The Crawl From Below

by kal_diver

Summary:

Blood covered his raw knuckles, remnants of a half-demon slick on his skin. Eden, nose broken, stared at him. Finally, sweet finally, she looked scared. Not dismissive, not disgusted, but scared.

Clyde grabbed her arm. “We must witness it.”

---

Following the portal opening, Clyde, Eden and Katchem experience the below.

Notes:

This is an unofficial sequel to The Ballad of Simon Bootles. I may reference things from it, but you do not need to read it before to be able to follow along perfectly fine!

Chapter 1: Rock Bottom

Clyde watched Francis, his beautiful ancestor, visions of skulls and spirits swirling around his rotting body as the portal collapsed in on itself, pulling walls and floorboard with it. He heard the terrifying and yet somehow overly dramatic laughter, his skin crawling in something akin to delight. He could feel the raw energy in his muscles, the change in the air as the world around him suddenly became very cold. Everything was different now, everything was perfect.

Blood covered his raw knuckles, remnants of a half-demon slick on his skin. Eden, nose broken, stared at him. Finally, sweet finally, she looked scared. Not dismissive, not disgusted, but scared.

Clyde grabbed her arm. “We must witness it.”

“Get off me, you creep! You cannot grab a pregnant lady like that!” Eden was insistent, still pulling away, although Clyde could tell that she was not trying as hard as she was before. Either from the blood pooling down her chin or the shock that raced through the air, she barely resisted as Clyde pulled them both towards where the portal had been.

They raced past Katchem, holding the still body of Abigail in his arms. “I can’t find Simon anywhere, where—get off Eden, you creep!”

Clyde sighed, the wind ripping through his clothes. “That sentiment was already shared. Come with me, both of you!”

Katchem raised his voice, shouting some profanity or insult. Clyde barely heard Eden’s retort. “We have lost, Katchem, just come on! We don’t have a choice!”

The hateful eyes regarded him with scorn, with fire that burned worse than the ritual. But Katchem, cradling Abigail in his fragile arms, followed them. The four of them walked further down into the house, Clyde’s hand tight around Eden’s. Despite her revulsion towards his very being – and really, he could not blame her – she held his hand back with a ferocious grasp.

Something in his chest pulsed along with his heart, a thump-thump that made his fingers ache. He had done it – Francis, his beloved grandfather, a warrior known through the wars, was back. He had taken his revenge. And now, he would rip this cursed house from the foundations it had once clung to.

Had he known of what the house truly contained? No. There had been rumours of a man who stood not on two legs, but his hind legs, akin to the devil. Whispers among the town of a witch hunt from years ago. And given his own father’s death was covered up, hidden among apologies of it happened so fast, Clyde knew there must have been some truth in the absurd.

But he looked up at the implosion in the air, of Francis screaming and laughing, tears dripping down his face in victory before torpedoing through the air, of the sky turning not navy or inky but a pure black, of portraits and furniture sinking and swirling in tendrils of something evil. He watched as Francis plunged his hands into the centre of the broken portal, a cape of smoke and sin flowing through the air behind him. Clyde felt distinctly cold.

And the world opened beneath them.

Clyde vaguely registered grabbing Eden’s shoulders as they fell, Eden wrapping herself around him in return, screeching like a banshee in his ear. He heard Katchem screaming beside him, an old wail that he was certain one of his ancestors had heard before.

But Clyde did not scream. His stomach was blocking his vocal pipes.

He hit the ground with a thud, his diaphragm quacking and spasming. Eden immediately rolled off him, wiping off her sleeves in silence. Clyde sat bolt upright, breathing in deep and calm and fucking hell and holy shit and keep going until he could breathe normally once again, the rattle in his chest fading into a scratched memory.

Katchem and Eden were saying something, but he could not hear them. The pounding in his ears was too loud, the blood rushing through his head almost unbearable. He looked up to see Francis dancing through the sky, ribbons of infernal spirits keeping him afloat.

“Grandfather!”

His voice echoed loud, too loud in his own head. Francis looked down into Hell, his eyes rolled back in his head. Clyde could not tell if it was from necromancy or ecstasy.

“My dear grandson! You shall be rewarded for your efforts, as all good actors are for playing their part on this earth-bound stage!”

Clyde felt a rush through him, stumbling to his knees. There was a final laugh as Francis disappeared, the sound bouncing through the Earth.

The three were silent, Clyde’s hands dug into the earth, Eden and Katchem somewhere behind him. No one spoke for a while, the sound of the wind whistling above them being their only soundtrack. He could feel the height of the world around him, ominously looming over him in tall shadows.

Clyde gently pulled himself together, rising to his feet—

SMACK.

Eden slapped him in the face with all the power of a horse kicking him square on the cheek. Clyde fell to the floor once again, grunting in pain. “You bastard! Look what you have done! We are in fucking Hell!”

Clyde rose to his feet again, immediately rising into a fighting stance. “You do not understand. You have no concept of what I was—what we are meant to do!”

“I’ll give you a fucking concept to think about—”

“I don’t know where Abigail went.”

Both glanced at Katchem. Even in old age, Katchem had always been loud. Less energetic and quick as the years passed, but his presence had filled the room, with both his charisma and his oxygen mask. But down here, glancing behind him with a worried, desperate glint in his eye, Katchem had never looked smaller. “I… I think I let go of her on the way down. I don’t know where she went.”

Eden hissed. “What do you mean you let go of her? She is dead, she’s not exactly a wriggler.”

Katchem looked unaffected by her words, peering ever more into the darkness. “I… don’t know where she went.”

A silenced lulled over them. Katchem did not move his feet, but kept on peering into the darkness, his misty eyes trying their hardest to search. Eden was finally shamed into silence, looking down at the ground, one hand rubbing her stomach. Clyde sighed, feeling the weight of whatever Francis had done deep in his bones.

He was in Hell. He had brought the others to Hell. The Otherworlds were open, just as the voice had told him to do. But what now? There was no grandfather to guide him, no map to show him where to go. Just a pregnant lady, an old man, and a vast emptiness before him.

He shrugged. “Well. Let’s go then.”

He picked a direction and started walking, merely trusting that the other two would follow. And although he did not look behind him once, he heard two pairs of footsteps behind him.

The world was dark and although he did not find an opening or doorway, the walls shifted to become dim tunnels, the floor changing to cobbles beneath his feet. There was no light, no cracks in the walls, just a vague dimness and eyes that soon adjusted. He felt for cracks and raised stones, murmuring where to avoid for the less supernaturally adjusted behind him.

Other than Clyde’s gentle suggestions, no one spoke. There was none of the wit or even spite from before. Eden held her tongue, even in the dank tunnels, and Katchem seemed too depressed to speak. He stumbled more than he walked, the sound of his feet an uneven rhythm, barely aided by the guides in front of him.

And in the silence, Clyde thought.

He had wanted revenge. Revenge on the generals that took his father from his mother, revenge on the people who unfairly took his father’s life, revenge on the monsters who tried to cover it up. The only time Clyde Brawne had seen his father in the flesh was at his funeral. Even then, when quietly milling at the back, his blood-bound relatives had asked him what his relation was to the deceased.

People said his father died from a heart attack. Something normal for his age and a war-addled mind. And yet, two members of the funeral, one dressed in a coat too big for a normal man and the other who rapped the eulogy, insisted on a closed casket.

So, when the voice had reached out, Clyde had not questioned it. The theories of the occult were more than proven, especially when presented with the history of the house. What had occurred was not normal. So why should Clyde act normally? Why should he accept his father’s death and move on when a beast roamed the earth?

And when hazy visions and dreams came to him, all performed by a man with long hair claiming to be his grandfather, he had listened. He had understood the injustice, the disgusting sin and terror in the house. If the only way for his ancestors to be free was to open the house up, then so be it.

But why did he have to be down here? He was their saviour; he should be treated with respect. Reverence. He had given away his humanity to free those trapped below.

There was something ahead.

Images, silhouettes of people, hidden behind an almost curtain-like sheen. They were moving slowly, but not artificially. In the way someone dancing around their house alone would. Easily. Calmly. Calm did not seem to fit down here.

He stopped, tilting his head behind him. “You see them?”

Eden hummed in agreement. “Yep, I see them.”

“Good, it’s not just me. Katchem?”

Katchem gently moved past him, knocking Clyde’s arm not out of spite, but through a trance. The light beyond illuminated Katchem, the hazy glow sifting through the gossamer veils shimmering over his old, wrinkled skin. Clyde slowly moved, standing next to him.

And in his old eyes, Katchem looked out with a childish awe.

Clyde could not recognise the faces beyond. And yet, he saw a flair of similarity between Katchem and the women who looked back. One with long, straight hair and a red dress walked close, gently placing a hand in the space between them. It stopped, halted by the shimmer and glow before them. And, nervously, with a hand shaking from age and disbelief, Katchem raised a hand to press back.

A second woman, with her white wig high atop her head, knelt beside the other lady. Katchem inhaled shakily, a new sheen coming to his eyes. She pressed her forehead against the veil, Katchem immediately falling to his knees to press back.

Clyde and Eden stood to one side, watching them, Katchem on his knees before the women as they gently reached out. There was no sound, no music, just the gentle, barely suppressed cries coming from Katchem’s lips.

Eden broke the silence. “Who are they, Katchem?”

Katchem did not break in embarrassment. He gently rose his head, glancing back at the two with a new youth in his face. “My mother and my daughter. I… I missed them.”

Clyde saw the younger lady whisper something up to the dark-haired woman. They laughed, but no sound reached the trio. However, Katchem smiled. “I read her lips. She says… she said, ‘Dad looks weird’.”

Katchem laughed, the sound old and pained, but so, so happy. Clyde remained silent. Katchem turned back to his family. “I took good care of Eleanor. She is so pretty, Lindy. And so quiet! I never thought something so precious would ever come from a… a beautiful explosion like you.”

The white-haired lady’s mouth opened in some shriek of fake indignance. Both women laughed, Katchem joining them, only the sound of his laughter reaching Clyde and Eden. Clyde had heard of Katchem’s unpredictability, of his loud family and hospital trips. And yet, seeing the man before him with silent tears in his eyes and his hand resting so gently on the ethereal gauze before him, Clyde could not place the two people together.

For a moment, Clyde felt the guilt seep in. But that could be rationalised – if Clyde had not have done what he did, this moment of pure innocence and beauty could not have happened.

Clyde cleared his throat. “We should move on.”

Katchem did not turn around, but he lowered his hand and head. “… alright.” He stood slowly, his knees shaking. But he smiled warmly at the two before him. “I will see you two again.”

Clyde led the walk away but noticed Eden gently linking her arm with Katchem’s as they followed.

Chapter 2: Sedimentary

Summary:

Clyde, Eden and Katchem keep walking through the below.

“Clyde, we need to stop. My feet hurt.”

