Archive of Our Own

A manila envelope arrived via the ghost mailman on a random Tuesday. Inside was an account of a small village shrouded in a strange fog— one that does not dissipate but lingers like an ancient memory, clinging thick and heavy to every surface. It isn’t the sort that withdraws at the sun’s command or drifts lazily through valleys and mountain caps. No, it is the sort that loops and eddies through the cobblestone and eaves with an almost sentient determination.

That’s what greets Edwin and Charles as they step off the train in carefully planned disguises. This particular assignment involved interacting with the locals, so they donned the role of studying documentarians. Charles had already taken to gleefully embellishing them with exaggerated titles and ‘modern’ clothing (which ended up somewhere between a horrible hipster and proper detectives).

Monty had come with them, though a crow was not allowed to ride on the train, so he had to perch on top of their particular car’s ladder. The fog seemed to curl around him as he glided down to meet them, causing it to brush gently on Edwin’s cheek as he landed on his shoulder.

“Creepy,” Charles remarks, tugging at his scarf. His voice carries a deliberate brightness of someone masking their unease. “Bet it’s just the local charm, though. Bit of fog never hurt anyone, right?”

Monty doesn’t reply, his dark eyes scanning the dimly lit station platform. Something gnaws at him, a weight pressing against his chest, not dissimilar to fear. Each shadow seems to stretch unnaturally like spilled ink seeping into paper. He glances at Charles and Edwin as a grounding presence before settling on the glow of the flickering light above. The encroaching fog seems to fight it for dominance. It makes the air feel more alive. It makes his feathers twitch restlessly.

“Hardly charming,” Edwin says, adjusting the brim of his hat with a precise flick. His expression is unreadable, and his tone rather dry. “This place looks as though it hasn’t stepped out of the last century.” He steps carefully over a loose paving stone. The heel of his shoe clicks against it, something he’s not used to.

Charles waves a hand dismissively, though his eyes dart around in search of danger at the edges of the platform where the fog has grown the thickest. “Oh, come on. It’s proper atmospheric, innit? Like a murder mystery waiting to happen. Or a gothic romance.” He chuckles, “Both, if we’re lucky.”

With that, the three of them walk to the village in silence. The fog grows thicker the further into town they get, swallowing the meager glow the streetlights give off and breaking up the moonlight before it ever reaches the ground.

Monty shifts uneasily on Edwin’s shoulder, his claws tightening in the fabric of his coat. His head was swiveling sharply as he scanned each dark alley they passed.

Charles, ever the one to break the silence, glanced back at the movement. “You see something, bird boy?” his tone was light, though a slight tremor at the edge gave him away.

Monty clicked his beak in response. He had already gone through many frustrating days of figuring out a solid communication method. One of the things he missed most was talking– about stars, the weather, and anything really.

Edwin’s gaze followed Monty’s sightline before returning to his ghostly companion, “If Monty could speak, I suspect he’d inform us if there was anything worth noting.”

Charles shrugged, flashing a grin that didn’t fully reach his eyes, “If Monty could speak, I’m sure he’d tell me I’m brilliant and terribly handsome. Guess we’ll just have to take that as implied.”

Monty fluttered his wings once, adjusting his perch. Edwin reaches up a hand absentmindedly to steady him. The slight pressure was reassuring.

They passed a cluster of homes on the way, windows shuttered, and doors locked tight. A single figure darted from one side of the square, sticking close to the walls, barely a shadow in the fog. Charles raised a hand in a half-wave, but they disappeared before he could bother calling out.

“Well, they seem friendly,” he muttered.

“Can you blame them? Edwin replied, “Whatever’s here has them terrified. Keep walking.”

As they moved on, the world narrowed to their footsteps and the occasional creak of shifting cobblestones. Then, a faint light emerged ahead at last— steady and distant, like a lighthouse glimpsed through rough waters, promising a safe harbor to a lost ship.

Charles exhaled loudly, breaking the spell. “At least someone’s expecting us,” he muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

The figure at the door was waiting. Sharp eyes, sharper posture. Edwin briefly spoke to the innkeeper over the phone when reserving the room, but it seems she was wary nonetheless.

“Studying documentarians, is it?” she asked skeptically, “Studying what, exactly?”

“Folklore,” Charles piped up with a practiced smile on his face, “Foggy village legends. Creepy tales. That sort of thing.”

The woman didn’t look convinced, but she stepped aside to let them in. “If you’re looking for tales, you’ll find plenty. None of them good. Keep to yourselves, and don’t go poking your noses where they don’t belong.”

Monty flitted down from Edwin’s shoulder to perch on the edge of the front desk. He cocked his head sharply, his claws tapping once against the wood as though urging the woman to continue.

Her gaze flicked to him uneasily, and she stepped back. “The dreams are what you’ll hear about,” she muttered, her voice lower now. “Strange ones. People waking up in places they shouldn’t be—or not waking at all.”

Monty’s wings shifted, a faint rustle breaking the tense quiet. Even Charles seemed momentarily lost for words.

“Best not to meddle with the fog. It doesn’t like interference,” was her final warning as she left them with their room key, retreating quickly down the hall.

