Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It truly was a miracle that Lanyon was able to convince Jekyll to take a break from the paperwork.

With the chaos of the exhibition dying down, things were starting to go back to the way they were. It wasn’t quite normal yet, considering the Lodger’s residual disdain and the permanent shadows beneath Jekyll’s eyes, but it was close enough. So close, in fact, that Lanyon decided it was a crime for his friend to be holed up in his office for the rest of the day.

And Jekyll listened to him. Somehow.

“We’ll continue with the paperwork tomorrow, right?” Jekyll asked, worrying the rim of his teacup with his fingers. He smiled lightly, a small crease between his brows declaring his thinly veiled concern.

“Of course. Now stop thinking about it. If you occupy your rest day with thoughts of everything you should be doing, Lord help me.” Lanyon replied, taking a slow sip from his cup. “You deserve a day off.”

Jekyll didn’t look convinced but he nodded all the same, leaning back in his chair. It was somewhat strange to see Henry out and about in the light of the morning, his pale complexion and gaunt figure creating the illusion that he had been cut out of one picture and pasted to another. But the sun was already working its wonders. A light pink flush unfurled beneath his cheeks, eyes shimmering with something akin to mirth. He dabbed his lips with a napkin and Lanyon found it difficult to look away from the vitality which blossomed there.

“So, Robert,” Jekyll started, tearing Lanyon’s attention from his mouth, “What are your plans for the day? You must have had something in store when you dragged me out of my office.” The glimmer in his eyes shone brighter, lips quirked up at the edges.

Lanyon rolled his eyes. “Must a man need an agenda for a day of rest and relaxation?”

“I suppose not, but I usually do.”

“That’s because,” Lanyon leaned forward, jabbing at Jekyll’s chest with an indignant finger, “Your days of ‘rest and relaxation’ are some other fellow’s worst nightmare.”

Jekyll laughed. It was a bright and delightful sound. “You make it seem as though I’ve worked myself half to death.”

Lanyon raised an eyebrow. “You have.”

“Ha ha.”

“I say this with complete sincerity. You’re going to die an early death if you keep this lifestyle up, my friend.”

It was Jekyll’s turn to roll his eyes. “It’s a good thing I’m here with you, then.”

Lanyon nodded, masking his smile with another sip of tea. It had been a while since they’ve fallen into bouts of banter like this, and the sound of it was nostalgic to his ears. “I’m a wonderful influence.”

Jekyll gave him a long look. Before he could respond, however, they were interrupted by a Lodger–what was her name, again?– clearing her throat. Jekyll turned to look at her and Lanyon did not miss the way that the corners of his mouth fell, the twinkle in his eye fading. He crossed his arms and frowned. It was never good for Jekyll’s tranquility when the Lodgers wanted something from him.

“Dr. Jekyll, I was wondering if you would help me with my work? I was just looking over the data and realized how insightful your assistance would be.” There wasn’t an inkling of a question in her voice. She looked at Jekyll expectantly–demandingly, Lanyon would venture to claim– and stepped back to allow his exit from his seat.

Lanyon watched in horror as Jekyll began to rise. No, that wouldn’t do. After placing a steely hand over Jekyll’s and sending a look in his direction, he said in a strained voice, “My apologies, but Henry will not be joining you at this moment.”

Both Jekyll and the Lodger looked scandalized.

He continued on, attempting to quell the hurt welling in his chest. “It’s been a long couple of weeks and Henry needs some time to recuperate. He’s taking the day off. Perhaps he can help you tomorrow?”

Henry bit his lip. Slowly, the Lodger brought her hands to her hips, fixing a look of scrutiny upon the doctor. Cocking her head to the side, as if the mere thought of a break was too puzzling of a concept for her scientific mind to wrap itself around, she mused, “I see. But a rest day is not equivalent to a day of doing nothing. You are the leader of the Society, as well as my mentor. Those are two responsibilities that should not be shirked.”

Who did this woman think she was?!

Before Lanyon could retort, Jekyll slipped his hand out from beneath his pinning grasp, an unreadable expression plastered across his face. He took a step toward the Lodger and smiled, though the amiability did not reach his eyes. “You’re correct, Miss Ito. As always. It’s no trouble for me to offer my assistance.”

“Henry-” Lanyon started.

Jekyll turned to him, expression saturated with apology. “I’m sorry, Robert. I’ll be back soon.” He smiled again before walking away, and just like that, Lanyon was alone at the table.

He sat there dumbly for a moment, waves of emotion crashing over him, sweeping him off his feet, churning and roiling while he tried to make sense of what just happened. He watched as Jekyll disappeared into the lab, all of his efforts shoved to the side in favor of work, exertion, tedious responsibilities. In favor of more pressing issues. Priorities.

He had never been at the top of Jekyll’s list of priorities. Something always had to come first: the Society, the Lodgers, a sparkly smile and a respectable reputation. It didn’t matter if Lanyon was offering him respite. It didn’t matter if it was killing him. It took precedence all the same.

The day had been so bright. Lanyon rose from the table, abandoning his teacup and beginning his slow stroll towards the dreaded destination, the land of aching, ink-stained fingers and dark-circled nights. He had drawn Jekyll away from the paper towers, but since his efforts had proven fruitless, he may as well bring them down himself.

What was the use of waiting for tomorrow when the day was already wasted?

Lanyon started up the stairs, hurt souring into disdain. The Lodgers had begun to congregate in the atrium, still disheveled and yawning from oversleep, chipper in the promise of a new day. Who were they to hold Henry to such a high standard? It wasn’t as if they expected the same of themselves; the wound left by the exhibition’s preparation had not yet healed. Did they know what Henry had gone through for their sake? What he had suffered?

And Henry kept choosing that suffering, time and time again. Choosing it over himself, choosing it over his friend. Lanyon scowled, grip on the banister tightening. If Henry was going to sacrifice his health for a bunch of lunatics who would never give him the thanks he deserved, then that was his problem. In the meantime, Lanyon would actually be of use.

He might as well complete the necessary paperwork to keep the Society afloat so his friend could continue his self-immolation. Why not?

Lanyon stalked up to the door of the office, reaching for the handle. Before he could step inside, however, he caught sight of two Lodgers huddled together on the floor, tinkering with something just out of eyeshot. He paused, debating whether or not it was worth it to see what they were getting up to before going in.

It’s a society for mad scientists, for Christ’s sake. He should at least figure out what they’re doing.

Slowly, he turned to face the Lodgers, not missing the way their eyes widened and frames stiffened, freezing into the very tableau of guilt. They were huddled over a piece of machinery, tools in hand, faces smeared with soot. As Lanyon watched, the device began to smoke.

He looked up at the Lodgers, then back down at their invention. Then back up at them. Then down. Then back up. One of the Lodgers smiled nervously. Lanyon shook his head and went inside, closing the door behind him.

Whatever that was, he was not in the mood to deal with it. It wasn’t his problem, that’s for sure.

With a sigh, Lanyon collected some papers from the top of the looming stack and sat to begin reading. He hadn’t wanted to do this today in the slightest. The room felt especially cruel in its loneliness, nothing but a covered mirror and rows of glass-encased potions to keep him company. The drawn curtains shielded each glimmer of sunlight, choking the room in a solemn darkness. Lanyon wondered if Jekyll ever remembered to open the window.

He stood and drew the curtains back before returning to his seat. Perhaps the light couldn’t alleviate his gloom, but it could at least help him read the paperwork. Lanyon sighed again, grabbing a pen.

Just as the tip touched the paper, an ear splitting bang rattled the room.

Like an earthquake to a house of cards, it all came crashing down. The walls shuddered, cabinets flying open and laying siege to the rows of potion within. They fell all at once, glass bottles shattering in a fragile, screaming dissonance, liquid spraying and mixing on the ground. Lanyon startled back, dropping his pen and nearly falling out of his chair. Tidal waves of chaos and sound swept through the room. He clapped his hands to his ears and waited for the cacophony to die down.

By the time the storm had quelled–a mere few seconds of demolition– the office was in shambles. Lanyon slowly opened his eyes, drawing his hands away from his head. The room almost seemed too quiet now. He was alone with the destruction—unharmed, thank God— and he couldn’t hear himself think over the overwhelming, deathly silence. He sat there, stunned, until his thrumming pulse calmed and the sound returned to his ears.

