly could have led up to Jekyll’s disappearance.”

“None of us would ever try to-”

“That’s not what I said, Miss.”

The officer placed his notepad back onto the desk, faced down to prevent Ito from seeing what he had written, before he placed his arms on the table, intertwining his hands with each other as he looked at the young woman, his expression making his intent clear. Virginia’s lips pressed together, yet she quickly looked away and cowered even more.

“I understand that what’s happened is upsetting,” Brokenshire started, uncharacteristically calmly for a man of his sorts, although he never once let his gaze move away from her, “but I need you to cooperate and tell me what I ask of you. We are doing everything we can to make sure we will be able to find Jekyll and whoever did this to him. For that, we need you-- just as well as the other Lodgers-- to work together with us rather than against us.”

“...Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, how did Frankenstein’s arrival ‘complicate’ things between you and him?”

“Frankenstein, she... Well...” Like many other times before, Ito hesitated, unsure of what to say. She did not want to reveal too much of the situation between her, the Lodgers, and Jekyll, as she knew that it was not something that her senior would want to be revealed but... She did not have much of a choice. “She did not seem to like Jekyll very much. She wanted us to abandon the Exhibition and she told us that Henry was not one of us. I guess she managed to turn us against him, in a way...”

The reveal of such information seemed to take Brokenshire off-guard, if even for a moment, and yet he was quick to clear his throat and turn back to writing everything down on his notepad. He was aware that Jekyll was having trouble with the Exhibition, as the man had stated so himself in the news just a few days ago, and yet he could not even imagine the actual severity and depth behind Virginia’s words, the depth of Frankenstein’s behavior to Jekyll. No, in his mind, it definitely did not seem as bad as Virginia actually said it to be. Of course, Virginia was not going to reveal that, either.

“Do you know if Dr. Jekyll had any... Say, rivals, enemies, that would like to see him gone?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell us much about himself or his... Social status. I don’t think I have ever heard that someone has even actively disliked him... Except for Frankenstein, of course. Maybe those who seem to be against the Society but there aren’t a lot, otherwise...”

Brokenshire nodded.

“And where were you during the approximate hour of the kidnapping?”

“I spent the entire evening with Miss Lavender and Miss Flowers up on the rooftops, and then we went on with our work today. We normally haven’t seen much of Jekyll lately so we just thought he was doing something else and that’s why we haven’t seen him. ”

“And when was the last time you saw him?”

“Yesterday evening, around... I think somewhere around half-past seven. He was leaving the attic after a check-up with Frankenstein.”

Brokenshire nodded once more.

“Thank you, then you are dismissed for now. I trust that you’ll come and tell me or the other officers immediately, would you remember or find anything that could be of use.”

“Of course, officer.”

Virginia gave off a respectful nod before she quickly scooped the dog in her lap into her arms, wasting no time to stand up and immediately leave the office. Another Constable held the door open for her as she left before he looked back at Brokenshire. With a sole nod, the other man left the office as well, closing the door behind him and leaving Brokenshire alone. The Sergeant watched the door close for only a moment, before he turned back to his notes once more, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he filtered through the dozen notes of paper upon his notebook, unsure where to start rereading first.

The entire notepad was filled with the accounts and testimonies of anyone and everyone that had found themselves in the Society for the last twenty-four hours, thereby including every Lodger, every worker... And of course, Miss. Frankenstein and her Creature. So far, they had gotten absolutely nothing useful out of it, and yet, what really concerned the Sergeant was the fact that every one of the Lodgers had, at some point or another, told them that they truly did not know much about Jekyll or what he did during his spare time, who he socialized with, or who might have seen Jekyll as a threat. Jekyll had always loved to brag about his Lodgers like a proud father would of their children to anyone that would listen, yet it seemed like the man himself was as much of a mystery to the residents of his very Society as he was to the people around him. From the doctor’s acquaintances to his business partners, no one seemed to have a full clue what he did with his life that wasn’t a subject of conversation. The man didn’t have any reported family in London, either, but most of what they could find surrounding his family came from an immigration record from around twenty years ago, from when the doctor-- merely fifteen at the time-- had first moved to London. He had been alone and his passport had reported he came from Glasgow, Scotland, and that’s where his kin resided. The records did not say where the doctor had lived once he was permitted into the city, why he had traveled alone, where his family lived, or what he was planning to do in London but any possible chance of contacting or informing his family would be impossible. Normally, the most likely suspects of kidnapping like this would be the family, the close friends, but since Jekyll seemed to have neither a family nor any reported friends outside of the Society and his many business partners...

Brokenshire leaned back in his chair, scratching his beard slightly. This was certainly a quite concerning case, and the Sergeant would be lying if he would try to claim that he didn’t feel very scared and worried for the doctor. Jekyll was a well-liked man, and Brokenshire had only seen the crime scene briefly before he had returned to the station to interrogate the Lodgers, and yet that sight had been more than enough to simultaneously freeze and boil his blood with a mix between terror and rage. Whoever had done that to Jekyll... They had wanted him gone and wanted so badly, and yet the reason for such a thing went beyond the Sergeant. He could not imagine that Jekyll would have managed to upset anyone, and he could not imagine that he could be seen as a threat to anyone or anyone’s business, either, and yet... He couldn’t help but worry that they were too late. He worried that whoever had taken Jekyll had not only abducted him but he worried that the doctor was already far beyond saving. No man would be able to lose so much blood without any dire consequences, and that was assuming that it was all Jekyll’s. He wondered if the doctor had managed to defend himself, or if he had tried to flee. He wondered if the broken window was the kidnapper’s attempt to get him or Jekyll’s attempt of escape. He wondered if the mirror, the desk, the chair, and all the documents were signs of Jekyll having tried to stall his kidnapper in hopes that someone would find and save him, or if it was the offender’s wicked attempt of malice, violence, and aggression. He guessed that they would never get to know anything until they... Hopefully... Would find poor doctor Henry Jekyll and until the man, or men, who caused this would be behind bars or on their way to the gallows. For the sake of the doctor, he certainly hoped for the latter.

God, if he got his hands on whoever did this to Jekyll...

Even then, it did not take long until he heard the door handle to the office door turn, successfully breaking him off from his thoughts and lament about what could possibly have happened to the doctor, even if he couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows as he watched the door open and two of his friends slink in.

“Jenkins, Wipple, aren’t you two supposed to be investigating Jekyll’s office?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“We think we might have found a clue on who might have done it!”

The previous frown that had graced the Sergeant’s face quickly turned into an expression of pure shock, his eyes widening and his eyebrows rising almost to his hairline. Brokenshire scrambled to get out of his chair and to stand up, yet he stayed behind his desk as he pressed his hands firmly against his desk, trying to keep the adrenaline that pumped through him at bay.

“Well, where is it?”

Jenkins and Wipple hurried closer, the taller of the two quickly pulling out a clear plastic bag from a pocket on the inside of his coat. He was quick to place it upon Brokenshire’s empty desk, tapping the clear bag with his index finger to further put the attention on its contents, yet Brokenshire only raised an eyebrow.

“You see this ring and necklace?”

“Well... Obviously.”

“Well, if you would look at the initials...”

He picked up the bag once more, carefully angling and turning it so that the Sergeant could get a clear view of the inside of the ring and the back of the necklace’s pendant, and yet the deep frown upon Brokenshire’s complex only got deeper. He took the bag from Jenkins’ hands, looking over the contents of the bag himself. He twisted and turned the bloodstained trinkets, and yet...

“R. Crawford,” Jenkins explained, “The right and the necklace says ‘R. Crawford’. Richard Crawford has always been against Jekyll’s work and Society.”

Brokenshire observed the initials of both pieces of jewelry thoroughly, and sure enough, the engravings of ‘R. Crawford’ was as noticeable as a piece of coal in the snow despite the deep, dried bloodstains upon the silver. Richard Crawford. The same aristocrat that publically humiliated the doctor at every turn. The same aristocrat who was known for pushing off his competition without a care in the world. The same aristocrat who would not be above kidnapping someone as kind and innocent as the poor doctor. A cruel man who would do anything to get his way, and for now, one of the most likely suspects.

“...Where did you find this?”

“Under a few documents in the office, between the mirror and the desk.”

Brokenshire straightened himself, taking a deep breath as he fixed his suit. He gave Jenkins the plastic bag back before he turned around and got his coat and his hat from where they had been resting on the cabinet behind him. They had no time to lose, so as Brokenshire placed the notepad and pen into the pockets of his coat, he merely turned to his colleagues and gave them a sole nod, a dry smile upon his lips. They were going to go to the bottom of this, but to get to the bottom of this... They had some people to interrogate. Before they could get to Crawford, they had to start asking around, if not to only find out how his jewelry could have found its way into Jekyll’s office otherwise, if he had no hand in the kidnapping.

Watch out, Crawford. We will have our eyes on you.

“Well, lads, it seems like we have some work to do...”’

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Taglist: @jekkiefan @artzycreature

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#TGS #the glass scientists #tgs fanfic #tgs fanfiction #tgs fake kidnapping au #the glass scientists fanfic #the glass scientists fanfiction #the glass scientists fake kidnapping au #tgs enoch brokenshire #the glass scientists enoch brokenshire #tgs virginia ito #tgs zosimos #the glass scientists virginia ito #the glass scientists zosimos #banshees writing #fake kidnapping au #banshees fanfic #tw blood #blood tw

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years ago

Text

A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 3; Waltzing Ablaze

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Fourth chapter! We are almost a third through the entire thing and this is the shortest chapter so far! I realise now in after-hand that I could have changed the order of this and the next two chapters to make it more... Hmm, interesting and make more sense, but done is done, soo... Voilà!

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Wordcount: 5674

Chapter summary: Henry Jekyll is finally free, and he spends his first night with freedom wandering the rooftops and reminiscing on everything he wants... And, of course, investigating his own kidnapping.

CW [for this chapter]: No warnings apply.

[Ao3]

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Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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Dr. Henry Jekyll was a man of many specialties. He was a doctor, a neo-alchemist, a friend, an employer, a man worth looking up to, someone you could confide in, a man with a heart of gold, who would not hesitate to help anyone that crossed his path, no matter what people might think of him.

Dr. Henry Jekyll was no more Henry Jekyll, no, and he would not be the man he used to be for quite a while. He was no longer all the things he had prided himself in being, he was no longer the man everyone seemed to know and love, he was no longer a slave to societal expectations and performances, and he was no longer a wannabe aristocrat, a rising scientist with his heart upon his sleeve. He was no longer stuck in the box that society had put him in, on display upon the pedestal where everyone could gawk at him. Now he was just one of the many upon the streets, a man in the crowd, or in this case, the rooftops.

He had to admit that it was difficult to navigate the City of London from above, not because he wasn’t experienced with it but instead because everything felt so new, so unrecognizable, so beautiful. Seeing the city in such a way... He felt like he was fifteen again, arriving in London for the first time. The city was huge, its population more so, and there was so much to see and so much to do and it had been so much for the young teen to take in. Now he knew London so well, almost as well as his own back pocket. He knew London as he knew himself, and yet now, it felt like he saw the city with new eyes. So foreign, so... So London. So many rooftops and so many lit windows, so many secrets to discover. He didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know what to do. He was free. What could he possibly do to experience that freedom to its fullest? What could he possibly do that would be worthy of his time, his precious time that he finally had all for himself? What could he possibly do that would fully put into perspective what he finally had gained? What could possibly hammer home the fact that he was free?

He had stopped running a long time ago, now being far, far away from the Society and its district. Now he was wandering nonchalantly over the rooftops, hands deep within his pockets as he sauntered and danced and twirled among the stars. The streets were empty, with the expectations of the open doors of the night-open bars and pubs where the homeless clung to, where the alcoholics spent their evenings and got into fights and danced ablaze through their lives like nobody’s business. They were the kings of their lives, the queens of their fate, the rulers of the world around them. Now Henry was one of them, watching and observing from among the clouds. He was one of them, one in the crowds, he was just like them. He was just like them, but so different.

He did not feel his exhaustion and he could not feel the slow drowsiness gripping him, no, he felt the freedom and he felt the energy and he felt the adrenaline. He felt the wind over his skin and he could feel the pale moonlight soothing his aching body. Oh, the moon... So bright, so high upon the night sky. He could actually see the stars here, far away from the industrial district by the Society. He could see the stars and he could reach the moon. If he just reached his hand, he was sure he could feel the moon’s surface on his fingertips. He was sure he would be able to touch the cool surface if he just dared and if he just believed. He was sure he would be able to run his fingers among its patches and he was sure he would, for once in his life, feel at peace. He had reached for so much in his life, and yet everything had felt so far away, straining him and his body and his mind and his soul until his arms would tear, but now everything was just under his fingertips, waiting for him.