Upstairs, the room was small and cold, its faded wallpaper curling at the edges like old parchment. Edwin shrugged off his coat as Monty hopped down to the desk. He scratched lightly at the wood, his feathers slicked tight against his body.

Charles wandered to the single frosted window, wiping at the glass with his sleeve. “So, we’re in for strange dreams, shadowy corners, and the fog that ‘doesn’t like meddling.’ Proper welcome, that.”

“It’s not the dreams themselves that concern me,” Edwin said, setting his hat on the desk with deliberate precision. “It’s whatever is inside them.”

Monty tilted his head, his claws clicking faintly as if to punctuate the statement.

Charles turned fully, his grin faltering slightly. “I’d ask for bird boy’s opinion, but, well…” He gestured vaguely, his humor falling flat.

Monty rustled his wings in what might have been exasperation, but his sharp gaze didn’t leave Edwin as though waiting for his next move.

“Don’t look at me,” Edwin said quietly, his gaze fixed on the desk. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

Charles snorts, finally removing his scarf and collapsing into the other chair. “Let’s hope it’s not the type of complicated that eats us alive. Or, you know, sends us back to the great beyond.”

The following morning— to no one's surprise— the fog hadn’t lifted. The trio ventures out early to investigate it with cautious steps as they move from one dimly lit corner to the next.

They start with the village square, a large open space made small by haziness. The few villagers who pass them move quickly, their eyes downcast, faces pale and drawn. Even the birds seem muted and silent, their usual chatter swallowed by the mist.

Charles approaches a grocer unloading crates of vegetables outside his shop. Monty is perched on his shoulder today, but the man barely so much as glances at them. “Oi, mate,” he starts, tilting his head with an easy grin. “Got a sec to chat about this fog business?”

The man flinches, dropping a crate. It hits the ground with a thud, onions scattering across the wet cobblestone. He doesn’t move to pick them up, though; instead, his gaze fixes soundly on Charles with an intensity that borders on panic.

“Best leave it be,” he says hoarsely, echoing the innkeeper. “It’s not for you to fix,” he adds, the same darting look like the fog could attack, “the last one who tried…” he trails off, his hands trembling as he resumes stacking the remaining crates. “They never came back right.”

Edwin, standing a few steps behind Charles, crosses his arms. “Well, that’s rather useful,” he says dryly. “Perhaps we ought to leave the ominous mist to its own devices, then.”

Monty lets out a sharp caw in a strange mimic of a laugh, startling the two ghosts. Charles, being far closer, flinches, muttering something under his breath about “birds and their creepy sense of humor,” while Edwin shoots Monty a measured look, brows furrowing slightly.

The moment passed, but the unease from the whole conversation lingers as their investigation leads them to the edge of the village. A dilapidated house stands on its last legs, its crumbling frame warped and twisted. Symbols etched into the wooden door pulse with a sort of energy that seeps. Monty shifts uneasily, his feathers ruffling as a creeping sense of familiarity settles over him. It makes his skin—human or otherwise—crawl, dredging up memories he’d rather leave buried.

Inside, the house is a maze of fractured lights and hoarding. Broken furniture litters the space, and the faint smell of burning herbs lingers in the air. Edwin spots a circle drawn on the floor in fading chalk. He doesn’t quite recognize the runes scattered haphazardly around the edges, but he can tell it is the remnants of a spell– interrupted and incomplete.

“It’s a witch’s work,” he mutters, kneeling by the circle. “Someone was meddling with forces they couldn’t control. And judging by the state of this place, it went wrong.”

Monty hops down from Charles’ shoulder as their resident expert on all things magical and witchy. He looks it over, tapping his cawed foot over certain areas Edwin then marks with various trinkets scattered about the room.

Monty tapped a particular marking, and the world seemed to ripple before snapping back into place. Where Monty had been perched a heartbeat before, there was now only empty air.

For a moment, neither Edwin nor Charles moved. The stillness felt alive, pressing against the cracked walls, curling in the shadows like a held breath.

Charles spoke first, his voice quieter than usual. “Right. So… I don’t suppose this was part of the plan?” He laughed weakly, the sound breaking halfway through, and glanced at Edwin as though hoping for reassurance.

Edwin didn’t answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the empty spot where Monty had been, his hands hovering midair as though he could somehow pull the crow back into existence. Finally, he stood, slow and deliberate, and walked the length of the circle twice, eyes narrowed in calculation.

Charles watched him, shifting uneasily at the edge of the room. “You reckon he’s alright?” He waved a hand vaguely toward the runes, aiming for nonchalant but missing by a mile, “I mean, he’s not gone-gone, is he?”

Edwin crouched to trace the rune Monty had tapped. The smudges were faint, the energy around them unsettlingly still. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted, his voice honest and tight, like the words were hard to say aloud.

Charles let out a shaky exhale, “Brills. That’s comforting. Real comforting, Ed.” He paused, running a hand through his hair, “So… what do we do now?”

Edwin’s hand stilled over the rune. He took a slow breath through his nose, his voice firming as though anchoring himself. “We bring him back. That’s what.”

Charles blinked at him, “And how exactly do we do that?”