Well, he hadn’t died. That was promising.

Lanyon released a shaky exhale, standing on weak legs and making a beeline for the door. No, it couldn’t be…

Peeking out of the doorway, he was met with the stereotypical signs of an explosion: debris, damaged property, and ash still smoldering on the floor. The two Lodgers from before now stood across the hallway, staring at the wreckage with the expressions of doomed men. The device from before was nowhere to be seen, but the scraps of metal strewn about the hall were telling enough. Lanyon’s stomach sank.

He retracted his head back into the office and closed the door behind him. This was his fault. Lanyon groaned, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall.

He should’ve known better. Of course the smoking piece of machinery would explode if it was left unquestioningly to a mad scientist. Why wouldn’t it? It wasn’t as though any of the grown adults living at the Society possessed any semblance of foresight or maturity. Of course it would explode. Of course.

One of Lanyon’s very few jobs was to make sure that nothing got blown up and he couldn’t even manage that.

Guilt gnawed at Lanyon’s stomach. The last thing Jekyll needed was more to worry about. This was supposed to be a rest day, goddamn it.

Voices began to gather on the other side of the door, the words muffled but the worried tone clear as day. Right. This was no longer a time for leisure; there was work to be done. Lanyon lifted himself to his feet, surveying the damage within the office. Thankfully, it seemed as though the wall had absorbed most of the impact, and seeing as it was still intact, there must not have been much force behind the blast. It was simply unfortunate that the glass displays had been knocked open because now there was a mess that he had to clean.

Seeing as this incident could have easily been prevented and was sure to cause a headache or two, Lanyon felt that it was his responsibility to clean the floor for Jekyll. It was the least he could do.

After a bit of rummaging, Lanyon discovered a closet with a first-aid kit, three empty wine bottles, and, most importantly, a rag. He retrieved the rag and made a mental note to talk to Jekyll about the bottles at a more tasteful date. Returning to the chemical spill, Lanyon kneeled above the mess and began to soak it up with the cloth, careful not to let the liquids touch his skin. Though he didn’t expect Jekyll to keep anything dangerous in his cabinets, he could never be too cautious, right?

Actually, now that he was a little closer to the puddle, he was glad for his caution. The liquids had combined to create a dark, bubbling mixture and the wooden floorboards around the mess were beginning to peel. Also, it was probably worth mentioning that the chemicals were emitting hot, foul-smelling fumes directly into Lanyon’s face. He sputtered, drawing back from the floor and turning away from the spill to gulp in some fresh air. It was futile; the whole room was beginning to adopt the offensive odour.

Lanyon slid the window open and returned to the mess. His gut twisted at the thought of inhaling any more of that mystery gas, but what could he do besides slow his breathing? The mess needed to be cleaned. It would be unseemly to leave it to Jekyll when he certainly had enough on his plate as it was.

So he returned to the spill, ignoring the burning in his lungs. It was probably nothing.

After it was all wiped up, Lanyon got to his feet, intending to exit the office and inform Jekyll of his return home. Once he was upright, however, the world swayed around him and his face paled, skin going cold as a bout of lightheadedness shuddered through him. He flailed for something to lean on, grasping at Jekyll’s desk for some semblance of stability. He stood there a moment, head down and eyes closed, breathing slowly to regain his balance.

Lanyon’s head was swimming. He waited for the dizziness to die down but it remained like static in his skull, blurring the ground beneath his feet and distorting all thoughts into a dream-like buzz. He blinked, bleary, fighting to regain order in his mind. The spell did not subside but it did not progress, and after some adjusting, Lanyon stepped back from the desk and left the office.

In his dazed state, the piling voices and throngs of concerned Lodgers outside of the room felt like nothing short of mayhem. The lights were fevered as they bounced off of shiny skin and gleaming eyes, the air positively saturated with insistent granules of dust and detritus. Lanyon coughed. Each wheeze ignited sparks of color behind his eyelids.

It all felt like too much. Despite his newfound difficulty in pinning down a single thought, Lanyon knew that he wanted to go home.

“Robert,” the gasp cut through the fog, and he turned to find the source of it, “Are you okay?”

Jekyll was at his side, eyes wide and face ashen. He reached out towards Lanyon’s hands before faltering, drawing back like he thought better of the motion. His face scanned his friend’s, and for a moment, Lanyon forgot himself in his gaze.

“I had no idea you were in the office during the detonation. Are you hurt anywhere?”

Lanyon closed his eyes and tried to ground himself. “I’m fine. I can’t say the same for your potions, though.”

Warm, earnest hands grasped his. Finally, finally! A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Jekyll’s hands felt so nice against his skin, so sunny, so kind. He never wanted them to leave.

“I don’t care about that. What matters is that you’re okay.” A pause, then Jekyll’s grasp drew away. Lanyon’s face fell at the loss. “Are you sure that you’re feeling alright?”

Lanyon’s eyes blinked open. The world was much brighter than he remembered, much more fuzzy. Like ink bleeding on a page. “Fine.” His words were distorted in his ears. Was that really his voice? It sounded too far away, an echo of his own speech. “I’m heading home.”

Jekyll frowned. “You don’t look fine.”

Something in Lanyon’s gut twisted, urgency, but it fell away when he tried to harness it, leaving him bewildered. “I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that,” Jekyll noted, brows furrowed. He stepped closer to his friend, inspecting his eyes. His eyes were so pretty. Almost as warm as his hands, warmer. “But you don’t look it. Did you hit your head?”

Lanyon shook his head. The motion sent the world into disarray, and he closed his eyes to keep himself from falling. Distress lodged itself in his ribcage, choking his heart until it pounded pain through his arteries. Jekyll shouldn’t be worried. He had so much to deal with all the time, so much to take care of and deal with. Lanyon could never forgive himself if he was another source of concern for his friend. “No. There’s no need to worry about me. I’m going home now.”

“Dr. Jekyll, could you come and check this out?” A Lodger called.

Jekyll looked away from Lanyon—the warmth disappeared completely, he was so cold— before looking back at his friend, mouth slightly ajar. He pressed his lips together until they lost their color. “Alright, I’ll be there in a moment,” Jekyll responded. His voice softened. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll be going now.”

Jekyll left, and Lanyon began his journey down the stairs.

Perhaps braving the stairs wasn’t the best idea. The floor swam beneath his feet, the short walk down to the first floor lengthening and steepening before his eyes. Lanyon clutched at the handrail and began to ease himself down, stomach flipping with each step he took, heart hammering in his throat. He stumbled to level ground and pushed through the heavy doors of the Society.

The sun was syrupy as it dripped from the sky, leaving behind a vivid afterimage on everything it touched. Lanyon squinted and stepped into it, dizzied by the dreamlike world around him. His skin was strikingly cold against the bright heat of the morning. Dewey droplets had accumulated on his forehead, dampening his hair. He stepped forward, took another step, then another. Each time he dragged his feet forward it felt like he was starting over.

The world refused to stop swirling.

It was getting worse, Lanyon realized, the thought barely cutting through his bleary mind. The static in his skull had infected the rest of his body, and he could hardly recognize that the limbs hanging idly by his sides belonged to him. He was light, so light. Reality had dissolved into color.

He needed to get home before he either hit the ground or floated away.

Lanyon looked around, mouth hanging uselessly open as he surveyed his surroundings. The Society had disappeared into the sea of London, and, after some absent staring, he realized that he hadn’t a clue where he was. He turned, streaks of the world flying across his eyes, solidifying into a new, unfamiliar place. He turned again, head lolling on its perch, and found himself somewhere else entirely.

Lanyon’s breath was cold. He could no longer feel his cheeks, and the saturated, glowing scope of his vision was being encroached upon by black. Perhaps it would be best for him to sit and collect himself.

The brick wall was air beneath his fingers as he inched towards the ground, the pavement like sitting upon a cloud. Lanyon watched the sky ripple like water for one breath, two, before the nothingness won and he couldn’t breathe any longer.

Eyes fluttering shut, Lanyon hit the ground.

Chapter Text

It was all going to Hell.

No matter what direction Jekyll turned, something had to fall apart behind him. It was almost funny, now that he thought about it, that Lanyon thought it would be appropriate to take a day off. Of course it wouldn’t be appropriate. Not when it would directly undermine his plan.

