Chapter Text
Daniel’s a good person. He tries to be a good boyfriend. He smiles when Joey tells him, blue eyes lit all up like a hearth, that he’s inherited this house from some relative he’s never heard of. He lets him grab him by the hands and jump up and down. They throw a small party to celebrate and Daniel absolutely does not say that this is sketch as fuck, not where he normally would.
Because Joey is so happy, and he’s just recovering from being sick again, and Daniel is a damn good boyfriend. Even when he’s told that this place is in Northern California, far from LA where they make their livelihood. Even when Joey tells him that he’ll be moving in right away, but Daniel has to stay at their current house per contract to receive the deed. Even when, over the course of a few weeks, he sees very little of his boyfriend and hears from him even less than that.
No, he doesn’t say anything. But he does Google the property. He does get blocked, and buckles down to figure out just what the hell happened to the previous owner. And the owner before that. And the owner before that.
Dead. All dead. And the ones that aren’t are missing in action.
He calls Joey. Leaves messages that get more and more snippy the more panicked he gets. He tries to go there and isn’t even let through the gate. Something about not being dressed for the time period. He paces and rages and rattles the gate and he goes home and decides whether he wants to file a police report or not. Joey’s still posting to social media, nothing seems to be wrong. But it feels wrong.
And Daniel is not helpless by any means. He throws himself into the research, piecing together as many reports as he can find. He tells his followers he’s taking a hiatus. He still tries to reach Joey. He doesn’t open the door to strangers.
He opens it to Shane Dawson, though.
It’s… probably a mistake, if the needle in his neck is anything to go by.
-
Daniel wakes in a circular room, in a luxurious bed that isn’t his own, to Shane Dawson thumbing through Twitter on his phone.
“Don’t worry, you’re safe,” is the first thing he says, which doesn’t really make Daniel feel safe, especially since his mouth tastes like cotton and he’s having a hard time focusing. “Did you drug me?” he accuses, the words thick on his tongue.
Shane winces. “Yyyyes, but in my defense, this is procedure.”
“For what?”
“The Society Against Evil.” He gives him a smarmy grin that feels entirely inappropriate for the occasion. “Welcome to home base.”
“What the fuck is going on,” Daniel says flatly.
The other Youtuber’s face closes, getting down to business. “We have reason to believe Joey’s been taken over, possibly under the influence of the Cursed God, an ancient evil trying to break out of its cage we locked it in centuries ago.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Magic exists, Daniel,” he says, voice overly patient and serious. “I’m part of a group that prevents bad people from using it for evil.”
Daniel stares at him for a long time, trying to wrap his head around this. “Shane,” he says finally, with controlled calm, “where am I?”
“East of Los Angeles,” Shane supplies. “Our West Coast branch, which is, coincidentally, headquarters for the SAE.”
“That’s a stupid name.”
“I know,” Shane says with a laugh, “but it’s exactly what it says on the tin, eh?”
“I guess so,” he says, though he isn’t really sure, and it seeps into his voice. “So… someone evil has taken Joey?”
“Kind of.”
Daniel grinds his teeth. “Can you please just give me a straight answer?”
Shane scoffs. “No?”
“Shane.”
“The house did.”
Daniel raises his eyebrows at Shane, waiting for the punchline. It takes him an uncomfortably long time to get that there isn’t one coming. “The house,” he repeats flatly.
“Yep.”
“The house is evil?”
“Yep.”
“And it has Joey.”
Shane sighs. “Yep.”
“This is too much.” Daniel shakes his head. “There’s no such thing as—”
A bright green glowing forcefield divides the room, separating him on the bed from Shane, standing near the window. As the word dies on his lips, Daniel turns to see the large oak doors swinging open to allow the entrance of a young woman with ivory skin and chestnut hair that spills over one shoulder. She’s clad in a draping, light pink dress that would probably be considered evocative if Daniel wasn’t a gay man in a happy, committed relationship. She smiles at him from the other side of the translucent green shield, ignoring the way Daniel’s mouth gapes open like a fish.
