Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Darkness.

For so, so long…

Darkness.

The last thing he remembers is seeing her again. After so long, hope returned that he may see the Prince again… It was false hope, of course.

And then, somewhere, the light came back.

It was like a switch was flipped - he didn’t know how, or where it could’ve come from, but that didn’t matter. It felt like an eternal slumber had just been lifted from his mind, and the biggest burden in the world was just removed from his shoulders…

Montague felt aware.

For the first time in so long.

“…and that’s how the Whistle works,” a voice said. “Do you understand, Montague?”

Montague blinks a few times, and takes note of his surroundings…

He’s wearing a weird suit - green armor with golden accents, heavy gloves, and an even heavier cape flows behind him. Rubbing his face, he feels clean shaven and like his skin is stapled and stretched back with how tight it is. Whatever his skincare routine has become, it sucks.

And then, there’s a completely different chemist standing next to him right now.

He remembers the chief chemist of the King’s well - a fine lad named Harvey. This is definitely not Harvey next to him. He’s a completely different ethnicity, and more notable than that, he’s wearing a purple cloak. Harvey always wore dark maroon.

“Wh… W-What-”

“Are you okay, Montague?” he asks, concern evident in his eyes. “Do you need to lie down? I keep telling the Queen we need to get more protective gear for these-”

“Who the fuck are you?”

The chemist takes a step back. “…A-Are you feeling alright, sir?”

“No, I-I… I don’t… I have a terrible headache,” Montague shakes his head. “Sorry. I, erm… I of course do remember you, yes.”

The chemist smiles. “Well, in case you really did just blank out, I am Culdee. Pleasure to meet you again, post-headache Montague.”

Montague chuckles humorlessly, shaking Culdee’s hand. “What… r-run me through that whole demo you just did, I-I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Culdee’s eyes light up. “Oh… o-of course.”

Culdee makes quick work of explaining what the whistle in front of them does, but he’s completely out of it for the entire lecture. For what it’s worth, he seems happy about it, and that makes Montague feel a little bit better by proxy. 

But for the most part, Montague just nods along, hoping that everything will flow naturally.

-

Montague groans. His head hurts, terribly so…

All he wants to do is lie down and take a nap, wherever his quarters are. It’s been so long since he’s had a coherent thought… or has it? What year is it, even? 

Honestly, this is a tragedy. All of it. Every single iota of existence annoys him right now. 

And then, to make it all better, someone’s approaching him fast. 

It’s a fair blonde gentleman, wearing a similar coat of armor to his own getup - just entirely in a golden yellow hue instead of green and deep lemon, like his own. He tries to just nod politely and brush past the man and continue about his search - but the man insists on stopping him, calling his name out.

“There you are!” he says excitedly. “I was just looking for you, Duck.”

Duck?

What the…

Montague nods. “Uhm… s-sure, yeah.”

He quirks a brow. “Are you unwell? You look quite pale… no less handsome, but still, I am nothing if not concerned for you on a constant basis. This much remains true always.”

Montague sighs. 

Clearly, this guy cares about him.

That’s more than can be said for anyone else he’s encountered, all of whom said hello but never stopped him. Then again, that may have been his own fault…

“I-I’m not okay, friend. I’m sorry.”

He looks at Montague with worry. “Tell me what’s going on, Duck. Something isn’t right, clearly.”

He doesn’t know what spurs it on, but he feels… safe with this man. Like he can be vulnerable, open. It’s an odd feeling - just a moment ago, he wasn’t sure any more positive feelings would ever enter his brain again. Now, here he is, about to drop all of his worries on this one man.

Funny how quickly things can change.

“I can’t remember anything for the last… I don’t know how long it's been,” he sighs, ashamed at the tears that prick at his eyes. It doesn’t feel right; nothing feels right. “I could barely remember my own name earlier. I don’t know what all’s gone on.. It was all fine one minute, then the next…”

The man looks at him with care.

Tenderness.

…Love.

It’s so foreign. It shouldn’t have been, but…

“You broke free.”

