Chapter Text
“Greg. Listen to me closely. I need you to get out of here.” Wirt whispered to his brother, subtly watching the GiW agents.
“But-”
“No, Greg. One of us needs to get out, and it’ll be less suspicious if you go home.” while technically true, Wirt really just wanted to keep his younger brother out of the GiW's hands. So he spoke up at a normal volume before Greg could argue further. “Ah, darn. I left the money at home. Mind heading back to grab it while I finish up here?” Greg shot him a dirty look, but reluctantly agreed. The GiW agents closed in soon after.
“Stop right there, ghost! You may have fooled all these people, but you can’t fool our tech!” even if his cover was already blown, it was unfortunately still too risky to inform them that he was not, in fact, a ghost. He was heavily liminal, sure. But he hadn’t actually died, he’d just had a near-death experience that had helped jumpstart his magical abilities. But regardless, he had a part to play. He refused to just go along with the white-suited fuckers.
“I’m not a ghost! You’ve got it all wr-” and then the modified cattle prod hit him in the stomach. Which, besides hurting like a motherfucker, had the unfortunate effect of disrupting his glamor. Antlers appeared on his head, his fingernails turned to claws, and even if he couldn’t actually see them, he knew his eyes had started glowing. A scream tore from his mouth. Ow, ow, fuck. Electricution hurt. Thank the ancients he got Greg out of here. Cuffs snapped around his wrists and he was dragged off.
– - –
Greg packed frantically. He and Wirt had bug-out bags ready, of course, but they couldn’t pack everything or else it would be suspicious. Greg sighed as he threw the last few items in and zipped it shut. They each had a backpack containing personal items, as well as a shared suitcase with supplies and two changes of clothes each. Greg quickly scribbled out a note for their parents warning them not to trust the GiW and apologizing for running off without properly saying goodbye and stuck the note in his mom's pillowcase. Not too obvious, but still easily found. Then he put his backpack on his back, slid Wirts onto the extendable handle of the suitcase, and walked out the back door. Thankfully, their house wasn’t too far from the forest they usually hid out in, but every second he was exposed was a chance for the GiW to find and capture him, wasting his brother's sacrifice. Greg extended his senses, silently asking the plants around him to warn him of any danger in his path. Plants weren’t very smart, but with his magic he could use them to sense intent. He smiled slightly. His magic leaned more wild, and was nature-based. His affinity was for working with animals, something none of them were surprised by, but he’d proven himself pretty good with plant magic as well. Wirts magic was different. His affinity lay in constructing rituals and the like, going perfectly with his love for poetry. Writing incantations, yes, but also his skill in understanding metaphors, seeing how things related to ideas, lent itself well to deciding on what ingredients to use, or at least that was how it’d been explained to them. Greg was also learning what he called ‘arts and crafts magic’, which involved things like weaving charms, and the like. Greg was going to bury Wirt in protective charms when they got him back.
Dragging the suitcase through the forest (notably not on the worn-down paths) was just as much of a pain as Greg expected, and he sighed in relief when he reached the clearing. He put all three bags down, and began the short chant. Before long, the shadows gathered, and a familiar antlered figure manifested, glowing eyes settling on Greg, who let his glamor slip away, revealing his own antlers, claws, and glowing eyes.
“Greg, is everything all right? Where is your brother?” the Beast asked.