Seconds later, before he can find his voice, the shield evaporates into bright white wisps, and the woman says, voice high and strangely accented, “Magic?”
Daniel sinks back onto the bed, closing his mouth. Shane rolls his eyes. The woman takes a delicate step towards him, extending a long, pale arm, fingers listless and yet immediately threatening.
“I am Iridessa,” she says.
He swallows and takes her hand. “Daniel.”
Her fingers close around his wrist, sending a shiver from the top of his head down his shoulders. Their handshake is abnormally firm, considering how dainty and frail her hand is. Iridessa’s eyes are dark blue and seem to swirl with an array of secrets he could never hope to uncover, and Daniel resists the urge to pull his hand from her grasp.
Thankfully, she releases him, still smiling benignly. Daniel tries not to skitter back a step. “Shane?”
“She’s the big boss,” he answers, giving an almost mock-bow that Iridessa ignores. “Iridessa, this is Joey’s boyfriend.”
As always, he tenses for a just a moment before she inclines her head, accepting that without question. “Lovely to meet you, Daniel. I hear you’ve been stirring up some trouble.”
Daniel narrows his eyes at her. “I’m only trying to get my boyfriend back.”
“Yes, and Shane seems to think you might be able to help us reach Joey?” It’s almost placating, patronizing, like she’s humoring him. It causes his shoulders to hunch, and Daniel has to work to lower them, remembering that this woman has magic—literal, actual magic—and his pride isn’t worth getting his ass kicked.
Shane steps in to diffuse the situation. “I’m telling you, Iridessa, I know Joey and I know how he talks and that invitation is full of shit. It’s the Cursed God, it’s gotta be.”
She inclines her head to acknowledge him. “Well, your instincts are usually on point. I’m just not sure how you think we can use this one to aid us in defeating this round’s evil.”
As much as he hates how she put that, Daniel has to agree. “I mean, yeah, I haven’t seen him in weeks, I haven’t talked to him, I don’t even know if he’s still alive—”
“He is,” Shane interrupts, serious for once.
“How do you know?”
“Because we haven’t played the game yet.”
Daniel locks his jaw. He tries not to explode. He tries to keep his hands from trembling as he grips them in his lap and stares up at Shane and Iridessa, and his voice is pitched lower than it should be when he says, “Tell me.”
-
They try to tell him to go home after that. That they’ll call him when they need him. Daniel puts his foot down. He throws the world’s biggest bitch fit. He says Shane is a member, Shane is going to go get him, Shane doesn’t know Joey like he knows Joey. Shane, for his part, looks like he’s having a hard time keeping a lid on his smugness as Iridessa paces from the window to the door, her pretty, youthful face drawn and quiet as Daniel makes his case.
“All right,” she murmurs, when he’s spent himself out. “I understand your passion, Daniel. I have a solution, but you will have to do everything I say.”
Daniel looks at Shane. For someone always so expressive, Shane’s voice is shuttered and dark, but when they catch gazes, he nods. Daniel resolves to go along with this, anything to get to Joey, so he says, “Okay.”
But to be honest, he has zero intention of playing by the rules.
-
After that, Iridessa lets Shane show him around. “The ceremony is tonight at sundown,” she mentions as she makes her way out of the room. “If you are really sure about this, Daniel, we’ll induct you into the Society then.”
Shane watches her go with an unreadable expression etched across his face, but when he turns back to Daniel, that signature grin is back. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” he says, “so let’s get moving.”
There are four buildings. The one they’re in is called the bell tower, and Daniel discovers why as they reach the bottom of the spiral staircase and venture outside into the Los Angeles midwinter afternoon. It looms overhead like Daniel’s foreboding, dangerous parents, casting dark shadows across the courtyard. At its top, above the penthouse suite he’d woken up in, is an old gray bell, still and silent and melancholy.