Montague blinks a few times. “E-Excuse me?”

“You said you don’t remember anything from roughly the past year… maybe a little less? Does it all feel a bit fuzzy, perchance? Like you’re almost… Like you’re operating in a fog when searching for these memories. You know you’re there, that you’ve been here, but you cannot identify any of your surroundings.”

Montague breathes out slightly. “Y-Yeah…”

The man nods. “I’m Stepney. Meet me on the palace balcony at midnight, if you’d like to be… filled in. I don’t want to overstep, though; if you want to just-”

“I can’t bear to forget anything else,” Montague mutters. “I’ve lost too much already, it sounds like.”

Stepney nods, a gentle smile on his face. “Wonderful. See you then, Duck… or, Montague. If you’d prefer that.”

Montague chuckles. “Why do you call me ‘Duck’, Stepney? Do you also have an animal nickname?”

“Ha! That’s a good one!” Stepney laughs out loud. “Well, you sometimes refer to me by my native land’s flowers… ‘Bluebell’. No such animal, however.”

Montague huffs.

But for the first time that day, he feels… somewhat okay.

Maybe there’s more to Stepney.

To his ‘Bluebell’.

-

The midnight sky is beautiful.

Montague marvels at how little clouds show themselves on this night. The stars illuminate the sky in blacks and purples that scatter like bugs across the galaxy, painting a portrait that no human hand could recapture in its purest form. He does remember that much - that he loves the stars…

It seems Stepney knows this too.

He’s sitting on the balcony ledge, which is far too risky for Montague to join him in doing - he’s even sitting on his blue cape. Who would do such a foolish thing? You could so easily slip off…

And yet, he doesn’t point it out.

He just takes his place nearby, resting his elbows on the ledge. The mage purses his lips, humming to signal his arrival.

“You’re right on time,” Stepney observes. “You really are a different man.”

Montague huffs. “Which way would it have been before… the spell was broken, or whatever you said?”

Stepney chuckles. “That’s the issue… I would never be able to predict. You were always unpredictable… even now, you remain as such. But, truth be told, I’m not surprised. Leave it to you to break the spell you were confined in…”

“I don’t get it,” Montague mutters. “Why me?”

“You were a valuable mage of the King’s,” Stepney explains. “But since King Godred and Prince Arthur have all-but-officially abdicated their posts for the newly established Island of Sodor.”

Montague hums.

Sodor…

Part of his memory remembers that.

It’s a brief mention, but it’s there. There’s something there. That’s more than he could’ve said this afternoon.

“To ensure your loyalty to the British Throne, the Blood Queen put you under a spell,” Stepney says, his voice noticeably quieter. “She knew you’d be the hardest to keep on our side, because of your deep connection with the Prince. We… We tried to resist. But she didn’t need to do much to get the rest of the mages in line. Your life was at stake.”

Montague bites his lip.

People actually tried to save his life…

People cared enough to do that? For him?

“You’re a very important person to a lot of people, Montague. We value your intellect and your help on issues that we need fresh ideas on, or just your input in general. I-well, everyone, really… We all look to you for tips on spells and how to best entertain our public and guard. You’re a bright soul, Montague… it’s unfair that someone like the Blood Queen tried to snuff out your light. You deserve a chance to get away from that and grow, flourish…”

Montague blinks a few times.

“Shit.” 

That's all he can mutter.

It’s all he can let out without breaking down.

There’s people that care about him…

Stepney sure seems to.

“That’s why… I stole this,” Stepney mutters. “To try and give you a chance at that.”

He reaches up to his neck, and pulls off a small object on a chain. It looks like a tiny tube, with a few holes in it.

“It’s Culdee’s latest - and if it were anyone else, I would’ve done no such thing for them,” Stepney mutters, fiddling with the little whistle in his hands. “It’s a… it’s a whistle, with special properties. You can escape with this. You can leave this life behind, Montague. Find someplace better… find somewhere you’ll be appreciated. Far better than anything I could provide.”