Before Edwin could answer, the runes shifted. Not visibly at first— more like a trick of the eye— lines flickering and crawling faintly as if trying to rewrite themselves. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the floor, bending toward the circle like iron filings drawn to a magnet.

Charles stopped short, his voice low. “Edwin…”

“I see it,” Edwin replied, his eyes narrowing as he tracked the shifting runes. The symbols pulsed once, dimly, like a heartbeat.

Charles swallowed hard, “That’s not supposed to happen, right?”

Edwin said, his voice clipped and resolute. “Wherever he is… we’ll find him.”

For Monty, there was no time to process what happened either. One moment, he’d been in that house, tapping his clawed foot away against the floor runes. And the next? Everything shifted like his very soul had been ripped from his body.

Is this what dying felt like? Charles had mentioned a woman– Death– coming to claim him. But he didn’t see a woman, nor did he see his body anywhere.

Speaking of his body. He stood now on unsteady human legs, his bare feet pressing into a patch of grass. The sky, which had previously been choking on fog, was clearer than he had ever seen it before. The blue, blue sky provided the perfect amount of sunlight for the seemingly perfect day he’d be transported to.

The likelihood he was currently standing in heaven grew by the second.

A small part of his mind reminded him of Edwin— the boy who’d been unfairly dragged to hell twice. Then of Charles, who’d braved hell just to drag his friend back.

Would they come to get Monty? Heaven was hardly hell, but still. He was their friend. He’d much rather join the Dead Boy Detectives as a true dead boy, too. But maybe that’s why Death hadn’t given him a chance to run like they had.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a voice, deep and more enchanting than any he’d heard before.

“You are out of place, little bird,” the voice said, drawing Monty’s gaze to its owner.

If he hadn’t known better, he would assume this man was Death. But Charles and Edwin made it very clear what She looked like– one of the perks of working for their agency was running from the inevitable, he supposed.

Almost as if he could hear Monty’s thoughts, he continued, “I am Dream of the Endless, but you may call me Morpheus.”

“Am I dreaming?” Monty concluded, relief washing through him so fast it made his head spin.

“You are in the Dreaming, yes, but you are not asleep,” Dream inclined his head slightly.

“I didn’t mean to come here,” Monty said quickly, his words tumbling over each other, “There was a circle– a spell, or something– my friends–”

“Are fine.” Dream informed him, “But not for long.”

“Death…?” Monty frowned, confusion mingling with unease.

“Not my sister, no. A nightmare half-formed, tied between realms,” Dream explained, though it hardly made sense to Monty.

“How do I get back?”

“You are a creature of two worlds. But you cannot remain divided forever. It is time to decide.” Dream said rather cryptically. Monty was beginning to grow frustrated at the not-quite answers.

“Decide what?” he demanded.

Dream seemed unfazed, gaze never wavering, “Who you are. And what you wish to become.”

Before he could respond, the Endless was gone as if he had never been there. Nothing moved in his wake– not like when Ester used to teleport, nor like the rippling mirror of ghost travel. Monty stood alone once more, only the soft flutter of wind rustling the grass and the leaves of a large tree.

Back in the waking world, stillness was a luxury neither Edwin nor Charles could afford.

“Tell me you’ve figured something out,” Charles said, voice strained as he hovered near the end of the circle, foot tapping a restless rhythm against the floorboards.

“I’m working on it,” Edwin replied curtly, one hand still tracing the edges of the circle while the other rested on his knee. “These markings aren’t stable. Monty must have activated the spell before it was complete.”

“Yeah, brills deduction, Sherlock,” Charles muttered, though his sarcasm lacked its usual sharpness. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing toward the shadows that stretched unnaturally across the room. “So, what’s the fix? How do we un-summon him—or, uh, re-summon him? Whatever.”

Edwin exhaled through his nose, expression tight, “If I had the solution, I’d be using it. Either help or kindly be quiet.”

Charles opened his mouth to retort but stopped short, shushing Edwin and standing as still as possible, “Did you hear that?”

Edwin froze, too, head tilting as if that would help him hear better. Sure enough, a faint noise– a low, guttural growl– echoed faintly from the far side of the room.

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Charles whispers, hand moving slowly to grab the cricket bat from his backpack.

Edwin straightened, equally as slow, gaze darting toward the sound, “If it’s the spell, then it’s incomplete– and unstable spells often attract… complications.”

“Complications,” Charles repeated, “That’s a fun way to say, ‘terrifying monster,’ innit?”

Before Edwin could reply, the growling grew louder, joined by the faint scrap of claws against wood– much larger than Monty’s. What little light was in the room sputtered out as something from within the shadows moved.

Charles instinctively stepped back, grip tightening on the bat, “Right. Complications it is, then.”

The thing that stepped out of the fog wasn’t a single entity but a shifting, swirling mass of semi-transparent figures. Their features were incomplete— mouths where eyes should be, hands with too many fingers. The form itself refused to settle, constantly flickering between tall and short, man and woman, skeletal and round. It appeared as though the individuals were trying to tear themselves free from its core, pushing each other aside in a desperate struggle, only to be dragged back into the unified mass.

