Chapter Text
Seán wakes up to an abysmal day.
It’s dreary, but even if it wasn’t, he thinks it’d be an abysmal day.
He doesn’t want to wake up. Does he have to wake up? Can he pretend he’ll never wake up again, can he pretend to walk the land of the dead like his father, like his fiance, like-
Like his fiance’s affair.
He scowls at his ceiling.
He doesn’t move, trying to calm his frantic and pounding heartbeat.
This is it. His wedding day. The end of- the end of everything.
He’s not sure if he’s ready for it to end.
He knows it doesn’t matter.
His father comes in, resting a hand on the edge of his bed. Seán sits up, twisting a layer of blankets in his hand.
It’s just after sunrise at six in the morning, but it’s only his clock telling him that. The world outside is soft but dark, and as they sit while his father works through whatever he’s thinking, the rumbling of thunder in the distance heralds an oncoming storm.
His father opens his mouth, then shuts it again, like he doesn't quite know what to say.
Seán knows how to read the hesitance to speak, the way his father’s hand sits gingerly like he’s afraid the bed will shatter, and how he’s not quite looking Seán in the eyes.
They couldn’t find Kevin.
His father finally breaks the oppressive silence. “Are you ready for this?”
No, but I have to be.
He just shrugs, rubbing blearily at his eyes. Thunder booms again. His father glances at the window. “Hope that holds off till tonight.”
Seán absently nods. It sounds like a menace of a storm, but thankfully one that’s far off.
He’s exhausted. Does he have the will for this? Does he have the patience, the energy, the ability to smile and play along if the dice do not roll in his favor?
More importantly, does he have the strength to force them to reroll and to carve out his own happy ending?
No, but he needs to find it. He takes a resolute breath, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. He doesn’t want to ask, but he needs to know. Maybe this won’t be necessary. Maybe they did find Kevin, and he misjudged his father’s expression. He doesn’t think so, but he should make sure.
Seán forces his voice to sound… not light, but not heavy and dense like the rolling thunderclouds. “Any word on Kevin?”
His father sighs, looking away. “No.”
One simple word and Seán’s dreams of an easy way out die the moment it falls from his father’s lips.
That’s-
Well, it’s not okay. It’s going to make things so much harder. But he will do it.
He has to do it. Something about Lord Brits feels wrong.
And besides, isn’t this what all the dashing heroes do? Seán had himself pegged as a damsel waiting for his love interest to dance him into a stupor at a beautiful ball, but maybe-
Maybe he can do this. Maybe he’ll be the daring rescuer. A half-baked plan is already forming, and it might be a bit too fantastical for reality, but- but he’s not going to go down without a fight. Asking his father didn’t work. It’s time to move forward.
Kevin fought for him. He can fight for Kevin, too.
Seán stretches his arms above his head like he’s just properly waking up. “Well, I suppose I better start getting ready, then.”
His father smiles, grateful that Seán isn’t throwing a fit. “I’m sorry.”
Seán nods and doesn’t acknowledge it. “I think I’ll be good without any help.”
But then he pauses. “I might need help with my tie, eventually.”
His father’s expression turns soft at Seán’s blatant and transparent attempt at including him. “Alright. Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
His father leaves, shutting the door behind him gently.
Seán counts to ten in time with the clock, before pushing himself out of bed and stumbling to the ground.
He rushes and fumbles through getting dressed, as few layers as he can get away with in the early January chill. He pulls on his average clothes, not his wedding suit- he needs to dress to be active, not for a wedding.
After all, he can’t slip out the front door- then his father will know he’s gone, or their butler will see him sneak out, or Lord Spiff will be waiting there like some terrible specter.
He’s reasonably certain there’s a servant’s entrance, but he’s not sure of where, and he doesn’t have time to bumble around their house and potentially run into the same issues as sneaking out the front door.
So that leaves one option.
Seán, now fully dressed, throws open his glass balcony doors, immediately fighting off a shiver. It’s cold. Why is it so cold?
He props them open and peers over the railing, squinting at the distance. How did Kevin even get up here? That does not look like a nice climb. And the corpse- he climbed up too! How did they do that?