Montague blinks. “Uhm… S-Stepney, why… Why? Why are you doing this? Why for me?”

Stepney sighs.

“You wouldn’t remember… but we’ve grown rather, uhm… r-rather close over this past year,” Stepney mutters, still picking at the whistle, not meeting Montague’s eyes. “It… It pains me beyond belief to say it, but you need to leave, Duck. Get out of here. You’re not meant for right now. You… You deserve far better.”

“Then why… then why don’t you leave with me?” Montague asks. “Tell me more. Let me catch up on everything I’ve missed. I-I can feel you’re important to me, I want to know why-”

But Stepney shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?” Montague asks, incredulous at this man - he claims him to be such an important figure to his life, and here he is, refusing to run away with him so he can get some proper understanding of what he’s missed out on. “Stepney-”

“She’ll know,” Stepney says. “And I’ll take the fall. I’ve lived a good life, Montague - the best I could’ve asked for. But you… ever since you came to the royal palace, you’ve longed for more. Sights beyond the horizon. And I intend to give it to you.”

Montague suddenly gets a flash of a single memory.

One, solitary moment.

It’s at the very edge of the coast. His toes can feel the soft, water-kissed sand between them, breaking and sinking him slightly deeper into the ground. His hand is grasped, and he looks over at who holds it…

It’s Stepney.

“Sometimes… I wonder about the lands beyond the horizon,” Montague mutters. “I-I just… I wish I could see them, sometimes. I know that’s foolish, but…”

Stepney chuckles, smiling warmly at him. “No such thing as foolish when it comes to you, Duck. You operate only in the Great Western way…”

Montague huffs. “Yeah… It feels like I’ve been on the wrong way as of late, more like…”

That makes Stepney’s brow crease, but his smile doesn’t waiver.

“Sometimes, Duck, I… think that the best adventures are those we can only dream of,” he suggests. “Just… something to chew on.”

Montague doesn’t react.

Save for a tiny smile.

The memory ends.

Montague blinks his way back into reality, huffing and a tiny drop of sweat glistening on his forehead. Stepney’s still looking at him, with those damned, beautiful green eyes of his… too much care for his liking. He’s being too nice.

…He genuinely cares about him.

Maybe more.

“Duck, please,” Stepney says quietly. “Go live the life you were always meant to have.”

He pushes the small whistle into Duck’s hands, and the sorcerer cups it gently. It’s barely bigger than his index finger, but he feels… different, per se, now that it’s in his grasp. It’s not a bad difference…

In fact, it's great.

More than.

He’s about to put it in his mouth and blow as hard as he can, but before he can do that, Stepney once again takes a hold of his hands.

“Just… one more thing,” Stepney quietly says.

Montague blinks out of the trance that the whistle seemed to put him in. He really needs to stop falling into those - it’s… it’s easier when he’s falling into Stepney’s eyes instead.

Wait, huh?

”Please… D-Don’t forget about me,” Stepney requests, pursing his lips and looking down at their feet. “I… I’d really appreciate it.. if some part of me could remain with you.”

Montague sighs.

Then, he folds Stepney’s hands into his own.

”Stepney… I have no idea what this past year built for us,” he mutters. “But… I-I can tell it was special. Very special. And for that… I may never remember all the times we must’ve shared together. But I’ll never forget you . Whatever the Blood Queen may try to do to me, she can’t - no one can - keep me from… from trying to care for you. Like you cared for me.”

Stepney lets out a wet chuckle, showing a gorgeous smile to his partner. 

“I’ll miss you, Duck,” he says quietly.

Montague coils his head slightly, trying to bite back the tears that prick at his eyes. 

His brain may have failed him with this man, but his heart would never.

So, he leans in, and presses a kiss to Stepney’s lips. It’s chaste and so much shorter than it should have been, but for the first time in who knows how long, Montague feels at peace. Even for the few seconds he and Stepney are joined together, with the taller sorcerer cupping his cheek, for once…

Everything feels alright.