“That’s proper messed up,” Charles muttered, shifting closer to Edwin, “Anyone else getting the urge to run screaming, or is that just me?”

Edwin didn’t reply immediately, his gaze on the shifting nightmare. His jaw tightened, but his composure remained intact. “Running won’t help,” he said finally, “Not from something like this.”

The nightmare surged forward, its movements jerky and uneven, like a poorly handled puppet. Unexpectedly, voices began— low and fragmented at first, a distorted symphony of murmurs and wails that scraped at the edges of reason.

“It can talk. I take it reasoning with it is off the table, though, yeah?” Charles said.

“It’s a fragment of the Dreaming,” Edwin whispered, though not in fear. The puzzle beneath their feet was starting to make sense. It confirmed Monty was alive, at the very least.

The nightmare paused– it could hear them, too. In response, it’s many mouths opened, and the voices seemed to become one, echoing a single phrase:

“You do not belong.”

The words seemed to reverberate through the room, bouncing off the floorboards and rattling the broken windows. Edwin flinched, calm demeanor cracking for a moment.

“No shit,” Charles shot back, stepping forward with manufactured bravado, “But neither do you, so maybe we call it a draw and both bugger off, yeah?”

The nightmare responded by surging again– like it was seeking them out by sound alone, Edwin realized– its many faces contorting into an expression of rage and pain. One long, spindly limb shot out towards Charles, claws curling unnaturally at the end.

“Move!” Edwin barked, pulling Charles out of the way just in time to avoid them. The claws raked through the air where he stood, leaving deep gouges on the floor.

Charles stumbled back with a shaky laugh, “Oh, brills. It’s fast, too. That’s exactly what we needed.”

Edwin slapped a hand over the other boy's mouth, eyes wide, trying to convey his silent message as he held up his other hand in the universal ‘shush.’ Charles nodded in affirmation, and the two started moving silently. Edwin circles back towards the incomplete runes on the floor, sharp eyes scanning them as his mind races. They needed to stabilize it somehow.

He turned to Charles, who was circling the creature instead. A quick hand wave caught the other's attention, and a very difficult game of charades occurred.

Edwin mimicked drawing the runes.

Charles responded with a witch’s hat by forming a triangle with his arms above his head.

Edwin rolled his eyes, silently tapped the chalk writing twice, and mimicked writing again.

Charles just shrugged with an exaggerated look of confusion on his face.

Edwin put his head in his hands, covering his face like he was about to cry. Or scream. The jury was still out.

He stood up after a moment and set out in search of the chalk himself. His feet barely touched the creaky floorboards as he went.

Charles took that as his cue and swung at the nightmare creature. He dodged the second his bat made contact, and the creature hit only air. He did this twice more before toeing out of reach completely.

The thing’s multiple not-faces were frantically whipping about the room, searching for his attacker and prey. Edwin had found the abandoned chalk just as his foot met a particularly creaking floorboard, and it locked onto him.

The nightmare let out a deafening screech, its form seemingly twisting violently as it raced toward him. Edwin ducked and rolled, jacket tearing as he got nicked.

“You are nothing. You will become part of us,” it cried, face warping to mimic Edwin’s, only distorted and grotesque.

Both boys paused before Charles shouted, “Edwin!”

It seemed to catch the nightmare's attention. It froze mid-swing, its distorted heads snapping toward the sound as though reprogrammed.

Charles blinked, realization dawning. “Edwin—it’s not chasing whoever is closest,” he hissed, ducking another swipe. “It’s chasing whatever it hears last.”

Edwin, not wasting a second, crouched by the circle, using his hard-earned chalk to trace the circle, but his sharp gaze flicked up. “Are you certain?”

“Certain enough!” Charles shouted, backpedaling. “Which means I’m the distraction, yeah? Brilliant.”

The nightmare lurched again, Charles’s bat swinging to meet it with a loud crack that echoed through the room. The thing recoiled before its twisting mass shifted to where the bat had come from.

Edwin’s focus narrowed back to the runes. “Then keep distracting it.”

Charles groaned but didn’t argue, raising his bat like it was his only lifeline. “Happy to help. I love being bait.”

“Just a bit longer,” he muttered to himself, ignoring how the nightmare’s shadow loomed over him.

Charles swung the bat again, this time aiming for the creature's core. “Edwin,” he called, his voice tight, “I don’t think it likes me much!”

“Almost there,” Edwin added when it got too close to the other boy, his chalk dragging along the final line of the rune.

The nightmare surged again, its many faces screaming in unison: “You cannot escape!”

Charles turned to Edwin then, his voice breaking. “You’d better prove it wrong, mate!”

The final rune snapped into place, and a burst of light erupted from the circle. The nightmare froze, its many faces contorting in shock as the energy pulsed outward.

"Now!" Edwin shouted, standing and pulling Charles back from the circle as the nightmare began to collapse inward, its form unraveling like threads pulled from well-worn knitwear.

The room fell silent except for the faint hum of the runes glowing on the floor. Charles lowered the bat slowly, his chest heaving.