He leans farther, trying to analyze what route up the bricks they took, or if there was something else at play. Unfortunately for him, he can’t quite make sense of it at this angle. It was probably easier for them to see, down on the ground, but he’s going to be climbing down and he’s currently having to lean over an obscene amount to even see how the bricks fit together.
He turns back to his room, glancing around to see if there's anything that might help.
And suddenly, he’s grateful for the January chill.
He crosses back into his room, pulling his least favorite blankets out of his linen chest at the foot of his bed with a calculating gaze. This always works in the novels, right? And if it doesn’t work, it’s not… that far of a fall.
He’ll be fine!
Seán ties the ends of several blankets until he has a comically large bundle of… what he’s tentatively calling rope in his arms. He can loop this around one of the sturdy posts of his balcony railing and climb down, then make his big break into town.
He assesses his room, and then himself, one more time each, making sure he has everything he might need. Then he bumps open his balcony door with his hip, kneeling on the freezing cold stone to loop the blankets around what looks like the sturdiest post.
He lets the ends hang loose. Thankfully, they dangle down to the streets below.
He climbs over the railing, clinging desperately. He gently reaches down and grabs the blankets, frantically climbing down the wall.
He only needs to slip once- his foot skids, missing the foothold he’s assumed was there. He immediately slams into the wall, hitting his shoulder- he bites down on his lip so hard he tastes blood in an attempt not to scream with pain and surprise.
Seán takes it slower after that.
When he reaches the ground, he fumbles around with the rope- what does he do with it? He eventually just lets it dangle, fidgeting as he sets off on his trip.
His shoes click on the bricks- he didn't have any quieter shoes, and now he's attracting stares. His and Kevin's wedding is an event - everyone knows he should be at home.
He walks quicker, avoiding meeting any wandering eyes. He stays focused on the way the bricks pass beneath his feet, occasionally glancing up to determine if he's heading the right way.
And then he's here.
The clouds overhead boom ominously as Seán knocks on the front gates of the Pickens’ Manor. They’re a solid metal affair- thick wrought iron posts with sharp points and spiraling, flowery designs that obscure his view. He can see the dead and brown grass beyond, the gravel paths winding every which way that all look well used, and the house on a hill in the distance.
What Seán doesn’t see is people.
He settles for folding his arms, stifling a shiver from the cold. It seems he didn’t prepare enough for the weather- maybe it would’ve been worth a brief excursion into the hall to grab his winter coat.
He waits, and it feels like the world’s gone silent. There are a few single, solitary vultures that don’t make a sound. They look well-fed.
It feels like he’s being watched.
He waits even longer.
Eventually- he’s not sure how long he’s waited, but long enough that he’s started gazing around the street instead of straining to see through the wrought iron- a man pushes open the gate and gestures Seán inside.
His hair is solid gray, even though everything else about him suggests he’s younger than Seán’s father. He’s clothed in a plain button-up and pants, but he’s also wearing a white robe with silver edges that feels… out of place like he borrowed it from someone else. It doesn't fit right, slightly too small and falling slightly too high.
His visible skin is covered in small scars, circular and slightly indented into his skin. Seán knows what smallpox scars look like- but he’s alive, greeting Seán, and all of the scars are years old. This man is no longer sick, but he carries the remains of it.
He isn’t conventionally attractive. But he smiles wide and bright and his eyes crinkle. He looks happy to see Seán. “Come in. He knows you’re here.”
Seán follows the man through the gate- it shuts behind them with a solid metal clang that makes him jump. The man just smiles, seemingly amused by how nervous he is.
The he the man mentioned is probably Kevin’s father, right? Who else would it be?
The man leads Seán up a path to the house on the hill. They pass by several smaller buildings that, for the most part, look significantly newer than the house.
There are very few people milling around, something that feels unfamiliar in comparison to Seán’s memory of a childhood filled with servants. But when he glances at a couple of the buildings, he realizes that there are people- they’re just watching him.
He suppresses a shiver, keeping his eyes straight ahead and pretending he doesn’t feel them- see them.
They’re all wearing white robes, similar to the man leading Seán up the hill. Under their robes, though, are more plain white clothes.