They separate, and they’re both blushing slightly. Stepney chuckles, gazing lovingly at Montague; Montague himself, meanwhile, tries to hide his smile by looking up to the moon instead of making eye contact.

”I’ll see you ‘round, Stepney?” Montague asks gently.

Stepney nods. “‘Til we meet again, Duck.”

Montague nods.

He really hopes that’s true.

And then, he takes the whistle, and blows.

In an enrapturing light of pure gold, he’s gone.

Stepney looks at the spot before him, before turning to the balcony and leaning over once more. Only the moon can see his tears this way…

And then, he hears the doors behind him open up, and a group of footsteps echo from the opening. Stepney doesn’t even turn around when he hears the screams of the newly coronated Prince behind him…

“Stepney!” Hurricane roars. “What was that?! Where is Culdee’s whistle?! Where is Montague?!?! ”

Stepney just chuckles.

He turns around, tears falling down his cheeks still. Hurricane grabs him by his collar as soon as he sees him face-to-face, and the sorcerer feels his hot, wrathful breath on his cheek. He remains, unwavering and unafraid.

“Go to hell,” he mutters. “I’m done working for you… You bastards to the throne.”

Hurricane growls.

”You’ll be hung by your own cape’s threads,” Hurricane tells him coldly. “You’re a disgrace to the Royal Throne.”

”Good,” Stepney shoots back. “I wouldn’t wish to honor you whatsoever. You eradicated my people without mercy, and the Bluebells will one day ring out again-”

Hurricane clocks Stepney in the jaw, sending him down to the ground, out cold.

“Lock him in the dungeon, and send for the gallows that disgraced Godred ordered torn down to be reconstructed,” Hurricane instructs the Guard that arrived with him. “I want this vermin executed as soon as possible.”

”Yes sir,” The Guard nods.

”FOR THE QUEEN!” Hurricane bellows.

”FOR THE QUEEN!” All the guardsmen shout.

Stepney is picked up by his feet, and dragged away to the dungeon.

Leaving only specks of gold on the floor where Montague vanished.

Chapter Text

“Hello. I need a full quality service repair for an iPhone 4, with the earbud jack removed. I need it quick and fast, too - I have an important business call to make.”

Brewster normally would shrug these calls off these days. Johnny Cuba either got greedy and made off with the biggest payout ever without bothering to send a check, ended up dying on the job, or just… got cold feet.

Either way, he hasn’t been in contact with his hitman in months.

Doesn’t mean these calls have stopped coming in.

But this one is… different.

That voice sounds familiar.

More gravelly than ever, but familiar nonetheless.

“Sir… that being an older unit, it will be a very expensive repair, sir,” Brewster says, a shake in his breath - this can’t possibly be who he’s thinking of, but… the similarities… they’re too much of a coincidence. “Have you used our services before? Are you familiar with our rates?”

“Yeah. I’ve had two models shipped out. Both were stolen.”

Brewster sighs.

That’s a detail only he would know, too. The public has no idea the Devastator armors exist.

“Would you like to meet in-person for further discussion about your phone’s repair needs?” he asks tentatively.

That’s something he would never do for any other client.

The line is silent, before a chuckle breaks the void left in its wake, confirming, “I’d like nothing more.”

“Excellent,” Brewster says, “I… I have reason to believe you are a regular here, sir.”

“Was,” the voice corrects. “And this will likely be my last purchase. I have reason to believe I will need to switch to a Samsung in due time.”

Brewster’s expression falters.

That was… unexpected…

But when has anything with this ‘mystery’ client ever been expected?

“I’ll see you Friday,” Brewster finishes, “7 PM. On the dot. We don’t do late repairs.”

“You would for me,” the voice says.

Then, the line cuts out.

Brewster chuckles.

Yeah, that’s him alright.

-

The shop is dark.

Has been for a few hours.

It’s just like he remembers it - closes at 4 PM sharp, but special appointments can extend store hours up to 10 PM. And not once has anyone had any reason to complain about it. Least of all him - some of the best tech in the business could be found within the walls of Kellsthorpe.