The air shifted. As the runes flickered, the thick fog that had clung to the village began to lift. It retreated like a storm finally breaking, allowing the pale light of day to creep in, touching the old stones and the quiet streets.

“Right,” he said breathlessly. “So… is that the part where we’re supposed to feel relieved?”

Edwin didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the circle. The glow sputtered once, twice more, then went out entirely, leaving the room in eerie stillness.

“We’re not done yet,” he said, his expression grim.

Charles groaned, leaning heavily on the bat. “Of course we’re not. What now? Another round with that walking nightmare?”

Edwin shook his head, crouching beside the circle. “Not the nightmare. Monty,” his voice was sharper now, “The tether worked, but it’s incomplete. It didn’t bring him back.”

Charles froze. “What do you mean, ‘didn’t bring him back?’” his voice softened, “He’s not stuck out there with it, is he?”

“The nightmare was pulled back but not destroyed. It’s fractured, lingering in the spaces between. Monty’s still out there— caught in whatever’s left of it.” Edwin explained in stilted breaths. 

Charles’s expression faltered, “You mean he’s trapped? In its… dreams, or—or whatever’s left of its mind?”

Edwin nodded, the weight of it settling between them like a stone. “The nightmare’s unfinished. It’ll twist around him— feed on him— until we get him out. If we don’t stabilize the tether…”

Charles swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the bat again. “Then what? What happens to him?”

“...we lose him,” Charles finished for him, his voice barely a whisper.

Edwin hesitated, his hands stilling over the circle. His usual calm cracked just enough for Charles to notice.

“Alright,” Charles said firmly, crouching beside him. “What do you need?”

“Keep the area clear and stay alert,” Edwin instructed, his focus returning to the runes. “The tether is fragile. If it snaps—”

“Then we’re not letting it snap,” Charles interrupted. He shifted closer, their shoulders brushing. “No ‘ifs,’ Ed. We’re bringing him back.”

Edwin’s hand faltered, just for a moment. The use of the nickname— rare and soft these days— lingered between them, unspoken but heavy. He glanced at Charles, his expression cracking further under the weight of the moment.

“Charles…” Edwin began.

“I mean it,” Charles said, his voice fierce. “We’re not losing him. Not now, not ever. You’re brilliant, yeah? Always have been. If anyone can fix this, it’s you.”

Edwin exhaled sharply, his hand gripping the chalk tightly. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Charles replied, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. “And I’m not letting you give up, alright? I’m not losing either of you.”

“Either of us?” Edwin asked, his gaze flicking to Charles.

Charles paused, the words hanging between them like fragile glass. He looked as though he might backpedal for a moment, but instead, he let out a quiet, breathless laugh. “Yeah, well… you know. Don’t read into it, yeah?”

A faint smirk tugged at Edwin’s lips despite the tension. “Too late.”

The hum of the runes grew louder, the glow pulsing erratically. The air in the room grew heavier, charged with energy that prickled along their skin. Edwin turned his focus back to the circle, his hands moving quickly as he traced new runes.

Charles straightened, standing guard with the bat. “Tell me this is going to work,” he muttered, his voice low.

“It has to,” Edwin said simply. And then—

Monty fell.

The once serene landscape tilted on its axis, dumping him out into that blue, blue sky. His arms swung about uselessly as the air whipped past him, filling his ears and pulling at his hair. It spun him around and around until he reached terminal velocity.

He had never learned to fear heights, never learned to fear falling. But now, his heart jumped so high he could practically taste the ba-dum, ba-dum. His stomach flipped with him, and he couldn't think long enough to figure out anything past "I'm going to die". 

Yet, no ground was in sight when he hit the inevitable hard surface. No bones were fractured in the impact, but the sky did. It shattered into jagged shards. The sun, his only companion in this all, was now split in three and the blue into about a hundred more. 

He slid on the portion he landed on, unable to gain traction to stop his descent. It sent him tumbling headlong into a world that spread like creamer into coffee. The colors bent and broke apart around him until it was all monochrome. 

The silence here was unbearable- alive, almost- until the wind roared to life. It dragged him deeper and deeper into the unknown like unseen hands.

When he finally hit the ground, it felt like landing on something soft and wrong; the air pushed from his lungs. He lay there for a moment, blinking against the fractured light overhead. The sky hung like shattered glass, cracks spidering out across its surface. It wasn’t night or day—it was both and neither.

Fog lapped low against the ground. Not the same fog from before—no, this was thinner, sharper, laced with something watchful.

Monty pushed himself up; bare hands pressed to something that looked like grass but crumbled to ash under his fingertips. The air buzzed faintly in his ears, and a horrible familiarity twisted his stomach.

The village square took shape around him. The cobblestones were warped, the houses bending in ways they shouldn’t. It was the same, but wrong. This place doesn’t belong.

And yet—

Laughter.

Monty flinched, spinning around toward the sound. Across the square from him, half-shrouded in the fog- Charles and Edwin stood. 

Relief surged through him, but it soured the longer he looked. They laughed in that unguarded way that usually made Monty feel seen, pulled in. But they weren’t looking at him. They weren’t even aware he was there.