The older Youtuber makes his way across the courtyard, pointing out the large, gorgeous cathedral on the south side of the compound, the beautiful fountain that serves as the epicenter of a cul de sac in the middle of the walled in square, and leading his way to the barracks that looks more like a library, if Daniel’s being honest.
Kitty corner, nestled up to the cathedral, is a lush green garden with flowers and vines and trees Daniel knows damn well shouldn’t be blooming in the middle of March. Directly opposite of that is a garage, and as he watches each car leave and enter when they pass he realizes that each SUV is the same make and model and color. The sight of it makes him want to recoil, but instead he says nothing, trailing behind Shane as he makes his way, hands shoved into his pockets, to the barracks building.
“Where are we going?” Daniel asks as he hurries to catch up to him.
“Iridessa's study,” Shane calls over his shoulder.
“Uh, why?”
“Because you need a much deeper look into what we’re doing.”
He takes him into the building. It features long hallways and short flights of stairs made of metal and just as cold. The deeper Daniel gets into this place, the more and more he starts to think that this used to be a fort.
“Who built this place?” he wonders aloud.
“I think at some point Iridessa had to relocate to the West Coast sometime during the Civil War,” Shane supplies, and Daniel stops short.
“The Civil War?”
“Yeah.” When Daniel doesn’t demand an explanation, Shane provides one anyway. “She’s got life magic. She’s immortal. And so am I.”
“You’re… what?”
“Yeah. Haven’t you noticed? I’ve had the same haircut for three years.”
Daniel stares at his back, and that’s the only reason he catches the sly glance Shane tosses over his shoulder. “Hair doesn’t grow when you stop aging, Danny boy.”
“Don’t call me that,” Daniel says, an automatic response. “So you’re serious then.”
“Yep. And, if you’re serious about this, you will be too.”
“Immortal?”
“She has this chalice, Holy Grail style,” Shane explains, slowing a little to allow Daniel to sidle up next to him instead of trailing behind. “When you drink the water from it, you stop aging. Now, you can still be killed—that’s a very important detail—but so long as the Earth keeps turning, we… stop living, basically.”
“That’s… terrifying.”
“Isn’t it?” Shane grins, sticking his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket. “Anyway, it’s not so bad. Like eating and sleeping. I don’t have to eat, but I can. Best part of the job, tbh.”
Daniel shakes his head. “And why exactly did you take this job?”
He shrugs. “I’d found mention of the Society while doing research for a conspiracy a few years ago. They found out, one thing led to another, I get offered a job. It’s pretty cool, and not so physically demanding that I can’t still do videos. All I do, really, is find places along the leylines where the next game will occur.”
Daniel feels his heart sink. “And this one is Joey’s new house.”
“I’m like eighty percent sure, yeah,” Shane admits. “Good news is, we have time. You’ll be stationed there, on the property, integrate into the forces there. And then I’ll come along, since I’ve been invited, and tackle things on that end.”
Time stops for a second. “Invited?”
“Yeah, I—” Shane hears what Daniel didn’t say, frowning over his shoulder at him. “Didn’t you know he’s throwing a housewarming party?”
At an absolute loss of words, Daniel just shakes his head. Hurt rips through his chest like it’s physical as he struggles to understand why Joey would leave him out of this, cut him off so thoroughly, with no intention of letting him in.
Shane watches him fall to pieces and turns around fully so he can walk backwards. His blue eyes, ice cold, are uncharacteristically soft. “Hey, Daniel. Listen. We’re gonna get him back.”
Swallowing hard, Daniel escapes answering by nudging Shane’s shoulder so that the older man turns back around.
This is a lot of information, and he isn’t nearly prepared to face all of it at the moment, to be honest.
-
“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs, gazing at the painting.