Henry blew his newly dyed hair out of his eyes as he continued to wander over an apartment complex, feeling his coat fluttering in the wind behind him. It was a chilly night, and yet he didn’t mind at all. On the contrary, the cold air felt so nice upon his warm, silky skin; he felt like a king amongst the clouds, and what was a god to the cold air? Hyde had been staying silent for a while but he didn’t mind, no, but he savored the silence, he savored the feeling of being a free man, his own man, a man he wanted to be while living a life he had been trying to grasp so desperately for so long. He merely wandered, jumped, climbed, and ran to his heart contents; if he got bored, he changed what he did. If he wanted to run, he ran. If he wanted to climb, he changed his course and began to climb. He had nowhere to go, nowhere to hurry, no one expecting him or waiting for him. He was free, and he was free to do whatever he wanted... But the question was what he wanted. He honestly wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted. He felt himself slowing his pace until he stopped as the building complex turned and changed into a corner, to which he wandered to the edge and sat down, staring out into the Townsquare. What did he want to do? He wanted to do everything, but what was everything? Well... First of all, he wanted a drink.

Oh, Henry could count himself lucky for living in London; where practically every street corner had a night-open pub where he would need nothing more but a handful of coins and a knowledge of what he wanted. It didn’t even take more than a moment for him to continue his walk upon the rooftop along with the building, all the way until he found an alleyway, where he then could climb down and walk back down to the pub he had set his target on. Then he had just waltzed in, right past the other customers and drunks, ordered a bottle of beer, and he had gotten one. He was not recognized. No one tried to get his attention. No one gave him their attention as he walked back out with his bottle in hand. For them, he was just another man out late at night looking for a refreshment. For them, he was just another face in the crowd. For them, he was just another stranger they would forget about. For them, he was one of them. He was not Henry Jekyll anymore. He was not in the spotlight. He was not even in the theater and he was not even in the auditorium; he was standing outside and listening in to the concertos and plays. He had escaped, and he was free.

The moment he had turned another corner and was out of sight from the other customers of the pub, he placed his newly bought bottle in his coat pocket and began to climb back up upon the roofs once more. After all, who was going to stop him? He quite enjoyed watching, observing from atop, where no one could touch him, so climbed, and he climbed, and he climbed. Then he continued his walk until he came to the highest point of the building, a tower amongst the other low buildings of the district, and then he continued to climb, and climb, and climb until he was at the top. Only then did he allow himself to sit down, to take out his beer and pop its cork. Only then did he allow himself his first taste of freedom, watching the pale moon high upon the sky. Only then did he allow himself the sweet taste of the refreshing beer. Only then did he allow himself to bask in his own glory, to bask in his pride, to bask in what he had just gained, to bask win what he had just done, a hubris so sweet he did not mind if he was Icarus, a hubris that would make it worth to fly so close to the sun-- or, in this very moment, the moon.

‘This is life, ey?’

Henry did not need to turn to see the ghostly glow of his alter ego, who sat down next to him while dangling his legs over the edge, much like Henry was currently doing. He couldn’t even attempt to hide the smile he wore on his lips as he continued to sip on the beer, having only expected his alter ego to turn up sooner or later, to comment on his actions or boast over their little plan. Despite the reasonable distance between the two of them, Henry couldn’t help but muse that this was probably the first time in a whole week that Hyde had not clung to him, or tried to tempt him into something. No matter, he did not continue that thought for long. Instead, he merely continued to sip his beer until he had to take a small break to breathe and to answer his alter ego. A small smile played on his lips as he moved a lock of hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ears, letting the cold night air fill his lungs.

“I love it already.”

Henry gave off a slight cough, but otherwise, the two of them basked in silence as they rested upon the edge of the rooftop. They sat in silence, watching the world go on right under them, right under their feet. They sat in silence, watching the sky and its stars and its moon. They sat in silence, and merely watched. This might have been the first time that Henry had ever seen Hyde so calm, so still, even when he swung his legs like that. He was mesmerized by the night sky and the town below them, just like Henry was, despite Hyde having seen it thousands of times already. It was like he saw it all anew, just like it was the first time for Henry. Even then, the silence they shared did not continue for very long.

‘Do you reckon Morcant misses you?’

Henry could barely process the question before he felt his breath hitching, right as he took another sip of the beer. He coughed, desperately trying to soothe the ache and tickle in his lungs and yet it barely worked. He tried to look over at Hyde, and yet the alter ego was not sharing his gaze, but instead, the blond man was staring at the moon. The very same moon that Morcant worshipped. The very same moon that she had cradled Henry under after one of their many nights out during that vacation Henry had been on with the Lanyons. The very same moon they had gazed so longingly at. The memories brought a painful squeeze to Henry’s heart, and yet he tried to shake the feelings and memories off, and yet he merely shook his head physically as well.

“I don’t know.”

‘Do you miss her?’

“... I don’t know.”

Hyde finally returned his gaze to Henry, and yet Henry was the one to look away this time, letting his eyes travel up to the bright moon in front of them. It was merely a crescent, and yet it still shined so very brightly, casting a silver glow upon the black city of London, so dirty and covered in soot. Henry’s thumb ghosted over the tip of his half-empty bottle, watching silently, hesitating. He was telling the truth; he wasn’t sure if he did miss her, or if he just missed someone else’s touch, someone to hold him, to love him, to run their fingers through his hair and tell them as such. For Morcant, he had probably only been yet another of one of the many men and women she had encountered during her immortal life, whom she had decided was worthy of her attention and affection, if only for a moment, but for Henry... He missed the touches. Maybe that’s why Hyde took so many to bed but quickly grew bored; Henry wanted something more, something fulfilling, or at least he told himself that. If Hyde was everything he wanted to hide within himself and if Hyde was everything he was ashamed of... Maybe he was lonelier than he had originally thought.

‘Y’know,’ Hyde started, seemingly having heard the silent monologue that Henry held within himself as they both watched the night sky, neither looking at the other anymore, ‘if you really miss someone, you can just go to a Molly-house or one of those... Ah, what was the term Lanyon used? “Gentlemen’s Clubs”, was it?’

Henry stiffened, subconsciously straightening his back as he kept his gaze straight ahead, silently gripping the railing they sat on with one hand while the other tightened its grip around the beer bottle.

“I lament about missing a woman’s touch and you tell me to go after other men?”

‘Uh, yeah? You have the chance now, after all. Who’s going to stop you? It’s not like anyone’s going to recognize you... Although you can’t go around introducing yourself as Dr. Henry Jekyll. You’ll need a new name anyway.’

Henry stayed silenced for a moment, turning back to gaze upon the streets in front of him. Of course Hyde got distracted, not even noticing how he shifted the topic to the subject of a new name, but it wasn’t like the alter ego had ever fully realized how... Hard it was to come to terms with someone’s... Ah, ‘preferences’ when it comes to romantic partners. Henry could not give less of a shit who others loved, but the fact that he, admittedly, had the same feelings for men as he had for women... He was ashamed of that, and he was not going to beat around the bush to deny it, but Hyde... For Hyde, everything was so easy. In his eyes, Henry was free now, so why wouldn’t he be allowed to enjoy someone else’s touch, even if it was another man? No... Henry would not allow himself to continue such a thought, but instead, he turned his attention to the second topic that Hyde had subconsciously brought up because, in the end, Hyde was right; He hadn’t necessarily thought of other names yet. He was pretty content with Henry Jekyll, he knew he couldn’t complain but it might be too suspicious to use that one. Most would probably think of it as a weird coincidence since, after all, it was impossible to have a unique name but he didn’t feel like getting arrested for impersonating himself, even unintentionally, so...

Henry took a moment to look around them, and to gaze out over the city streets instead of gazing up at the moon. It was hard to miss all the various company signs marking out various businesses around the blocks and yet he couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows softly as he turned his eyes down to the bottle in his hands. Its coarse, green label seemed to almost shine in the moonlight, its golden text shimmering as well. It was one of the most common beers you’d be able to find in all of London, perhaps in all of England, and yet his attention traveled away from the title of the beer to the company name itself, displayed in a half-circle over the beer’s name, such a common layout that it was hard to miss.

O’Leary Brewing Co.

O’Leary... That was not too bad of a name, was it?

‘Hey! What’s so interesting?’

Henry felt himself getting slightly nudged to the side as Hyde began to cling towards him once more, grabbing his shoulders and trying to peek over them in an attempt to find what he was looking so intensely at. When he did not find his answer, the blond man began to pout with the same impatience and curiosity of a toddler, trying to get a closer look which, to be fair, did absolutely nothing as he didn’t seem to understand what he was looking for. Gone was the manipulative, destructive Hyde that wanted to see Henry’s downfall, gone was the Hyde that Henry had seen the most of the last few weeks, no, this was the very same Hyde that Henry had grown so used to, the very same Hyde you would not believe would be capable of such terrible things.

Maybe Rachel was not too far off in thinking that Hyde was a bit more of a child than a manipulator.

“What do you think of O’Leary, as a name?” Henry said instead, bringing his thoughts away from the thoughts in his mind.

‘Name?’ Hyde stopped, and blinked, ‘You are going to name yourself after a beer?’

“...You named yourself Hyde. Like your ability to hide.”

‘I-... Fair point.’

The two of them glanced at the other for a very short moment, before they both began to snicker softly. Oh, Henry already knew that Hyde probably had not even realized that anecdote about the double meaning behind his name until now but then again, the poor sod had panicked. Henry was quite sure he would have panicked, too, if he had been in Hyde’s situation and been confronted about a name he didn’t have after falling out of the balcony... But he digressed. He probably would have reacted that way since they were the same person but regardless, he still needed a good first name. Taking another sip of his beer, he let his thoughts start to wander, much like his eyes, as he tried to come up with something good...

‘What about Tom?’

“Tom?”

‘Yeah, Tom. Then you can be a real...’ Hyde winked and nudged Henry’s arm, putting a real emphasis on what he was about to say, ‘Tomcat? Ey, get it?’

Henry groaned.

“I would have pushed you off of the edge if I had the chance.”

‘Come on! Tom O’Leary, it doesn’t sound too bad, does it?’

“...I can compromise on Thomas.”

‘Ugh, fiiiiinnneeeeeee...’

Henry watched from the corner of his eye as Hyde began to pout, dramatically crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning down over the rooftop, although his act soon disappeared as he couldn’t seem to hold himself from giggling. Henry just huffed and shook his head at his alter ego’s antics. Hyde could be so dramatic at times, just as much as he could be manipulative and aggressive but he could also be quite relaxed and amusing. Henry was far too used to Hyde’s antics, and he had been far too well acquainted with the more... Ehm... Less-than-pleasant sides of Hyde lately, so sharing a short laugh with him upon the rooftop was quite welcome, in Henry's opinion.

Oh... If anyone would see them right now, or, more specifically, if anyone would see Henry... They would surely think he was mad, or drunk, or both; giggling away and talking to himself upon a rooftop. Oh, but he didn’t mind. After all, there was no one there to see them.

...

‘So, Thomas, what’re you gonna do now?’

Henry stayed silent for just a moment, thinking over the question a little bit. There was so much to do, so much to see, and yet he couldn’t possibly decide what he wanted to do now. Instead, he drank the last beer from his bottle, before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, humming softly.

“Oh, I don’t know...” He hummed, “right now, I just want to wander. There is no haste now, after all. Let’s see how long it takes before we have seen the entire City of London, eh?”

Of course, walking around the entire city would take weeks, but the inner borough called the City of London would be a breeze, a breeze that would blow under Henry’s wings and help him take flight into his freedom and he couldn’t possibly wait. Stuffing the bottle into the pocket of his coat, Henry stood up with a heavy groan, stretching his back and arms for only a short moment, before he brushed himself off and continued in the opposite direction of where he had come from. Hyde followed after quite quickly, of course, although he was not clinging to the doctor’s back this time. Instead, he was floating next to him, watching and observing every move that Henry made. They had the entire day in their hands and the city by their feet, they had no time to waste and yet all the time in the world, and they couldn’t possibly wait.