“Hello?” Monty called, but his voice barely carried, swallowed by the space. He took a step forward and then another, but the cobblestones stretched impossibly. It seemed no matter how far he moved or how fast, he could never reach them. Nor did they seem to be able to hear him.

Until Charles finally looked over, and the laughter started over, but this time it sounded cruel, like Monty was the joke. Before he could call out again, the world shivered.

Monty slipped on the wet cobblestone and then—

He was standing in front of a cage.

It was enormous, the bar stretching up into the darkness. A single crow was perched inside. 

Monty stumbled forward, chest heaving. "No," he whispered, already knowing what he was being shown. The bars were slick, shining like oil, and when he touched them, a sharp cold raced up his spine.

"This is who you are," a new voice whispered, though it sounded like several merged into one. Shadows pooled at Monty's feet.

He shook his head, throat tight, heart still hammering. The crow didn't react, beady eyes fixed on him, cutting even deeper into his soul.

"I'm not—"

The shadows surged, voice sharper, "A familiar without a witch. A stray. Nothing."

Monty's breath hitched, fingers digging into his palm as he backed away. "I'm not nothing," he said, but the words felt weak.

The crow tilted its head. For just a moment, it was no longer a bird in a cage— it was him, curled on the floor, human and trembling.

"Stop!" he cried, staggering back as the vision faded.

The cage shattered then— not unlike the sky had— and the shards became perfect mirrors as they fell, catching fragments of his reflection and spinning them into the fog.

And from it, he emerged in a forest. Twisted trees and towering mirrors bracketed him into a narrow, worn path. 

The reflections showed him glimpses— Edwin turning away, "I wasn't talking about you.". Ester's cruel hands grasping at him, threatening. 

Monty’s chest ached as he pushed forward. The path grew steeper, the mirrors leaning closer, warping his reflection until he barely recognized himself.

“You don’t matter,” the voice hissed, fragmented but relentless. “They’ll leave you. They don’t need you.”

Monty squeezed his eyes shut, his steps faltering. “That’s not true,” he whispered. “They—”

He stumbled into a clearing.

The mirrors were gone, and he could finally catch a breath. At its center sat a small, flickering fire. Its gentle crackling drew him in like a siren's song. Promising relief from stormy waters.

Charles and Edwin were seated on either side of the flames. For a moment, they looked impossibly normal— Charles slouched casually, tossing a stick between his hands, Edwin’s posture neat and composed, though his shoulders seemed less sharp in the firelight.

It made Monty hesitate, his bare feet sinking into the soft, wrong earth.

Charles glanced up first, though he didn’t seem to see Monty. He grinned at Edwin, something easy and unguarded about it, and said, “You ever think about how quiet it gets without him squawking?”

Monty choked, the words like ice down his spine.

Edwin hummed faintly, not unkind but distant. “I suppose it’s… quieter.” He paused, watching the flames, the shadows dancing across his face. “But lonelier, too.”

Monty’s heart thudded painfully. He opened his mouth to speak, to call out— I’m right here— but the words wouldn’t come.

The ground shifted under him again, the earth sinking in, and suddenly, he was standing in the circle of firelight. The fog pressed close around its edges as though something just beyond it was watching, waiting.

Charles and Edwin were still there, their expressions unchanged. The fire crackled faintly between them, but Monty could feel it— this was not right.

“Charles?” he tried again, his voice quieter now. “Edwin?”

No response. Neither of them looked at him, but there was something wrong with their stillness— how they seemed frozen in that unchanging moment, faces stuck in half-smiles.

Monty stepped closer to the fire, instinct tugging him forward like gravity. It wasn’t warm like fire should be. It was empty.

I don’t belong here, he thought, the realization hollowing him out. He turned to leave, but when he spun around, the fire was behind him again. And this time, Edwin was staring straight at him.

“You always leave,” Edwin said, his voice flat.

Monty flinched. “No. I don’t.”

Charles looked up too now, his grin sharp, hollow. “Of course you do, bird boy. It’s what you are. You fly away.”

The fog surged closer, whispering just a crow, just a burden, and Monty staggered back toward the fire without meaning to, as though the flames were the only anchor keeping him from falling apart completely.

“No,” Monty whispered, his throat tight. “You’re wrong.”

Charles’s face flickered like a candle flame about to go out, and for the briefest moment—he looked sad. And the world lurched again.

The fire sputtered, and Edwin’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “Then prove it.”

Monty stilled.

The fire roared upward like a beacon, splitting the fog apart as a wave of memories crashed into him— sharp, bright, and real. Charles’s laughter— wild and untethered— on the day they found Monty tangled in a net. Edwin’s hands— careful and steady— when he’d held Monty’s wing like he was something fragile and worth saving.

Moments of belonging. Moments of love, in a language Monty hadn’t known how to name.

His breath caught, and when the fire settled, the world was quiet again.

The fog was still lingering, but the clearing felt different now, like a pocket of stillness carved out just for him. Charles and Edwin were no longer frozen; they were themselves, watching him with something unspoken behind their eyes.

Monty looked at them— at Charles, who so often made him feel seen with a careless grin, and Edwin, whose smallest gestures could steady him like nothing else— and something clicked into place in his chest, an ache giving way to understanding.