Well, it was funny that Lanyon thought it would be appropriate. It was simply imbecilic that Jekyll agreed. It was inexcusable.

A day off should have been out of the question. Taking time to rest so soon after the Exhibition when he had work to complete, chaos to wrangle, a reputation to reestablish… inexcusable.

And look at the consequences he had to face now. Ito’s disdain, Lanyon’s apparent dejection, the aftermath of an explosion? This is what he gets for shunning his responsibilities.

It would be so much more difficult to achieve his goal now.

It had taken everything in Jekyll’s power just to get the Lodgers on board with the Exhibition. Sure, they didn’t hate his guts any longer, but he had yet to rejuvenate his previous esteem. There was much to do to mend his authority, and Jekyll had grown tired of feeling like an outsider in his own Society. He needed to make the Lodgers like him again.

If it was difficult before it would be near impossible now. Nice going, Jekyll.

Still, self pity wouldn’t get him anywhere. Jekyll shook his head quickly, dislodging the gnawing shame from his mind before surveying the damage.

The upper storey of the Society looked worse for wear, but all things considered, the destruction wasn’t that bad. Large portions of the walls had crumbled, accumulating in piles of lath and plaster on the blackened, splintered flooring. The lights had extinguished, clouds of dust saturated the air and descended like snow upon the wreckage, and the hallway decor was entirely unsalvageable. What had once been a console table and a beautiful glass vase was now indistinguishable from the debris which littered the area. However, the brick Jekyll had used to reinforce the walls remained unscathed by the blast and the structural integrity of the building was intact. Taking into account that a bomb had detonated, they were quite lucky to get away with damages this minor.

Guilt clawed at Jekyll’s chest. They shouldn’t have had to be lucky. If he had done his job, they wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

“The ceiling isn’t going to collapse, is it?” Asked Tweedy, who was busy worrying a hole into his shirt. His eyes were glued to the wall, staring intently at the exposed brick.

Jekyll couldn’t find the resolve within himself to muster up a reassuring laugh. “It seems as though the brick has withstood the impact of the explosion quite nicely. Thank you for calling me over, but I don’t think there’s much concern to be had here.” He smiled lightly, hoping the gesture would be sincere enough to appease the Lodger.

Tweedy nodded once and promptly set off toward the gathering crowd by the stairwell.

The smile fell from Jekyll’s lips. He could hear the hushed, scandalized whispers across the hall but he had no clue what they were saying, too distant to invite him in. It was as though an invisible barrier separated him from everyone else, a barrier they had built with the sole purpose of keeping him away. He watched them add to it now with their eyes, brows creased and pupils glinting with fear. No, not fear. Distrust.

Jekyll didn’t know how to overcome that barrier.

Hurt clawed through his veins like fire, burning him from the inside out. His face heated and he looked away from the mass of Lodgers, instead opting to resume staring at the rubble. Another piece of plaster slid from the wall before his eyes.

Right. There was time to ruminate in these feelings later. For now, there was work to be done.

Jekyll turned back to the Lodgers, who averted their eyes at his gaze. Steeling himself against the onslaught of their scorn, he called, “Flowers, could you fetch me a broom and dustpan? If the rest of you could lend a hand in the cleanup, it would be much appreciated.”

The Lodgers took their places and began to work, the room deathly quiet besides the sounds of shifting debris and labored breathing. It was practically a superpower, Jekyll thought grimly, to silence the Lodgers so effortlessly.

Memories of a louder, brighter Society were impossible to quell as they surfaced behind his eyes, the sound of laughing and teasing nothing but a whisper as it brushed beneath his ear. He could almost see it, the times of conversation and cheerful grin, times when that smothering barrier had yet to be built. It hadn’t always been like this, his heart cried. They used to like you.

“Why, Dr. Jekyll, it seems I’m out of a job! What use do I have when you torture yourself so nicely?” The sneer was almost expected, rattling and thin inside his skull.

Jekyll did not respond. Dust billowed up from the broom bristles in clouds as he swept it, settling back down against the floor uselessly.

Hyde laughed, the sound grating and high. “You don’t feel like talking, huh? That’s fine by me. With all the silence in this room, you’ll have to listen to anything I want to say.”

“Sinnett? Luckett? Could you come over here, please?” Jekyll called, lifting his head to search for the two men. They flinched, meeting his gaze with guilt-riddled eyes before making their way toward him slowly.

“Coward,” Hyde hissed. “You can’t even be left alone with your own thoughts?”

The pair of men were rigid and close together, eyes trained to their feet and looking downright terrified. Jekyll frowned, words hesitating in his mouth and thoughts stuttering to a halt. They had most likely been the ones to accidentally set off the bomb, of course. It was obvious just by looking at them. But they were much too stiff, much too pale. What did they think Jekyll would do to them?

Visions long forgotten resurfaced, these ones more vivid than before. Images of fires, detonations, young men surrendering their futures to the hands of smoldering science flashed in bright yellow and blinding white, hot against his cheeks. Every promise Jekyll ever made to Brokenshire echoed in his ears, the words a familiar shape against his lips. Hours of conversation had been sacrificed just to give them a chance, another chance, another. What had Jekyll done to make them believe that his infinite well of chances had run dry?

“We‘ll talk about the explosion later,” Jekyll said, words falling between them before he even knew what he was saying. “For now, could you bring me a bin and begin discarding the larger pieces of rubble?”

Sinnett blinked, eyes wide and owlish. “Right. Of course.”

“Sorry, sir,” Luckett muttered, still unable to meet Jekyll’s gaze. “We’ll do it right away.” The pair scampered off, heads lowered and tails tucked between their legs.

Jekyll stared after them.

A low whistle broke the silence. “I don’t think anything else needs to be said about that. At this rate, I might as well give up my attempts at ruining your life. It seems you have that quite in hand.”

Jekyll could not restrain the scowl which darkened over his face. As always, the sentiment was met with the eerie shriek of Hyde’s laughter.

The day was wasted on the remnants of mistake. By the time the hallway had been completely cleared, the morning light filtering through the windows had deepened into amber, then thickened into honey. The afternoon was waning.

“Thank you for your help, everyone. I can handle this from here,” Jekyll called, voice wavering beneath the weight of exhaustion.

The group ambled away, some Lodgers descending the stairs directly after Jekyll spoke while others lingered, speaking to one another in hushed, low voices. The whispering was back. Jekyll strained to hear what they were saying but the words evaded him, just quiet enough to keep him on his side of the barrier, them on theirs.

He may not have been able to hear them, but just from looking at Ito’s expression, he could guess the things they spoke of. He could see it in the crease between her brow, the wrinkle in her nose, the strain in her jaw. If he had just done his job, none of this would have happened. Henry Jekyll was an incompetent leader.

Ito turned slightly, eyes catching on his. She opened her mouth, stepping toward him, but Jekyll ducked into his office before she could call out.

Perhaps she would be disappointed in him for shunning his responsibilities even more, but he couldn’t bring himself to withstand her derision. It had been a long day.

The door clicked shut behind him, smothering any sound of life behind the heavy wood. After a day of eerie quietude, the complete silence was suffocating. The barrier stood tall, any attempt at breaching it proved futile.

He sighed, sinking down into his sofa. Eyes closed, he let the isolation wash through him, pervading the air he breathed and pressing down on him like a weight. Even Hyde seemed to realize the painful silence, for once opting to let it reign. He was alone.

Except that wasn’t quite right. A small breeze ruffled his hair, a syrupy light tickling his eyes open. He paused, listening, and was able to distinguish voices, the clicking of hooves against stone. The window was open.

Right. Lanyon had been in his office when the bomb went off. He must have opened the window. Sitting up, Jekyll observed the area.

The room was much more tidy than he had expected. The beakers had vanished from his glass cabinets but the ingredients remained intact, and there was no sign of broken glass or spillage to be found. If he hadn’t known better, Jekyll would have thought he was robbed.

Had Robert cleaned the room for him?

A dull ache throbbed in Jekyll’s chest. Lanyon had done so much; he didn’t deserve it. After all, he had blown off their day together, prioritized work over his friendship, allowed him to leave without company even when he had looked so… off.

