Chapter Text
The Witch stared at the Scarecrow, her eyes widening in recognition. Too focused on him, she didn’t notice the water bucket Dorothy grabbed, and the Scarecrow flinched at the sound of the Witch’s scream as water came pouring down on her. His own eyes wide now, he watched as she sunk to the ground until nothing was left of her but a puddle and a black hat. The Wicked Witch of the West was gone. Dorothy was frozen on the spot, the bucket dangling in her hand, and the Tin Man cheered triumphantly, but the Scarecrow only blinked hard, still staring at the Witch’s remains. Their mission complete now, he should be happy, yet he only felt empty.
The entire way back to the Emerald City, the Scarecrow was still thinking about the green Witch. There had already been a sense of familiarity when they entered her castle, but it was her and that last look on her face that wouldn’t let go of him, and he didn’t understand why. It had almost felt like he knew her, but surely, he would remember knowing a Witch with green skin. He might understand it better if he had a brain, and for a moment he considered asking his friends who did have one, but decided against it. They probably would only think him even more stupid for thinking he once knew the Witch. But he might get answers once the Wizard gave him a brain.
***
The Wizard didn’t give him a brain. As it turned out, he wasn’t even a real wizard. He told the Scarecrow that he already had what his heart desired and that he had more brain than he thought, but he struggled to believe that since his questions about the Witch remained unanswered. After the Wizard’s sudden departure and Dorothy’s return to the faraway land of Kansas, the Tin Man headed back east, and the Lion went back to the woods. Not sure what else to do, the Scarecrow found himself back on the yellow brick road, heading west to the Witch’s castle. As he walked, he recalled Dorothy’s last words. There’s no place like home . Home. It didn’t make sense, but with each step closer to his destination, the girl’s words rang more true to him.
The castle was empty. The flying monkey must have left after the Witch’s death. Silence filled the halls, and the Scarecrow wandered aimlessly through them as if he would find answers in them and finally understand what this place - and its former mistress - might have meant to him once. The feeling of familiarity was still there, but he felt like looking through fogged up windows at everything. Eventually, he found himself in the tower room where the Witch perished. The puddle was gone and so was the hat like they had never been there in the first place. The Scarecrow stared at the now empty spot on the floor, an inexplicable sadness overcoming him.
At the sound of steps, the Scarecrow spun around and jumped when he saw the Witch stand in front of him. Dry and very much alive. The hat back on her head. He was about to say something, but the words died on his lips when she exclaimed a word that seemed just as familiar and unfamiliar as everything else around him.
“Fiyero!” She lifted her arm and then dropped it again, and for a moment he thought she wanted to reach out for him.
The Scarecrow backed away from her. At last, he found his voice again. “You died!”
“I’m very much alive,” the Witch said.
He pointed his finger at her and then at the spot on the floor and back at her. “But I saw you melt!”
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Did you really think water would melt me?”
“We, we told the Wizard-” the Scarecrow stammered.
The smile slipped off her face. “You cannot tell him I survived,” the Witch said. She held up her hands and stepped in front of the doorway, blocking his way out.
He held his own arms out in front of himself as if he could protect himself from her that way. “The Wizard’s not even in Oz anymore!”
“What?” The Witch dropped her hands, though she didn’t move away from the door. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know! It turned out he wasn’t a real wizard and then the witch in pink told us he had to go back to the land he came from.”
At the mention of the other witch, she tensed. “You cannot tell her either.”
“Would you hurt me if I did?” he asked, even though he wasn’t even sure if scarecrows could feel pain. Probably not.
“No, I wouldn’t,” she replied to his surprise. “I’d never hurt you, Fiyero.” The last words came out in a whisper, but he still heard them. He noticed now that her features seemed softer than the last time he saw her, and the anger that had been there had completely vanished from her face. Suddenly, she didn’t seem that wicked anymore. She didn’t seem wicked at all.
The Scarecrow lowered his arms. Fiyero. She had called him this before just a moment ago. “Why do you call me that?”
The Witch tilted her head to one side. “Call you what?”
“Fiyero.”
“It’s your name,” she replied. The Scarecrow didn’t need a brain to notice the sorrow in her voice, though it was yet another thing he struggled to understand.
Only then did he grasp what she said. His eyes widened. “I have a name?”
“You haven’t always been a scarecrow,” she told him. “You were once a man with a name and, you were kind and loyal-” The Witch stopped abruptly and swallowed.
“So I haven’t always been brainless?”
The Witch’s lips curled up into a sad smile. “You’ve never been brainless.” As she said those words, he noticed now that her features seemed softer than the last time he saw her, and the anger that had been there had completely vanished from her face. Suddenly, she didn’t seem that wicked anymore. She didn’t seem wicked at all.
And so the Scarecrow found himself asking the Witch the question that was plaguing him. “Have I been here before?”
“This was your home actually,” the Witch told him.
The Scarecrow looked around the room as if he might recognise it now, but it still felt like he was looking through foggy windows. “So you took my home from me?” Maybe she was wicked after all.
The Witch’s eyes widened. “No,” she exclaimed in a heartbeat. “You gave it to me,” she clarified. “You let me stay here.”
“Oh.” The Scarecrow blinked. “Why would I do that?”
“We were,” the Witch began, and the Scarecrow could watch her struggle for the right words. At last she said, “we were very close.” She let out a laugh that sounded anything but joyful. “But of course you don’t remember that.” It was her turn to ask questions. “Why are you here, Fiyero?” There was a slight crack in her voice.
That name again. Sudden anger rose in the Scarecrow. He felt like he should know this name - his name - but he didn’t. “I wish I knew,” he admitted. “My friends all returned home, but I couldn’t shake off this feeling that I knew you and this place, and I thought that I might understand it if I returned.” His shoulders slumped. “But I still don’t remember anything, and now I feel stupid for coming here.”
“You’re a lot of things but stupid is not one of them.” The brim of her hat hid the Witch’s eyes. Still, the Scarecrow thought for a moment to see tears well up in them. The Witch took a cautious step towards him. The doorway was free now, and if the Scarecrow was quick enough he could’ve run past her, but he remained rooted to the spot. Perhaps he was being foolish, but the Witch claimed she knew him, only confirming this strong feeling of familiarity tugging at him. His decision was made when she said, “you will be your old self again,” her words sounding very much like a promise. “I will set this right, Fiyero.”