They were still here. And so was he.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Monty didn’t feel like he was running.

He exhaled, letting the weight settle. “I’m not leaving,” he said softly, the words more to himself than to them. And just like that, the fog began to retreat, the clearing stretching outward, the fire burning steady as Monty let himself breathe.

But as the fog cleared, something caught his eye beyond the flames. Resting there, in the grass made pale by the fire’s glow, were a feather and a shard. He hadn’t seen them before, though they felt as though they’d been waiting for him all along.

The feather was dark and impossibly smooth, humming with a familiar pull. The shard was heavier and uncertain. It glimmered in fractured light, reflecting pieces of the fire in its edges.

Monty stood, his footsteps light as he stepped around the fire. Charles and Edwin— at least these dream versions of them— didn’t stop him; they only watched.

He knelt before the objects, heart hammering, his gaze flicking between the two.

The feather whispered of simplicity, freedom unburdened by weight, a life without pain or uncertainty. You can be what you were, it promised. Unburdened and alive.

The shard sat quietly beside it, sharp and imperfect but whole, holding the weight of what Monty had fought for. You can be more, it seemed to say. Broken things can still belong.

The choice felt silly. Charles and Edwin, or the sky. And yet.

Dream said to find himself. Who he was and will be.

“Am I not both, though?” he asked softly, afraid the dream would collapse around him.

His hands closed over both. The glass bit into his palm, but he held on as the two merged—light and shadow swirling into one. Monty was left with a single, glimmering object pulsing with power clasped in his hands. And then, he was beneath the tree again— no mirrors or pedestal in sight.

“You have chosen,” Dream’s voice interjected, soft but resonant. The Endless stepped into view once more, his expression unreadable. “You are both and neither. You are what you have always been: yourself.”

Monty exhaled, the weight on his chest finally lifting. “Will I remember this?” he asked, his voice steadier now.

Dream inclined his head slightly. “You will carry it with you in ways you may not yet understand. But your friends are waiting; it is time to wake up.”

The world began to blur around him, the colors of the Dreaming bleeding together like paint on water. Monty felt himself being pulled away, the ground disappearing beneath his feet one final time.

The air inside the abandoned house was charged, like the calm before the storm. Edwin was still crouched by the circle, drawing and redrawing runes to keep the fragile tether alive.

“Nearly done,” Edwin said, his voice low but urgent. “Just a little longer.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that,” Charles muttered, gripping his bat tightly as he scanned the shadows around them. The nightmare’s retreat hadn’t eased his nerves. If anything, the silence that followed felt worse. “You’re sure it’ll hold, then?”

“It will,” Edwin replied, not looking up. But the set of his jaw betrayed his doubt. “It has to.”

Before he could finish, the circle flared, and a burst of energy caused both boys to stumble back. The hum of it grew nearly deafening, vibrating through their nonexistent bones. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

Charles lowered his arms cautiously, blinking spots from his vision. “Edwin?” he called out.

“I–” the other started, but his words faltered as he looked at the center of the circle.

There stood Monty. Barefoot and wrapped in a strangely dark material. His head was bowed as though he had fallen asleep standing, dark hair falling into his eyes, and his hand was clasped firmly around an object. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of his shallow breathing, he would appear dead on his feet.

“Monty,” Edwin breathed, barely a whisper.

At the sound, Monty seemed to startle awake. His dark eyes met Edwin’s, then flicked to Charles before settling on the thing in his hands. It was neither feather nor shard but an in-between. A carved and polished gemstone.

“I’m here,” he muttered, dazed. He took a step forward then, and another, testing his footing like someone learning to walk.

Charles moved then, closing the distance in two large strides and winding an arm under Monty’s to help stabilize him. “Bloody hell, Monty,” he said, wavering between relief and exasperation, “You absolute git—don’t ever do that again. Thought you’d gone for good.” He hesitated. “You scared me,” he added, quieter, with a rare flicker of vulnerability.

Monty let out a soft, breathless laugh, enough to crack the tension in the room. “Sorry,” he said, though his tone carried a warmth that hadn’t been there before. “I didn’t mean to... take so long.”

Charles’ expression softened, but he quickly masked it with a grin. “Yeah, well, next time, maybe send a postcard? ‘Gone Dreaming, back never.’ That sort of thing.”

Edwin, still where he’d been pushed to, hesitated briefly before stepping closer. His eyes were fixed on Monty, sharp and searching, as though he were trying to reconcile what he was seeing with the reality they’d just endured. “Are you...” He hesitated, his usual composure faltering. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said at last. “I— I didn’t think I’d make it back.”

“You nearly didn’t,” Edwin said. His eyes softened as they lingered on Monty, searching. “What happened to you?”

Monty opened his mouth, then hesitated. How could he explain the Dreaming? The mirrors? The choice that felt like it had split him open and stitched him back together? His gaze dropped to his hands—the single object he’d carried back with him was clutched tightly in his palm, pulsing faintly against his skin. A reminder.

“I had to choose,” he murmured, finally meeting Edwin’s gaze. “Between who I was and who I want to be.”