He knocks in the pattern that muscle memory brings back like it had never left.

And, as always, 7.3 seconds later, Brewster opens the door.

“Tanner Vintex,” he sighs. “I knew you weren’t dead.”

Tanner smirks. It doesn’t hurt to do that any more - his scars have become one with him, and he with them. He does miss having hair on the right side of his face, sure, but seeing an old friend with the one functioning eye he has left is all he really needs to bring a smile to his lips.

“It felt like I was for a while,” Tanner answers honestly, bringing Brewster into a hug. “I’ve been through hell to get back here…”

“Where’d you go?” Brewster asks.

Tanner just shakes his head.

“Well, I can tell it wasn’t the Ritz Carlton, so I won’t press further,” he mutters. “Now come on in. Got some MC Bunn and Burgers for us to catch up over.”

“Did you make sure to get the Diet Dr Pepper?” Tanner asks.

Brewster smirks.

Tanner sighs deeply, a smile spreading across his face. “You know me so well.”

The two step inside Kellsthorpe Quality Tech Repair, and indulge in the meal that rests barely a yard away.

It’s a humble abode, but one Tanner has longed for ever since the Duke’s house was deprived of him. Even now, with all he’s been through in the past… three months? Couple years? It all blends together, really; but even with all of that, he wouldn’t change a thing about his current situation.

Well, nothing major.

Maybe… except for one thing.

“I miss Pinchy,” he mutters, putting down his burger to get a sip of his drink. “Was a real work of art, that arm… I've been worse off without him.”

“I could’ve gotten you a new one before we sat down,” Brewster shrugs. “I still have the prototype models. We’ll get you fitted with a new arm before you head out.”

“No no, too much hassle in between me and a burger,” Tanner chuckles. “I’ll take just one arm if it means more enjoyment of this non-demonic food. Though, even that wasn’t that bad… just a rotten one cooking it.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Brewster chuckles, a bit taken aback by Tanner’s words.

Tanner smirks. “I’ve got a lot to say… but not a lot of time to say it.”

“Got somewhere to be?” Brewster asks.

“You could say that,” the fallen crime boss mutters, looking off into the distance, blocked by the walls of the phone repair store. “And though I may have all the time in the world to get there… I still feel like I’m in a hurry.”

“Do tell.”

“Can’t. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

“I’d prefer not.”

“Alright then.”

Tanner looks back down at his lap, and sighs heavily before returning to his burger. He’s almost finished with it - and the fries were scarfed down ages ago, it feels. He looks back up at the clock, disappointedly grimacing when he realizes he’s only been here for six minutes. Even more so when he observes Brewster’s still plenteous feast before himself.

Had he really forgotten to enjoy himself?

Has it really been that long?

What a world…

“I wish I could say I came exclusively for the company,” Tanner mutters, taking one last drink (he feels the need for something fifty times stronger slowly forming), “but… well, as you can guess by that previous embellishment, I have got… personal matters to attend to… and they will probably require some of your magic.”

“Uh huh,” Brewster nods. “Well, Cuba’s been out of the picture for a while. No idea what happened to him. So the Mk4 died with his disappearance.”

“Shame,” Tanner mutters. “Loved the red hue you gave that.”

“Yeah, much better than the Mk5,” Brewster chuckles. “The green and white just… looked like a cartoon.”

“More like an abomination.”

“Wish I could tell you off for that. Can’t.” Brewster smirks. “What can I do for you? I’ve got up to Mk8, though, if you want to go through some old designs-”

“I need the X Formula.”

Brewster’s brows shoot up. “Pardon?”

“You heard me,” Tanner says, sitting up in his chair. “I need the X Formula.”

Brewster stays quiet for a few seconds, but nods slowly. “Who’s it being used on? That Timothy fellow seems out of the question these days..”

Tanner stares Brewster down.

Slowly, the gears shift in his head.

His brow creases, and his eyes droop.