He really hoped that Robert was okay.

It was most likely that he was angry. He had seemed uncomfortable, to say the least, and was very adamant about getting home without further conversation. He closed his eyes when Jekyll got too close and dismissed each of his questions, voice detached. That was probably it. Robert was angry with him.

It made sense, Jekyll thought, defeat settling like an anchor in the marrow of his bones. He had been a bad friend.

A bad friend and a bad leader. Jekyll chuckled, slinging an arm over his eyes. Of course he was alone.

Tomorrow would be an important day, he decided. He would speak with Luckett and Sinnett about the bomb and, with luck, would regain some of their trust. Lanyon would return to work on paperwork and Jekyll would apologize. After tomorrow, the worst would be over.

He yawned, sliding down until he lay against the couch cushions. A day’s worth of lugging and heaving throbbed in his muscles, a month’s worth of dejection dense in his chest. It would do him good to get some rest.

Silence was preferable for sleep, anyway.
-

Pinpricks of color bloomed from the inky abyss. They pulsed in languid unison, sparking into flames of existence one by one, growing with each flare. They swayed together, spinning as they grew, a waltz of red and purple and green. It was dizzying. With the colors swelling and set into motion, the void no longer seemed to be a haven of nothing. It was secure, viewed with eyes that likely belonged to a consciousness, and it was unsure whether the hues were moving or the consciousness was. Everything spun all the same. They gyrated lazily, edges mingling together with each pulse, a web of vivid opacity dancing and merging and bleeding. The hazy darkness was illuminated by color.

The colors feathered out like watercolor on paper, blooming into brilliant, radiant sight.

The world was enveloped by haze. It flickered into darkness every now and again, two quick flashes obscuring the intensity of vision, welcoming it back with a blur just to flicker again. Everything was saturated to an unnatural level, hues loud and tumultuous, clamoring for attention, to be seen and heard and felt. Noticed. Experienced.

Lanyon reached out to touch the colors and watched them melt against his skin. That was odd, he thought. Did that arm really belong to him?

He couldn’t feel his skin. Lanyon watched his arm move, awed by the shape and motion. Muscles waxed and waned beneath the skin, a buzz echoing from his bones to his palms, distant. The colors were so bright. They leached into his buzzing body.

Was it his body?

Lanyon’s head lolled back, eyes unfocusing. He was shadowed by a ceiling. It materialized as a smear of brown above him, stark shadows creeping upon the edges and caging him inside. He was inside, wasn’t he? It felt like he was floating, but the blankets below tethered him down. Ah, blankets. There must be a bed cushioning the impact of flight. Had he fallen?

Where was he?

Lanyon slumped his head to the side, a new view emerging before his eyes. Light poured through the window like water, sending waves of dust into limbo, hanging in the current like they were waiting to fall. Would Lanyon fall with them? He had yet to catch his breath; would it all crash down with an exhale? Did he breathe? He couldn’t feel the air in his lungs. Did he have lungs? He imagined them sprawled and spreading in his chest like the wings of a butterfly, fluttering behind their bony jail. Would the room open up and let him fly away?

He was in a room.

Lanyon shifted into sitting, neck bowing beneath weightless gravity and shoulder blades drawing themselves up, mechanical and disconnected. His head fell to the side, heavy against his–was it his?– impersonal shoulder. He blinked. The vivid color flickered.

How had he gotten here? He was in a room. The room was brimming with lapping oceans of light. The color was shouting at him. He couldn’t hear a whisper of wind, the brush of his skin against the blankets was mute. He couldn’t feel his skin beyond the incessant buzzing, the static in his veins. Was that his body? Were those his veins? Hadn’t he been laying down? Hadn’t he fallen? Had he moved? How did he get here?

Where was he?

Lanyon blinked, lids heavy as they shuttered out the color before filtering it back in. Streams of light washed upon carpet, walls, desks, books. The pages of a textbook curled with yellow in the glare of it. This was familiar, somehow, though thought fled from his prying fingertips. He had been here before. Was it yesterday? No, years ago. Mere minutes. Centuries. He exhaled, deaf to the hiss of his lungs. This room was trapped in memory, it didn’t matter how long it had been since its walls had swallowed him. He visited it every day.

Lanyon blinked again. The color flickered into black, returning in a haze. He was in a room. Hadn’t he been floating?

Where was he?

Lanyon blinked. This room looked familiar; where was he?

A spasm of black. Where was he?

Blink.

Where-

The door breathed open. Lanyon’s head slumped to the other shoulder, rolling itself off his frame until it stood on his neck. Who was there?

A boy. Lanyon’s breath caught in his throat, his beating lungs. Warmth and peppermint radiated through the tides of light, diffusing into the air, onto his tongue. He could smell it, taste it. He craved it, urgency bleeding into his clouded mind. A drop of the stomach, a pang in the chest.

The boy was bewitching. He spanned the room with an easy smile, the rest of the room falling away into shadow, overcast, upstaged. His auburn hair fluttered in the current of light, eyes gleaming with mirth. He looks so happy, Lanyon thought, delighted. He looks so beautiful.

The boy crawled onto the bed, mattress dipping beneath his weight, shuffling across the miles of blankets to arrive at… him. Lanyon realized this with exaltation, leaning towards the boy to close the infinite gap. His head was spinning, heart pulsing with color in his chest, eyes pricked and stinging with the shudder of a breath, the suspension of belief. He’s coming to me, cried his heart, here for me. He’s so beautiful, and he’s here for me.

The boy reached out, warm hand cupping his cheek. Lanyon leaned into the feeling, eyelids fluttering. The color paused, black flickered, and when Lanyon opened his eyes, Jekyll was there, young and beautiful. Smiling as he cupped his cheek. Warm. Lanyon reached out, fingertips itching to share the warmth, to circulate it through his body. His hand landed in the boy’s soft hair, chestnut in shadow, auburn in the light. His eyes were crimson and they burned themselves into Lanyon’s vision. Sanguine and saccharine, sweet pools of glow and shadow.

Only when Jekyll caught Lanyon’s mouth with his own did sensation completely return. Sound pummelled into Lanyon’s chest, his ears, vibrating in his bones. Those bones must belong to him, for he could feel them beneath the tingling skin. He clasped the boy between his arms, lightheaded with gaiety, floating on the waves of light. Warmth dispersed throughout the room, enveloping in an embrace of ardor, sparking in his face, his chest, his fingertips.

Lanyon felt as though he might die. This must be the end, he mused. For this was all he had to live for. The realization of it was all he needed before his conclusion. He was content. Euphoric, even. Perhaps this had to be the end, for if it wasn’t, there was still time for ruin. If life ended here, this would be immortalized.

But his pulse fluttered, his lungs swelled. Lanyon was alive.

They were in his old dormitory.

Lanyon pulled away, smile clinging to his lips. “You’re here.”

Jekyll leaned back against the bed, arm looped around Lanyon’s waist. The gleam caught within his eye slowly extinguished, corners of his mouth falling. Panic welled in Lanyon’s chest, a spell of faintness rolling his eyes back into his head. He blinked slowly, the color disappearing, restoring. Jekyll wasn’t as bright anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, eyes closing. A strange weariness drew the warmth from the light, Jekyll’s skin cold against Lanyon’s. His face was lined.

Lanyon frowned. A hand– his hand– extended, fingertips tracing the evaporated smile on his lips, thumb rubbing at the ringed skin below the eyes. “Why?” His voice was breathy, the syllable escaped from incarcerated lungs. “Why are you sorry?”

Jekyll’s eyes closed. He looked so tired now that the joy had faded, so much older than before. Beautiful, still. Always beautiful.

“I left. I should have stayed.”

“No, no,” Lanyon cooed. What was Jekyll saying? It was foreign, unintelligible, wrong. Sharp against his ears. He rested his head on Jekyll’s chest, savoring the rise and fall, listening to the thudding of his heart with conviction. “You’re perfect.”

“I left.”

“You’re perfect.”

“I should have stayed.”

“Perfect.” Lanyon looked up at Jekyll, confused. Adoration was potent against his tongue. The words he grasped for felt too sacred to speak aloud, yet any other semblance of thought fled. Why shouldn’t Jekyll know how he felt? Why must he lock the words behind his teeth?