Clyde turned around to face Eden. She was farther behind him than he had realised, clearly having taken her words very seriously and stopped the moment she wanted to. Clyde sighed. “We should not stop unless we have to, I don’t know what is down here—”

“We do have to stop. My feet hurt and I’m pregnant, so you do actually have to listen to me.”

Clyde sighed. “Fine. Five minutes and then we’re going again.”

Eden glared at him, her eyelids low and unimpressed. “We’ll go when I finish resting, thank you.”

“Fine.”

Clyde moved away, sitting a few feet from Eden. Katchem kneeled next to her, Eden acting gracious and helping him sit down on the uneven ground. No one talked, Eden and Katchem huddled close while Clyde sat distantly. There was nothing down here, the emptiness becoming more normal and yet more discomforting as the minutes passed.

Clyde remembered his days as a child, living near the ocean with his mother. He would sit on the beach and watch her corral the schoolchildren, quietly waiting for her to finish her hours, come back home and teach him. She would tell stories of his father – a charming man who spoke in songs and poems, who could cook a beautiful breakfast before dashing off to the squadron. A man who when he learned of his unborn child, slipped every penny he could spare into her hand a promised a plethora of tales from his time abroad.

He had promised he would see her again. He gave his address and his name before he was taken back. Clyde’s mother never saw him again.

Back then, the crash of the morning sea had kept Clyde company. If he was lucky, a dragonfly would flutter near him, and he would watch it zoom across the sparkling sea. But there was no sound here. Just a strange echo that moved in time with his breath. The only souls to keep him company hated his existence and whether they were even alive was debateable.

When Eden and Katchem started talking, he listened in. Out of politeness.

“How was it? Seeing your family again.”

Katchem’s sigh echoed on the walls, a blissful resonance. “I never thought I would see my mother again. She died from Simon’s horse, you see.”

Eden gasped. “That scoundrel! You should not have forgiven him, you know.”

“I’m old, Eden. And people change.” Clyde could not see the two behind him, but he imagined them in his mind’s eye, Katchem leaned in respectfully close to Eden. “And besides, his work after the whole… incident really made up for it. He taught Abigail and the other Whittmores. And the poor man lived in the woods for quite a while. Life in isolation does make you a touch strange.”

“Like your time in the hospital?”

“When my asshole fell out, yes.”

Katchem was a medical mystery, but he said the words with disturbing normality. “Although my relatives would argue that even for my family, I became more normal after the hospital trip.”

Eden tutted. “You should find better people. I would not stand for it if my relatives ever said things so… callous about me.”

There was a long pause. Clyde heard a rustle and matched an image of Katchem gently taking Eden’s hand in his. “It is the Poppy way, Eden. We are not quiet people. In fact, I remember my young Belinda being the loudest in town. Oh, she would run from house to house, screaming for her friends to come out even in the early hours!”

He pictured Eden’s disgusted expression. “That sounds nightmarish.” There was a faint pause. “I have always tried my best to be classy, you know. I… well, I’m down here now. I might as well say it. I took over my cousin’s shipping company after I plotted his death.”

Katchem gasped. This was not an entire surprise to Clyde – the story was in the papers and there was more than enough to infer what had occurred. Despite this, it was surreal to hear it from her lips. Eden continued. “He was a scoundrel – he gambled his wife away and lost her for years! It was a miracle she was not… taken by some criminal.”

Katchem chuckled. “We did not have that in the Poppy family, I will admit.”

“Yes, the O’Briens are full of criminals, underhand dealings. We are from Irish descent, so.” Eden paused. “I… do understand your loyalty, though. I would do it all over again for Sandy.”

“Loyalty is a beautiful trait to have.” Katchem’s voice was parental, sentimental in that aged way where moment might be the last to give advice. “Perhaps you’ll see her again.”

“Perhaps. Given this place though, I hope not.”

The silence was deafening, Clyde’s breath the only noise ricocheting off the cavernous tunnels. It felt as though an hour trickled past, no one daring to move lest they come to terms with the horrible reality. Clyde dared not look back – he knew that if even a hint of his eye caught Eden’s, she would reign down on him in a terrible storm.

Finally, Eden rose to her feet. “Well, I’m done. Quick, both of you.”

Clyde and Katchem rose to their feet and kept walking.

The walk was monotonous, an endless march through identical mazes. A maze was a generous term – a maze had turns, dead ends, choices to make. This was a tunnel with no end and, when they looked behind them, no beginning. Despite this, Clyde had made a habit to not turn around – he could hear from the footsteps that Eden and Katchem were behind him and decided to simply trust that had not changed since they first landed down here.

Like Orpheus, he led his Eurydice towards the destination. Unlike Orpheus, his Eurydice did not follow out of love but necessity.

When a familiar shimmer danced over the walls, Clyde held out his arm to stop the others. “Ahead.”

A pause. Eden’s cutting remark was inevitable. “Well then, what in the Hell are you stopping us for?” She barged on ahead, knocking the same place on his arm that Katchem had done but with a touch more spite.

Clyde sighed, looking at the ground and following Eden towards the veil. The silhouettes sat in a circle. As he got closer, he saw four members – one in a green coat, one in a red dress, one with blue glasses, one in a yellow suit. He recognised none of them, and yet, he could feel the distinct connection to them all.

Or he was going mad. Difficult to tell at this point.

There was a sentiment of ease in the air, the yellow one raucous, clearly in command of all attention of the others, arms waving wildly as he told a story. The man in blue clapped him on the shoulder, saying some remark which caused the others to join in with the revelry. While the scene before with the Poppys had been gentle and awe-inducing, this was a picture of pure joy.

The one in green made eye-contact with Clyde, gesturing to his companions. All four snapped their heads over, four deliciously delighted grins appearing on their faces. The woman in red walked over expertly to Katchem, nodding her head in greeting. The man in yellow swaggered towards Eden, yelling something through the veil which could not be heard.

The man in blue faced off against Clyde.

If both Katchem’s mother and daughter had died in the house, these must be previous victims of the hauntings. Clyde caught a glimpse of Katchem’s excitement, mouthing words to the shimmer that he did not care enough about to discern. Eden looked at the frantic man before her in mild disgust but seemed to respect him enough to not retaliate.

Clyde and the man in blue stood face to face. His mirror smirked in an expression Clyde could not recognise – pride? A flicker of challenge? He was almost sizing Clyde up, sending a shiver of indigence down Clyde’s back. Who was this man and why was he fixated on Clyde? He knew his actions. He knew what he had done. He did not need this stranger viewing him with such a critical eye.

The man beyond ran a hand through his hair, raising his eyebrows with a devilish smirk. Clyde’s stomach dropped as he recognised that very same smirk from the mirror. This was a relative of his. Clyde had finally traced his father’s line, even in death.

Was this his father?

Something in him almost wanted it to be him. He had been searching for his entire life. This was the closest to his father he had ever been, even if it was not him. He wanted that fighting glint in this man’s eye, the strong muscles hidden under the button-up shirt, the air of confidence that exuded through the mortal divide to be a part of him. To painfully link the picture of such strength and cavalier to what Clyde had always envisioned himself becoming would be the perfect closure to the mystery of his family line.

But the dismissive gaze in the man’s eye spoke otherwise. With a silent scoff, the man in blue turned away, rejoining the man in green in the chairs.

Clyde backed away from the glow without flinching. “Whenever you two are done, we can go again.”

Eden rejoined him soon after. “I do not know who that man was, but he was far too brutish. I mean, I could barely make eye-contact with him!”

Clyde did not look at Eden. “He is probably your ancestor.”

“Well, I hope not.”

And the conversation died there. It took a couple more minutes for Katchem to pull himself away, seeming more content than both Clyde and Eden. “Sorry, I’m happy to go now.”

Eden quirked an eyebrow. “Who was she?”

Katchem seemed almost brimming with excitement, his old eyes once again shining with excitement and joy. “I may be wrong, but I believe that was Belinda, my grandmother. The Poppy lineage remains strong!”

Eden chuckled softly. It was the first time Clyde had heard it without an undertone of mirth lurking underneath. And again, he was out of place. Where Eden and Katchem had formed a bond was a warzone for him. A wrong word would break down the careful, reluctant truce between them. So, he did not join in on Katchem’s joy and Eden’s wit. He remained uninterested in their conversation.

“Let’s go, you two.”

And they all left together, but Clyde was ahead, and they were behind together. In his peripherals, he saw Eden loop her arm around Katchem’s in a kind gesture. United and distant.

Oh well. He was just the navigator.

The man in blue’s steely gaze remained imprinted in his mind. He had seemed so strong, muscles and charm and swagger all emanating through the silence. But the more Clyde thought, the more distorted the memory became. Had the man sized him up in approval or disgust? Was his glance away dismissive or had one of the others caught his attention? Was there any reason that man walked to him other than a mildly dismayed disregard?

These were not the thoughts he should be thinking. He had done the right thing. He had opened the portal out of necessity. That strange man beyond the veil did not know anything. Those people did not know anything. Eden and Katchem did not know anything. He had to do what he knew was right. Francis had been freed. His purpose, what the voice was guiding him towards, was complete. There was nothing wrong with what he did.

Sure, he betrayed them. But it was for a greater good.

He is waiting for them.

Clyde heard it return. Soft, incessant. A poking at the back of his brain. A new aim to work towards. There was nothing wrong with a little purpose in life.

“Clyde, we need to stop. My back hurts too much from the baby.”

There was nothing wrong with a new purpose. Especially not down here.

“Fine. Five minutes.”

Notes:

that moment when you realise you've been spelling Whittmore wrong all this time so now you have to go back through all your bafl works to change it but it's nearly midnight so that's a Tomorrow Job

anyway, hope you enjoyed! :)

Chapter 3: Igneous

Summary:

Eden reaches a breaking point. The group settles into routine.

Once upon a time, there lived a bright young pirate.

The young pirate had a dream – to discover his long-lost father who had travelled over the ocean and never returned. Others had claimed that the storms had swallowed him, that bandits and ransacked his ship. More callous men had called his father a weakling who fled and never returned, that the young pirate was the spawn of a lily-livered coward. But the boy never lost hope in goodness and in deserved results.

Each morning, he would look out over the ocean, plotting each new travel in his mind. All the caves he would raid, all the enemy ships he would plunder. He hid his hair under his pirate cap and practised his fighting each night. And when he grew into muscles and mind, he kissed his mother on the cheek goodbye and set out over the horizon.

He faced many storms. Waves that would rock his boat, lightening that would split the sky like a knife through flesh. He lost many crewmates on his voyage, but he never lost his hope. For every man he spent, he gained another in a companion. For every penny lost to the seas, he gained two chests in loot. For the eye he lost, he took three more. For every battle he lost, he won four more.

And one day, that young pirate was against his toughest foe yet. Blade to blade, teeth bared and eyes cutting, the two faced off. When one pushed the other back, the other swept with his sword. They were evenly matched, the fight raw and equal.