---

Dr. Henry Jekyll, now going by the name of Thomas O’Leary, had, in the end, spent the entire night and most of the day exploring the inner parts of London from above, closely followed by his alter ego, Edward Hyde. They had raced among the clouds, they had climbed over every possible obstacle, and they had not cared for all the possible people that could have seen them-- or, specifically, could have seen Henry. It was their first day as truly free, and they spent it just as wildly as a stallion escaping a slaughterhouse; they ran, and they ran, and they ran. They ran and they rejoiced. They ran and they danced among the rooftops like witches in the moor, feet burning ablaze. They were free, and Henry never wanted to return, but even then, even if he never wanted to return, he had to get down from his high eventually, as every star would once fall.

Specifically, the one thing that grounded Henry from his ineffable high was the loud, deep, painful growling of his very empty stomach.

Now, he was used to not necessarily eating a whole lot, nowhere near as much as he, as a doctor, knew he needed to but then again... He had just stayed awake for at least 24 hours and had been running over rooftops for most of them, so he really could not complain. No matter, as it was well past noon, it did not take a lot of discussion for Henry and his alter ego to decide it was time for a little break and it was time to try to get their hands upon some proper English street food, so Henry had found an empty alleyway and made his way down to the streets once more, trying to find his way to the nearest pub. Now, he hadn’t necessarily paid much attention to where he had been running during the night but he had a vague idea where he currently could find himself, and it did not take long for him to find a cozy little pub nuzzled between a tailor and a bookshop. Maybe it was his hunger speaking, but he could swear that he already felt the heavenly smell of fresh, warm food as he got closer, and it did not take long until he managed to slink in for a quick snack. Much to his delight and horror, as it seemed to be well-past rush hour, he was the only customer in the pub. The owner greeted him with a smile and took his order and, of course, Henry’s payment before leaving the red-haired man to find a comfortable place to sit while he got the food and the drink. Oh, Henry was so hungry. Luckily, it barely took a moment before he got his plate and was left to eat his lunch in peace, sitting by a round, single table right in the middle of the room.

Thank god.

The lunch practically slipped right through his throat and yet his empty stomach never seemed satisfied, so he just continued to do his best to eat slowly and nicely to make sure his gut understood that he was getting the food he craved so dearly. Maybe it was hard for his body to pick up on the nutrition, as it was the first time in a long while that he actually ate, but either way, maybe his great appetite was merely so unsatisfied because it was his first meal as truly free. It did help that the food was wonderful, too-- maybe not as good as the dinners he had with the aristocracy, and definitely not as good as the food Rachel cooked up, but it was definitely something, and enough to please his empty stomach after a few painful moments. Oh, it was wonderful.

“Oi, Andrew! You won’t believe what Frederick just told me-”

Despite having had his thoughts deep in the clouds, mostly surrounding the food on his plate that was currently going straight to his stomach, Henry couldn’t help but to automatically turn towards the new sound. He saw an easily dressed, but quite dirty, man waltz into the pub. He made his way straight towards the bar where the owner --Andrew, Henry assumed-- was drying a glass with a rag. The newcomer plopped himself down on the barstool on the other side of the counter while propping his arms upon it, and Henry could vaguely see how the owner raised an eyebrow.

“What did you hear this time?”

“Haven’t you heard? The gossips have been all about it-”

“All about what?”

“Dr. Jekyll, Andrew.”

As much as Henry tried to keep his attention to himself, any attempt he made to do so was quickly overruled as it immediately went back to the two men upon hearing his name, and yet it took an awfully long moment before he realized that they were talking about him and hadn’t called his name. Neither of them seemed to have noticed how the stranger’s interest had been caught, and yet Henry just tried to keep his gaze straight on his food while he listened. The mention of the doctor seemed to have caught Hyde’s interest, too, as the current shadow propped his arms upon the shadow of the table, watching with amusement.

“What about the doctor?”

“His office was found trashed this morning, the window broken.” The workman said, “gotta be a kidnapping; some police told the officers trying to deter the crowds that there was blood everywhere.”

“What? Oh, don’t pull my leg. No one would be dumb enough to kidnap him, everyone knows that.”

“I’m not joking! Preston and Frederick were walking past the block when they saw the crowds; the police were trying to block off the area under the broken window but the crowds refused to leave. They were outraged and they all wanted to know what happened!”

“But you didn’t go to look for yourself?”

“What? No, of course not. I was at work.”

The bar owner seemed to roll his eyes and tsked softly, shaking his head.

“And Frederick was the one who told you? Really? Are you going to believe everything he says?”

“Well, when does your shift end? We can go and check it out together.”

Despite nearly choking on his beer, the doctor in question did his best to not make a single sound as his eyes began to dart all over the room, unsure of where to focus, unsure of what to do. So, the news of his kidnapping had spread faster than he had intended... He was not sure if that was a good or bad thing. He had, honestly, not even imagined that someone would have tried to come and check up on him so early-- Well... he was not sure when the rumor started but considering it was well past noon... And he had planned to do paperwork with Lanyon today...

Drowning the sound of the bickering between the two other men out, Henry quickly finished his meal and his beer before he stood up and walked right out of the bar, to which he immediately began to run the moment he was out on the street. Hyde continued to follow him through his shadow and did his best to keep up, which luckily wasn’t too hard, and yet any and all attempts of the alter ego to get Henry’s attention were as good as useless. Henry just continued to run, and run, and run... Just like had run over the rooftops, but this time, it was in the direction of the Society, rather than running from it, and he seemed to refuse to focus or even think about anything else as he ran past and through the crowds of people in the streets.

Much to his horror and delight, despite not having been sure of his locations just moments prior, he always seemed to have a knack to find his way home by heart, and this was no exception. It did not take long for him to spot the Society... Even through the crowds of curious onlookers.

“People! People! Please, we are asking you to back off. This is a police investigation!”

Oh, god.

The doctor wasn’t sure whether or not it was purely a coincidence that there were so many people around here during this time of day, as the street where the Society laid was a quite busy one, or if he and the two men from the pub hadn’t been the only ones to check out whatever was happening. After all, he had to admit, it wasn’t necessarily every day that one of London’s most influential men disappeared in thin air with a trashed and-- ah yes, bloody office. Maybe it was the fact that the window to his office was broken. Maybe it was the fact that even the police looked put off... Maybe it was the fact that Lodgers were getting escorted out of the Society by policemen, although without any restraints or handcuffs as they were, most likely, taken into interrogations at the actual police station. The police and the crime scene seemed to block almost the entire street, even blocking off the Diodati Theater. How long had this been going on? When did this entire investigation start?

Honestly, you would have thought they had found his body with how thoroughly they were blocking things off.

He tried to get a peek from the back of the crowd, trying to gently nudge and push himself closer to the front for a better view; He could see Constables Wipple and Jenkins trying to push through the crowds and get into the actual Society, he could also see a few other constables investigating the actual broken window while others kept the crowds at bay, and he could see a few figures walking back and forth through his office. The investigation was in full swing. However, as Henry tried to look to see if he could actually recognize any faces in the crowd he was currently hiding within, he realized, much to his horror, that he could. He could recognize far too many. You might as well have thought someone had invited the entire aristocracy onto the London Streets in protest and yet Henry could feel how he began to take a few steps back, instinctively looking for a way to get out, for a way to flee, despite being perfectly hidden amongst the people. Oh god, oh god... What had he done...

‘Look at them, Henry.’

As if the panic that began to grow within him wasn’t enough, he could feel Hyde looming over his back like so many times before; Hyde let his thin, cold hands stroke through Henry’s ginger curls and down to his freckled shoulders before they moved over to Henry’s cheeks; as if he was trying to soothe him, even if it did not take long until Hyde’s thumb and index grabbed Henry’s chin, forcing him to look ahead, right into the crowd and right onto the scene in front of them. Henry was stiff, paralyzed.

‘Look what you've done. Isn’t it glorious? Isn’t it nice to see them struggling to piece the puzzle together, unaware that their “victim” is right under their noses, staring right at them?’

Henry didn’t want it to be glorious. He didn’t want it to feel glorious. But as he stared through the crowds, as he stared at the frustrated officers and the outraged masses, as he stared at the Lodgers slowly, group by group, getting into Police cabs, and as he watched the Scotland yard being so clueless to what happened to poor Henry Jekyll and where he could be, he felt...

Happy.

He felt happy.

Why did he feel happy?

‘Because this is what you wanted to happen,’ Hyde murmured, ‘you wanted them to care, you wanted the news to spread, and here you are. They are outraged. They are violated. You hadn’t expected a crowd to mourn your disappearance, to demand answers, would you?’

Henry hadn’t expected it. He had expected a few articles, maybe, but this...

‘Look what you've done, Thomas. Look how you have set the world ablaze. Will you dance through the flames, or will you burn?’

Oh, he was already burning.

But this was not over.

This was not over by a long shot.

He felt how he took a few steps back, he felt how his breath quickened, he felt how he pushed himself out of the crowd, and then he felt how he turned around, turning his back to the Society, and then he ran. And he ran. And he ran. He was not sure where, but he fled, fled like he had escaped his office just the night prior. Now he was free, and no one would find him.

Dr. Henry Jekyll was gone. Thomas O’Leary was burning, and yet, he was going to waltz through the flames.

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I went into town a week or so ago to get a bankcard, and right across the bank was a pub named O’Leary. That was many weeks after I first came up with the name Thomas O’Leary, and many weeks after I had first written this chapter, so that was a very neat coincidence!

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#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs fanfic #tgs fanfiction #tgs fake kidnapping au #the glass scientists fanfic #the glass scientists fanfiction #the glass scientists fake kidnapping au #banshees writing #banshees fanfic #Fake kidnapping au #Shattered Mirrors And Bloodstained Feathers #tgs henry jekyll #the glass scientists henry jekyll #tgs edward hyde #the glass scientists edward hyde

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years ago

Photo

Yeah, yeah, I made art for my au/fic now that I finally posted the chapter that would make this make sense. Anyways! I’m very proud of this one!!! Also probably the first time I have actually managed to draw glowy stuff and make it look good!

Yeah, I’ll stop talking about the fic now sfsfsd

#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs henry jekyll #the glass scientists Henry Jekyll #tgs fake kidnapping au #tgs au #the glass scientists au #the glass scientists fake kidnapping au #banshees au #banshees art #banshees fanart #fake kidnapping au #tgs art #tgs fanart #the glass scientists art #the glass scientists fanart #My art tag

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years ago

Text

A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 2; The Point Of No Return

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Third chapter... I have been very excited to post this because the angst I have been wanting to bring into this fic is finally here and I’m sure most of you will hate me for this! Also very glad I have prewritten most of the chapters for this fic considering I got sick sdsfdsdf

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Wordcount: 8124

Chapter summary: Henry Jekyll's and Edward Hyde's master plan finally fall into action, but Hyde's hunger for misery is never quenched. Henry can do nothing but to obediently follow, even through doing things he will soon regret.

CW [for this chapter]: Self harm, blood, violence, manipulation, identity crisis (?)

Note: The part with self harm is marked with a -*-, so incase it’s triggering for you but you still want to read (please, please stay safe!) you just have to skip the text between the two -*- !

[Ao3]

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Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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Hyde had done exactly as told.

As Henry had allowed himself to melt away from the real world, Hyde had continued his travel by the rooftops while scanning every block, every neighborhood, every district for the one and only Richard Crawford, and it had not taken long until he had been spotted. Crawford had been an easy victim, an easy target; naively displaying his expensive coat, shining jewelry, lavish fabrics, and handcrafted cane as he walked through the neighborhood on foot, alone, while being just as unsuspecting and unaware as his photograph had been upon Dr. Jekyll’s corkboard. The heavy thuds of his cane echoed between the apartment complexes as he continued his rounds, the streets emptied and silenced but for him, and yet it did not seem to unnerve him. He thought himself the king of this city, untouchable by anything or anyone that might get into his way.

That was, of course, exactly where he had been wrong.

Hyde had jumped and climbed between the rooftops like he always did during his nights out, silently making up the plan within his mind, knowing that he could not ask Jekyll for any ideas as the other man was deep within their shared mind; merely a call away, but now that their plan was actually in action, he could not allow the doctor to get cold feet once Crawford would be cornered. He had to be quick, not having any time to spare, and yet he also had to make sure that Crawford would not recognize him or realize his little plan. This little ‘robbery’ had to be fleeting and yet as unbelievable and humiliating as possible. Once the evidence had been stolen and once it had been planted upon the crime scene, who would believe the hysteric old man desperately trying to convince everyone that someone had stolen them from him just a few hours, while he would refuse to go into details, so far on top of his pedestal of hubris where he would refuse to soil his image? No evidence, no witnesses...