Why are they wearing all white, and why is the man leading Seán up the hill not in all white?
They pass by a building that looks like some sort of church- unusual, but who is Seán to judge his (ideally) future father-in-law? It has some sort of strange odor, but no one seems to be addressing it. The man leading Seán up the hill doesn’t look at the church in a way that feels… purposeful. He fidgets with the edge of his robe.
The man leads Seán up the porch, pushing open the front door without so much as a knock. He leads Seán to a sunroom off the side of the house- it looks like a recent addition, but Seán’s heart is too busy pounding in his chest to let him note anything else.
The sunroom isn't well-lit, with the looming clouds hanging low in the sky. There's a small and sun-faded couch, two chairs, and a table. Perched in one of the chairs is Mr. Pickens, legs crossed and arms folded.
From the moment Seán walks in, he feels off-kilter and uneasy. Everything about this situation feels wrong, but he needs to do this.
Besides, shouldn't they have the same goal? What's the harm?
Mr. Pickens gestures at the other chair, across the table lengthwise from him. “Sit.”
Seán sits.
“What are you doing here, Seán?”
He suppresses a shiver. “Have- have you found Kevin?”
“No.”
Mr. Pickens' voice is flat and calm. His eyes are pinpricks of hazel, never breaking from staring straight into what feels like Seán’s soul.
He squirms uncomfortably. Seán’s just nervous. There's no reason to feel this- this scared, when all he's doing is having a conversation.
A fraught conversation, but a conversation nonetheless.
Seán sits, trying not to feel like he's a chastised child again. This wasn't stupid. He came here for a reason, and it made sense.
Mr. Pickens tilts his head. “Your father has already contacted me. You're getting married to that- Lord Spiff man.”
He leans forward, uncrossing his leg and bracing his elbows on his knees. “So, I reiterate. What are you doing here?”
“I'm- I'm looking for Kevin.” His voice shakes. He hates it.
Mr. Pickens’ eyes narrow. “Well, I don't know where he is. You wouldn't be getting married to Lord Spiff if I did.”
The man who led Seán here shifts his balance, avoiding looking at either of them.
It's just the three of them in this room. Seán can't see any of the servants out of the corner of his eye, can't feel any of their searching eyes, but he has never felt more watched in his life than he has under Mr. Pickens’ eyes.
Like cornered prey.
“I just- I didn’t know if you had found him, or heard anything-”
He can feel the simmering anger emanating from Mr. Pickens as he speaks. “Do you think I wouldn’t have told you if we did?”
And Seán must hesitate for far too long because Mr. Pickens’ expression slowly darkens the longer that he’s silent. “I- I don’t know.”
Mr. Pickens stands, and Seán freezes in his seat.
The snapshot-memory from yesterday of Mr. Pickens holding up Seán’s father, almost prone in the air, pops into his head.
Mr. Pickens is a dangerous man .
And still, Seán can only make himself take in a single deep and dragging breath. He can't move.
Mr. Pickens stares at him, his right hand twitching like he's reaching for something he doesn't have. His eyes are sharp and dangerous, and Seán can't look away.
The air between them is electric. Distantly, Seán registers that there are only six feet between them. Not far at all. Not nearly far enough.
Thunder rumbles in the distance. Seán suffocates the urge to shake.
Mr. Pickens stalks forward, crossing four of those six feet in as many steps.
The man who led Seán takes several panicked steps forward, holding his hand out between the two of them- like it'd be an effective block.
He's looking at Mr. Pickens, his voice surprisingly soft. “Jim.”
Mr. Pickens snaps to stare at him, eyes wild and simmering with something electric and dangerous just under the surface.
Then he blinks, and his eyes are focused and clear.
He glances at Seán, eyes momentarily flaring with what looks like fear , but then they go still as a lake. He straightens his posture, adjusting his strange knitted overlayer. “Tucker.”
The man who led Seán- Tucker - relaxes, almost boneless in his relief. Seán shares the sentiment, his body finally betraying himself as he starts to shake.
Tucker opens his mouth to reply, but then his eyes dart rapidly between the robe he's wearing and Seán, pathetically shaking on the chair with his eyes blown wide.