Until the young pirate found a burst of strength and bested the man before him, hooking his sword and throwing it into the ocean. The young pirate held his own blade at his enemy’s throat, ready to deliver the final blow as he had done to many a foe before.

But the man looked up with eyes he recognised – eyes he had seen in the mirror.

Cautiously, the boy helped the man to his feet. The man broke down, powerless without his weapon, crying over a woman he loved and a son he never met, how he had spent every day sailing back over the vast ocean to find his son again. How pirates had taken his ship and good name from him, how he had fought back and regained every bounty he had lost, all so he could one day hold his son in his arms.

And the two held each other tightly against the oceans and the storms, finally reunited once more.

The tale had once brought comfort to a young Clyde Brawne, the message thinly veiled in his mother’s words. She was a fantastic storyteller, all gestures and emphasis and hope in her eyes. Clyde had believed her words. He had envisioned himself on the oceans, cutlass in hand and eyepatch tight around his face. He could feel the hit and knock of the sword against his, of the moment where the air grew still, and his eyes met something hauntingly familiar.

They would hold each other, father and son. Clyde would say all the things his father had missed through the years; his father would tell stories of his time on the ocean. They would sail back to his mother’s cottage by the sea, and she would not believe it until she saw their matching eyes. She would then break down and hold them both so tightly. They would be a family.

And then the message came for his father’s funeral. On land in a nondescript coffin surrounded by people Clyde had never met. There was no sword in his hand, no eyepatch, and no loot in his pockets. Clyde was just a man. As was his deceased father.

And now he was down here.

If he had to guess, four days had passed since they first fell. Although he was not sure if time were linear down here, so any number of days or weeks or minutes could have passed. There was no sun, no moon, no stars to navigate by, only a feeling in his bones and a sailor’s instinct. And that would have to be enough for now.

The space had changed marginally. The tall cavern with no end and no beginning had thinned, the ceiling turning low and rocky. All of them could walk without difficulty, although there was a sense of claustrophobia, of the walls tightening around them. However, there was enough room to walk and the ground remained continuously uneven. A change in terrain meant truly little.

“I need to rest.”

Clyde let a growl rumble in his chest but kept his voice level. “Eden, this is the third one today. We need to keep moving.”

“Where to, Clyde? Please, if you have a destination in mind, do tell us.”

All was quiet. Clyde stopped walking. “Fine. Rest.”

The usual routine – Eden and Katchem sat close while Clyde sat a few feet away. He angled himself towards them slightly, just so he could see the yellow dress and red coat against the blackness, but not enough so that he could read their faces. Their conversations did not include him. He did not deserve to read them in the same way they read each other. If Eden had not made that clear, Clyde would.

Katchem sat with a groan. “God, these old legs are not getting any younger! Maybe there will be an armchair somewhere.”

Eden hummed in agreement. “I doubt it. I do not think anything nice is down here.”

Clyde distinctly felt the burning of eyes on the side of his face. He did not turn to acknowledge them.

Katchem let out a soft chuckle. “I disagree. I have seen people I never thought I would see again. There is good down here, we just have to find it.”

Eden tutted. “How sentimental.”

As they talked, their voices low and echoing against the walls, they did calm him in an odd, restrained manner. The constant silence was unnerving, grating against paranoia. The gentle voices, even in their barely masked hatred for him, were soothing.

And, despite everything, Clyde felt his eyes drop.

Once upon a time, there was a savage man.

He roamed the land as a haunted shell, bent on revenge on a man who was not quite a man. Long ago, he had sailed the seas as a charming warrior. Now, he was ruthless. He took every opportunity and left blood in his wake. His mind was no longer fixed on a distant hope, but on a near vengeance.

And when that opportunity arose, he took it.

He listened to the voice that spoke in grand tones, in mysterious poems and dramatic prose. He listened to the voice that spoke smoothly of the demons living atop his father’s grave, of the man who walked on hind legs. He sharpened his mind and gave in to the promises. He delivered justice as he saw it.

And when the ground split open, he got both what he wanted and what he deserved.

“Clyde!”

Clyde’s eyes split open in shock, his body snapping into action. He was on his feet, glancing around wildly, hands tense and ready to strike. “What is it?”

Katchem and Eden were close to him. Fear twisted Eden’s face, her eyes darting around the space. Katchem looked at Clyde with something he recognised as worry. “I—are you alright?”

“What?”

Katchem frowned gently. “You were out cold… we—I thought something was happening to you. A possession or something. Not the first time I have seen it.”

Clyde relaxed, his shoulders slowly falling comfortably back by his sides. He looked away from them once again. “No. I was just asleep. Sorry for the panic—”

Eden snorted. “You should be! Honestly, sleeping down here? What if something had come to hurt us? Katchem’s falling apart and I am pregnant, you really ought to be more aware of—”

“I get it, Eden. Sorry.”

Clyde turned back around, ready to walk on when Eden grabbed his shoulder, twisting him sharply around to face her. “No, no! You do not get to do this; you don’t get to say this! This is your fault Clyde, so for fuck’s sake, start taking responsibility!”

A familiar heat spread to his muscles, one of a warning. One that rose before a fight. “I am trying to lead us through, Eden. I get why—”

SMACK.

Once again, Clyde fell to the floor, one hand against his sore cheek. Eden was blazing above him. “No, you don’t! No, you absolutely don’t. We are dead, Clyde! We are dead because of you! And you don’t exactly seem thrilled about being down here, so what was your plan? Why did you do what you did? Why aren’t you helping us?!”

Her voice was incessant, screeching against the rock. Clyde rose to his feet, eyes meeting Eden’s for the first time since they fell. She continued. “This place is not normal! So where are we, Clyde? Where have you taken us? Where are we going? What was your plan because, so help me God, we need to know!”

Clyde remained silent. “He is down here.”

Eden’s gaze cut straight through him. “Who the hell is ‘He’?”

“I don’t know. He told me I could get revenge here. That my ancestors could be honoured. So, I did what He said.”

Eden’s snort was annoyingly jarring. “A creepy voice told you to get revenge, so you did. That’s pathetic, Clyde. You’re pathetic.”

Clyde’s fists clenched at his side. “It’s more than—Eden, you have no idea what I’ve gone through. What I have sacrificed—what I have done to make sure that—”

“Then fucking hell, stop acting like you’re some grey anti-hero and say it.”

Clyde turned away, feeling the shadow pass across his face. “Drop it and we will keep moving—”

“No. No, I’m not dropping it—!”

“I am.”

Clyde turned sharply on his heel and kept walking, Eden’s words pounding in his head. Her silence now, somehow, was far louder than any of her insults or demands. He vaguely heard Katchem ushering her on, the three returning to their usual routine of Clyde leading the parade.

He was right. Clyde had gotten his revenge. There was nothing to feel bad about. His ancestor was free, the cursed house was torn apart. Clyde had no reason to feel this guilt in his bones. This twinge roiling in his stomach was unease at the situation, not at what he had done. If anything, the others were in the wrong – they should never have tried to stop him. Clyde was a kind man, if they had known, he might have tried to help their ancestors in the same way. He was not bad.

His father had been honoured. His grandfather had found revenge. The man on hind legs was dead. Everything was fine.

The group did not utter a single word for the next few hours, Clyde trusting that the other two would trust his physicality on when to turn and when to walk carefully over uneven cobbles. When Katchem spoke, Clyde did not turn around. “Eden, when was the last time you slept?”

Eden thought in silence. “Before we fell here into Hell. Why?”

Clyde noted how Katchem spoke as though Clyde was not there, listening in just a few feet ahead. “Well, Clyde napped back there. And I am tired, but I don’t feel like sleeping. Do you?”

Eden paused. “Not really. I’m too awake to sleep. We are dead though, Katchem. And the dead don’t sleep. In case someone here had not caught onto that.”

He left her passive attack noticed but unmentioned. Katchem continued without a trace of awkwardness. “No, I know. But if we can’t sleep, why did Clyde?”

Clyde’s skin crawled. No one added anything more to that recognition.

The routine continued. They walked, rested, although something had changed. Eden no longer told Clyde that they were stopping. She merely said that she was, and they did. All acknowledgement of their sailor through the inky seas was removed. They spoke as though he was not there, referencing him as though gossiping alone together. When Clyde spoke, he spoke at them, receiving no confirmation that they heard him but simply trusting in whatever little bond lay between them that they would follow.

Who else would they follow?

Weeks passed like this. Eden remained quietly cutting, her outbursts fading away. Katchem remained a cautious mediator, clearly on Eden’s side but never attacking Clyde with any sort of intensity or even intent. Perhaps it was age. Or maybe since the fall, he had given up.

But when Clyde slept, they never woke him with panicked yells. He awoke to quiet murmurs, as though they were afraid of him even in sleep. And he did wake, the routine resumed. They would walk, Eden would rest, Clyde would stand, and they would walk again. Soon, Clyde felt the dryness take place in his throat, his words thinning from warnings of a turn to one-syllable suggestions to nothing.

Katchem no longer played the mediator in arguments. Eden no longer attacked his existence.

And maybe that was all he could hope for in this time.

Notes:

gotta have conflict!

Chapter 4: Extrusive

Summary:

Clyde, Eden and Katchem encounter some old friends from the fall.

Clyde had not heard his own name in a week.

In his bones and heart, he felt the seven days tick by with no more encounters. No shimmers of gold in the distance, no screaming from Eden O’Brien, no strange anecdotes from Katchem Poppy. His entire world strangely disconnected from everything around him. He could feel the stones under his feet, the skin on his fingers, the clothes on his body. He knew that he was real. And yet, to have no acknowledgement of his existence was unnerving. Any passive comments did not mention him by name. Any indication of his necessity was subtle and indirect.

And yet, there was a strange kindness in that. Even though Eden’s hatred was apparent, even though Katchem’s dismissal was unwavering, they still waited for him. They never woke him up when he needed to sleep, they never left without him. They always let him walk ahead, always let him be a blue lighthouse against the dark of death.

Although he would never admit it, he had gotten used to it. The constant paranoia was a warm coat against a winter’s wind. He could recognise when the shuffles behind him had meant that Eden was sitting on the ground. He knew the exact pattern of footsteps that meant he needed to walk slower to allow Katchem to catch up.

Like it or not, they had bonded in a disturbing way. Clyde was fine with being invisible. Eden looked through him as if he were. Katchem followed the young lady beside him and they both followed their unacknowledgeable guide. None of them had another choice. And maybe they were alright with that.

When they next stopped, Clyde quietly sat down where he was. He never looked back to check on them – he feared Eden’s wrath more than he cared to admit.

He heard Katchem’s sigh as he settled onto the ground, the familiar click of a hip confirming his safe trip down. “The kid must be ready to come out soon! You’ve been more tired recently.”

Clyde did not need to see to feel Eden’s sourness in the air. “Mmm. He’s been more… active lately.”