Hyde didn’t even need to attack him; he could easily sneak up behind him, push his shoulder, and pocket the shinies off of him like a common child thief in Whitechapel, but where would the fun be in that? Why should he not have a bit of fun, now that Jekyll couldn’t tell him off, as long as he kept his promise and was back on time? He was, surely, allowed a bit of fun. Doing the most logical thing, he jumped ahead of Crawford via the rooftops until he was an apartment in front of him, greedily watching and taking in every movement that Crawford made while making sure he continued his walk towards him. Hyde took the short moment he had to scurry down the wall, hiding in the nearest alleyway with his back pressed up against the wall, waiting, watching, peeking to make sure that Crawford got closer. Hyde could not even try to hide the grin that grew upon his lips.

Oh, Jekyll was going to hate him for this.

“Oh, Sir! Would you spare me a moment?”

...

Whatever Hyde had done to Crawford, and whatever he had done to get the ring and necklace that currently rested upon Henry’s mahogany desk, the doctor did not want to know. He didn’t want to know and especially since the ring had been wet and the necklace’s chain had been broken. Whatever he had done, he had kept his promise in the end. Whatever he had done, he had returned to Henry’s office, unchased, by the time he had promised. He hadn’t gotten off track, but instead, he had immediately mixed up a new batch of HJ7 and let Henry take control once more; no arguing, no fuss. Just like always, the vial had smashed to the floor as their body had doubled over. They had twitched and rolled around on the floor, on the glass shards and even then, Hyde had kept his promise. He had kept his promise, and he had made sure to remind Henry of that every second he could.

Barely a day had since passed since Hyde left for his hunt, and now it was evening once more. Barely a week had passed since Henry had first gotten the idea of faking his own kidnapping and now everything was in its order. Everything was done, and now it was time, tonight was the night. Tonight was the night he was going to be free, and Hyde made sure to remind him. As Henry went on with his daily routine, through his paperwork, and through his social necessities, Hyde clung to his back and clawed at his shoulders, whispering temptations into his ear.

‘Tonight’s the night.’ He would murmur, ‘Don’t forget it. Soon you’ll be free. Just a few hours more.’

Henry pushed on. He left his office and walked around the Society for the first time in days, and just as expected, the Lodgers greeted him with soft sneers or irritated grunts, although most of them seemed to ignore him altogether. Maybe the doctor was not seen, maybe he was not noticed, or maybe they were tired of his endless attempts to try to get them to see sense in what they were doing to him and the Society. Whatever it was, tonight was the first night where Henry didn’t mind such things at all. After all, he would be gone soon. It didn’t matter if the Lodgers would care, what they would think about it, because he would be free, and they would never get to know the truth. They would never get to know what they had done to him, what they had pushed him to. Henry was going to be free, and Crawford would be gone.

For the first time in ages, Henry had been delighted once his pocket watch struck seven, signaling that it was time for one Miss Frankenstein’s check-up. This was the first time since she had woken up that Henry actually felt glad to have to meet her, to speak to her. After all, this would be the last check-up he would have with her before he would be gone, before he would never have to bother with her again, but of course, she didn’t know that.

For the first time in ages, he savored his walk up to the attic, taking time to take in every single knickknack that covered the hallways, every single step in the staircase that led up to Frankenstein’s current room. He savored it, and he savored the Society for the first time in weeks. He could breathe, finally, after having been so suffocated. He felt free; a bird stretching his wings before he would finally be out of his cage, away from all the cats and predators that wanted to devour him. He would be free, and he could not be happier, even when he was walking right into the same trap he had fallen into so many times the last few weeks. He did not feel trapped anymore. The tables have turned.

“Miss Frankenstein?”

Henry pushed the door open as he called out, but just expected, he was merely met with a tense, eerie silence. A quick peek inside revealed the frau with her nose deep inside a thick book, sitting obediently upon her bed while her Creature absentmindedly poked around with the various devices and abandoned projects that had found their way into the storage here. While Frankenstein didn’t even bother to look up from her book to acknowledge the doctor, the Creature glanced back and gave a soft nod towards the Scotsman as a polite and silent greeting. If he was going to be honest, Henry did not expect anything but silence from the older scientist. He had accepted the bittersweet fact that he could forget to ever win her over, to gain her attention and praises, after his outburst at her. He did not regret it in the slightest, but he still accepted its consequences wholeheartedly, although reluctantly, as he took the liberty to get closer to his patient despite holding a good and healthy distance from her. He moved towards a little cabinet where he had put up his medical setup, turning his back to the German before he began to tinker with her daily dose of medicine. He didn’t even have to look at her to notice the way her gaze moved from the book and up at him every once in a while; as if she was trying to figure out why he was still here and not gone yet, despite already knowing the answer to that question.

At least Henry could be thankful that she didn’t need any more intravenous medicine.

He tapped his foot against the floor as he began to mix up the last salts into the pre-made solution, watching it slowly dissolve while he stirred it around. It was not until it gave off a soft glow and was purely liquid that he allowed himself to straighten his back, sigh, and turn back around. Frankenstein had turned her own back to him and, this time, actually had her entire face physically pressed up against the book she had gotten her hands on. Henry glanced at the Creature, who just shrugged, earning another sigh from the doctor.

“Miss, please.”

Frankenstein merely gave off a huff, pressing the book impossibly closer to her wrinkly face. Henry had never learned German despite having a handful of German and German-speaking colleagues but he could only imagine that the harsh mumbling she let out was nothing more than unpleasant swears and curses. He couldn’t even try to hide his eye roll.

“...You can forget that I will take a single more dose of your drugs, Jekyll.”

“Miss, please, I know that I made you upset with my outburst, and for that, I apologize,” He began, once more taking the risk of getting slightly closer. Not too close, but enough for her to notice it, “but the sooner that you are healed, the sooner you can leave and we will never have to see each other again. The more you struggle, the longer it will take.”

Henry watched as Frankenstein grunted, however, after a very long moment of silence, she gave in and allowed herself to glance back at the younger man for just a moment. Her eyebrows furrowed, a deep frown displayed upon her face, but even then she stayed quiet, merely quirking one of her bushy eyebrows in silence, allowing him to continue.

“The sooner you take this medicine, the sooner I’ll be gone and I won’t disturb you until this time by tomorrow.”

That was, of course, a lie. Henry knew that full well but he didn’t say that. After all, he would probably be gone for days, weeks, months after he had left this very attic but he wouldn’t tell her that. He had to convince Frankenstein to just take her medicine so he could go, go and disappear, go and be free. He did not want to dwell up here for too long. The faster he was back in his office, the better. Frankenstein in question just watched the doctor, letting her gaze travel him up and down until it eventually stopped at the vial of bright blue liquid held between his slender fingers, its luminescent glow casting a soft bit highlight upon the doctor’s thin hands. She observed it thoroughly before her gaze returned to Jekyll’s face, her body turning ever so slightly to not hurt her neck.

“Do I just need to drink that and you’ll leave me alone?”

“Yes.”

Frankenstein made a big show of her sigh and the way she rolled her eyes, slamming the book she had been reading onto the mattress of her bed before reaching her other hand out, gesturing for the doctor to hurry up and give it to her. Henry did exactly what she wanted, although he had to stop himself from taking a step back immediately to make sure she wouldn’t try to throw the vial at him as he then observed her putting its opening to her lips, chugging the whole thing in one go before pushing the vial into his hands again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand by reflex. Henry smiled politely, only worsening the irritated frown upon Frankenstein’s face.

“There you go. Now, good evening, Miss.”

Frankenstein gave off yet another grunt as Henry moved away from her, trying to put the little attention span she had back to the book she had been trying to read for the past three hours. Henry glanced back at her one last time before he slunk out the door and closed it behind him. He could feel how a bright grin grew upon his face the moment he heard the soft click as the door closed, and he almost had to keep himself from skipping down the stairs in pure happiness, pure excitement, pure innocence.

Tonight was the night. This is the moment.

This was the point of no return.

He gripped his arms behind his back as he walked back to his office. He passed Virginia on one of the many staircases and he couldn’t help but flash her a bright smile, and she hesitantly returned it. He passed a few of the other Lodgers in the corridors as well but they merely rolled their eyes upon the sight of the doctor, seemingly irritated by his presence alone. Oh, Henry definitely didn’t mind. On the contrary, it made him quite happy, as it justified his thoughts and desire to disappear. The Lodgers did not want him here. They were tired of him. They wanted him gone and he would do just as they wanted him to; disappear, forever-- although forever was a long time, and he was quite sure that he would come back... Sometime, maybe, once the same nostalgia and sorrow of longing to the past gripped him; the same depressing fantasies that clawed through his mind at night, making him miss Scotland and the life he used to have before he moved. He already missed and longed for the time before Frankenstein, before Moreau, but this was the closest he would ever get to get his deserved freedom.

He could just be happy that his behavior was not out of place, what with the way he had been isolating lately. It was something he often did once he was getting busy or stressed, so while his friends surely could have been concerned lately, it would be nothing out of the ordinary.

It did not take all that long before he arrived at his destination and once he did, he opened one of the two doors that led to his office, disappearing into his room and locking the doors behind him immediately. He leaned his back against them, so out of breath, so excited, so everything as he stared around his office, the bright grin never once having disappeared from his lips.

‘Eager, are we?’

Henry almost couldn’t help but laugh. He pushed himself away from the door and practically swirled around his office with the same optimism as a painter in a meadow, an adventurer in the mountains. He had not even changed yet, and yet he felt so happy, so free. He could not remember the last time he had felt so carefree, so incredibly excited. He was on a high and he never wanted to come down, and such a thing was quite obvious.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Hyde tsked softly, although a bright grin displayed itself upon his lips as well as he appeared in one of the reflections by one of the many glass cabinets, right next to Henry’s desk. He watched Henry with amusement, especially so when Henry stopped in the middle of the room, unsure of where to begin, what to do. He wanted to do everything immediately. He wanted to take his newly brewed potions and he wanted to trash his room and just wanted to be free. And yet he had no idea where to begin. At least he would not need to worry about making a ruckus, as the office was thoroughly soundproofed, thank god. Otherwise, the Lodgers would probably have thought he was dying nearly every night when he took the HJ7 and screamed his heart out in pain.

‘Start with taking that little potion of yours and changing your clothes,’ Hyde said, ‘Then you can decide where you want to go from there.’

Like many times before, Henry did as Hyde told him. Much like the HJ7, he had brewed the serums in secret in his office instead of one of the many labs in the Society, having started the process this very morning once Hyde returned their body to the office. The recipe was at least a few thousand years old, but then again, he was not a neo-alchemist for nothing. Flesh weaver, which he had at least a dozen of flasks off, were at least twice as old and much more advanced, and yet he could brew that in less than twenty minutes.

Henry stepped over to the cabinet where he had prepared his serums. No one had been in his office for ages and even if they would have, the serum remained unlabeled and unrecognizable surrounded by the dozens of other alchemical artifacts he had collected over the years. A thin hand reached up towards the silvery liquid, held within a volumetric flask and sealed with a cork. The glass was cold against his slender fingers, so delicate, and yet the solution bubbled threateningly within its confinement. He had no time to waste.

He did not know what to expect but to be on the sure side, he moved himself to the middle of the room where he would not run the risk of falling over and hitting his head upon his furniture, which was, sadly, a lesson he had learned the hard way during his two years of dealing with Hyde and the HJX potions-- not only the more recent one of the HJ7, but all of its six predecessors before that. He popped the cork like he had so many times before with his lavish bottles of wines, pinched his nose, and began to chug. He expected the burning, the choking, the horrifying pain like that one of the HJ7, and yet nothing came. Nothing more but a violent shudder overtook him and his body as the metallic liquid traveled down his throat, down to his stomach. He felt no difference but the slight shake of his hands, the adrenaline traveling through his body. He almost felt heavier, like he was getting grounded from his high, and yet... He could feel no other change.

‘My god.’

Henry opened his eyes and looked back at Hyde. Hyde was staring right back at him, although his face only displayed pure shock, but then his thin lips quirked into a giant grin. He swirled his finger, motioning for Henry to turn around, to face the full-body mirror next to his desk and Henry did as told. Even as his gaze hit his reflection, he needed a moment to process what he saw-- who he saw, and yet he could only feel how the flask slipped out of his grasp, smashing against the floor while he stared.