Shane hums, but he isn’t sure it’s in agreement. “Iridessa does have a flare for the dramatic.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
Shane scoffs, pressing an offended hand to his chest, but he’s grinning. “Excuse me, my style consists of stained T-shirts and basketball shorts. That isn’t dramatic, it’s—Depression Chic. ”
“I know this about you, and I hate it.”
The older man shrugs, unbothered, as Daniel studies the painting. It’s huge, almost taking up the entire wall in Iridessa’s study, and depicts a bloody battle with the woman centered in a column of green light, tiny tendrils of it reaching curled, dark monsters and vanquishing them. In front of her is a man with pale, damn near translucent white skin, hair pitch black, a curl falling to the center of his forehead and his eyes glowing an unnatural, almost neon yellow in the green of Iridessa’s magic. His teeth are bared, though it’s unclear whether it’s a grimace or a smile, as he takes Iridessa’s hand in what looks to be a rather intimate handshake.
“That’s the Cursed God,” Shane says, nodding at the man. “He’d possessed Iridessa’s husband, the Scythe. He killed them all and would’ve killed Iridessa, too, but instead they made a deal. Play a game where the points are human souls.”
Daniel shivers. “That’s horrible.”
“It gets worse,” Shane says with a grim smile. “This game has an inevitable winner. No matter how we stall, we’ll slip up eventually, and the Cursed God will be released from his prison. And when that happens, game over.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “It’s my job to find the places he sends his minions and shut it down before it gets started. I’m gonna try to get Joey out of there before that happens, okay?”
“And what do I do?”
“Well, if you’re what I think you’re gonna be, absolutely nothing.”
Daniel turns his head to look at him, lips thinning. “Excuse me?”
“Watchers are only supposed to take over in the case of an emergency,” Shane explains. “Like, if a helper somehow dies in the middle of the game. We haven’t have anything like that in a while, though. You’re just going to be there to observe. Hence the name watcher.”
“You expect me to just stand by and wait while my boyfriend plays a game where he could die?”
“I told you,” Shane says seriously, “I won’t let it get that far.”
“Then why did you want me here to try to “reach” Joey?” Daniel demands.
Shane hesitates, just long enough for Daniel to doubt the other Youtuber’s comforting confidence. Eventually he says, “Just in case.”
And maybe that shouldn’t have made Daniel feel better, maybe he should be running in the opposite direction like any normal, sane person.
But he doesn’t.
-
The water tastes metallic. Even after the first sip he feels different, more vigorous, more full of life. He has to drink twice—there are ranks, this technically makes him Shane’s superior and that’s kind of wild—and by the end of it he’s a watcher, and his head is buzzing, and he should be concerned about that but he isn’t.
Iridessa smiles at him. It’s a much warmer smile than before, now that he’s one of them, and Daniel finds himself smiling back.
He still doesn’t like her all that much, though.
-
Jael? Fucking terrifying.
She’d said her name when he met her but he didn’t quite understand how to pronounce it and at this point he’s too afraid to ask. The weapons specialist waits, just short of tapping her foot, as he peruses the rack. “These are all magical weapons,” she’d explained when he’d been sent to her for training. “They choose you, not the other way around.”
It all sounds like bullshit to him, but he’s not about to say that to her face. The blonde radiates an air of danger, and Daniel’s no fool. He’d much rather learn how to protect himself before even thinking of saying anything against her.
Unfortunately, he can feel her patience wearing thin as he picks up a sword, puts it down, picks up a blaster, puts that down too. There’s a long bo staff as tall as he is that he thinks might do the trick, but when he’d looked at Jael she’d shaken her head, so he had to put it back. Her partner, Ryu, has an air of faint amusement (despite the fact that his expression never changes) as he practices with his tambo, flying through a complicated kata Daniel’s only catching glimpses of and only because the weapons rack is against the mirror.
Daniel bites off a gasp as his hands close around two matching daggers, one longer than the other, and a jolt seems to run from his wrist to his chest. He looks at Jael, who nods in approval, her lips twitching into something that looks moderately less displeased than before.