“He?”

“I can tell. Mother’s intuition. Don’t question me!”

Katchem remained quiet. Clyde had perfected imagining their faces and body language, seeing Katchem raise his hands in defence in his mind. Eden would twist away, her face puckered, but would soften slowly. “Don’t know how I’m going to give birth here. I mean, I am literally dead. Weirdest miscarriage in history.”

Katchem hummed in agreement. “Well… when it happens, we will deal with it as best we can. I, myself, have dealt with two births, so I should be of some use.”

Eden clicked her tongue. “I always forget you’re a father. I’m just annoyed that this child’s father won’t be in the picture, although at least he didn’t have a choice in the matter this time.”

Katchem chuckled. “Oho! A runner, was he?”

“Mm, something like that. Or maybe I was the problem. He certainly thought I was, anyway.” She paused, Clyde picturing her eyes locking onto something in the distance, something just a little too far to the left of Clyde to acknowledge his existence. “What’s it like?”

His sigh was loud and filled the space. “Tough work. I was in a hospital for a lot of Belinda’s childhood, so I honestly did not see much of it. Although I did help raise her daughter, Eleanor. She was… unlike any child I’ve ever seen.”

“How so?”

His voice was filled with admiration, dripping with love. “So… quiet. And small. Lindy was a firecracker, running and screaming everyone’s ears off. But Eleanor was so… soft. She barely cried at all in infancy. Apparently, that’s a rare feat in the Poppy bloodline. We are not known for our silence.”

“Oh, I know.”

“But holding her and being her grandfather was so… beautiful.” In his mind, Clyde saw Katchem’s eyes mist over, like when he saw his family through the veil. “There’s something so precious about being a parent. Having such responsibility but such care in your body. It’s an experience like no other.”

Clyde’s skin itched with a new kind of fire. He scratched harshly at the back of his neck, seeing the beads of blood under his fingers when he pulled away. He tried to tune out.

“Taking care of your son will be the most rewarding experience, Eden. Trust me, any child is a miracle.”

Clyde rose to his feet too quickly, his head swaying for a moment before he found himself. His jumper rubbed against the new scratches along his neck, hot and sharp. He could physically feel the push of the silence behind him, pressed close against his back and shoulders. What was he meant to do now? He could not continue without them, but he could not sit down and pretend to listen calmly anymore. Something under his skin was pulsing horribly.

Clyde smoothed his hands under his hat, ruffling his hair. A breather, a change. Nothing wrong with that. He was fine. Everything was fine.

He heard Katchem and Eden rise shortly after. They continued without mention.

Thankfully, there was a familiar haze in the air a few minutes later. The silhouettes were unfamiliar at first but rotated in a beautiful pattern. A waltz of some kind, although every few paces they seemed to stop, reset themselves, and then dance again. Another, larger shadow sat a couple of feet away from them, a tall bouffant atop its head.

Clyde did not stop or warn them this time. All three walked up calmly, the three figures slowly coming into more and more focus.

Abigail Whittmore, her green dress floating around her, was led in a waltz by a man Clyde hardly recognised without the horns and veins. Another man in green, face caked in powder and blush, played the piano beside them, clearly stopping whenever they needed to adjust their stance. Or rather, whenever Abigail needed to adjust her stance.

And leading her around in a slow circle was a clean, well-tailored Simon Bootles.

Katchem gasped in joy. “Oh, Abigail!” He rushed to the veil, his old hand pressing against the gold. Abigail gasped as she saw them, tucking herself behind Simon, a flash of fear passing over her expression as she her eyes burned into Clyde’s forehead. Simon seemed to chuckle and explain something to her that none of them could hear. It pained Clyde to say, but Simon seemed normal. Charming. A gentleman.

Eden glanced at Katchem. “Who’s that on the piano?”

“Her grandfather, Amadeus! Oh, Amadeus, it is so good to see you again! I have not seen him since my asshole fell out!”

Eden frowned deeply. As Amadeus and Katchem leaned as close as possible to the other, Eden walked up. “Abigail… sorry we dropped you on the fall down.”

Abigail glanced at Simon before twisting behind him, moving close to Eden and, notably, away from Clyde.

Simon walked to towards Clyde without hesitation.

Clyde felt a familiar anger boil in his body, one that had always flared at the name Bootles, one that felt more practiced than preached. And yet, Simon looked back with joy in his face and tears in his eyes. The shock of looking into deep, brown eyes hurt Clyde to the core – both in the surprise that Simon had lost his yellow stare, and that this was the first person who had dared look him in the eye in a week.

While Simon pressed his hand against the shimmer, Clyde did not. He saw Eden murmuring apologetically to Abigail while Katchem talked at Amadeus, even though they could not hear each other. Clyde remained a foot away, distant from the reunions happening before him.

But Clyde watched as Simon pressed and pushed against the haze, his hand, just for a moment, changing from smooth, clean skin to bulging muscle and fur. But then, the haze bent with it, smoothing around into a sparkling glove. Simon held his hand out, looking at Clyde with expectancy.

What did he have to lose? Clyde took it.

Expecting to be pulled into the beyond, or shocked, or cursed with the fury of the man on hind legs, Clyde felt an almost pleasant shock at the firm handshake. The hand did not feel complete, as though he were shaking water, and Simon pulled back rather quickly. However, he made sure Clyde looked at him in the eye as he mouthed something.

Thank you.

Clyde took a step back and looked away. He did not need this right now.

He looked vaguely to his right, seeing Eden and Katchem still in their respective discussions. They could have this normalcy. He could do without it. He could live happily without being thanked for murder by the man he murdered. He could be fine without any recognition from now on.

But Simon clapped his hands and although they did not hear on the other side, they felt they vibrations in the ceiling, an echo without the source. He quickly took Abigail into the waltz form again, correcting her posture as a mentor would a student. With a little pop of his leg, Amadeus rushed back over to the piano, his face in a taunt smile as he waited for his cue. Abigail’s face flushed brightly, clearly unused to performing in front of people. And yet, when Amadeus’s fingers pressed against the keys, she and Simon stepped through the waltz with ease.

She was by no means perfect, but with her guide, she moved gracefully through the space. Simon was clearly an expert – and no wonder why, given his inhuman years of practice and perfection. They could not hear the piano, the sound completely barred by the beyond, although Clyde felt a rise in his chest, as though his body were reacting to the sound without hearing it.

When Simon gently span Abigail, she spun easily, a little clumsy on the return into the hold, but otherwise the picture of an up-and-coming young lady. He saw her giggle at her mistake and Simon murmur something back. Clyde had remembered Simon urging them all into the basement upon Abigail’s request, but he had never bothered to divulge into more about the relationship between the Whittmores and Bootles. Maybe if he had, they would not be dancing to a silent crowd.

And when the waltz came to an end, Abigail curtsied as Simon graciously gestured to the leading lady. Amadeus tilted his head, bouffant quivering atop his head. Katchem broke into quick and proud applause, Eden smattering politely beside him. Clyde did not raise his hands, but bowed his head in, what he hoped, was a sign of admiration.

People were not as cut-and-dry as maybe Clyde had wanted them to be. Simon had taught a young lady the waltz in death, simply because he could. Abigail was a blossoming young lady. Katchem was a devoted father and grandfather.

And Eden was Eden.

But it was a little too late now for those thoughts. When Katchem and Eden were ready, he silently walked ahead of them and led the familiar routine they had succumbed to.

And maybe that was just what he was meant to do. Clyde had lost his opportunity to learn and teach the waltz. He could no longer roam the ocean as a bright young pirate, searching for his long-lost father. He could no longer be the hero in his story – he had done quite a lot to suggest the opposite. Maybe he was just meant to shut up and walk from now on, to be the shield, the sacrifice in case anything bad were to happen to his half-captive followers.

There were many other choices he could have taken. He just did not take the fair ones.

The skin on his neck was raw. There was a new pain blooming in his chest. But Clyde bit his tongue, clenched his fists, and kept walking.

Notes:

i've got something fun/heartbreaking/maybe both for the next chatper! it's already written, just needs ye old faithful grammar check by yours truly. thank you for reading!

Chapter 5: Shale

Summary:

Two more messages from beyond appear - one for a killer, one for a son.

Another week passed, Clyde’s voice becoming smaller and smaller in his chest. To be able to count the days he had not spoken was a surprisingly daunting statistic: if he slept roughly every three days and he had slept five times, Clyde Brawne, had not opened his mouth since Eden slapped him eleven days ago. He had learned his lesson – he did not deserve words. Not in this space, not in front of these people.

The other two did not mind. Clyde no longer felt the eyes pass over him as they looked hesitantly into the distance. Occasionally, when he tilted his head, he could see the red and yellow. But those might as well have been mirages of madness. Given the house, given everything he had done, they might very well have been. Clyde would not have put it past Him.

As the space he assumed grew smaller, his mind grew simpler. He still knew himself, still recounted his mother’s stories and all the memories and drives that brought him here. But he no longer analysed Katchem’s words, content to simply listen and remember. Even his inner monologue criticising Eden’s attitude lessened, a stormy red brewing internally but no full criticisms forming. Things were better this way. There was less guilt simmering, less sickness in his chest at his actions.

Another golden haze appeared, although Clyde simply waited as two people wearing yellow appeared, both faces meaning nothing to him. Eden went off on them before Clyde had even comprehended what was happening, giving a curt welcome to the lady while screaming with all the rage in the underworld at the defensive man before her. Since Clyde did not even know whether those beyond could hear them, it may have been for nought. However, given the man’s shrunken appearance at Eden’s lashings, this seemed to confirm that the things beyond could very much understand them.

Nevertheless, Clyde was merely happy that he was not the one suffering her anger this time.

As they continued walking, Clyde tuned into Eden and Katchem’s discussions once again, the words rocking his brain into simplicity. “You seemed to recognise those people, Eden!”

“Yes, thank you Katchem for that stunning revelation. I do know them.”

A silence. “Who were they?”

“Sandy, my cousin, and that absolute rat of a man, Danny O’Brien.”

“Ah, Danny. The man you…?”

A pause. “Yes, Katchem. The man I killed.”

Katchem hummed deeply. “Tell me about it. About him, I mean.”

Eden snorted. “Why on earth would you want to know about why or how I murdered him? It’s all in the past, I don’t care for memories.”

“I do, Eden. It’s not like you need to do it again.”

Clyde heard the thud of Eden smacking Katchem’s arm, followed by a muted ‘ouch’. However, it did not take any more pushing, only the silence waiting for her to relent. “Danny was addicted to gambling. Sandy, the kind fool she was, saw him as a project. A rich man with an expensive interest that she could fix. He was interested in her, they got married. Then he lost her in a gambling bet to some… horrid drunk.”

The implication was heavy enough. Eden continued, her voice careful, more thought through than before. “It was a miracle I remained in contact with her, to be honest. She told me she would hide letters under the fruit bowl, in the kitchen cupboards, places he would not look. I did what was logical.”