He... He was changed.

Completely unrecognizable.

Upon his head was not the soft locks of his brown hair, but instead, it was massive heaps of ginger curls, longer than Henry’s but shorter than Hyde’s. His skin was no longer an unhealthy pale pigment, but instead, one to show many a day spent in the sun. His eyes were not red or green, but instead a light blue. He wasn’t a lot shorter than he used to be but he was still taller than Hyde, and yet...

Henry got closer to the mirror, staring at his reflection. The tips of his finger ghosted the glass, his warm breath fogged it up. He could no longer see Henry Jekyll, and yet, it felt so right. Was this the man he was supposed to be? So foreign, yet so... So...

‘...Jekyll?’

Henry did not look back at his alter ego and yet hearing his voice brought him out of his thoughts, even if he did not put his attention anywhere else. He felt so out of it, like he was watching a stranger upon the street, and like he wasn’t in his own, physical body and yet he knew that he was. He could feel the cool glass, he could feel and see the red curls bouncing over his eyes, he could feel the soft tears that streamed down his cheeks and dropped to the floor. He could see it all. He could feel it all.

He was different, and yet he was still himself.

Hyde watched, almost a bit concerned, from the sidelines as Henry took a step back before sprinting to his bedroom. Hyde didn’t even get time to follow his counterpart before Henry returned once more, his newly bought clothes tightly in his arms, to which he returned to the mirror and immediately began to strip. Unlike Henry, who had averted his gaze when Hyde got the body just a day ago, Hyde did not allow Henry such politeness but instead observed and examined the body himself, just like Henry himself did, and yet Henry seemed so much more occupied by trying to calm down from his obvious excitement. The tears continued to stream down his face, and yet he observed the mirror and every angle of himself, like it was his first time seeing a human body, the same excitement he had as a medical student during his first anatomy lesson.

This body, or appearance, clearly was much more... Well-taken care of than either Jekyll or Hyde; his skin was not a nearly translucent paleness, but instead wore a healthy tan and millions upon millions of freckles that ran from his cheeks, over his nose, down to his chin, jaw, and then up to his forehead. The freckles continued downwards into heaps by his neck and down to his shoulders before they continued to cover his body like constellations, giving an artistic rendition to his normal blank skin. The ginger curls bounced into locks and fell over his eyes, covering his neck while his old sideburns were nowhere to be seen. While the body also seemed a bit shorter than Henry and taller than Hyde, it had, as well, a few more pounds than either of them; he was still quite thin but you could not see his ribs anymore, but instead he held a healthy body weight for the first time since he was a kid. He turned around, he watched every angle, every possible part of his body that he could examine as the tears began to dry. He could not believe it. But he felt... He felt free.

‘How does it feel, Henry?’

“It... It feels...”

Henry stopped and took a deep breath. It felt so amazing and yet so terrible at the same time. He felt healthy, he felt sick, he felt excitement, he felt dread, he felt relief, and he felt anxiety. So many thoughts, so many feelings swirling around in his mind and body at the same time, and he could not decipher a single one of them, no, but instead he just felt such a terrible dizziness gripping his body. Gripping and clawing and gnawing at him from the inside, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t feel his limbs, he felt so numb and yet...

“...I feel alive.”

Henry wiped the dry tears from his cheeks and turned towards the clothes he had placed upon the floor, as he then began to get dressed. The clothes he had bought for himself and this... This persona was nothing like the sets had for himself and Hyde, their wardrobes identical but for their primary colors, but maybe that was because Henry did not care for quality or lavishness. He started by putting on the pair of black pants he had bought before moving on to the white button-up shirt; the sleeves were delightfully poofy and the fabric was so wonderfully soft, so nice against his equally delicate skin. He took a deep breath and put on his grey waistcoat, taking a moment to twirl around in the mirror once more. He looked delightfully normal. Delightfully common. He tied the light blue ascot around his neck and lastly, he shrugged on the blue coat he had bought; it was bought second hand and had well gone past its glory days but it was still nice and warm, donning nothing special but grey stripes on its lapels. It was a few sizes too big, so he only bothered to button the first button on his coat but he still felt and looked so... Common. So perfect. The only thing he kept from his normal wardrobe was his pair of shoes, and yet it would be nowhere enough for anyone to recognize him or his clothes.

‘Well, well, well... Would you look at that...’

Henry felt and saw in the reflection how Hyde moved closer. Just like he had done thousands of times this week alone, Hyde moved behind Henry and grabbed his shoulders, turning the doctor so he was facing him instead of the mirror. He placed his palm against Henry’s jaw tilting his head in every angle so that the alter ego could observe every single difference. Henry did not struggle, but instead, let the blond man do as he pleased, almost savoring the touch, even if he didn’t necessarily like all the physical contact that Hyde seemed to grace him with. Hyde twirled a lock of the red hair between two of his fingers, watching his own, green glow illuminating the orange color and Henry just stood back and let him, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, to relax. He did not often allow himself to relax into someone else’s touch, especially not Hyde’s, but god... He could not have tried to swat him away even if he tried.

‘Are you ready?’

Henry nodded.

‘Good.’

Hyde moved away and Henry let him, turning to glance back in the mirror. It felt so... So weird to see such a different man in his reflection, knowing that it was him, it was not Hyde or anyone else... It was Henry, and yet not. He shook his head. He did not have time to get used to his new appearance, his new body. He had to get going before anything could go wrong.

‘Do you remember the plan?’

Henry nodded once more. He knew the plan, he knew the plan too well but he still followed it. He felt drowsy, so clumsy, and yet his heart started to echo within his chest. Adrenaline filled his veins, he got such an incredible excitement he almost could not believe it, and yet he couldn’t decide what he was going to do first.

‘First, you are going to hide your work.’

Right. Right, the notebooks and the will... He doubted he would be gone for that long, and he had always had his notebooks and secrets well hidden, but he did expect the police to investigate the office at some point or another, so, he turned away from the mirror and made his way to one of the many, many glass cabinets in his office, opening it with the key that he had left in it from last time he had rummaged through his things. This one was not for his collection of serums or elixirs, but mostly his personal things and documents, which was why he liked to keep a lock on it.

...Strange.

He could have sworn he had hidden his will in one of the drawers, and not by the shelves...

He furrowed his eyebrows softly but shook his head. At least the testament was where he could find it, and it did not take long for him to find the oh so many notebooks he had kept from when he first started experimenting with the HJXs. So many failed experiments that he had perfected... He glanced at Hyde but not for long, instead he gathered everything he needed and dumped it all on the floor, right next to his old clothes and the remains of the flask. Then he went back to his desk where he quickly began to pull and push through its many drawers until he found a hammer. He was not necessarily the handy type but it was always good to have some tools on hand... Especially now, for his little plan.

He flipped the hammer in his hands and made his way back to his heap of stuff. Anyone who would enter this very moment would probably have believed that poor Henry Jekyll was getting robbed, but that was far from the case. Henry merely sat down on the floor, right next to his desk, and moved the carpet before he dove right in and began to use the claw of the hammer to peel out the nails of one of the floorboards. Maybe it was his adrenaline that made it hard for him to notice his eagerness, the strength he used, or maybe he really ought to renovate his office sooner or later as the nails gave away immediately; cleanly pulling out and loosening the floorboard just enough so that Henry could bend that part back. He did not bother to pull out the two nails at the other end of the floorboard but instead continued to use the hammer against the underlayer of his floor to create a small cavity. He did not need a lot of space, but it did not take long for him to get just enough for him to hide the notebooks and the will. He did not bother to actually nail the floorboard down again as he did not want to run the risk of the nails rusting once he planned to return, so he merely put the board in place, made sure everything was secured before he moved the carpet back over it. He stepped over it, walked over it, moved the carpet back and forth, and even jumped on the floorboard but it made no sound at all, not giving away its new job as a hiding place.

Good.

Ideally, he would have wanted to maybe hide his things at home, but him hauling off stuff might have been suspicious and especially since he had barely left his office at all during the last week. Plus, he had to admit that he was a little bit lazy. He just wanted to get going and get going quickly.

He stood up once more and made his way back over to his desk, placing the hammer back in its drawer before returning to the mirror once more, retrieving his old clothes from the floor. He made quick work moving back to his bedroom to place them in the hamper before, once more, returning to his office... But then he felt a bit lost. He stood in the middle of the room, watching, looking. This was his safe space; this very office was more of a home than anything he had ever had before, but now...

After all, he had to make it look believable and violent.

And yet... He hesitated, like so many times before this week. He hesitated, unsure, scared of actually getting started. He didn’t want to break every single thing in his office. He prided himself in his work, in his collections of alchemical artifacts. Did he really have to get rid of all of it? Could he not make it seem like he had gotten... Abducted or something? Taken on the street, silently, or overwhelmed and quickly taken out of his office?

‘But how long would it take for someone to notice that you would be gone?’ Hyde hummed, floating next to him once again. His hands found Henry’s shoulders, although they ghosted at the edge of his neck, ‘No one would really care if you did not give them a crime scene, would they? You don’t have to break all of it, just enough for the cops to be concerned. Remember how many times you have wanted to smash that mirror? How many times its mere presence annoyed you? Remember how you wish you could go back, back to before you made me?’

Oh, Henry definitely remembered, and Hyde definitely did too. They remembered the endless night of suffering, of pain, that Henry spent in front of that very mirror. The anger, the hatred he had felt for the blond man, all manifesting itself upon that very mirror, the mirror he had used to examine his experiments. He did not necessarily hate Hyde anymore, of course, otherwise he wouldn’t have gone this far and he wouldn’t have listened to him... But that mirror... That goddamn mirror...

‘Don’t you feel it within you, Henry?’ Hyde cooed. He was gripping and grasping on every part of Henry’s face where he could get his hands on, and Henry felt how his own hands began to twitch, ‘The rage? Can’t you feel it burning? Don’t you just want to get all of it out, just one time?’

Oh, oh, Henry felt it, alright. He felt it and it burnt.

‘Go on. Get it out.’

Henry did as told.

He stepped forward, and yet it did not feel like he moved at all. He saw himself in the reflection, he saw the way he gripped its sides, he saw Hyde standing behind him, and yet Henry could only watch as his own body threw the mirror to the floor, almost robotically, almost inhumanely, and yet he did not process it as the mirror shattered, thousands of shards of silver-lined glass smashing and spilling out upon the hardwood floor. The high-pitched sound sent a shudder through Henry’s spine, and yet only one thought stayed in his mind.

He wanted more.

The thoughts of having to return to his office one day, where everything he used to know and used to have would be gone, destroyed, and replaced did not cross his mind. All he could feel, and all he could think was how nice it was to get everything out. All the emotions he had bottled up, and now he could finally get it all out. Who was going to stop him? Why should anyone stop him?

He walked right over the shards of glass, feeling and hearing it crunch under his shoes as he moved over to his desk, filled with paperwork once more. The paperwork. The godforsaken paperwork-- He could feel how he clenched his teeth and he could see how his hands reached for the fine paper, and yet, as much self-control he used to have seemed to be gone. He couldn’t even help himself from immediately ripping up and throwing all of the work all across the room; ripping and tearing and shredding and destroying the cause of so much of his stress. All these goddamn bills. All these goddamn documents and taxes-- He ripped it all up with the same eagerness of a child tearing wrapping paper from a gift and throwing it around the room like confetti, not caring what it was, not caring about the consequences. He wanted it gone, and gone it was. It was all just heaps upon heaps of torn paper now, he couldn’t even decipher the texts.

It was not good enough.

He grabbed the edge of his desk and he didn’t even have to struggle to flip the entire thing over, hearing its wood creak and cry as its seams broke and it was sent flying, crashing against the doors. He grabbed his chair by the backrest and lifted it over his head before throwing and smashing it on the turned-over desk, and yet it didn’t feel good enough. He wanted to scream, he wanted to punch, he wanted to smash and he wanted so much. The rage began to boil over and he could not control it. He wanted so much more.

And yet, it only took a few moments before he stopped.

He stopped, and he watched what he had just done. He stopped, and he observed. He panted, he was shaking, the adrenaline slowly vanishing. Blind rage gone, he looked at the aftermath of his pent-up emotions. It looked terrifying, and yet not enough. The only thing that laid untouched were his dozens of cabinets and glass displays, but before he could even think the thought, he felt a cold hand grabbing his wrist, with another grabbing his shoulder, keeping him in place, keeping him still, stopping him.

