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The door creaks open as Jeremiah finally returns home.
He’s a mess, he’s very aware of that. His robes are speckled with soot and splattered with more blood than he’d like, and he’s acutely aware of the trail he’s leaving on the floor that he’s surely set to clean later. He’d done his best, but that old blacksmith had put up more fight than he had expected. The messiness of the mission wasn’t the cause of his disappointment, though. Rather, the result of it was.
The long-broken bell over the door barely jingled anymore, and yet Reginald near-instantly knew when he entered. He wheeled over from the other side of the counter to meet him. “Jerry,” he says, voice a relief to hear. “No injuries?” “Nothing major.” They’re alone in the inn, as usual, so he feels comfortable enough to flip back the hood of the robes. His monocle glints in the light.
“And what of the job? Any luck from him?” Jeremiah sighed. “None.” He hops up onto a barstool. Reggie’s lips purse in a way that he’s quickly able to discern means disappointment, even if he says otherwise. He knows every little expression that Reginald makes by now. “Ah. Well, that was to be expected.” Getting anyone to recreate the artifact to open the hex was an insurmountable task. “But it was worth a try. Thank you.”
Able to get a better look with Jeremiah in the light, he leans forward and squints. “He got your face, didn’t he?” He shrugged. “Didn’t go down easy.” His pain tolerance was frightening. The scratches that littered Jeremiah’s face didn’t bother him at all. He’d endure. Still, Reginald dips his hand under the counter. He’s taken to keeping a first aid kit underneath for when he returns like this. “Come on. Sit still.” His voice is gentle, and his face is soft, friendly. Some deep-coded part of Jeremiah sings with contentment whenever he sees that expression.
He sits up, and watches Reginald begin to fumble with the contents of the kit. He’s able to get a good look at him as he drips antiseptic onto a cotton swab, careful to not take more than he needs. The inn is dim, but the way the light reflects on the mirror behind him is like a halo. He’s got the half smile on his face again, the kind Jeremiah really likes, and his eyes squint in concentration as he dabs the little wounds clean.
There's a sting as Reginald accidentally applies a little too much of the antiseptic, and he quietly murmurs an apology. They’ve repeated this song and dance for almost as long as they’d been executing this plan. With the orders Jeremiah carries out, injuries are guaranteed eventually. The years have blended together at this point, a mess of commands that Reginald has planned out so very carefully. He’s more than a lowly janitor at this point, he’s the other’s right hand man. Jeremiah’s loyalty is all encompassing.
Reginald reaches to the side to rifle in the first aid kit. From even the first days of the planning, Jeremiah swore himself to Reggie and Reggie alone. He’d snuck into places, dug up things he really shouldn’t have, spilled blood, so much blood, all in his name. Reggie wanted revenge, so he’d help to carry out said revenge. All would be worth it in the end.
“Reggie,” he asks, rather suddenly, “What comes after?”
The question catches Reggie off guard as he’s halfway through opening a bandaid. “What do you mean by that?” “The ritual.” It’s something Jeremiah’s never quite thought that hard about before. “After he’s dead, how does it end?” He knows all about the portal’s opening, but never of its closing. Seems like Reggie’s taking a second to ponder the question too, before he responds. “Well, I don’t know. The link closes, the player hits the credits. We’re left in the inn. And that’s that.”
“Are we all..” Jeremiah searches for a good word. “Intact?”
“Hm.” Reggie peels off the paper part of the bandaid to get to the adhesive side, and leans forward to gently plaster it across a cut. “Well, I don’t know, honestly. The texts never got that far.” He tosses the wrapping to the side. “But. I’m sure whatever happens to the six of them- no, seven of us , it will be peaceful. A fate that’s worth it.”
“What will happen to me?” “You?” He’s grabbing for another bandaid. “You wouldn’t be harmed. You’re not an active participant, so… you’d be safe. And the inn would be yours. I trust it in your hands.” Jeremiah doesn’t respond as Reggie roots around for more.
The ritual is all Reggie’s ever wanted, for years. Jeremiah had helped him off the blood-splattered floor the moment Irving left Root Beer Tender. He’d held him as he wept tears of bitter, righteous anger, listened to hissed promises of the fate he’d bring upon the one who had wronged him. Nothing else has ever mattered to Jeremiah besides fulfilling that. He’d burn the entirety of the Gameworks down if it was for Reggie’s sake. If death was something that he was willing to accept for the sake of getting that, then so be it.
Jeremiah’s accepted orders to kill even the most innocent before. Why does he feel.. reluctant?
It’s.. it’s Reggie’s choice, in the end. To die for this cause. If his last command was to stand by and watch it happen, Jeremiah knows he should stand by and watch. Let him slip through his fingers. He’s never.. Really thought about being alone. For almost his entire existence, it’s been Reggie and him.
He’s not getting any picket fence happily-eloped-and-retired life with him. He’s long since accepted that. Life didn’t work like that. And yet, the possibility that that just might be it? The hex opens, closes and Jeremiah’s alone? The thought is terrifying. More terrifying than it logically should be.
He doesn’t want to do this. Is- is his loyalty faltering? Is his own selfishness, refusal to let go, the reason for it? Maybe the devotion hard-coded in is the reason. Paradoxical in itself.
He vaguely registers Reggie pulling his Monocle away from his face to quickly clean its lens of whatever had splattered onto it. As his hand gently brushes against his gnarled cheek to pull the eyeglass away, Jeremiah knows that it’s love. Beyond servitude the Gameworks had originally intended. Maybe this was a failsafe, he tries to rationalize.
Jeremiah supposes that he’s been quiet for too long, or is making a strange face, or a combination, but he’s brought out of the winding spiral of his thoughts by Reggie calling out “Jerry?” He sits up straight at it. The monocle is returned to him. “Apologies. I was.. thinking.” “About?” His face is cleaned up now. Reggie’s going to step away, and his paws reach out, curling into his sleeves. He stops.
“The future. And us.” He doesn’t want to spill the whole truth. “I fear something suddenly .. throwing a fork in our plans.” His wanting, needing, being their downfall. “From the inside.” He’d never forgive himself. He doesn’t know if Reggie could forgive him either.
“Oh..” There's a soft frown on Reggie’s face. His features crinkle in a way Jeremiah’s seen a million-and-one times before in his life. He's a solid fixture amidst genre after genre he’s crossed to fulfill his missions. Reggie pulls him into himself, and Jeremiah’s head settles against his chest. He fits perfectly in his arms.
“You don’t need to worry.” He’s always trusted Reggie’s words, every plan he provides. He hates the amount of uncertainty brewing in his gut. “We’ve come so far already, right? Secrets of Legendaria releases in a matter of days. I’m sure it’s going to work out.” Reggie smells like cinnamon. Jeremiah feels wrapped in it.
“You’ve done incredible.” Reggie’s voice is a quiet murmur. He knows that he loves him. He wonders if it would be better if he didn’t so that, if the worse really did happen, it could be a clean cut. “None of this could’ve happened without your help. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Jerry.” It would never be a clean cut. Jeremiah needed him so much it was like breathing, beyond what his coding had intended.
Jeremiah’s fingers curl inward, holding tightly onto his suit. He’s afraid of ever letting go. “Likewise.”
He hopes he doesn’t ever have to.