Another silence pressed against them. Somehow, the echo from the tunnels and chambers had gone, with just their voices sitting as the only layer of sound. Katchem’s was gentle, hesitant. “What was that, Eden?”

Eden’s voice had dropped a couple of octaves. “I found that man. I made him love me. I gave him everything. Affection, attention… anything.” The word seemed to stick in her throat, but she did not waver. “He told me he already had a woman, but I was better. Prettier. I would laugh every time. How coy, how wonderful was I to be better than the alternative. He bought it every time, the fucker. But we’d always meet in a bar – he was there often enough before I came along – always with a drink or five before him. No one flinched when it looked like one night he had too much.”

Even their footsteps had faded into nothing, a void overcoming everything. Only words were allowed in this space. “He was vomiting all over the place. Disgusting. On the tables, my dress… everywhere. I remember… I was laughing. I was telling everyone it must be that new whiskey that got him good, broke his stomach. No one bothered to check me. I was just a little harlot for him to fawn over. One of the men ushered me out, promised they’d fix him up and that I didn’t need to see this. I agreed. I went to Sandy, and we ran away. I don’t know if he survived.”

She sighed, the sound quick. Harsh against the nothing. “It was exhilarating. My hands were shaking but we—I was running, pulling Sandy with me. One horrid man down for the count. It was brilliant! I felt incredible!”

And Eden laughed quickly, one short bleat into the air. It shattered the air around them, Clyde’s vision snapping back to the tunnel in front of them. The two sets of footsteps from Eden and Katchem returned, the air floating pleasantly around his skin and the world returning to him. Even Eden seemed to snap back into this reality, continuing in a voice that seemed much more familiar than the darkness she spoke in before. “Anyway. We found Danny, invited him to a trip to the cliff as a reunion. Sandy stayed in the carriage. I pushed him off the cliffside. We made it back, cue the media storm.”

Katchem whistled. “That’s… quite the story, Eden. You’re… dedicated.”

“I am.” Eden straightened her back. “Sandy was always shy. But I am not.”

Clyde heard Katchem pat Eden on the back, Eden letting out a small ‘hey!’ at the touch. “I’m glad you got through it, Eden. I… knew Danny. Long ago. I honestly don’t remember how good of a person he was. But I’m glad that you and Sandy got out of there.”

Clyde thought that Katchem’s dismissal at meeting his apparent friend’s murderer was strange. But then again, nothing normal had ever come from the people who entered that house. Eden was a serial murderer, Katchem’s asshole fell out. The two were not comparable, but Clyde still noted the correlation.

When the next golden haze appeared, Clyde did not even look towards it. He stood to the side, waited for Katchem to let out some gasp of shock and love, waited for Eden’s glower to fill the space they were in. That’s what normally happened – Clyde got some vague message or analysis from a stranger or victim, the others found either joy in the comfort of family or solace in closure. Clyde had neither and that was fine.

He tilted his gaze to the right, away from the haze. Clyde could not exactly grant them the wonderous shield of privacy here, although they deserved as much as possible from the horrors of him.

However, there was no inherent chatter. There was no excitement murmurings or realisations. Just a faint murmur between Eden and Katchem that Clyde could not hear. Perhaps it was a Bootles or a Whittmore, someone from before Katchem’s time that neither quite recognised. Clyde was allowed to think alone, to ponder as to what strangeness the beyond had to deliver to him next. His mind floated sullenly, rotating through the possibilities without scorn or joy.

There was no sound. The world was waiting for something.

When Clyde glanced to his side, he saw the red and yellow further back, almost considerately distant. Normally, their noses would be pressed against the veil by now. Their distance was not normal. His mind could register that much.

And so, Clyde broke his own rule. He took initiative, looking up into the eyes of the silhouette.

One dressed in blue. One with eyes he had seen in the mirror.

Clyde’s feet scrambled against the ground as an animal would before it ran for safety, away from monsters and predators and danger. He was against the veil before he knew it, hands clutching uselessly into the immortal fabric separating him from the man beyond.

The man himself stood calmly. He made no push or attack against the gold, but Clyde saw the film pass over his eyes, those so horribly familiar eyes.

“Father?”

Hoarse, barely a whisper, straining against the bonds of time. He felt something else crack inside him, a stony resolve that was merely encased, not solidified at all. Waves of something, something that hurt and something that shined rushed through his hands and stomach, shaking, and twitching against the shimmer.

The man beyond closed his eyes (no, don’t do that) and nodded.

Clyde hissed through his teeth, pulling back the oceans that rose to his face. He pressed his forehead against the veil, the material thick and pliant and strong and warm. His throat ached with the words and the pressure and everything falling apart all around him.

“I searched—I tried—”

Clyde’s eyes desperately read his father’s lips. I know. He knew, of course he knew. He was his father, a brave warrior and soldier and a wonderful man who never stopped. A man who looked at him with the same joy and relief at knowing the other was real and here. A man wearing glasses with one smashed lens and hair so grey that it shone and a coat in a deep and rich blue, just like Clyde’s jumper.

And suddenly, it did not matter if he was the son of a warrior or a soldier, or even a chef. He was the son of a father and he had found him, and it was everything he had searched for and everything he wanted and fuck it hurt.

The man pressed his hand against the veil, as close to his son’s as he could. There was a warm, something more than before, but it was not enough. It would never be enough for Clyde; nothing ever was enough.

Clyde met the eyes he knew so well. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t—I tried—”

I know.

He knew, his father knew. This affection was foreign and horrible and perfect and so distant. Clyde wanted more, he wanted that tight embrace of reunion and meeting, he wanted to hear his father regale tales of his missions abroad, of what he suffered in that house and how hard he fought for what was good. Because Clyde had not fought for good, but if his father had, then that was in him. The ability to be good was latent, genetic, something he could unearth and strengthen.

Who was he kidding. It was too late to be good now. The most he could hope for was a bittersweet redemption.

Clyde finally let a sob break out, scratchy and horrible and hurting. He felt a faint caress of fingers along his forehead from beyond. Despite the tears clouding his vision and stinging his face, Clyde never closed his eyes. He kept them open and secure and fixed on his father, this wonderful man who was trying to hold his son despite the divide between them.

He did not know when he had fallen to his knees, when the barrier was no longer enough to hold him up and he let the grief and horror and realisation whisk his feet out from under him. His father followed, sat cross-legged in front of him, a hand against Clyde’s knee where it still pressed against the barrier. He had a father who wanted to find him too.

Clyde slowly stopped crying, a strange switch within him halting the tears before they could betray him any further. Using his sleeve, he wiped his face as dry as he could, the steeliness and stone returning to his eyes and chest. And yet, he felt his will and soul soften as his father’s smile melted them.

Once upon a time, there lived a bright young pirate.

Clyde slowly rose, peeling his fingers away from the veil one by one, so scared to lose that contact in case he never found it again. His father only moved away once he did, giving a simple, warm smile and nodding his head. Clyde, composure returned, nodded back.

He had crossed infernal barriers, sailed the seas of betrayal, and found his father. His one wish, fulfilled. Clyde could breathe again, letting a sigh echo around the chamber. The sound bounced back to him, grounding his feet to the cobbles.

He faced Eden and Katchem, not quite meeting their eyes, but catching two sombre, unsure expressions in his peripheral vision. Neither flinched, neither were offended at this breaking of the wall between them. Clyde had nothing to fear anymore. “Come on. It’s a little further.”

Without qualm or concern, his companions followed him.

Notes:

so help me god, i said this on the ballad of simon bootles and i will say it again - i will make these characters human, watch and weep
anyway, got more fun and funky treats planned! enjoy your dose of family reunion!

Chapter 6: Metamorphic

Summary:

Clyde embraces his voice. Katchem reaches out, but not fully.

The silence no longer felt mandatory.

That horrible build, that pressure in Clyde’s skull that threatened to explode and take everything out with him if he dared breathe out a single syllable was no longer there, replaced by a surprisingly gentle floating sensation. He knew his feet were on the ground, weighed down with responsibility and a shame that felt more a comfort than a commiseration. But the guilt had eased. One less thing was resting on his shoulders.

And so, Clyde began to speak.

Not to Eden and Katchem – for truly, the reaction if he dared refer to them as if they were there was something Clyde was not ready to experience. But the space needed to fill with something other than silence. If horrors were down here, they surely would have made themselves known by now. There was not exactly much to do in this space.

“My mother used to tell me stories.”

Of course, Katchem and Eden would never respond. They were not going to easily dismiss the follow-not-acknowledge tradition just because Clyde had let himself go in their presence a mere three days ago. Clyde doubted if they knew how many days had passed.

Perhaps in one of these new monologues he would tell them.

“All pirate themed, of course. I came from a sailing family – my mother, grandmother… and my father.”

That interaction, every moment, every action remained so imbedded in his self and memory. He could still remember everything about his father’s face – the exact spiderweb of cracks in his glasses, the shape of his lips as he mouthed the first and sole words given from father to son. One day, they would have a whole conversation. Clyde would finally be granted the sacred permission to hear his father’s voice, hear it fill the room. One day. Not yet though. He could wait for it.

“She would always try and make the good guys win. Even if they lost people, even if they lost loot… the bright young pirate would always find his way back home, or to the ultimate treasure. The message was not lost on me.”

And truth be told, Clyde did miss his mother. She had left long ago, sailed over the ocean, and took her last breath holding Clyde and his brother’s hands. Her death had stung, but in that grief-blinded mist, Clyde had not cried for his wonderful mother’s departure. He had let go of her hand, walked out the room and called up a crew, ready to drown away his sorrows on a moment’s notice.

His wish to meet a man whose presence he had never experienced was greater than his allegiance to his deceased mother. There had been many more things in life Clyde had not experienced yet. Yet.

“But they were nice. The kind you would have dreams about, even after the ending.”

The end was not yet in sight, the tunnels continuing for far too long to be reality. And yet, Clyde felt a finality in his bones. He was getting closer every day to whatever lay beyond. He did not know yet, whether it was a door to beyond or a simple dead end. Whatever it was, he was ready.

“She would tell stories about my father. Of a great sailor—a pirate, who swept her off her feet and gave her thrills the ocean had yet to make her feel. Oh, he was a great man.”

Not a great warrior. He should not have believed his mother’s stories of a fearsome pirate so readily, without question or mature cynicism. Clyde believed without a dare of question that his father was capable, but the man who had desperately reached out to his son from beyond the mortal veil was not a fighter or vicious warrior. The deep fondness in his eyes had been of relief, of past traumas. But those were not the eyes of a willing killer.

Clyde had seen those eyes all too recently.

“That was the man back there. I know I said when we all went to the house that my father had died there but… I had never met him. That was the first time seeing—seeing his face.”