‘That’s good enough.’ Hyde said. His specter was behind Henry, and yet he did not allow the alchemist to turn back to look at him. He merely kept him in place, soothing him, his thumb rubbing circles over the doctor’s wrist, ‘You did so well, but now... Now you have to plant the evidence.’

Henry stopped, his ragged breath echoing throughout the eerie silence. The evidence... His gaze turned towards the desk upon the floor. The silver trinkets laid between the mirror and the desk, on top of the ripped paperwork, glistening in the soft light. He stared at them, and he could not look away. The reflection upon the perfect silver blinded him.

‘Not those. Those are good,’ Hyde murmured, getting closer. He was still behind Henry, both hands going to his shoulders as he leaned in by his ear. His cold breath sent shivers down Henry’s spine, goosebumps riddling his skin, ‘Such a violent crime scene... Someone was bound to get hurt...’

Henry’s breath hitched.

-*-

Whatever Hyde continued to say, Henry could not hear it. He could only feel how Hyde pushed him down until he was on his knees and hands on the messy floor. He could only feel how Hyde took his arm and rolled up the sleeve of his coat and button-up. He could only see how Hyde moved the hand that had been upon his shoulder and moved it down to his hand, forcing his fist open, forcing his palm onto a big shard of glass from his mirror. Henry tried to move his hand away, he tried to move back but Hyde’s grip was so strong, too strong.

‘Do you remember how much you wished to feel something? To be the one in control of your pain? Now you have the chance. Let yourself bleed out. Let the crime scene look horrifying. Let them think Crawford tried to murder you.’

This should probably have been the point where Henry would realize what Hyde tried to do. This should probably have been the moment where he refused, where he stopped following what Hyde said. This should probably have been the moment where he put his foot down. This was not the moment.

He watched, helpless, as Hyde secured his hand upon the shard of glass. He was still standing behind him, leaning over him, guiding him, whispering into his ears. Henry could not decipher whether or not it was in a hope of soothing the doctor, or an attempt to praise him and convince him to continue, to do what he wanted him to. Henry could hear himself hissing as the sharp shards pierce his skin, and yet it did not break through it, even if it hurt.

‘Go on. I know you can do it.’

“H- Hyde, please-”

‘You can heal it with flesh-weaver. Don’t you want to put action into your emotions? Aren’t you tired of bottling it up? It would feel good, wouldn’t it? Not to mention how much trouble Crawford would be in...’

Henry felt how he took a deep breath. He knew Hyde had him wrapped around his pinkie at this point, he knew Hyde was trying to get him to hurt, and yet... Feeling his hand wrapped around the glass shard, knowing, listening to what Hyde said...

The blood would make everything seem so much more severe.

Hyde guided his hand up to his revealed arm but he eased his grip, allowing Henry to move his hand and the glass closer on his own accord. Henry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and felt how Hyde moved his own hands to Henry’s shoulders once more. The sharp edge of the glass ghosted over his vulnerable arm, and yet he hesitated.

‘Go on.’

The glass pierced his skin, making an even cut going with the length of his arm. The blood began to drip immediately.

Henry dropped the shard of glass and tried to stand up, immediately feeling how his head began to feel heavy and immediately feeling how the room began to spin around him, although it was not yet due to blood loss but rather his vulnerable state. He felt how Hyde grabbed his healthy arm and supported him as the doctor began to stumble over to his cabinet with alchemic medicine, clumsily trying to open the glass door to get a bottle of flesh-weaver and something to regenerate his lost blood while he let the crimson liquid spill onto the floor, trying to avoid it getting on his clothes. His stubby hand grabbed after the two bottles before placing them upon the drawer right under the cabinet, trying to find a rag to wipe the blood with.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

Henry had worked as a doctor for almost half of his lifetime at this point, yet he refused to look at the wound on his arm. He refused to look at the mess he had created out of his once so well-put-together office. He knew he had to, eventually. He knew he had to look at the wound so he could heal it, but for now, he refused.

With Hyde still supporting him, he stumbled towards his flipped desk and squeezed his wounded arm, making sure the blood was noticeable. He let it drip on the carpet, the chair, the chards of glass, everywhere he could think of that would give off the impression that he had put up a fight. Had he been fully sane, he probably would have wondered how he could lose so much blood and yet only feel a slight dizziness. Had he been fully aware, he would probably have realized that most normal medical knowledge did not apply to him. Had he been fully conscious, he would probably have done so much more than to just stand and let the blood drip. But now he wasn’t any of that, so he continued to let the blood spill from his wound until he felt satisfied with the amount.

He had to admit... It did look quite horrifying.

He shook his head --which, quite frankly, was a bad idea-- before he went back to the cabinet. He wasted no time in wiping the blood off of his arm and he wasted no time in popping the cork of the flesh-weaver and pouring its content onto his arm, although scarcely, so nothing would drop to the floor or the furniture and give him away. He watched as his flesh began to merge together and the moment the wound was closed, he popped the cork of the second liquid; a, fittingly bright red one. He put the opening to his lips and let its contents pour down his throat, feeling how the cold, metallic liquid entered his stomach. He shuddered softly, grabbing the edge of the under-cabinet to brace himself. He hadn’t even noticed how Hyde had let go of him, and he hadn’t even noticed how Hyde seemed to examine the room and the mess they had made, the mess he had pushed Henry to make.

...

It was perfect.

Henry continued to hold onto the cabinet as his body continued to shake, trying to soothe the soft coughs that tickled his hoarse throat. He tried to shake the feeling off of him the best he could, even if it was hard. He took a deep breath, glancing back at his alter ego, who began to examine every little detail of what Henry had just done. Henry raised his eyebrow, but just turned back and continued to shake his head, trying to get it all out.

He ignored how good it had felt to just bleed out. He ignored how he could barely feel the pain. He ignored what Hyde had just made him do. He ignored it, just like he always did. He hid the rag in its old drawer again and put the bottles back where he took them, although he hid them behind the ones that were filled... Just in case anyone would get suspicious. It was a dumb thought, of course, but he was quite paranoid. He continued to shake his head.

-*-

He had to get out of here.

“Up to your standards?”

‘Oh, even better!’

Henry sighed, right before taking another deep breath, pulling his sleeves down again while closing the cabinet door, trying to not look too much around him. Just the sight of the office made Henry feel sick but he did not allow himself to dwell on it. After all... Now there was only one thing left...

He made sure to double-check everything he needed, patting his coat pocket where he had planted everything he thought he would need; the keys to his new apartment, money... What was he missing? Ah yes! He had to make sure he had another dose of the potion he had used to change his appearance for whenever he would feel like coming back. Good thing he had made sure to make a double batch already. Stepping over the broken furniture and shards of glass, Henry went back to the cabinet where he had gotten the potion from and took out another flask, although this one was smaller and... Well, travel-sized, much like the vials of HJ7 that he and Hyde kept on their persons during the nights. He made sure that everything was secured in his pockets before he took a deep breath, sparing one last glance at his office.

“Are you ready, Hyde?”

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

Henry smiled an empty and yet soft smile as Hyde let his form melt away; instead of appearing almost like a ghost, he allowed himself to rather turn into Henry’s shadow. They shared a grin before Henry looked over to the curtained window; the same one that showed a direct view of the Diodati Theater Company.

Another deep breath.

He threw the curtains open, and much to his delight saw that the entire street was empty. The theater was closed, no witnesses... Thank god. He tied the curtains open and for a moment, he contemplated kicking the entire window through, but in the end, decided that it was an unnecessary complication when it would give the same effect of having it wide open... Or, actually, he could do both. He took charge with his foot and kicked the entire window panel down, shattering upon impact as most of it fell to the ground just outside, before he opened the actual window and climbed up on the windowsill, looking both ways to make sure that no one was here to witness what he was doing.

Still empty.

Perfect.

He took charge and did his best to replicate everything he had learned and seen from Hyde, taking a deep breath before he began to rock back and forth until he took charge and jumped. He landed on top of the awning of the Theater, and despite his heartbeat echoing so violently within his chest, ringing so loudly in his ears, he began his climb up the poster of their latest production and up on the roof. He did not stop, he did not look back, but once he was on the roof he just began to run, climbing over chimneys and climbing and climbing until he had to jump to another rooftop. And then he just continued to run, and run, and run, knowing he didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him, following him-- hell, the Lodgers wouldn’t even be able to track him! Miss Flowers' little device could only track the Society’s little machinery, and Henry was free.

With the moon as his only witness, Henry Jekyll continued his run over the rooftops, and he would continue it for the entire night to come.

Brace yourself, Lambeth. This is the point of no return.

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Remember the teaser art I made for this au? Well... Now you got the explanation to that 👀 More art for this au is to come! Between being sick and not being allowed to work on the next half of the fanfic, I’m currently drawing a bit of an... Hmm, cover for this fanfic? You’ll see 👀———————————————————

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years ago

Text

A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 1; A Devil’s Disguise

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Second chapter babeeeeeeeyyy!! At this rate I think I’m more excited about posting these than y’all are to read them, which also makes me very sad as I have to wait to like... 15 CEST time to actually post this so people actually can read it. Oh weeeeeellll....

Also! Please do tell me if you all want me to update more! I have a lot of chapters to go so I would not mind to update more often!

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Wordcount: 6351

Chapter summary: Henry Jekyll knows what he wants because Hyde tells him. Hyde also reminds him that, for once in his life, he also wants revenge.

CW [for this chapter]: No warnings apply.

[Ao3]

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Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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Four days and three nights had passed since Henry’s misery had gotten unbearable. Four days and three nights had passed since Hyde managed to convince the doctor to fake his own kidnapping. Four days and three nights had passed since Henry was left with such an overwhelming excitement, rage, and sorrow that made it feel like he was bursting at his seams. Four days and three nights since Henry began to isolate himself. Four days and three nights since he gave in. Four days and three nights.

Four days and three nights lost his senses and sensibility.

He was used to ignoring Hyde, tuning him off and turning the other cheek when the other tried to pester him, torture him, swirling around him like a starved vulture to get his attention, and yet, somehow, his two years of getting used to and ignoring Hyde had been hurled straight of the window. His attention span disappeared and his focus crumbling under Hyde’s fingertips, allowing the blond to continue his endless manipulation. Henry could only be thankful for his dreary isolation, as it gave him more security in not having to worry about people seeing him as a lunatic. Hyde, too, seemed especially pleased by the doctor’s sudden change of schedule, as it gave him free rein to continue to brew the little plan of theirs, the one that would render them both free.

This, however, was merely one of the many steps.

During the last four days and three nights, Henry had to admit that he had been neglecting his work and his friends, not putting a single ounce of his already diminishing focus on either of them but instead opting to tippy-toe to the beginning of that little secret of his. Much like when he first created Hyde, he had silently bought a one-bedroom apartment in the Lambeth district; far away from the Society and across the Thames from SoHo to eliminate many of the chances of accidentally meeting someone he knew. Once his temporary home had been secured, he had taken a long walk down Oxford street and bought a new set of clothes for his future endeavors; nothing lavish, nothing like the twin-like set of clothes that he and Hyde had, but instead an easy set of wardrobe that would easily match him in within the large crowd of commoners. He liked to be prepared and prepared he was. He had even begun to dig through his old alchemy books for any kind of serum to change his appearance. He was not looking for anything drastic, just something that would cover him, hide him, and it did not take long until he found exactly what he had needed, now having already started to collect the ingredients for the potion.

That would have been quite the sight, ey? If he faked his kidnapping and was found in commoner’s clothes walking down a slum district.

Right now, however, Hyde watched as Henry leaned over his desk; his cold, thin hands pressed flat against the nearly empty workspace as he seemed to be trying to do his hardest to gain motivation. The heaps of paperwork that had once occupied the mahogany desk had been moved over to its temporary residency on the couch by the fireplace, making way for the single newspaper that was carefully placed upon the hardwood, as neatly and carefully as you’d expect the police to place the weapon of murder upon an examination table. The doctor continued to hold his head bowed, avoiding his alter ego’s gaze, eyes held tightly shut as his hands pulled into fists over the cold wood. He took a deep breath before he let his red eyes open once more, letting his gaze move over to the newspaper, its single photograph upon the front page being the only thing that caught his interest. They both knew why the newspaper was here. They both knew, and yet they both stayed silent.

Henry lifted his gaze after only a short moment, tilting his head as he watched Hyde in the mirror. Hyde had not looked away from his counterpart once but instead opted to flash him a grin once their glances met. A grin, so very tempting and wicked. A man-made devil waiting for its victim.