“Those blades can cut through just about anything, in the right hands,” she says. “They’re yours now. Let me teach you how to use them.”
-
A month later and Shane shows up at his door, that out-of-character seriousness back in his gaze. “They’re going to be sending you out soon,” he says. “So I’m going to warn you. Iridessa’s been really on my ass lately about playing by the rules of the game, letting the chips fall where they lie, and not sending someone out early to put a stop to this before it gets going.”
Daniel feels a thrill of panic at the words. “What are you saying? We’re going to be playing the game?”
“We might have to, yeah,” Shane says, frowning deeply. “I don’t know what she’s up to, but I don’t trust it. Before I joined, they were losing. Like, by a lot. They’d play the game and a ton of people would die and they’d only just manage to stop the souls from being sacrificed by defeating whatever monster or minion the Cursed God had sent.”
“And you coming in stopped that?”
Shane’s frown deepens and he gives Daniel a long, hard, measuring look. Daniel’s heart clenches at a look like that, and he resists the urge to put his hand on his chest to try to ease it. He has to be strong now. He can’t be scared. “You know something,” he accuses him. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know for sure,” Shane admits, pursing his lips. “I just have a feeling. An awful feeling.”
“You think she’s doing it on purpose?”
“She has magic she shouldn’t,” he says, grinding his teeth. “Magic that isn’t limited to healing and shielding, what is typical for the Chalice.”
“Like what?”
“Telekinesis,” he says, numbering them on his fingers, “omnipresence—she can sense everything on the grounds of the fort, that’s why I met you here instead of there—imbuing her magic into physical objects, mind control—”
“Mind control?”
“There are times when she just—looks at one of the others and they get up and leave to go do something.” Shane pitches his voice low. “Things I feel compelled to do even though I don’t remember having the thought to do it. And something about her has felt off ever since I met her.”
Daniel swallows. “So… you think… that she’s letting people die?”
“In order to steal the magic from the big bad to supercharge her own, yeah.” Shane shrugs helplessly. “I don’t have any proof yet, but you noticed how she doesn’t like me, right? I think it’s ‘cause I keep catching potential game spots early, and most of us don’t know that we’re not supposed to be shutting them down before the game is actually played.”
“But—” Daniel’s mind is racing. “But Joey’s—”
“I know,” Shane says, his voice almost soothing as he reaches a hand towards him, just a little. “Listen, Daniel, I know. That’s one of the reasons I wanted you there.”
“But I can’t interfere!”
“Don’t give me that bullshit, you and I know damn well you’re going to step in if it looks like shit might be going South.” Shane’s blue eyes blaze as he stares him down. “I’m counting on it, Daniel.”
“I’ve only been here for a month,” Daniel protests. “I still cut myself on my own damn daggers, I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
“For Joey?” Shane turns, hand on the doorknob. “Will you do it for Joey, Daniel?”
Daniel’s heart thuds, but he doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course I will.”
“Good.” Shane opens the door and steps outside. “Because you’re his best chance. He needs you.”
He watches him go, resolve settling in his shoulders. With a heavy heart sinking ever lower, he shuts the door behind him.
-
Her name is Calliope and she’s very nice, if a little weird. “This will allow us to call you back if anything goes wrong,” she says, putting a smooth black river stone in the palm of his hand and gently closing his fingers over it.
Daniel runs his thumb over the cool granite. It certainly doesn’t feel magical.
Calliope must see the doubt in his face, because she laughs and pats his hand. “Trust me,” she says. “And don’t worry. Everything will be just fine. The stars say so.”
“Well, I can’t fuckin’ argue with the stars,” Daniel mutters under his breath.