Clyde let a long laugh settle pleasantly in his chest. “Magic. Truly.”

Once upon a time, there was a bright young pirate.

It was only a little longer before Eden sat down. Clyde thought quietly upon the change in voices – Eden and Katchem spoke less now, giving room either intentionally or reluctantly for Clyde’s mindless rambles. Nearly three weeks of not talking meant that he relished in any opportunity to speak, although he was certain than the pain in the back of his head was due to Eden’s glare rather than internal influences.

Katchem still talked to Eden, although he instigated conversations more often than before. “Ah, nice to sit down again! These legs don’t get any younger, eh Eden?”

“Mm.”

The shorter responses from her were more common than before. Katchem continued. “I remember my youth. Gosh, I was sprightly! A whizz with a bow and arrow. Ah, I remember besting that bow-legged baby. That was a weird day. Poor Si—I was covered in blood from the thing!”

A new quirk – the self-censorship of Simon Bootles. Clyde could analyse it later. Eden sniffed loudly. “I hardly see that as something to glorify.”

Katchem chuckled, although it had since grown more pained since the change in atmosphere. “Well, Eden. We have both had strange histories. Why not make light of it?”

The thud and consequent ‘ow’ were predictable at best. Eden’s tone was still cold and clipped. “I’d prefer not to.”

A lull threatened them, although Clyde no longer felt scared by it. He rolled his head around in a slow circle, relishing the small clicks in his neck. Embrace the unknown, embrace the fear. “Poor Simon. He was quite kind to me, considering I caved his nose in.”

The silence afterwards was solid, squeezing the organs into his body like a second skin. It took a long time for anyone to utter another word – Clyde still could not look behind him, but he knew Eden was glaring a burning hole into the stone while Katchem gazed blankly ahead. His affinity for their reactions had not faded, despite the change in confidence.

And, finally, a response came. “I think it is important to make light of the past, and to forgive ourselves. We have all changed down here.”

Eden’s response was quick and sharp. “I haven’t.”

No more words allowed. Eden stopped them.

After minutes of silence, Eden gave the signal, and they began walking again.

Clyde’s newfound abandon for the strange rules they had silently set was a freeing experience. To say he was floating through life was an entire overstatement, although he could not deny the new ease in every action now. He no longer felt lost, merely exploring.

And when, the silence became too much, he found his voice came to him all too easily once again. “I do feel bad for Simon. I mean, I will be honest, I hardly knew the man. Just as a… a story. The man who walked on hind legs. Well, it wasn’t a story. But… not flattering.”

Clyde noted a degree of interest behind him, a certain warmth that was a new experience for him. He did not dare to turn around and face this warmth though – it would surely cool down to ice if he did. But, since he had the attention, he may as well keep talking. “I wish I had believed Simon. Right before I summoned my grandfather, he found me. He told… he said things about my father.”

A new note of bitterness spread across his mouth. One that was a familiar taste, something that he had fostered and grown for years before scraping it out with his hands. Clyde swallowed a few times, trying to work the taste into something sweeter. “I didn’t believe him. It’s—I’d been told my father was a… warrior. A foe greater than any man had ever faced before. Simon, correctly, said he was a chef.”

Clyde laughed. “I got angry. Not Simon’s fault though. No, not his fault.”

He let the sentiment settle in him. Simon was a good man. He had unabashedly told every truth when given the chance and Clyde responded by killing him for a death that, truly, was not Simon’s fault. The heaviness had not yet eased whenever he thought of Simon – a sign of a lifelong habit not yet broken. But Clyde could get there, one day.

“He knew my father quite well, apparently. Wish I knew more. Killed him before I got the chance. Simon, not my father.”

He quietly swallowed down the sourness in his throat. Guilt of residue hatred, something to analyse later. But he found that there were no more words he wanted to say and so he didn’t say anymore because this time, he had a choice and he made it.

He was surprised when Katchem spoke up, his voice that same half-dismissive half-comforting tone as when he spoke with Eden. “You know, I don’t think I’ve said properly, but I knew Simon and Beatle from a previous haunting of the house. Simon was… on edge. This was relatively fresh of him losing his childhood house, so you can’t really blame him.”

Beatle. His mother had told Clyde of his father’s name, but it was a strangely taboo word, one that felt too precious to speak. Hearing Katchem say it so casually talking about an old friend spent a stiff shock through Clyde’s spine.

Katchem did not address Clyde directly. And yet, it was so clearly in response that it hurt. He could picture Katchem behind him, slightly turned towards Eden as though she had asked. “That was where we knew Amadeus – the Hungry Porcelain Doll. Weird. But Simon and I were in the final showdown – we both got… absolutely drenched in baby blood. Disgusting.”

Clyde remembered finding the doll, picking it up by a leg, noting the stains and cracks along it. Strange to link it back to his father, the man Clyde killed, a stranger, and someone standing not six feet behind him. Katchem continued. “We celebrated afterwards. Danny was singing, I was firing my bow – I do miss it. But Simon and Beatle just… clicked. Friends from the beginning. Beatle was always… more disconnected from the horrors than the rest of us. Simon needed that.”

His father was best friends with the man who eventually killed him. Or not. That distinction was never made clear, Simon speaking only of guilt and distant friends in their minimal interactions. But it was hard to disconnect the devil from the horns.

All too suddenly, Clyde felt the voice much closer to him, almost by his side. “I will not speak on Beatle’s behalf. But he was a good man. I am sure… I’m sure he looked.”

And even though Clyde craved closeness, even though everything crashed upon him, drowning him in loneliness and a desperation to connect with someone again, he could not handle it. This proximity to another alive being was too much, the voice too real and solid in his ears, the disconnected kindness shown to him overwhelming and wrong and everything he now wanted. He had met his father in death and now craved the feeling of being alive.

Would it be enough?

Clyde did not turn towards Katchem. And he could no longer picture the red and yellow behind him, just a mess of swirling emotions that twisted in ways he could not read. Katchem could be right next to him, a foot behind, a second away from resting a parental (fatherly) hand on his shoulder and Clyde did not know and did not want to know. He was not close with Katchem – for good reason – although these latest changes were coming too quickly for him to cope.

And now, another one.

“Excuse me? Excuse me!”

Eden’s voice was shriller than before. Clyde stopped walking on cue, feeling the scuff of Katchem doing the same a little too close to him. “What is it, Eden?”

“If you two could stop chatting and focus on the important things? My water broke.”

The pause was louder than any shout or sob yet. Clyde started ahead for what felt like a little too long, watching the blackness press close to him and feeling the warmth of another person simmer against his shoulder.

“Stop staring and help me!”

And both blue and red ran to the yellow, rules and worries abandoned.

Notes:

it's edwin time motherfuckers

Chapter 7: Pebble

Summary:

The group gain someone, lose someone, and find the end.

Despite finding nothing but horror and constraint in silence before, Clyde now wished it more than anything else.

Baby Edwin’s screams echoed around the tunnels in horrible pulses, Katchem instantly catching up with his age and becoming even more feeble and hunched. Eden seemed more stoic, holding the child close to her chest, rocking and patting him but making no effort to shush or soothe. But Clyde was never going to mention his mild distaste at her parenting tactics – she had just given birth in Hell with the man who killed her and a man three times her age. There were no expectations for her to be at her very finest in this moment.

For a woman who had given birth only two days ago, Eden was surprisingly well adjusted. She had relied on Katchem for support for the first hours although quickly found her footing, albeit slower than before. Clyde could easily confess that he knew little about birth and the wellness of women afterwards, given that the only other birth he had even known of was his brother’s several decades ago. Yet he simply knew that Eden’s apparent ease and efficiency was out of the ordinary.

Still. He had little time to think of that when Edwin was screaming loud enough to fill the rest of his mind.

“Break.”

At Eden’s call, they all sat. Eden had warmed to Clyde, given that neither of them had wanted to become as close as they were during the birth. Warmed was, admittedly, a stretch – Eden had not made any further conversation towards Clyde and the two had no made eye-contact even during the birth, although she no longer sent icy glares at the back of his head, nor did she protest or flare up when Clyde moved to sit closer to the group.

Katchem automatically took Edwin from Eden’s arms as she sat, allowing her to rearrange herself to her comfort. Katchem gently rocked the screaming boy, still managing to sigh with delight. “Oh, now this is the kind of child I remember! A sprightly young man if I ever saw one – he is going to rule the world someday, Eden!”

Eden shot Katchem a glare. “Right. He can do that once he shuts the hell up.”

Indeed, the change of arms had not silenced Edwin. Nor had the frequent food breaks, the shushing, even the shaky lullaby that Clyde had sung that no one would ever mention again. He just kept screaming, mouth wide open with his pink gums becoming dry from the air, face turning redder and redder as any scrap of oxygen he used for noise.

Eden tilted her head back and letting a low yell into the air. “When will this baby shut up?! What does it want?”

Katchem laughed, although it was difficult to tell whether it was genuine glee or hysteria. “He’s just excited to be here! This is just how a proper baby should be! No sleep, no rest for Katchem!”

Clyde had never spoken about Edwin before, although he felt a twitch in his eye return as another shriek grated against his resolve. He had not slept in two days thanks to this baby. He cleared his throat, eyes fixed on the infant. “Do you mind if I rock him?”

To his surprise, Eden responded immediately. “Just fucking take him, get him to shut up!”

Katchem quickly handed Edwin over, Clyde awkwardly shifting him around in his arms until Edwin’s head was nestled against his chest. It took a little bit of force, Edwin’s waving arms and squirming body initially difficult to manage, although Clyde was not lacking in might and Edwin was a baby.

Clyde cupped Edwin’s head, gently smoothing a thumb over the scraps of black hair slick against his scalp. Eden and Katchem, while both had more experience and claim over Edwin, were not known for their calmness or collected demeanours – perhaps all he needed was a different presence. Clyde breathed slowly, willing his heartbeat to slow and ease the young boy.

And, incredibly, Edwin stopped crying.

It was not instant – it took a minute for the boy to calm and cease his wriggles. But eventually, his cries quietened into coos, then murmurs, then a soft snoring, nestled against Clyde’s jumper. Clyde slowly raised his head, terrified to move quickly for fear that Edwin might sense A Change and wake up again.

Eden and Katchem stared at Clyde. Katchem slowly shook his head. “Incredible. Simply amazing.”

Eden met his eyes with wide shock (brown, like her son) before she turned her head away. “I do not know how the fuck you did it. I thought he would never be quiet.”

“He’s a baby. He just needs calm.”

Eden’s demeanour suddenly turned cold as her gaze snapped to Edwin. “Is he sleeping?”

Clyde gently stroked Edwin’s head. Warm, impossibly soft. “Yep.”

Katchem let out a sigh. “That was all he wanted. He just needed a nap. I’ve been trying to make him sleep for so long—”

“Why can Edwin sleep?”