Henry’s hand silently traveled from the glazed wood of the tabletop and down to a drawer by his side, grabbing its knob and pulling it out. He did not have to look at what he was doing before his fingertips caught the protected shaft of a pair of scissors, silently pulling it out as he grabbed the newspaper with his other hand. He did not bother to tear out the single page he needed, but instead let the scissors glide through the coarse paper, cleanly cutting out the photograph he was out after before he placed the scraps upon the table once more, the entire newspaper but it’s frontpage untouched, unwanted.

He placed the scissors back into its drawer, pushing it shut with his knee without letting his attention fall from the picture so securely held between his thumb and index finger. His eyes did not move away once, not even as he took a step back from his desk and turned around, leaving his back turned to his alter ego as he continued onward to the single space of wall that was not occupied by a cabinet or window, but instead by a single corkboard. The board’s original content --schedules, reminders, to-do’s, and miscellaneous planning-- had been torn down and placed into an unorganized heap on the already messy couch, getting mixed in between the stacks of paperwork. He had torn down and replaced the board’s original content with a handful of other, less meaningful photographs and incoherent notes, barely understandable by Henry himself after having come down from his energy induced high and completely undecipherable for anyone else who would have the misfortune of witnessing the mess of Henry’s office and corkboard. It was the scribblings of a madman, to say the least.

The doctor took a pin from a tiny metal container by the nearest cabinet and carefully pinned the new picture on the only empty spot on the board, right over the other photographs and notes that now went around it in a chaotic semi-circle, right before he leaned back to observe his work and the sole focus of his attention for the last four days and three nights. He nodded to himself, one of his hands reaching into the pocket of his coat to take out a small ball of red thread. He did not bother to go back for the scissor, as he only needed a handful of pieces that he easily tore into the necessary lengths, before leaning forward once more. Every single note, every single photograph in such an unorthodox display lead up to the newest addition; the newly cut-out picture in the middle, and the alchemist wasted no time in visualizing its connection with the red thread, such a stark contrast from the neutral tones of the board, a vast difference, clearly showing it’s intent.

He took a few steps back, letting his gaze move from the handful of pictures by the bottom of the board and up to the single photograph in the middle. The photograph displayed a torso-up shot of a pale man with black, pulled-back hair, a chinless beard, and a twirled mustache, the little skin that was shown revealing a deep frown upon the wearer’s face, a face Henry had seen one too many times. The man, by the name of Rick Crawford, was --much like Henry-- one of the most influential men in the entirety of London. He had his puppeteer strings in every corner, in every company, in every gang, and every part of the aristocracy in the entire city, although such facts were rarely known. Once a man that Henry had respected, Crawford was now a man he could only feel hatred for. Crawford was one of many who opposed science, but one of the few who had actively tried to shut down the Society for Arcane Sciences ever since its construction was announced; he would sneer and dismiss anyone and everyone who tried to convince him that science was a great thing that could improve so much, that had created so much, and he would gladly sink most of his savings into campaigns to keep London a “safe city without scientists to change and destroy what the city had been built upon, built for”. He was a hypocrite, benefitting from the advancement of scientific engineering and yet refusing to acknowledge it, acting like it was natural occurrences untouched by the men and women whom he claimed to be mad. Without science, there were no steam engines, trains, medicine-- everything was built up by one key ingredient and that was science, which Crawford actively gained from and yet, no matter how many times Henry tried to change Crawford’s mind during the handful of times they met during banquets, the other man would twirl his long mustache and do his best to ridicule the doctor for the rest of the evening. Crawford slandered Henry’s work, his legacy, his Society, and his Lodgers, and he could not let that slide by. Crawford’s photograph was, ironically, taken out from an article about his latest attempt to shun science, to shun the Society for Arcane Sciences, and even without the support of its remaining article, the man’s disgust of such a topic was made quite clear by the facial expression alone. Having seized the news of the Grand Exhibition’s postponement, Crawford seemed to have seen that as a golden opportunity to turn the people of London against the Society and in its turn, against Henry Jekyll.

“They clearly can’t be trusted,” The article had quoted the man, “they have can’t even organize their own show-and-tell. How can we see them as safe and trustworthy?”

Oh, Crawford... If you only knew what you had just gotten yourself into.

Crawford was nowhere near the only man who had insulted the Society, insulted Henry’s work and the doctor himself, but he was, by far, the only one that Henry found worthy of putting his attention to. He was the mastermind, the orchestrator of most of the campaigns against science, while most others whose photographs were on display upon the corkboard had merely resided in slander, rumors, and lies, but made no actual effort into stopping it.

Rick Crawford was on top of the food chain and Henry wanted him gone, and yet, he couldn’t help but hesitate.

As Henry let the doubt grip his body, Hyde continued to watch his counterpart, silently getting closer, silently floating through the air. Edward watched as Henry stared at the photograph of his rival, he observed how the doctor gulped, and he watched as the other man’s hand twitched by his side, aching, longing to take the picture down, to remove the whole board and forget about the whole thing, to toss the entire plan aside and act like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just planned to fake his own kidnapping and like he hadn’t just planned to frame his rival for it.

Hyde could not let that happen.

‘He will deserve it, you know,’ Hyde whispered, allowing himself to slink through the thin air and allowing his ghostly form to come closer to the doctor. He grabbed his shoulders, towering over the other man from behind, and yet Henry did not acknowledge him at all. He continued to stare at the picture, and so Hyde continued; ‘After everything he has done to you, don’t you think he serves a punishment?’

Henry continued to stay quiet, his eyebrows furrowed softly upon his forehead. He tried his hardest to ignore the way his heart beat so quickly within his chest, to ignore the way his breath was lodged into his throat, to ignore how the corners of his eyes darkened and the room began to spin so very softly. He tried his hardest, and he did his best to distract himself by just continuing to stare at the photograph, and it almost felt like the photograph stared back at him. The twisted frown upon Crawford’s lips taunted him, dared him, tempted him, mocked him. Hyde did not make the sensation any better.

“...Don’t you think it’s going too far?”

‘Not at all, dear Henry. On the contrary, actually. Don’t you feel like he deserves worse, after everything he has put you through? After all, you are letting him off easy. You could very well have made him responsible for your murder.’

...

“What if he denies it? What if someone finds out that I framed him?”

‘Of course he will deny it, but who will believe him? Everyone knows about your feud, everyone knows he wants you and the Society gone, but if you play your cards right, no one will find out. He will be gone and out of your way when you decide to return, too. After all, when the evidence points to him and when you tell everyone it was him, how would he prove otherwise?’

Henry took a deep breath, although it quivered ever so slightly. As much had he did not like to admit it, Hyde was right. No one would believe the accused if Henry managed to make everything believable enough; if he fabricated a story and stuck with it. It was to kill or be killed, and Henry was sure that if he did not get Crawford out of his way, Crawford would get Henry out of his. Crawford was a cruel, wicked man not only to Henry but to so many in the common class, the workers of his factories, the servants of his estates, and the less fortunate he met upon the streets, spitting onto their faces metaphorically and literally every chance he got. Even without his and Henry’s personal affairs, he deserved what he was about to get. He did not deserve to be such a high-standing man, he did not deserve such power. But who was Henry to decide such a thing? Who was Henry to take that away from him, forcefully, on the accusations of a crime he hadn’t committed? Did Crawford deserve something as severe as the accusation of another’s kidnapping? What crimes and sins could he possibly have committed that made him worthy of such a thing? Was it not hypocritical for Henry to decide his fate after all the horrible things he had done himself, that he forever would keep hidden under the surface and would take to his grave?

‘Who cares if he actually deserves it or not? You want him gone, why do you have to justify it? Do you not deserve the one pleasure of ridding yourself of an opponent?’

Much like a few days before, Hyde’s hands moved from Henry’s shoulders and up to his hair, loosely gripping at the tuft locks of brown curls while he continued to hover over the doctor, peering over him and observing his every move. The normally affectionate gesture of hands in his hair was nothing but a manipulative and intrusive tactic when it came from Hyde, and yet Henry could not be bothered to wave him off. He was far too gone to try to fight Hyde, to fight his temptations, his reasoning. The small touches that Henry normally craved from his peers were only used to get him weak and unresponsive, unargumentative, and allowing of what Hyde wanted him to do and be. Henry knew Hyde’s tricks, he knew his intention, and yet he remained so very naive, so very well-behaved, and so very obedient.

‘Do you really think that Crawford hasn’t tried to get rid of his own enemies? Do you think his rivals going bankrupt is a coincidence? Do you really think he would not try to get rid of you if he was in your shoes?’

Hyde’s hands moved once more, but this time they traveled down to Henry’s jaw, cupping and holding him in place, not very different from when he first convinced Henry to fake his kidnapping. He held Henry in place and forced him to look where he wanted him to, making the doctor adhere to his own will, his own desires. He held Henry in place and continued to make him stare at the photograph, continued to make him watch Crawford’s vile face, his deep frown, and humiliating gaze. Henry’s hands twitched by his sides. He did not often let himself harbor rage and hatred within him, such a disgustingly wicked emotion that he often refused to associate with, instead opting for sorrow or envy while leaving the anger to Hyde. Hatred was a strong word and yet not strong enough for him to be used in his description of Richard Crawford, deeply wishing the man had chosen another shortening for his first name.

He would deserve it, would he not? Why was he hesitating?

“What if I regret it later?”

‘Then you simply say that it was a mistake.’

He did not like the way Hyde was so fast in answering his questions and concerns, but as much as he wished he could shake everything off of him, he had no time to think about that right now. He had no time to be worried about Hyde’s intent or the things he kept from the doctor, but instead, he merely allowed himself to step forward to his corkboard, feeling Hyde’s hands leave his face as his twitching hands went up and began to dig through his pockets once more, but instead of red thread, he took out a red pen. Despite the slight quiver of his hands, he took off the cap and brought the tip up to the top left corner of Crawford’s photograph, when he then drew a long, uneven stroke down to the bottom right one. He moved the tip up to the empty corner at the top and moved the pen in the opposite direction, down to the last empty corner, before he pulled the pen away and took a step back, breath hitched into a lump in his throat.

It was decided.

Crawford was as good as gone.

‘There you go. Was that really so hard?’

Hyde finally moved closer, but instead of grabbing the doctor from behind like so many times before, he let his specter float in front of the doctor to cover his view, to hide what he had just done, what he had just decided. The blond man towered over Henry, cradling his face in his hands as he grinned, thumbs stroked over the doctor’s cheeks and yet Henry could do nothing but sigh, trying to turn his way but like many times before, Hyde would not let him. He kept him in place, forcing him to look at him, not to face what he had just done, but to face the cause of his actions.

‘Does it not feel good to be a god? Does it not feel good to be the one in control? You like control, don’t you, Jekyll? Does it not feel good to have it?’

A soft breath, quivering so loudly within the silence. Henry did not want to admit it but he felt how he relaxed within Hyde’s palms, closing his eyes as he gave a slow nod. It did feel good, it felt so good to be the one in control, completely in charge, even if it was about something as horrible as this. He decided on his own accord, his own rules, his own desires. It was shameful to admit but he craved control, he craved to be the leader, he craved to control every single aspect of what was happening. He knew exactly what was going on, he knew exactly what would happen, he was prepared and he had the authority. No one to stop him, no one to overrule him, no one to ruin what he had worked so hard for, no one to betray him.

No Lodgers, no Frankenstein, no Moreau, no Scotland Yard, no aristocracy.

Only him.

Only Hyde.

‘Taste it on your tongue, Jekyll,’ Hyde murmured. The alter ego was so close, far too close for Henry’s liking, but even with Hyde’s hands on his face, he made no move to stop him from leaning in by his ear, like so many other times this week, ‘taste the freedom, taste the control, the command. You are in control now, Jekyll. You are your own god now.’

He could taste it, he could taste it so vividly, burning his tongue and slipping down his throat like a strong whiskey, and yet he craved it and he craved so much more. The bitter taste of relief, of power, so easily intoxicating and exhilarating and making him tippy-toe on the same madness so many fell victim to. Great leaders and authorities who got blinded with power, with control, and demanded more and more; greed consuming them as much as they consumed every ounce of control they could get their hands on, fear of powerlessness that sent their empires and legacy into ruin. It was such a dangerous game and yet Henry could not get enough. He used to be happy with what he had, because what he had used to be enough, but then Frankenstein came, and Moreau soon after, and then Hyde had caused the fire and Henry felt helpless, vulnerable, hopeless, and he craved the control he used to have, a fix of the drug he slowly watched himself get addicted to. Hyde knew exactly which buttons to push and where it hurt, he knew exactly how to get Henry vulnerable, defenseless, powerless in an attempt to get him to think that he had the control. Henry was addicted, and Hyde was his solution.