She doesn’t hear him, turning away and leaving him standing in the middle of what the SAE calls the Launch Point for his embarking. It’s a darkened room in a corner of the barracks with no electricity, the only light coming from the solitary skylight directly over a large green crystal located in the dead center of the small room on a small altar. This is where they send their members to different time periods—and the river rock Daniel’s been given is a touchstone, what they use to monitor each game. Daniel doesn’t like that he’s going to be watched—that’s his job, after all—but also would rather die than be stuck in the 1920s, the time period Joey’s supposedly living in at the moment.
He stares at the crystal, its many faces reflecting the early May sunshine streaming in from the skylight. It’s beautiful, and Joey would love it, and the thought forms a lump at the base of his throat he’s having trouble breathing around.
“It’s ready for you,” Calliope says, smiling so the corner of her eyes crinkle. “Good luck, child.”
He adjusts his dress and tries not to scratch at his fake beard and instead approaches the crystal with apprehension. The river rock warms in his hand as he gets closer to it, and by the time he reaches for it, the thing is almost burning in his palm.
There’s no time to say goodbye. No time to back out. No time to go over his notes again.
Wind roars in his ears, and the light engulfs every part of him, and despite himself, Daniel starts to pray.
-
He’s inducted with ease into their little carnival, which Daniel wants to question but doesn’t dare.
The Ringmaster simply tells him to do what he’s told and that the customers come first. Daniel accepts that with almost gleeful relief and quietly shuffles in with the rest of the “freaks” of the show. They’re all delightfully normal and they all lowkey hate the Ringmaster—“But ya know,” says Bubba, the juggler, “I ain’t never had a home before and I reckon this comes pretty damn close. Best family I ever had.”
The others murmur agreements and Daniel hides his face behind his beer as he takes a sip, listening to his new carnival friends dissolve into conversation. They’re good people, even the big, monstrous Sam, who looks like he could break the nearest person in two (but is the gentlest soul Daniel’s ever met).
But they’re not his family. His family is in the house they’re traveling towards—should be there within the week—hurting and under the thumb of evil.
I’m coming, Joey. I swear.
-
Daniel stands in the entrance of the house, looking around, holding his breath and trembling. It’s silent as a grave in here, no signs of life whatsoever, and his heart crashes to his toes. “Joey?” he calls tentatively, before realizing how ridiculous it would be if his boyfriend turned the corner and saw him, dressed head to toe in drag with a fake beard glued to his chin.
It doesn’t seem to matter, as there’s no answer. They’re not in here. It’s not that big of a deal—the game ends at dawn, that’s what they’ve hammered into his head, and it’s barely even ten o’clock if the grandfather clock is anything to go by—and he turns, about to head back to where the carnival is setting up, having only snuck out for a moment to see if he could spot the man he hasn’t seen in person in months.
The sight of a shoe, upright, attached to a limp leg, poking out from the couch in the sitting room catches his attention. Daniel slows, freezes. Stares at it for a long time, trying to get his pulse to slow down. He inches into the sitting room, his heart thundering in his ears, moving around the couch so he can see who the leg is attached to.
Somehow he already knows, slumping in disappointment and what is rapidly heading towards shock as he recognizes Shane’s pale, damn near ashen gray face. His eyes are closed and there’s blood on his lips, and he’s lying flat on his back with his hands folded on his chest. Next to him is someone Daniel doesn’t recognize for the first second, before he sees the Andrea Brooks in her face, eyes open, limbs stiff. Both dead. Both having died in different ways, but very, very dead.
Daniel just stands there, clutching the couch for support. His jaw trembles and he clenches it to lock it. Shane’s dead. Shane, his longtime friend Shane Dawson. How will the community react to this? Shane’s beloved on Youtube. A legend. Andrea Brooks has a twin, for fuck’s sake—they’re two people who are no longer people and Daniel chokes as he struggles to pull in a breath, thinking about how a week ago he’d seen Shane, alive and jovial and as big a smartass as he ever is, and now he’s dead.
And Daniel is alone.
He takes a staggered step towards the two of them, dropping to his knees. He needs—something, something to bring back, something to give to their families. Their bodies will never make it back to 2016. Not intact, anyway. But they deserve better than just being abandoned here, in the sitting room.