Tucker shuts his mouth again, nodding at Mr. Pickens.
Mr. Pickens tilts his head, a faint smile suddenly playing on his lips. It's almost unsettling to see him happy, after the crackling thunder of his anger. He gestures at the robe. “I’ve been meaning to ask- why are you wearing that?”
The air goes cold. Tucker doesn't respond, completely silent and unmoving. He just… stares.
There's something in his eyes. Seán isn't sure what it is, but he doesn't have long to figure it out. Tucker takes one, heaving breath, then turns in place, leaving the sunroom without saying a single word.
Mr. Pickens’ gaze hardens, his smile shifting into a small frown. Seán almost calls out to Tucker, wanting to beg him to come back.
Mr. Pickens sighs, walking over and collapsing in his chair. He lifts his glasses to massage the skin in between his eyebrows. His hand is still shaking.
They sit in uncomfortable, heavy silence. Seán stops shaking, through some force of will he didn’t know he possessed.
Mr. Pickens lifts his head, giving Seán a world-weary look. “Seán?”
Seán immediately goes ramrod straight, forcing every part of his body to remain still. “Yes?”
“Do me a favor and get out of my house.”
Seán stops. “What?”
Mr. Pickens gestures at the door. “Unless you find Kevin, get out of my house.”
Seán realizes, rather abruptly, that there is something he’s forgotten to tell Mr. Pickens. “Wait-”
Mr. Pickens fixes him with another focused stare. “What?”
Seán doesn’t break eye contact, even as he starts to fidget uncomfortably. “You probably won’t believe me, but-”
Mr. Pickens doesn’t prod him, even as Seán trails off.
He forces through the discomfort that comes with Mr. Pickens and this house. “But I saw him.”
That gets Mr. Pickens’ attention- he leans forward, tilting his head slightly. “When, and how?”
Seán launches into the whole story, unable to stop now that he’s started. “He- Late last night, or early this morning, around midnight, give or take a half hour, he showed up on the balcony attached to my room. I let him in-”
Mr. Pickens’ eyebrows raise, but Seán pushes on without acknowledging it. “I let him in, and he told me… he told me that he had gotten married- it was an unexpected one, but a marriage nonetheless.
Seán’s voice goes quiet. “And then there was a corpse in my room.”
Mr. Pickens straightens up, eyes flashing. “A corpse?”
Seán cringes. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me, this was stupid-”
Mr. Pickens waves his hand dismissively, a strange dissonance from the way he looks suddenly way more interested in Seán’s story. “No, I- just continue.”
The look in Mr. Pickens’ eyes doesn’t look dangerous, or at least not dangerous to Seán, but it still makes him uneasy. He doesn’t know what would’ve happened to him if Tucker had not intervened- Mr. Pickens is not a man he wants to cross. Despite his misgivings, Seán continues. “Well, Kevin said that the corpse was his husband, but that it didn’t matter because he was dead, I don’t know why Kevin felt the need to say that like I couldn’t see the corpse’s bones and dead eyes-”
Seán stops himself, finishing off quietly. “I thought I was dreaming.”
Mr. Pickens tilts his head, his smile suddenly soft and eyes kind. “Oh, Seán. You weren’t dreaming.”
Seán startles. He knew that, but… his father said he believed Seán had seen it, not that he believed it had actually happened. He hadn’t told anyone else, so to hear someone else validate it, to truly believe him?
It feels like magic. “You- You believe me?”
Mr. Pickens stands, staring out of the windows of the sunroom at the rest of his property. Thunder booms. “Of course I do.”
Then he turns to look at Seán, with a finger lazily pointing at him. “Now. Here’s what I need from you.”
Seán stands, wringing his hands. “Of course.”
Mr. Pickens grins. “Go home. Get ready for your wedding. I’ll work everything out.”
Seán blinks. “What?”
Mr. Pickens turns to face him fully. “You heard me. Go home, and get ready. We don’t want your father finding out you’re gone.”
Then his smile goes soft again. “What you’ve told me is more valuable than you know. We’re going to find him. I swear it.”
Despite his better judgment, Seán smiles.