Clyde met Eden’s eyes. It was no longer the loud, violent rage from before, but a stony face and eyes that burned through him. Her voice was low, low to keep Edwin asleep, but laced with poison. “If I can’t sleep and breathe, Edwin should not. Clyde, why the fuck is my son sleeping when I can’t?”

A sharp silence overcame them. Edwin’s tiny snores punctuated the silence, disturbingly sweet. Defence had not worked before. Clyde inhaled deeply, keeping his heartbeat nice and slow. “I truly don’t know, Eden.”

When Edwin woke up, Clyde handed him back to Katchem, who gave him back to Eden, and the three continued walking.

The air had changed. Not in just the atmosphere surrounding the three of them but in the greater sense – the smell had turned musty, of something old slowly permeating from wherever the end was. And yet, although the air had once pushed against them, the tunnels slowly grew bigger and wider, the air less choking and more resting on their skin.

Clyde had begun to hear things – a pop from an experiment, rowdy laughter from a pub table, delicate piano music dancing over the wind. Voices speaking, but not loud enough for him to make out words. Mere snippets – not enough to convince him of anything arriving, but enough to convince him that with every step, they were getting closer.

And soon, he felt his foot kick against a step.

He held out his arm, hoping the bright blue would show against the dark. “There’s a flight of stairs. Difficult to see, so be careful.”

Katchem gasped. “Not a flight, Clyde. Look.”

Clyde looked up, away from the ground, and saw it.

A huge circular door, emblazoned with strange symbols all over it. It was almost like a wheel in pattern, with the eight spokes made up of shields and symbols at the outer edge. Some of the shields were filled in with familiar symbols – a bird, a sun, a hand, a deer.

And an owl symbol that rested on Clyde’s own belt.

Katchem walked forwards, tracing a finger over the deer. “That’s—the Poppy family! That’s our house sigil!”

Eden walked over, one arm holding Edwin while the other pressed against the sun. “The O’Brien family.”

Clyde nodded towards one of the owls that gazed back at him with stony, unmoving eyes. “And the Brawne family.”

Katchem and Eden slowly stood back next to Clyde, all in silence as they stared up at the great helm before them. Even Edwin was completely silent, his breaths not loud enough to disturb the truly awed silence that the adults found themselves in. The helm was imposing, at least three feet taller than Clyde and just as wide. There was no source of light, and yet Clyde saw the faint glow of power on his hands emanating from the runes.

Clyde sighed. “This is it. We got here.”

Eden snapped her head towards him. “That’s it? You have nothing else?!”

Clyde finally let his yell escape his chest. “What do you want me to do, Eden? I got you here, at the end of Hell! I don’t know what to do – I didn’t even have to! I could’ve left when we fell. But I brought you here and I delivered your baby and now you do whatever you want, because I’m not going in there!”

Eden shoved Edwin into Katchem’s arms, storming right up to Clyde’s face. “And why not, you coward?”

“Because I’m alive and you’re dead!”

The sentiment echoed around the cavern. Eden froze, her eyes fiery and deadly. Clyde kept the eye-contact, reeling internally from the pressure after so long of having someone see him and see him like this. “I can breathe, Eden. I can sleep. You can’t. I don’t—I don’t know if you have a heartbeat anymore. You’re meant to be here. I’m not.”

SMACK.

It would not be a confrontation without one. Clyde’s face whipped to the right, but he kept his feet harsh and firm on the ground. “And whose fault is that?! You killed me and you expect me to take my son and walk right into the afterlife while you get to fuck back off upstairs?! In case you haven’t noticed Clyde, I’m not a forgiving woman! And you killed me!”

“Edwin’s not dead, Eden.”

Both Clyde and Eden turned towards Katchem, rocking the now cooing baby in his arms. Katchem’s face was grey, eyebags prominent and face old. God, Katchem seemed so old. “You said it yourself. We’re dead, Eden. I don’t—I don’t like that. But we don’t sleep. And—And our hearts don’t beat anymore. And… yeah, Clyde, it is your fault. A little gentleness goes a long way. But… we can go now, Eden.”

Eden’s face was furious, twisted and cracked in horror. “I don’t want to go! I want to raise my son above these… these other worlds or whatever the fuck they are, and I want to—”

“We can’t do that, Eden.”

Eden stepped back as though Katchem had punched her. “Well, I am not going. I don’t want to, I’m not ready and—”

“I am.”

He handed Edwin back to Eden, her arms wrapping just a little tighter around her son. Katchem smiled at her. “I am an old man, Eden. I was old before I died and I am still old after. I want to… I want to hug my daughter again. I want see my mother. I want… I’m done here. I’ve caused enough medical miracles for one lifetime. Death. Whatever.”

Katchem turned to Clyde, meeting his eyes with a smile, as though greeting an old friend. “Clyde… you are not a good man. In fact, you have done quite a few things to screw me over. To say the least. I… I do not like you. But thank you. For getting us through here.”

He stepped forward, gripping Clyde’s arm with a frail, bony hand. “And I’m glad you found your father.”

Clyde nodded. The numb weight pressed against his lungs, hard but soft, pressure yet light. “For… For what it’s worth. I… I didn’t know. About… this.”

“I know. Again, I don’t like you. But… you only ever did your best. I guess.”

Katchem held out his hand and Clyde took it, the two shaking hands. Clyde let go, watching Katchem walk up the stairs and press a hand to the helm. Eden was completely silent, staring dead ahead at Katchem as he rolled his shoulders, preparing for whatever lay beyond the veil.

Clyde swallowed. “Do you know how to do this?”

Katchem shrugged, letting out a deep, long breath. “No. I’m just guessing. Normally works out for me though.”

And sure enough, Katchem slowly started to glow a gentle golden colour. A soft haze spread over him as he turned back around, smiling with the greatest, grandest smile Clyde had ever seen. A soft dust whirled around Katchem’s legs as he laughed, the sound so much greater and fuller than before. “I am coming home! Katchem!”

And then there were two other figures – red, Belinda and Boofy – and Clyde could hear laughter, loud and shrill and shrieking and happy, a Poppy laugh, Katchem grinning and laughing with them as he wrapped his arms, now full and muscly and no longer grey around his daughter and mother. The gold enveloped them, bright and beautiful and so, so warm before everything slowly faded, Katchem running off with his family into the oblivion.

And even when the gold faded, the laughter echoed for just a moment longer.

Notes:

we're close to the end folks! only one more chapter to go :)

Chapter 8: Diamonds

Summary:

At the end of it all, Clyde and Eden think about what comes next. One walks back.

Edwin was crying again.

Clyde and Eden sat on the stairs facing the path they had walked for so many days and weeks. Edwin’s cries bounced even harsher off the large cavern they were in, an endless barrage of shrieks that were multiplying by themselves. Eden shushed him mindlessly, patting his back and feeding him and bouncing him and occasionally growling in her chest. Clyde had made a few suggestions although Eden had assured him that all were in bad taste.

“Just let me hold him Eden—”

“He does not need you; he needs his mother. Not the man who orphaned him.”

“You’re holding him, aren’t you?”

“I’m dead.”

Something about the boy was that he never seemed to quieten but only get louder – even when Clyde counted the minutes when Edwin simply could not be breathing from all the shouting, he kept going.

“He needs to sleep Eden, give him to me.”

“Shut it, Brawne. I’m his mum.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“Help by being quiet. He cannot sleep with all this noise.”

Clyde was facing her, still staying the respectable five feet away while Eden acted as though she could not see him, never tilting her head any more towards the left than she could handle. He rested his head in his hands, fingers switching from blocking as much crying from possible from his shattering eardrums and massaging his temples until the skin stung.

“Eden, I know you hate me—”

“Correct.”

“—but I won’t bring it up or anything if—”

“Fucking take him then!”

And Edwin was in his arms, yellow swaddle made from Eden’s skirt knotted and tangled around his hand. Gently, he moved everything around until Edwin was kindly tucked against him once more, gritting his teeth at the proximity to the powerful screams.

With a little patience, with a little shushing and Clyde’s heartbeat loud in his chest, Edwin slowly fell asleep.

“Fuck’s sake.”

Eden took off a boot, hurling it at the wall with such power and strength that Clyde saw a chunk of rock fall with the shoe as it crashed to the ground. “Eden—”

“Shut it.”

Eden picked up her shoe and slumped back to the steps, tying it back on, pulling the laces so tightly that they might snap. “He is my son. How dare you have that kind of—how are you—”

“Eden, I can’t control it—”

“But you could have.”

Eden looked at him. Clyde was struck with the emotion in her face, of the twist in her mouth and the frown in her brow. “You know this is your fault. I’m dead because of you. My son is stuck in Hell because of you. In what world do you think that I would be alright with you being the only source of comfort for him?”

Clyde tried not to move Edwin as he turned to face Eden properly. “I… shit.” Clyde breathed deeply – slow, long. Easy heartbeat, nice and calm. “There isn’t a world. But… right now, I am trying my best. You will never forgive me because you shouldn’t. But if I can help then I’m working towards being a better person—”

“This is not about you.”

Eden’s voice was low, not a hiss but with all the venom of one. “Clyde, when you go back to living, what am I going to do? I can’t leave, Edwin will die here. I can’t stay here alone with Edwin, I can’t make him fall asleep. I can’t raise a son here.”

“I’ll…”

He did not need to finish the notion before Eden snorted. “And I am not, not in a million years of being down here, will ever rely on you to raise my son for me. I will not be a damsel for you to save.”

Clyde nodded reproachfully but understood. Quite honestly, even with the guilt that now rested heavy in his stomach, he did not want to stay here and raise a boy he did not know either. Eden finished tying her laces, settling back with a sigh. “I’m a lone wolf. I’ll be fine. But… I can’t leave yet. So, if you are going to stay here for a bit, you can at least tell me what to do.”

A golden haze grew in the distance – not close enough to see the shapes, but enough to see the glow around the bend of the tunnel. Clyde sighed. “I don’t know. I guess just… stay here with him until he’s old enough to go himself. Then… then you can go.”

Eden clicked her tongue against her teeth. Was Edwin not asleep, Clyde was certain an argument would occur. “That sounds horrible. I do not want to stay here for another eighteen years.”

“Well.”

The glow brightened, sparkles slowly coming into view. Eden sighed, staring at the light. “I just wanted to live with my son and my shipping company. Then you came along and screwed it all up.”

“I’m aware, Eden. I am fully aware of all the terror I’ve caused.”

“Good. You should be.”

Edwin cooed softly. Clyde reached up, gently patting his head. “I am swaddling your son – I would appreciate less guilt trips.”

Eden turned to face him. Her face was impassive, stony, yet she still managed to slice right through his resolve. “I’ll stop when I’m ready.”

Eye-contact still felt strange to Clyde. After pretending as though he was not real for so long, recognition both in voice and sight was a shock to the system. While before he would have been happy to ignore all sight and proof of existence from Eden in particular, now he felt a twisted relief with every cutting insult. A sick acknowledgement was truly all he needed.