He’s unclasping Andrea’s necklace—it’s one he recognizes, one she’d told him had been a gift from her sister, something important—when he hears noise from outside. He stands, still clutching the necklace, looking about in a panic before rolling behind the couch.
This is a stupid hiding place, he thinks, but it’s far too late to change his mind as two men come into the house, making a beeline for the sitting room.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” says the first man, his voice English accented. “They’ll be occupied with digging for a moment, I’m sure.”
“Where do you want ‘em?” The second voice is gruff and American. There’s rustling, and huffing, and when Daniel takes a peek he sees the backs of one man hefting Shane over one shoulder, and the other one picking Andrea up bridal style.
“It doesn’t matter, the crystal will take care of them,” says the English man. “For now, let’s just put them—”
The sound of the front door closing behind them cuts their voices off. Daniel stands again, grief-stricken, still holding Andrea’s necklace. What crystal were those two talking about? Who was digging? Was it the other party-goers? Was it Joey?
He hadn’t gotten anything from Shane. Daniel swallows, his fingers shaking as he fastens the clasp of Andrea’s necklace around his own neck, touching the stones there.
“I’ll bring you back to her,” he whispers after Andrea, and Shane, too.
Then he gathers his courage and his strength about him and makes his way back to the carnival.
He’s on his own now.
-
“What’s going on?” Daniel asks Genevieve, the Ringmaster’s assistant as she rushes past him.
She bares her teeth at him—neither her nor the Ringmaster are very kind to them, but everyone seems to be losing their minds over something and she’s the first one Daniel got a hold of. “The monster’s escaped! Hurry up and help us look for him!”
She yanks her arm from his grip and storms off. Daniel watches her, hoping they never find Sam.
-
Daniel lounges in the ticket booth, bored out of his mind. They’ve been getting less and less guests as they’ve traveled closer to this place, and the ones they do have tonight have been rude and terrible to them. It’s what he hates about being a watcher, actually—this should would never fly in 2016, and he’s getting quite sick of people spitting in his face just because they can’t fathom the sight of a bearded woman.
A few more hours, though, and he’ll be able to leave and look for—
“This is crazy—”
Joey.
Daniel straightens. His heart stops, stutters, picks up triple time. That’s Joey’s voice. That’s Joey, coming towards him—his hair bleached such a pale blonde it’s almost white, in a smashing tux, eyes wide, spinning in a circle as he and five others approach, following the Ringmaster, Genevieve, and—oh no, they’ve caught Sam—
But he can’t afford to take his eyes from Joey, who looks haggard and tired but also so full of that childlike wonder Daniel’s come to love so much as he takes in their carnival.
Time freezes as his blue eyes land on Daniel. Daniel stares back, everything in him screaming it’s me! Joey! It’s me! I came to get you!
“Oh my god!” Joey says, recoiling a little in surprise as he processes Daniel’s outfit, and Daniel can already tell that he doesn’t recognize him. He closes his eyes briefly—this is a good thing, he’s not supposed to, it’s fine—and tries to breathe around the huge ball of hurt that’s grown three sizes since seeing his boyfriend in person for the first time in months, in so long hearing his voice live. Still alive, still Joey, despite the hair change and the obvious grief in his shoulders. Still alive, and going to stay that way if Daniel has anything to say about it.
“I’m going to need your ticket, please,” says the Ringmaster, and Joey hands Daniel a slip of paper. For a moment their fingers brush, and it takes everything in him to not grab him and run.
Joey’s staring at him expectantly. Oh right—
“Welcome to the circus,” Daniel says, in the Bearded Lady voice he’d been using since he got here.
Joey’s smile falters a little. Something in Daniel cracks. He knows if he looks any harder he’ll see him, really see him, and the jig will be up. He can’t blow his cover, not yet, not if he doesn’t want to be yanked back prematurely.