A sigh ruffled Lanyon’s hair. “I wish I was.”

“You are.”

“You think I am. Everyone does.” Jekyll looked away, crimson irises peeking through his lashes, duller than before. “But I’m not.”

Lanyon shook his head, burying his face in Jekyll’s shirt. The fabric smelled of peppermint. Jekyll’s heart pulsed inches away from his hands. “You’re the most perfect person I know.”

“If you truly knew me,” came the reply, “you wouldn’t say that.”

Lanyon hummed, eyes closing. The inky black was a comfort from the colors, a refuge from the lines of Jekyll’s face. The warmth of their embrace was stronger with his eyes closed, somehow. “You’re wrong.” He did know Jekyll; why would he say that he didn’t? He knew Jekyll better than he knew anyone else and he loved every part that he knew. The words leaving his mouth didn’t make any sense. They fell from his lips and splintered against the floor like glass.

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“You didn’t. I did.”

“I miss you.”

“You’re right here. With me.” Elation bubbled up in Lanyon’s throat, tugging the corners of his mouth wider. He couldn’t remember why he had stopped smiling.

But Jekyll was stiff beneath him. Lanyon raised his head, blinking slowly, brows knit together. What happened? Moments ago, they had been perfect. The happiness had grown cold.

“What did I do?” Lanyon spoke slowly, hurt twisting like a knife in his chest.

Jekyll covered his face with his hands. “I don’t deserve you. I left.”

What was he talking about? As far as Lanyon was concerned, Jekyll had only entered the room. Anything before that had never existed. When had Jekyll left? He was here the whole time.

“You left?”

“You deserve better than me.” The words knocked the air out of Lanyon’s lungs. “I made you leave. You’re angry with me.”

“I’m not angry. I could never be angry with you.” The room had begun to spin, colors feverish and quivering, dancing together as they intensified, pulsing.

“I’ll be better, I promise.”

Black encroached on the edges of color, a stark contrast between light and shadow. Dizziness washed over Lanyon, lungs vacant and locked.

A sob followed. “Oh God, I’ll never be better.”

Something heavy tugged Lanyon down, down. The bed had opened up, the colors were giving in to black. Panic scratched at Lanyon’s throat, his eyes. He clung to the bed and watched the mattress disintegrate between his fingers.

“I can’t. I can’t be better.”

Lanyon was falling.

Above him, the vision of a dormitory spasmed and twitched, darkness invading. Jekyll’s voice echoed, too far away.

“I’m worthless.”

The room disappeared, and Lanyon pitched into the abyss.
-

Jekyll woke up.

Chapter Text

Today was the day, Jekyll thought to himself. The day to get the worst of it over.

Luckett and Sinnett were sitting together in the atrium, laughing with a small group of Lodgers over morning tea. Jekyll hesitated, watching them speak, grin. Was now really the best time? Couldn’t he wait for another hour or so?

No. If he stalled now, he would never take the first step forward. Jekyll shook his head, steeling himself. It had to be now, if not for their sake, for his own.

Plastering a smile across his face, Jekyll descended the stairs and made his way over to the group of Lodgers. Conversation quelled upon his arrival, clusters of eyes narrowing to look his way. Sinnett and Luckett stared at their feet, all previous amiability vanishing.

He tried not to let it affect him, at least not visibly. Clearing his throat, he said, “I hope you’re all having a nice morning. Thank you for helping out with the cleanup yesterday.” A couple nods and the slight murmur of “No problem, mate,” answered him, quickly followed by silence. His ears flushed. “Luckett, Sinnett, could you join me in the next room?”

Jekyll did not miss the way they stiffened, looking at one another with wide, anxious eyes. That wasn’t fair, he thought, petulance bitter on his tongue. He hadn’t done anything to incite this reaction. Never once had he been anything but forgiving in the face of a scientific mishap.

They followed him without complaint. Once reaching their more secluded spot, Jekyll spoke up. “Alright, you two. Would you care to inform me about what happened yesterday?” He tried to keep his voice light, but it sounded off, even to his own ears.

“It was an accident,” Sinnett said, voice low. “We didn’t mean for the bomb to detonate right then.”

“And we’re sorry for all of the trouble we’ve caused,” Luckett tacked on hastily.

Jekyll frowned. The two men looked scared out of their wits.

“It’s not the bomb I’m concerned with,” he said, slow. “It’s the time and place of the incident.”

They glanced at one another, faces pale. Jekyll’s stomach dropped and he fought for composure. They were hiding something from him.

“We thought,” Luckett said, words dragged out of his mouth at a torturously reluctant pace, “that you wouldn’t want us working on our own projects so soon after the exhibition. Especially if that project was a bomb. And you were going to be close by, since you were helping Miss Ito and all, so we went upstairs.” He looked away from Jekyll, hands wringing. “We didn’t think it was going to explode.”

“Sorry for sneaking around behind your back,” Sinnett muttered.

Something inside Jekyll shattered. Was it pride? Self-esteem? Trust? He swallowed it down, the sharp shards of emotion clawing at his throat. It hurt. It hurt like a punch to the throat, a knife in the side. He was stunned by how much it hurt, the magnitude of the pain.

Things really were this bad, weren’t they?

Jekyll drew in a deep breath. The smile on his face felt hollow, plastic, but he clung to it like a lifeline. “I see. Well, I feel as though I should not need to remind you of the importance of a laboratory. Those spaces are designed to absorb the impact of a detonation; the rest of the building is not. We’re lucky that the explosion was not too strong, or we could be facing some serious damage.”

The pair nodded.

Jekyll went on, voice airy. “Also, while you are correct that commissions should often take precedence, it is also important to complete your own work and answer your own questions. As long as you finish your responsibilities, I will not… micromanage, so to say.” He laughed, the sound falling flat.

The Lodgers looked at him as though he had spoken in gibberish. Perhaps he had laughed too hard.

Jekyll shook his head, face burning. “I hope that you two have learned your lesson. I trust we will not have an incident like this again.” Never mind their lack of faith in him, their unfounded fear of punishment, their choice to evade and disobey rather than face the possibility of rejection. If he was to win back their affections, a thirty minute lecture boiling down to ‘you hurt my feelings’ would be counterproductive.

They blinked. After a moment of standing there, each waiting for the other to speak, Sinnett piped up. “Is… is that all?”

Jekyll nodded, heart racing. He really should give them a talking-to, he knew that very well, but he couldn’t find the strength within himself to do it. “You may return to your friends.”

Sinnett and Luckett looked at one another again, then turned to him, sheer confusion written all over their faces. “We blew up half of the second storey.”

Jekyll tipped his head to the side, taken aback. “Are you asking for further punishment?”

They shook their heads quickly but the befuddlement remained. “No, sir. Just, uh… sorry again,” Luckett said. They started back to the atrium, glancing over their shoulders once. Judging by their expressions, all of his efforts to be a cool, collected leader had been in vain. Wonderful.

Perhaps things weren’t going to get better so quickly, after all.

Jekyll sighed, the hollow of his chest achingly empty. He could not see the Lodgers in the room over, unable to overcome their towering barrier. Unable to scrounge together the will to attempt such a feat. He stood there a moment, disgust rising like bile in his throat. It snagged against flesh, lodging there when he tried to swallow it down. Jekyll stewed in the disgust for a moment before turning on his heel and ascending the stairs.

Lanyon would be there soon. He might as well get started on the paperwork now so he could spend some time on a proper apology following his friend’s arrival.

Guilt curdled alongside disgust. He had been a terrible friend yesterday. Hopefully Lanyon was no longer angry with him, though the possibility was unlikely. Robert was never one to let go of a grudge easily.

The door clicked shut behind him. The room was still, hanging on the precipice of a breath, exactly as he had left it. Jekyll settled into his chair, sliding the topmost paper from the stack of documents and huddling over the page.

Loneliness nagged at the back of Jekyll’s mind, itching and insistent. It was fine, Jekyll thought. Robert would arrive soon enough.

So he worked. Waited.

Jekyll worked for a very long while. After completing the first document, he reached for the next, then the next, the next, the next. By the time he finally heard a voice from the entryway, he was so absorbed in his efforts that he had almost forgotten about the biting sting in his chest.

“Working all alone, eh?”