Edwin frowned faintly, his eyes narrowing. “And what did you choose?”

Monty exhaled shakily, the memory of it all pressing heavily against his chest. “Both,” he said softly. “I chose both.”

Edwin blinked, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of Monty’s words. But before he could respond, Monty leaned forward abruptly as if pulled by something he couldn’t name.

“I thought…” Monty began, his voice barely above a whisper. He faltered, his heart hammering in his chest. “I thought I didn’t belong here. That I didn’t matter to you— either of you. But I was wrong.”

His gaze flicked between them, lingering on Edwin before settling on Charles. “You both stayed for me. Held on, even when I thought I didn’t deserve it.”

Charles was slightly shocked to be included in whatever confession was bubbling forth. “Of course, we did, you idiot,” he said, voice rough, “We don’t just… let people go. Not when they’re ours. ”

Monty blinked at that, his breath catching slightly. Ours.

Edwin pipped up finally, “You matter to us,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Of course you do.”

Charles’s expression softened further, his grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. “Alright, Monty. You’re officially not allowed to say anything that soppy without a proper warning next time.”

Monty let out a shaky laugh, the sound breaking some of the tension. He glanced between them again—at Charles, whose unwavering presence had kept him grounded, and Edwin, whose sharp words and steady hands had always guided him forward.

And maybe it was that clarity— finally seeing his place between them— that gave him the courage to close the distance.

Before Edwin could react, Monty stepped forward, his movements tentative but purposeful, like he was crossing a threshold he hadn’t dared approach before. “Edwin,” he said softly, the name carrying something unspoken, fragile yet insistent.

Edwin stilled, sharp composure splintering at the edges as Monty leaned closer. The kiss that followed was achingly slow—soft and searching, like the first words of a confession spoken in a language Monty was still learning. It wasn’t perfect; it trembled with uncertainty, but there was no mistaking the weight of everything it held.

Edwin’s breath caught, his instinct to pull away faltering entirely. Instead, his brow furrowed, his expression softening as though the quiet sincerity of it had pinned him in place. When Monty drew back, cheeks flushed and gaze uncertain, Edwin remained frozen, his sharp wit failing him for the first time.

It was Charles who broke the silence with a loud, exaggerated groan. “Oh, brills. You two, really? Couldn’t pick a better time than a haunted house?"

Monty turned, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I didn’t forget you,” he said softly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

Charles opened his mouth to respond, something teasing no doubt on the tip of his tongue, but Monty stepped closer. The movement was more deliberate like he was daring himself to cross a line he’d only circled before.

Monty leaned in, pressing a light, fleeting kiss to Charles’s cheek. It lingered just long enough to startle, a weight behind it that Charles wasn’t expecting. Monty pulled back then, his dark eyes searching Charles’s face carefully, his posture tense— like he was waiting for the ground to shift beneath him.

Charles froze, his expression stuck somewhere between disbelief and something softer. “You didn’t just…” He stopped, blinking rapidly. “You didn’t.”

Monty tilted his head, a small smirk breaking through his nerves. “I did.”

The grin Charles flashed was quick and crooked, but before he could make his usual quip, Monty moved again— closer this time, the distance between barely a hair's breadth apart. Charles didn’t pull back. His smirk faded just slightly, his posture settling like he’d been waiting for this all along. When their lips finally met, it wasn’t perfect— awkward and tentative— but there was no mistaking the intent this time. Charles tilted forward, meeting him halfway with a soft, smug hum.

When they broke apart, Monty lingered, his breath unsteady but his gaze steady now. Charles blinked, and for once, words completely failed him.

“…Well?” Monty teased, his voice quiet but warm.

Charles finally huffed a breathless laugh, grin tugging at the edges of his lips again. “Took you long enough, bird boy.”

Monty let out a soft laugh of his own, his face still close. “Worth the wait, though?”

Charles’s grin widened, all teeth and truth. “Yeah. Worth the wait.”

Edwin cleared his throat softly. “Are you two quite done?”

Charles glanced over, his grin lazy but smaller now, less show and more truth. “What’s the matter, Ed? Jealous?”

Edwin raised an eyebrow. “You wish.”

Charles nudged Edwin’s knee with his own, casual as ever. Edwin didn’t move, but his gaze lingered just long enough to say something without words.

Monty huffed a small, almost exasperated laugh. “You’re both impossible,” he said, though the warmth in his voice softened the bite.

“Maybe,” Charles replied, leaning back with an easy shrug. “But you’d be lost without us.”

Monty didn’t argue. He just looked at them both—at Charles, with his grin that wasn’t fooling anyone, and at Edwin, steady and sharp as ever. For the first time, it felt simple.

“Forever, then,” he said softly.

Charles’s grin twitched into something real. “Forever.”

Edwin nodded once, firm and certain. “Forever.”

The word settled between them as if it belonged there. Charles nudged Edwin’s knee again, lighter this time, like a joke they didn’t need to say aloud. Edwin let out a quiet sigh that sounded suspiciously close to fond.

Monty shook his head, smiling as he looked between them. “Trouble,” he muttered, the word soft but fond. “The both of you.”

This time, no one argued.