‘Do you know what to do now, Henry?’ Hyde asked. He had not moved an inch further away and despite his lack of physical form, Henry could feel his ghostly breath tickle his skin, and yet he had no choice but to feel how his body tensed and his eyebrows furrowed further in discomfort, allowing himself to nod, slowly, ‘You have to go through with this now, and you have to find things to plant on the scene.’

“...I know.”

‘But don’t worry, I can help you with that.’ Hyde murmured, ‘Just take our little serum, let yourself melt away, and sit back and relax as I do the dirty work for you.’

“But... Are you sure that’s a good idea? The police-”

‘The deed will be done and I’ll be back right here, on this very spot, before the police will have picked up my trail. No one will know it was me in the first place, and even if they will, I’d be back here, in this office, and let you take over once more.’

Henry knew full well that the various searchers of Hyde were far from over, and Hyde knew that too; Such a large amount of arson was hard to forget and they were only lucky that no one got seriously hurt. It would take a long time until the Scotland Yard would forget about it and stop to actively search for the culprit, not to mention that there was no doubt that the various merchants of the Blackfog Bazaar would do everything to get to skin Hyde alive. To let Hyde out into the open, to run the risk of making his criminality impossibly worse... Henry knew it was a bad idea, and yet... It wasn’t like he had much of a choice. It wasn’t like he could get any evidence himself. What was he supposed to do, try to pickpocket Crawford during banquets?

“...Promise you will only get the evidence, nothing more?”

‘Of course.’

Henry did his best to take a deep, calming, soothing breath; completely ignoring how it trembled, completely ignoring how Hyde got closer and closer, and completely ignoring the way the only thing that kept him from falling backward was Hyde holding him in place. He ignored it, just as much as he ignored all the previous warning signs that displayed itself upon his and Hyde’s plan. He ignored it, just as much as he craved it. He took a deep breath, and nodded.

“...I will prepare the HJ7.”

‘Good boy.’

A soft shudder ran through Henry’s body once Hyde finally let go of him. He took a step stumbling backward but quickly caught himself and his balance, only sparing a slight --although irritated-- glance at his alter ego as Hyde began to swirl around him, looking at him from every angle possible. It was moments like these where Henry wondered if Hyde’s form really was just a figment of his imagination, or if the other man’s form much more resembled a ghost, a spirit, so easily being able to physically manipulate Henry and Henry alone but nothing else without possessing the body. He shook his head and stumbled over to his desk. No, he had no time to think of that. He had to set his plan in motion, time was running scarce as every moment gave him second thoughts, and yet such incredible excitement. He could not allow anyone to start to suspect anything, either, which reminded him...

He looked back at his corkboard, knowing full well that anyone who would take a single step into his office would see his plan on clear display, although they would most likely not be able to understand or decipher its content. His empty desk and the otherwise messy office were a clear sign that something was not right, that something was up, and yet he knew better than to expect the Lodgers to barge in and start searching his office while he was gone. He had to get rid of it, somehow, and quickly...

His eyes darted over the room, trying to find a good place to hide the evidence. The trash can would be too obvious, and so would throwing it out the window be... However, it did not take long until his gaze was caught by the fireplace, the little space of comfort where he often found himself spending the cold winter days but often neglected during the warmer months. Its current contents of wood coal and ashes were long since burnt to nothingness, completely useless, but he still had dry wood in the holder next to it. He glanced at the corkboard once more, then at the scraps of newspaper upon his desk, and then back to the fireplace.

‘Start the fire and burn the evidence,’ Hyde suggested, giving words to Henry’s silent thoughts, ‘It will be nothing more than ashes once I’m back.’

Henry did as told, as obedient as always. He turned back and stepped forward to the corkboard, wasting no time in pulling out the pins and gathering every note, every photograph, anything remotely related to his plan, and anything remotely burnable. He stacked the papers over each other in one hand and pulled out the pins in the other, although he did not let his gaze wander down to either until the corkboard was clean and empty once more. He took a last glance on its dotted surface before sighing softly, dropping the pins into the same tin before making his way back to his desk where he quickly gathered the newspaper and continued over to the unlit fireplace, sitting down on his knees while he placed the papers on the floor next to him to free his hands. Another sigh was the only sound he let out before he began to collect the new wood from its holder, stacking them into the fireplace to prepare for the burning. Mindlessly reaching for the papers, he quickly stopped as his gaze turned from the firebox and caught the photograph at the top; marked like a sacrificial lamb with red ink, its depiction clueless of its fate. The photo of Crawford practically stared back at Henry, unsuspecting, unaware, and yet so accusing. Henry cowered every so slightly, glancing around him. Hyde was still watching from the reflection of one of the glass cabinets, mimicking a pose of laying on his stomach with his elbows against the metaphorical floor, head resting upon his hands. Hyde watched, quirking a questioning eyebrow at the gaze he and Henry shared, but Henry glanced away quickly. He grabbed the photo of Crawford and tore it between his pinched fingers, turning the pieces upside down so only the scattered words of what used to be the photograph’s article were visible. His hand shook ever so slightly, and yet he wasted no time in scattering the pieces in the fire-to-be, not bothering to tear up the other notes, photographs, or even spare the pieces of red thread; only tearing up the newspaper before letting it all follow suit under the stacks of wood. He opened a tiny compartment on top of the fireplace and got out a box of matches, not hesitating for a single second before he lit a match and held it to the dry wood. The fire took immediately, allowing the doctor to drop the match into the glowing coals before he closed the metal screen, securing the fire as it began to take glow.

No more faces, no more guilt. Only a mortal fire to hide his tracks.

Well, he had no more time to lose.

He attempted to stand up with a miserable groan, feeling his weak knees aching and giving in under him as he grabbed after the mantle of the fireplace to support himself. His joints popped with a pathetically loud ‘pop!’ and he felt sick just hearing it, and yet he just took a moment to hold himself against the fireplace while he let the dizziness wash away. His legs felt sore and yet he pushed on until he could stumble away from the blaze, making his way towards that one cabinet where he kept the pre-serum for the HJ7, as well as a small package of the elixir salt. He felt Hyde’s continuous stares and yet he did not spare him a single glance this time, almost in shame, almost in fear, as he reached for the beaker with the glowing red liquid and the tiny paper container. Barely a moment passed before the salt was dumped into the red fluid, making it bubble up and turn into a sickly shade of brown as the salts began to dissolve, vapor and smoke already spilling over the edge of the beaker’s neck. He reached for a stirring rod and began to coax the salt into dissolving, watching the shade turn cooler and cooler until a neon green appeared and the salts disintegrated, just as quickly as sugar in normal water. He allowed himself to glance back for a moment, to the reflection where he had last seen Hyde, but he was in the same position, but grinning, watching.

‘Go on, take it. You can trust me.’

Henry knew he couldn’t, he knew he shouldn’t trust Hyde and yet he continued to blindly follow him, a lost puppy trying to find shelter. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him; Hyde used to be the last person he would trust, but things changed. After all, he could never have imagined there would come a time where he would not be able to trust the Lodgers, that there would come a time where he would only be able to look at them with sorrow, with betrayal, and yet...

He did not allow himself to continue the thought, taking a step back so as to not hit the cabinets before he took the beaker to his lips, turned his head back, and began to chug. He lost his grip around the beaker immediately, sending it falling and smashing against the floor with the little contents that were left as he doubled over, screaming. He fell to the floor, narrowly missing the shards of broken glass as he curled up, clawing at his skin as the sensation of his organs and body turning inside out filled every and all of his senses. Twitching, clawing, crying for mercy to any god that would listen, yet letting his spirit melt away and give place for Hyde’s control. They felt how their fingers, legs, and spine grew down and shortened to give away for the smaller, more flexible stature of Hyde, and they felt how their organs mixed and matched and shaped like clay within them to match those changes. Their hair grew longer, thicker, wilder, and the brown color slowly washed out into a natural yellow. The scream never left, even under the threat of choking on the thick, sickly green liquid that spilled out of their mouth and eyes, but instead it merely turned into a dry laugh, loud and yet just as haunting, blood-freezing.

Hyde opened his eyes, fingers twitching as he heaved, trying so desperately to catch his breath. His sweaty hair fell into his eyes as he crawled up from the mess on the floor, drops of the green liquid and shards of the broken glass clinging to the too-big clothes that hung loosely against his thin body, and yet he paid no attention to them, even with the risk of getting injured. He was used to this, after all. Far too used to this.

Henry watched from the shadows as Hyde, still cackling, brushed off the grime and glass from his body, trying to do the same with the spills of the green liquid but without much success, only rubbing it into the fabric instead. After an irritated huff, Hyde turned his attention towards his next destination and soon made his way over to the lone door that led into Henry’s bedroom. The doctor followed after, watching hesitantly, silently. Hyde opened the door and immediately went to the wardrobe, tearing the closet door open to begin to dig after his own clothes. He would need something to fit his own body, lest he want to risk messing up their plan by tripping on the too-long pants or have one of the too-big shoes fall off of his feet when he tried to escape. Good thing that everything was already prepared. Anyone who had spent more than five minutes in the same room as Crawford knew how much the man adored his nightly walk through the finner neighborhoods every evening, so Hyde would not need to search far or long to find him. He was practically at their porch by this point, falling right into their trap.

...

“Y’know, Jekyll,” Hyde started then, sparing a short glance to his shadow as he collected his fittings through the mess of their shared wardrobe, “You can just go to the mindscape, take a moment to relax. I won’t do anything else than we have agreed to.”

‘...You won’t hurt him, right?’

Hyde cackled once more.

“You are planning to frame him for your kidnapping, are you really worried about hurting him?”

Henry cowered, yet he merely glanced away and scratched his neck-- a useless thing to do as he had no physical form and therefore could not feel it, but the reflex was still there. Hyde observed him but only sighed softly, rolling his eyes as he knew Henry was not watching him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t pull a hair from his head-- or-- no, actually, I definitely will do that, but I won’t break a bone in his body... Intentionally, at least.”

‘Just be discreet, please.’

“Of course, don’t worry.”

Hyde stripped from Jekyll’s clothes, tossing them over to a hamper next to the closet before he began to take on his own, keeping his back turned to the doctor. Henry averted his gaze and let his counterpart get dressed in peace, finding the scarce furniture in the room awfully interesting. They might be the same person and they might share the same body but that didn’t make Henry any more comfortable about starting a half-naked man. Hyde had no shame, of course, but he already knew that. Hyde rarely had any shame for anything.

“Cross your metaphorical fingers for me, Jekyll.”

Henry took the risk to glance back at Hyde and was relieved to find that the other man had gotten dressed awfully fast, and yet Hyde grinned at him with such a grin that Henry had learned the hard way to fear. Instead of commenting on it, the doctor merely sighed as Hyde made it to the window. The blond man pulled the screen panel open, taking in and savoring a deep breath of the cold evening air before he vaulted his legs over the windowsill, waiting for just a moment with a single glance back at his counterpart.

‘...Good luck.’

Hyde gave Henry a salute and a smirk before he swung himself over from the open window and onto a pipe drain, where he proceeded to climb onto the roof. Henry did not follow, but instead took a deep breath and trusted that Hyde would fix this by himself. He could always call after Henry, after all, now that the doctor was used to tapping in and out of the mindscape as he pleased. Closing his eyes, Henry allowed himself to wash away from reality, feeling lighter, weightless, almost like he was floating in the clouds. He opened his eyes and was met by the eternal blue of his own mind, its layout so confusingly complex that he could not even start to wonder what he should do to pass time. Instead, he did as Hyde told him; sat back and relaxed, allowing everything to pass on by him.

He should not trust Hyde and he knew that, but he did not want to watch as Hyde did whatever he was going to do to Crawford. All he could hope was that whatever Hyde would do... He would leave no evidence or witnesses, but no corpses or victims, either.

Forget being the devil’s advocate, Hyde was merely a devil’s disguise.

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...Yes, Richard Crawford is very much inspired by Crawford Starrick from AC Syndicate, I won't even try to hide it. TO BE FAIR I had no idea who else to have Henry frame because there was no character I could put the blame on in the actual comic, soo... Yes, very self-indulgent, I know, but I'm trying to make it work!

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