Jekyll swiveled in his chair, perhaps too quickly to retain any semblance of nonchalance, hope leaping and swelling and crashing over him like a wave. He looked to the door to find the source of the voice, and yet…

He was met with his own shadow.

“It seems you’ve been stood up,” Hyde sneered, grin much too wide for his face.

The hope receded. Jekyll sunk down in his seat, a scowl darkening over his countenance. “Quiet, Hyde. He could be running late, that’s all.”

Hyde scoffed. His eyes sparkled with delight, chest puffing out with a sense of self importance foreign to his maker. “Running late?” he crowed, laughter eating away at his words. “Oh, dear Henry. You poor thing. It is a treat to see you struggle with the truth so desperately.”

Jekyll rolled his eyes. “He might still show.”

“I highly doubt that,” Hyde sing-songed. “Don’t tell me you’ve been so infatuated with work that you’ve grown deaf to the ticking of a clock. Robert Lanyon is not known for working late into the night, now is he?”

Jekyll’s heart dropped. A glance out the window confirmed his fears: day had come and gone. The sun winked behind the horizon, descending until the last rays struggled to peek out from the London skyline. The bustling city had shut its doors, the clang of bells and the calls of vendors now replaced by the click of hooves against cobblestone, horses drawing the last carriages of the day toward vacant, waiting homes.

Hyde was telling the truth. Lanyon was not going to show up.

“Like I said,” came the sneering voice, “you’re waiting for the impossible. All this wasted time truly is a testament to how little he cares for you.” Hyde cocked his head, smirk never falling from his lips. “You really are all alone, Dr. Jekyll.”

“Go away,” Jekyll said, rubbing at his temples.

“Why should I? Tormenting you is my job, and these are fairly easy pickings, wouldn’t you say?” The shadow’s flashing grin scorched itself behind Jekyll’s eyelids. “After all, you brought all this upon yourself. All I’m doing is pointing out the obvious.”

Jekyll shook his head, glaring at the silhouette. “Because this could very well mean nothing. Robert has walked out on paperwork many times. Perhaps it’s the same now.”

“But he’s angry with you,” Hyde teased. “Because you left him for work. You think he’s going to help you with paperwork after that? That’s like setting a date for your husband to hook up with a random girl he picked up off the street.”

Jekyll pulled a face. “Don’t be vulgar.”

“What I mean is, it’s unlikely.”

“We don’t know, Hyde. This speculation is useless.”

“I don’t think Lanyon is the type of guy to support your infidelity.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Jekyll said, voice strained. “Please stop talking.”

Hyde’s laughter echoed around the room, sharp against the soft gray pouring through the window. “Fine. Enjoy being alone.”

Jekyll rolled his eyes. As if he’d choose Hyde over isolation.

Still, the disgust rising in his throat could not be quelled. The guilt. The loneliness. It all stuck there, swelling until he couldn’t breathe, burning. Searing a hole into his chest that he was unable to fill. It gaped. It bled.

Perhaps Lanyon would arrive tomorrow.
-

Robert Lanyon must have lost his mind.

The door was shut and locked, unbudging despite his panicked heaving and banging. He felt as though he had spent hours at this door, though there was no clock or sunlight to determine this by, and despite his constant efforts the door simply would not open. He was trapped.

Lanyon’s heart pounded in his chest, almost as loud as the pounding of his fists, louder. This couldn’t possibly be real. Waves of panic roiled over him, crashing against his ears and blurring his vision and pushing into his throat until he couldn’t breathe. He was going to die here. He was going to die.

He wasn’t alone in this room. There were many others trapped behind that door and just thinking about them made his head spin and his stomach lurch. Lanyon had seen his… fellow guests once and promptly made the decision not to turn around again. The first time he saw them he scared himself so badly that he had almost fainted on the spot. They hadn’t killed him yet, but Lanyon wouldn’t be surprised if they did. So he pounded on the door and yelled until his voice went hoarse.

He had stuck to that plan for so long that a sense of dread had ample time to set in. Nobody was coming to save him. He was going to die in here.

For what seemed like the millionth time since he had woken up, Lanyon thought back to what had happened.

It came to him in pieces, broken and scattered, creating a nonsensical mosaic of events that Lanyon couldn’t quite bring himself to believe. He had to have remembered something incorrectly. It couldn’t be right. It clung to his memory all the same.

He remembered the explosion clearly. The disappointment, the guilt, the dejection; it lingered, bitter against his tongue. Jekyll had abandoned their day together in favor of his job and Lanyon had completely ignored his. If he had simply done his job… The walls shook, glass bottles shattered, and the world descended into a thick, smothering fog. Everything was hazy from there; Lanyon was pretty sure that Jekyll had inadvertently drugged him with the bottles upon bottles of chemicals he stored in the now useless glass cabinets. It must have been the fumes, he thought, shame rising in his throat, which scrambled his brain. He should have known better. He should have been cautious, certainly more cautious than he had been.

The delirious wandering which followed must have veered from his usual path. He had been lost, he remembered that. The sky breathed him in and he had melted with the sun.

Lanyon shook his head, cheeks scalding. He had been high. He had navigated the London streets while high and now look where that got him. He beat at the door, forehead falling against the rigid wood. He was so stupid. So amazingly stupid that he could hardly believe the breadth of his stupidity. He was going to die for it.

He had dreamt after passing out. It was an odd dream, if he remembered correctly, one full of nonsense. He cringed away from the thought of it, afraid to delve in too deeply. He had been in his old dorm room with Jekyll. He had expressed his feelings for him. He had kissed him.

Lanyon shuddered, fingertips digging into the door. It was pathetic, really. After all this time, after all they had become, after the day he had just experienced… he should really just let it go. Maybe this time reality would be enough to snap him out of it.

Well, you know, if reality didn’t involve dying or being sent to the looney bin.

What came after must have been a dream as well, though it certainly didn’t feel like one. He had fallen. The bed he was sitting on disintegrated and he pitched into the abyss and next thing you know he had fallen down a stairwell. He shook his head, a vehement breath ripped from his lungs. No, he hadn’t fallen down a stairwell, he had been sucked down it. Sucked right into this room, which shut and locked behind him. Effectively trapping him here.

Perhaps he was still dreaming.

Lanyon drew his arm back and slapped himself across the face. His palm connected with his cheek in a resounding smack, white-hot fireworks searing the skin. He swore, doubling over in pain, each breath a shuddering hiss between his teeth. His cheek throbbed, his heart pounded, and yet he was still here. Lucid dreaming would be a believable explanation if he could just wake the hell up.

The corner of his eye caught a gleam of red, a flash of teeth. Lanyon stumbled back and pressed himself against the door, willing it to open with every fiber of his being. It remained stubbornly shut.

He had either lost it or he was going to die. There was no way that he was actually seeing the monstrosities before him, and if he was, there was no way that he would be leaving this room alive.

Half obscured by shadow, a bleeding mound of flesh blinked at him, one eye at a time.

“What are you?” Lanyon choked, dizzy.

It grinned.

“Answer me,” he pleaded, “I beg of you. What are you?”

Its grin widened with a sickening squelch, yet it did not reply.

He must have gone mad. A laugh bubbled in his lungs and scrabbled out of his throat, hysterical even to his own ears. His hands clawed at the doorknob, wiggling it furiously, and still the door did not open. This couldn’t be real. There was no way this was real, there was no way he was still alive! All around him writhed visions of gore, spiders, straight-jacketed corpses; they stared at him with too many eyes. They grinned at him with too many teeth. They bled and crawled and Lanyon was trapped. Why wouldn’t the godforsaken door open?

Every last ounce of strength seeped from Lanyon’s bones. His legs shook and gave out beneath him, eyes still glued to the nightmares crowding before him as he crumpled. There was no escape from this madness, this horror. What followed would either be a loss of self or a loss of life. Both outcomes would certainly be gruesome.

Lanyon drew his legs to his chest, hiding his face in his arms. He might as well wait and see what happened. It wasn’t as if he had any other option.

It was quiet for a long while as he sat there, save the hammering of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears. He couldn’t hear himself breathe over the sound of it, yet he could feel the silence surrounding him as if it was a physical, tangible thing enveloping him. Strangling him. Every now and again the dripping of liquid would shatter the hushed atmosphere, sounding too viscous to be anything pleasant. Goosebumps shivered on his arms each time the liquid would drip, his heart beating faster when it ceased. Lanyon didn’t know which was worse: the dripping or the silence.