Clyde looked down at Edwin. He really was a small thing: Clyde could hold his entire head in one hand. It felt almost wrong holding such a precious being – while he had no doubt that he would grow up to be a strong, loud, and unapologetic O’Brien just like his mother, in this moment Edwin truly was just an innocent baby. Despite being unused to such care and gentleness, Clyde felt an awkward concern towards Edwin.

Not that he would voice that to Eden.

He cleared his throat quietly. “He’s fully out now if you want to take him. I need a nap too.”

“On a baby’s schedule, are we? Fitting.” Nevertheless, she took Edwin from him and cuddled him close, Edwin now being too far into sleep to notice the change in arms.

Clyde moved to the bottom of the stairs, wary enough of the helm to not sleep directly under it. He curled up around himself, using the bottom stair as a form of pillow before closing his eyes. Sleep came softly and kindly, pulling him under with ease.

He woke up not too long after, his neck aching but otherwise rested. He grunted as he raised himself up, using his arms to leverage himself back onto the stairs. Edwin was still not crying, although he could hear the soft coos. He turned towards Eden, expecting to see her bored or watching him in that same disconnected way she looked at everything.

Golden figures surrounded Eden.

Not in the same way that Katchem had been – from a moment’s glance, Clyde could tell that both mother and son were still very much corporeal. But there were three figures, dressed in yellow and showered in the golden haze all crowded around her – Sandy from before, the rowdy man and an old woman.

The four sat in gentle proximity that Clyde would never have associated with the O’Briens. Sandy sat next to Eden, her sparkling head resting on her cousin’s shoulder. The elderly woman was holding Edwin in her arms, shushing him softly with a voice that just filtered into reality until it faded again. The man stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the three women with a glittering smile on his lips.

Clyde sat a little closer. “Eden?”

Eden did not look at Clyde, one hand on top of Edwin while the other played nervously (Clyde was hesitant to say) with the hem of her skirt. “I don’t know. They appeared… they can hold Edwin. They can touch us – look.”

Eden reached up and pinched Sandy’s shoulder, earning a silent gasp from the woman next to her and a rowdy laugh from the man that just brushed through the veil, a warmness spreading over the O’Briens. Clyde looked at the scene. “I’m guessing it’s the closeness to the helm. The veil is thinner here.”

“Edwin’s happy. Look at him with his grandma.”

The elderly woman smiled with a kindness that made Clyde’s heart ache, a hazy hand reaching down to tickle Edwin’s belly, sending him into a fit of laughter, jerking his head at the movement.

And, for the first time since they fell, Clyde saw Eden smiling. “I didn’t… I do not know half these people. I never talked to Sandy’s side of the family that much. But they…”

She ran a hand over Edwin’s head, her son finally looking at her with wide, adoring eyes. “Eddie likes them.”

The conversation ended, the O’Briens all clustered together, the man walking over to take Edwin from the woman, holding him underneath the armpits to bounce him up and down on air that glittered and spun, the infant screeching not with tears but joyous laughter. Eden simply looked up at her child, her face free from tension and filled with an unmatched happiness. For the first time, Eden appeared soft. Content. No longer the hurricane that she wanted to be and that had stormed down on Clyde so viciously. A feeling of restlessness bloomed in Clyde.

Once upon a time, there lived a bright young pirate.

Clyde slowly rose to his feet. He did not need a dramatic farewell. Eden had her family new and old. And if they could calm Edwin, that would be enough. He walked down the steps with light feet, making it to the entrance of the corridor.

“Clyde.”

He stopped walking, turning back to face Eden. She was holding Edwin once again but no longer smiling, although the lack of ragged lines and anger was evident. “I have not forgiven you. And I promise I never will.” She swallowed, visibly sorting words through her mouth before she spoke. “But… thank you for becoming a better man.”

Clyde nodded shortly. “Thank you, Eden.”

“Mmhmm.”

She turned away first, although Sandy reached over to Edwin and waved his tiny arm to Clyde in a mock farewell. Clyde saluted the family, then went back down the hallway.

He was brave and strong, often stubborn, but young men usually were.

Without two figures behind him, the walk back to the surface was strangely cold. There were no other footsteps, no soft murmurs, no one to guide or worry about. Only himself, a living, breathing man in the deep unknown. And maybe that was what unnerved him – with Katchem and Eden, he had a purpose. He had people to guide. What was he meant to do now his life missions were over?

And the walk back was long – it had taken him over three weeks of near non-stop walking just to get to the end. He had three weeks of lonely walking to look forward to.

But he had done it before. Even before he went to the house – Clyde was never a social man. His trips on the seas were either done alone or with a small crew who knew to never ask too many questions about the other. He had no wife nor children nor would he plan for them. He could count the loyal friends he had on a single hand. He estranged himself from the only living member of his family.

So, where the hell would he go next?

He had done awful things, most people had. But he tried to do better.

And the more he thought and the more he dwelled, the more he changed. When he heard a roil of noise coming from the tunnels he had never heard before, he thought his body snapped to attention a little to ruggedly for his liking. When he walked slower and softer to avoid the sound of his footfalls bouncing against the walls, he felt as though his own shadow coated the soles of his feet, the sound consumed by a void.

When golden hazes appeared with purple, green, red and yellow figures he did not recognise, he felt his entire body twist into something dark and unseen, pushing him through before he continued on the other side without notice.

Although painful, it was to be expected. Clyde could breathe in a place with no life. Something had to change him, to make him belong.

He fought over dangerous seas, inside haunted houses and through taunting caverns.

When he saw the unfamiliar yet painfully recognisable shape of his father, he decided to stop. He had the unknown shame of company to hold him back before – now he could be open, soft. When Beatle Brawne appeared, hand pressed against the veil, Clyde sat at his father’s feet, the shadows bouncing with him for a moment as he settled.

“I did it Dad. I got them to the end.”

Beatle seemed to cheer from the other side, a round of applause that made no noise. Clyde smirked. “Yeah. I am glad it worked out. I had no idea what I was doing.”

Clyde looked ahead of him, towards where he knew the Above was. The haze was warm, firm against his cheek. “You know I… I did some bad things to find you. Yep, spent my whole life looking for you. And here you are. Dead for thirty years.”

Beatle sat next to him, both facing down the tunnel. Clyde sighed, a shadow reaching up to scratch his cheek when he felt an itch. “Mum used to tell me stories about you. Of your… escapades. Nothing racy. Just… of you fighting. Sailing. Being a warrior.”

His father nodded in thought, smiling with just a hint of humour. Clyde shrugged. “Yeah. I met Simon and he told me you were a chef. That is mostly why I killed him.”

Beatle fully laughed at that, a tiny reverberation echoing against Clyde’s cheek with no hint of noise. Clyde chuckled in return. “Yeah… I am not a good person. But you know.” He barked out a harsh laugh. “Maybe one day I can be that sword-wielding, eye-patch-wearing pirate that Mum used to tell me I could be. The kind that even though they’re doing bad, people root for. Maybe that’s what I do after this.”

He looked down at the shadows warping his hands, at the inkiness that seeped into his skin, at the shifting form that once was his body. “Maybe.”

Beatle moved around, catching Clyde’s eye. He slowly reached into his pocket before gesturing for Clyde to reach out a hand. With gritted teeth and eyes that squinted against the force, Beatle pushed his hand through the veil, a glove like Simon’s handshake forming once more. Beatle seemed to struggle with it a lot more, a look of fierce concentration that seemed out of place on his face growing as he pushed and pushed. Beatle wrapped his hands tightly around his son’s for just a moment, the shadows twisting through and clinging between the gaps like ivy on the walls of the mansion. A warmness, a gentleness.

And when Beatle’s hands were pinged back by the veil, Clyde felt a blue eyepatch in his hands.

Clyde grinned up at his father with a smirk that made him feel good. “Thanks, Dad.” He slipped it on, covering his left eye and feeling the shadows morph his face to make it fit comfortably. Admittedly, seeing was a little more difficult. But Clyde was nothing if not dedicated to his wants.

He blinked, slowly adjusting to his optional missing eye. He looked back at his father, a good and free smile jumping to his face. “One day, we will talk properly. But… I have things to do. I think.”

And when the time felt right, he stood up, pressed his forehead against the veil for just a moment, and then turned away without looking back.

But no matter the battle, no matter how dire the consequences were, he never stopped trying.

Sleep became less important. Even when his knees ached with exertion, he kept pushing until the shadows forcibly pulled him under. If it took him three weeks with a pregnant lady and an old man, it could take him less. He knew the route. He knew the landscape (he thought). He could get there; he could find that light again.

Would Francis be up there?

Come to think of it, he really had not thought of the consequences. Was Francis still dancing around, performing a one-man-show of Macbeth to no one? Was he hidden in the walls, waiting for his grandson to (finally) come back? Or had he decided to just leave?

Clyde was not an expert in the occult. He could navigate, and he could fight, and he could survive on that alone. Whatever Francis was doing, he was certain more experienced members of the house could deal with.

Were any of them still alive?

And even when the road became rocky, he found his way through.

And finally, Clyde felt the small patch of light on his face from way, way above.

Clyde had remembered the entire house collapsing in on itself when the portal caved in, and yet all the way from down here, the hole to Above looked so, so small, a pinprick at the end of an endless black rock. His footsteps echoed against the walls, grating against his nerves shot from endless hours, days, weeks of walking from and back to the spot where he fell. The eyepatch was damp with sweat, his body shifting and churning with pain and exhaustion.

But he would never get to the top if he stopped now. He would never be that pirate on the ocean if he stayed here. The shifting body and the rampant ghost were strange, he admitted. But Clyde had paid his dues. He had met his makers and avenged their deaths. Two souls he had dragged down here he had also laid to rest.

Was he a good person? No. But he was getting there. And he could get there as soon as his hand clasped over the lip of the broken floorboards above.

Clyde breathed slowly. He fell here before. He could get back up. He was determined, strong, and now had a body that could shift to his improvement.

The bright young pirate always tried his best.

And so, Clyde Brawne made the slow but sure crawl from below.

Notes:

and we're done!
I'm very glad I wrote this. it's been so lovely getting back into the series and ever nicer seeing all the lovely support I have been getting. sad to see these characters go once again, but I feel like this was how it needs to end!
for now, i won't promise tons more fics on the BAF: Legacy series, just because I have a lot more going on in other fandoms that I want to tie up. but nevertheless, this won't be the end!
thank you all for sticking around. <3
signing off on this one, kal

Notes:

goddamnit, i've gotten back into the series again. i truly have no idea how long this one will be, because i said 'only five chapters' for tbosb and it ended up being almost twice as long with more lore than i ever thought i could think of. so we'll see! i've got the plot all down, so it's just about how it shakes out. please do leave a comment, i always love interacting with people!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 4 of The Ballad of Simon Bootles