“Absolutely not,” Brewster says. “Not if you’re going to use it on yourself. You made that, and I quote, ‘to entirely subject a person’s brain to your will placed on a remote control’. I will not have your fate be in my hands like that.”

“Why not?” Tanner asks.

“Because… it’s been so boring without you,” Brewster sighs, extending his arms to his old boss. “Come back. Take back control of your empire. It’s crumbled - fucking arrests everywhere. No one’s rolled on me, and they won’t - they have no proof I even exist, far as they’re concerned - but I’d almost want them to since Cuba abandoned me. Would be a little exciting to fight that in court, at least.”

“What I need it for is beyond your comprehension,” Tanner says, standing up.

Brewster stands up too, but Tanner’s figure - however deformed and scarred - still towers over the tech repairman. It’s daunting.

“I’ve been called to a purpose beyond anyone’s comprehension, even my own,” Tanner continues. “To serve something greater than myself, for myself and myself alone. It’s… it sounds insane when I even surmise it like that, does it not? I thought so. And yet… it’s everything I’ve been looking for.

“And even with only one arm, I can outstretch some… old friends’ arms… to find those records that I made sure to keep in safety deposit boxes across this godforsaken island. Try fighting a stacked jury, old partner, and you will come out on the bottom - as you always did in these scenarios we so vicariously dance in. And all you have to do to avoid that? Give me the formula, Brewster Orbinson… don’t make me regret this years-long partnership.”

Brewster lets out a shaky breath.

“Give me fifteen minutes to resynthesise it,” he says sheepishly. “It’s been in the freezer since you commissioned it.”

Tanner smirks. “I’ve waited for what feels like eons, for such a time as this… I believe that I can wait for fifteen minutes.”

Brewster nods.

-

It’s a 5 mL tube.

Could end anyone’s life.

And he’s about to give it to his boss - per his request.

Tanner smirks as he takes the bottle from Brewster’s hands, and uncaps it like a regular prescription order. He stares down the brown and tan swirl of liquids within - it smells horrendous. But it’s… oddly enthralling.

He swallows it down in one go.

His face grimaces, and his scarred half cracks and crinkles as scabs are ripped in his cringe. Brewster’s forehead creases in secondhand agony. But the former mob boss feels nothing - it’s a largely numb area now.

“Thank you, my dear Brewster,” Tanner nods, taking a sip of his drink to wash down the foul odor in his mouth. “How long should this take to start working?”

Brewster bites his lip. “A few weeks. Maybe less. Depends on your… your own body’s resistance.”

Tanner chuckles. “That’s awfully cute.”

Brewster sighs. “Tanner, I tried to warn you… that may kill you. Any lesser man would die within days after drinking that concoction - I fear-”

“Stop.”

Tanner’s good and dead eyes stare him down.

Brewster shivers.

And yet, he restrains himself.

“I’ve already gone on enough spiels and probably wasted a lot of goodwill that I don’t have the cash to fix anymore,” Tanner sighs. “So, I’ll spare you. But only because… well, I care about you. Believe it or not, Brewster… I do.”

Brewster sighs deeply.

He hasn’t heard those words since his daughter still lived underneath his roof.

Any emotion is carefully concealed, but no matter how hard he’s practiced over the years, his eyes give away all that he’s feeling. He knows Tanner can tell, and he really doesn’t care. Maybe it’ll garner him a little more pity and get him to reconsider staying.

It doesn’t, predictably.

But at least he shakes his hand.

“Godspeed,” Brewster whispers, trying to hold on just a little while longer.

Tanner chuckles. “What a funny expression.”

Brewster lingers on the touch. He wonders what it would feel like if Tanner still had Pinchy - would he have chosen his human hand to shake Brewster’s, still? Would it have mattered? It would have mattered to him.

Alas, the man he spent so much time working for just smirks at him, and takes the drink that Brewster bought for him. He finishes it, and throws the cup away.

And then, he turns his back, and walks out the front door, into the night air.

Brewster sighs.

He wonders if he’ll ever see Tanner Vintex again.