The nightmares weren’t killing him.

Lanyon realized this with a start, eyes widening in the cradle of his arms. Was he safe? Was he crazy? Were they biding their time until they got hungry? Slowly, he lifted his head.

About two inches from his nose sat what looked to have once been a dog. Its fur had rotted, its skin sagged from the bone, but most disturbingly, its face was riddled with maggots so large they swarmed the features and protruded like tentacles. In the middle of the mess of worms rested a large, unblinking eye.

Lanyon stared back at the dog for what felt like ages, face sallow and mouth painfully dry. Oddly, disturbingly, something about it felt strangely familiar. He cleared his throat, voice wobbling. “It’s quite rude to stare, you know.”

The eye did not blink, nor did the dog move from its spot, but the maggots wriggled and Lanyon took that as answer enough. It did not care much for social convention.

How inconvenient. Lanyon scowled, hands trembling. “I would really appreciate it if you took a step back. That would be lovely.”

The dog did not move.

“I’m not going to pet you and I would prefer not to be eaten, thank you very much.”

Not even a blink of acknowledgement. Lanyon rolled his eyes, pressing his body impossibly further against the door. If these demons were going to kill him, they could at least have the mercy not to draw it out so cruelly. There was no need for this dramatic flair.

And then, as if each and every one of his prayers had been answered, the door swung open.

Lanyon yelped, limbs flailing as he toppled backward. He hit the ground hard, too taken aback to brace himself in time, and for a moment, as he gazed into a spiralling freedom, he wondered if he had knocked himself out again.

He was outside of the room.

Lanyon scrambled to his feet, a giddy elation welling up in his chest. It expelled as laughter, much less hysterical this time but no more collected. He had escaped the god-awful room. He could evade the monsters. He…

He was still trapped.

The joy faded, his smile falling gracelessly from his lips. Lanyon glanced around, hope growing dimmer and dimmer the more he saw. He was in a spiral staircase, one identical to the staircase he had been sucked down after his nonsensical dream. Though some part of him clutched onto the hope that it was a sign of continued dreaming, this all felt much too real.

He had escaped simply to find himself imprisoned by a larger cage.

Perhaps there was still a chance at freedom, he thought, optimism strained and tearing at the seams. The staircase had to lead somewhere, and, conveniently, a sea of white light glowed at the end. There must’ve been something there. He just had to reach it.

Lanyon took a step before hesitating, unease grating in his gut. He turned back to the maggot-dog. “Are you just going to sit there?”

The dog wagged its tail once before the entire limb fell off, rolling into the shadows. Lanyon grimaced and started up the steps.

He ascended the stairs slowly. The closer he got to the top of the stairs the brighter the light grew, and he was perplexed to see that the light itself was the destination instead of its byproduct. He took the stairs step by step, anticipation mounting in his chest, nerves frayed and sparking, chest rising and falling with increased intensity. What if the light was the end? What if he was trapped here until his death? Or, worst of all, what if there was something on the other side of the light, something besides the outside world? What if he crossed the barrier just to find himself trapped inside another jail?

Lanyon couldn’t breathe. He reached the top of the stairs, every atom of his being buzzing with hope and dread. He lifted his hand and reached out to touch the light. His fingertips dipped into it easily, buzzing. Distant.

He drew his hand back and studied it, examining the skin for any blemish, any discoloration, any sign that what lay beyond should remain beyond. Nothing.

Capturing his breath and clutching it tightly within his lungs, Lanyon gritted his teeth and stepped into the light.

Just like that, surreality took hold.

Lucidity merged and split, reconstructing into something much more fantastical, much more hazy. Colors blended and pulsed, vibrant, blurred, clear. Lanyon couldn’t feel his limbs. They floated lazily by his sides; were they attached? Were they his? He reclined into the weightless tug upward, swallowed by light and color and a buzzing cold which blanked his mind to make room for blinding hues and deafening quietude. Lanyon's mind scattered from his fingertips like a school of frightened minnows. He floated. He fell. He breathed.

A world of sensation materialized before him.

Lanyon was at a party.
-

The room was crowded, stuffed with bodies and congested with noise. Polite laughter and smalltalk pervaded the room, mingling and churning, crashing in waves. The lights throbbed, vivid colors warring in the sweep of a dress, the pound of the lights, the glare of two champagne flutes clinking and jerking away from one another. Sweating skin was trapped beneath a fitted suit, cheeks flushed from both the heat and the embarrassment of being hot. It was chaos. Organized, addictive chaos.

Jekyll was at a party.

“It was generous of your father to invite us to this gathering,” Jekyll murmured. He turned and Lanyon was by his side, eyes wandering from the throng of dancers, the chandelier, his face.

“I would much rather be anywhere else,” came the dazed reply. Sympathy washed over Jekyll and he took a step away, the world somehow shifting to the right, the room around him writhing. Robert always despised parties. It was cruel for his father to keep inviting him.

Jekyll would much rather be alone with Lanyon than at a party.

Duty shook the thought from his mind. No, no, he mustn’t think like that. Annoyance flashed through him, white hot and blinding, narrowing his eyes and quirking the edges of his mouth into a scowl. These parties were important. Lanyon’s disdain shouldn’t sway him, shouldn’t knock him off track.

The Society came first.

The Society always came first.

Grief welled up from the hidden cavities of his chest, burning as it climbed up his throat, potent against the backs of his teeth. He couldn’t explain it but he knew the grief well, he understood it. Perhaps he couldn’t remember, but he knew. He knew. It was a sacrifice, Jekyll thought, a sacrifice he couldn’t place a finger on but was well acquainted with anyhow. A sacrifice he had come to regret again and again yet he continued to make.

He turned to look at Lanyon. The man’s face was vacant, eyes trailing after the languid turn of his head like his mind was struggling to catch up with his eyes. It was a different look than the one he usually wore at parties like these. It was beautiful nonetheless.

Jekyll couldn’t remember why he had ever chosen the Society over Lanyon.

He took a step closer to the man at his side, peripheral going silent, blurred. The party fell away and it was just him and Lanyon, only them, together. Robert had yet to meet his gaze. Jekyll took another step forward, feet stumbling as though they were foreign to the magnet lodged in his gut, tethering them together, wresting him toward his beloved.

For a small eternity it was just them. Jekyll reaching out, each step spanning miles yet bringing him no closer. Lanyon standing still, utterly unaware. The rest of the universe ceased to exist between them.

Then Robert returned his stare. He frowned slightly, eyes empty and wandering, searching for something to fill the abyssal pupils. He spoke. The words were slow, his mouth struggled against the shapes of the vowels.

“What are you still doing here?”

The illusion snapped. Sound flooded back to him in a gust of blinding light, shimmering chandeliers, a discordance between laughter and sharp tones. Someone stepped into him from behind and he jolted forward, spinning on his heel to apologize for the obtrusion. When he turned back, Lanyon was looking at him with a small smile. His heart seized up in his chest.

“Dr. Jekyll?” The voice was sweet, sickeningly so. Jekyll turned to face the source of it and was met with a young lady, Miss Emma, her blonde hair gleaming in the light of the chandelier and her eyes fluttering, so wide, so questioning. They drew him into her orbit and lodged him there. “I had been hoping to see you.”

“Miss Emma!” The words spewed from his mouth without his volition, practiced, close to believable. He could feel Lanyon’s gaze boring into the side of his face. “It is a pleasure to meet you here. Might I be graced with the honour of a dance?” His hand extended of its own accord. It was unfamiliar to him. Mechanical. Alien.

She blushed, giggled, accepted his hand with an iron grasp, shackles of a grip leading him onto the floor. Jekyll couldn’t bring himself to look at Lanyon but he could feel his scrutiny, hot and itching at the skin. Inquisitive. Condemning.

Another gaze had joined Lanyon’s stare.

Jekyll flinched, tearing his eyes away from Emma and scouring the room for the origin of the attention. The dance began and they whirled across the floor, apprehension mounting in Jekyll’s lurching lungs, head frenzied on a swivel. Someone else was watching him. Who was watching him?