“Now go,” he says, biting into each word because if he doesn’t he’ll cry, and neither of them need that. Joey is pulled away by his friends—Daniel’s friends, too—and Daniel does his best to breathe as the distance between them grows again.
“I think I know her,” he hears him say behind him, and despite how much it hurts, Daniel can’t help but smile.
-
“We’ll be trying something new with the dunk tank today,” the Ringmaster says, handing Daniel two large, heavy, lidded buckets that wriggle and squirm like they’re holding something alive in them.
Daniel huffs a little as he lifts them, teetering. “What are these?”
There’s maniacal glee in the Ringmaster’s eyes as he tells him, “Piranhas! If those spunky kids want this artifact, they’ll have to give us a real show!” He taps one of the buckets hard, making Daniel tilt to one side. “Put these in the dunk tank—be careful now, they bite!”
As he walks away, laughing at his joke, Daniel watches him and thinks he’s the biggest asshole he’s ever met.
He sets the piranhas down behind a curtain. Rules be damned. He’s not contributing to killing his friends. He won’t fucking do it.
-
It ends up being Tim and Oli dunked, and Daniel watches from outside the tent, grinning to himself as the two come up, sopping wet but perfectly fine. The Ringmaster recovers quickly, grandly, graciously, letting the group take their soaked guests back into relative safety and giving them their artifact as well.
It’s about then, when Joey is stomping towards the tent entrance, when Daniel’s touchstone begins to heat up. He touches it, tucked into the tiny pocket he’d sewn into his dress at the hip, realizing what that means.
“Wait,” he says out loud, panicky, “wait, I’m so close—”
Too late. Wind roars in his ears, and light engulfs every part of him, and Daniel reaches for the tent flap as Joey reaches from the inside, and then he’s clutching air, back at the Launch Point, a displeased Iridessa standing in front of him.
“You are not to interfere,” she says, voice frigid.
Daniel straightens, gripping his fists, a hurricane kicking up between his lungs. “He was right there!” he shouts.
“You are a watcher,” Iridessa snaps, “and nothing more.”
“Watchers take over when things go south,” Daniel says, “they step in when their fellow SAE member needs help, that’s what you said—”
“Shane’s sacrifice does not give you permission—”
“I don’t give a fuck about permission!” Daniel bellows. His voice cracks. His face is hot. Tears sting in his eyes.
Iridessa’s face closes, stone cold and official, and Daniel knows he’s lost this battle. He stomps past her, nearly tripping on his dress, past Calliope and her stricken expression and her half-raised hand like she wants to comfort him but doesn’t know how, out the door and to his car and not caring who sees him in his makeup and wig and fake ass beard and Andrea’s necklace. He drives home and collapses face first onto his bed and weeps, just sobs, thinking of how fucking close Joey had been and how now nothing and no one can save him.
He’d blown his one shot to bring him home. And there’s nothing left.
-
Two weeks, it’s two weeks of joining the other families of the missing ones and not being able to tell them he’d seen the Youtubers, spoken to them, was close enough to touch them. He can’t tell Brittany to stop hoping and start grieving, or Ryland that Shane is never coming home. He can’t, and doesn’t, say anything.
And then he gets a phone call. A police officer. Joey’s in a hospital two hours north of here. Joey’s in a hospital with Eva Gutowski and Oli White. Joey’s in a hospital and he’s asleep, but he’s alive, and Daniel doesn’t even really remember climbing into his car and pulling onto the freeway, but he does, and he’s crying, and when he gets there he’s escorted to Joey’s room—the room he shares with Eva, also in a dead sleep, also inexplicably alive— and he cries there, too.
His tears slow by the time Joey’s eyelids peel open. He smiles, watery and tremulous, at those baby blues that fall on him and finally, finally recognizes him.
“Well, hello there, sir,” Joey rasps, smiling slightly.
Daniel squeezes his hand. “Hey, mister.”