The world folded and unfurled with each turn, expanding and drawing away with each step forward, back. Breath was caught in place, dizzied by the motions, dizzied by the pace of his footsteps, dizzied by the warp of his body with every spin. His eyes could not log onto those which watched him. The room refused to blur as he spun.

In the midst of the movement, the rest of the room slowed to a stop.

Jekyll tugged at the confines of the dance but they would not yield. The realization that he was trapped in a dance dawned on him with icy panic, horror melting against the gazes on his neck, his face. One by one, each of the guests turned to look at him.

The party had morphed into an ocean of eyes.

What were they staring at? Why were they staring? Jekyll fought against Miss Emma’s hands and found himself powerless to their fetters. The dance would not let up. He turned to his partner to protest, to demand she release him, but he found himself in the company of another.

Oh, he thought, dazed. So that’s why everyone was staring.

Dear God, he was ruined.

The words bubbled from his mouth, garbled and panicked. “No,” he started, the sound laced with a mad sort of desperation. “It’s not what it looks like. I’m not like him.”

They whisked across the floor and the eyes continued to stare.

“I’m not like him!” Jekyll cried, failing to wrench his hands from his partner’s. “I’m not like him!”

The eyes continued to stare.

“I’m a good man!”

The eyes-

“I’m good!”

Eyes blazed against his skin, flaring from all directions. The air smelled like smoke. Jekyll couldn’t breathe through it, he writhed in the scalding heat. He was being burned alive.

Moreau would not let him go.

“Good God, somebody help me!”

The throng of onlookers parted, toppled to the side in waves of disturbance as a different hand wrapped around his wrist, stronger than the chains which rooted him in place. It tugged him forward and he staggered away from the dance. He ran through the hall, fingers intertwined with his savior’s, chest heaving with doomed freedom, the party shrinking behind him. The stares pursued him as he ran, step after step, watching. Moreau's glare stood out among the rest. It burned, the intensity kindling beneath his skin, an agonizing lick of flame. He squeezed his eyes closed and pushed against the exit.

The doors slammed shut behind them. The grip on his wrist loosened and Jekyll pitched forward, hands leaning on his knees as he fought for composure, fought to quell the mad laugh swelling within his throat. He took a breath. Another. The dizzied spin of the world slowed to a stop. The night air was sweet on his lips, chilled against his heated skin. He drank it in.

He revelled in the quietude. It was a balm to the scorching stares, a sanctuary from the eyes. The moonlight was tangible on his skin, liquid pouring and soaking and flowing through him. For a moment, Jekyll wondered if he had awakened. The thought fizzled away like seafoam.

Finally, he looked up. Lanyon watched the night sky with the same vacancy as before, head slowly falling to his shoulder. Starlight washed over him, dimming his skin and shining in his hair. Jekyll bit back a sob.

“Why?” he whispered.

Lanyon turned to him, a small smile floating on his lips. “You said it yourself. You’re a good man, Henry. You’re nothing like him.”

Jekyll’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“You were right.”

It dropped.

Jekyll started with panic, daylight squinting his eyes and an ache in his lower back crunching him forward. He panted, the chirping of robins and blackbirds lost to the rush of air in his ears, the throbbing against his ribcage. He sat there a moment, propped against his desk, eyes closed and breathing as the morning materialized around him.

The dream buzzed before his eyes, images dissolving the moment they left his attention. Jekyll shuddered, shoulders relaxing and slumping forward.

The beat of his pulse died away, yet the sound of pounding remained.

Jekyll glanced toward the door, watching in confusion as it rattled on its hinges. He lifted himself from his chair, joints crying out in an agonizing chorus, and made his way across his office. He opened the door and found himself face to face with Everly.

“Everly? What a surprise,” Jekyll began, stepping back to allow her entry into his office. She peeked around him, surveying the room with a sort of intensity that Jekyll could not comprehend so near to his waking. “Do you need anything?”

Everly straightened up. “Is Robert here?” she asked, voice rising. “He hasn’t come home.”

Jekyll felt like he was drowning.

Chapter Text

Breath whistled down Jekyll’s throat, thin and numbing. His head struggled to keep up with the fluttering of his lungs and sent him sprawling through weightlessness and static, colors blooming behind his eyes. Each direction he looked was another evil. His eyes flickered from side to side, his head turned on a swivel, and yet… and yet-

Familiarity was a curse. It teased him, lured him further, urged him to scrutinize where nothing could be found. It tempted his desperation with each nook and cranny until he could reach out and feel for a divergence with his eyes shut, foraging within the confines of his memory. And yet-

It felt like some sort of nightmare. He wanted to believe it was. With the haze of his eyes, the clouding of panic, the way the world spun with him at the center, he could almost convince himself that he was caught within some terrible, terrible dream. Yet.

No matter where Jekyll looked, he was not there.

Lanyon was missing.

The morning expired as Jekyll searched. He scoured Lanyon’s favourite haunts, asked around for any recent sightings of his friend, paced the streets, inspected alleyways, retraced his steps. At first he clung onto hope like a lifeline, assuring himself with the unlikelihood of any real danger. That hope drained along with the hours. It became increasingly obvious that Lanyon was nowhere to be found.

When Jekyll remembered his friend’s odd behavior following the explosion, he was so immediately filled with dread that he shook from the impact, panic thick in his throat. What if he had gotten hurt? Lanyon had recounted that there were no damages to the room and Jekyll hadn’t seen any debris or agents of danger while he was inside, but it was an explosion! Anything could have gone wrong!

And yet he had let him leave.

“Some friend you are,” Hyde sneered, voice bubbling into a laugh. “Lanyon’s probably dead in a ditch as we speak.”

Jekyll felt ill. Lanyon could be in serious danger if he had gotten hurt in the explosion. What if he had hit his head? Bled out in the street? Jekyll’s stomach twisted at the thought. He had known something was wrong with his friend when he left. God, why didn’t he do anything if he had known that something was wrong?

“If he does die,” Hyde continued gleefully, “his blood will be on your hands. Isn’t that a lovely thought?”

“Shut up,” Jekyll muttered, turning down a painfully familiar street. “We don’t know anything yet. He could be staying with his father or taking a well needed vacation. As of right now, there’s not enough information to draw any conclusions.”

Hyde laughed, his grin gleaming like a scythe in the corners of Jekyll’s vision. “You’re not an idiot, doctor. Do you really think you can fool yourself so easily?”

He wished he could.

Jekyll squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, attempting to dislodge the thoughts before they took hold. Panicking certainly wouldn’t do. If he wanted to find Lanyon, he needed to calm down.

Footsteps approached his back, stuttering to a halt. “Have you had any luck?”

Jekyll’s heart sank at the tone of Everly’s voice. He turned to face her, dread washing over him in suffocating waves. “I wish I could say I had. It’s as if he’s completely vanished. I couldn’t find any trace of him anywhere and nobody could point me in his direction.” He was so tired. His face betrayed his exhaustion in lines, shadows, charcoal smudged over pallid, moon-soaked skin.

Dull eyes fluttered shut. “So, what now?” Her voice was heavy with resignation, frame bowing beneath the weight of it.

“I sent a letter to his father informing him of the situation. We should file a missing persons report while we wait for his response.”

Everly shook her head, stunned. “This is all so sudden. I can hardly believe he’s gone.”

Guilt tore a gaping hole in Jekyll’s chest, eating through his lungs and tearing his heart from its jail. It flowed like poison through his veins, coloring his face with shame. “I should have looked after him. He seemed dazed when he left the Society. There was an explosion.” He swallowed. The words stuck in his throat, barbed and bitter. “It was my duty to make sure he was alright.”

“You think he was injured?”

The gouge in his chest ripped farther, deeper. “I can’t think of any other cause.”

Everly paused. Looked at him for a moment. When she finally spoke, the words drawn from her lips were hesitant. "You shouldn’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

Silence. Jekyll couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.

Finally, he turned away. “We should file that report.”
-

The Society was eerily quiet.

Jekyll stepped past the entrance doors, suspicion gathering and condensing as he surveyed the empty hallways. The area was completely devoid of life save the distant echo of a laugh, the subdued clang of metal on metal, a conversation sheltered behind closed doors. He strained to hear more and was met with silence.

Something wasn’t right.

Part of Jekyll shrivelled in on himself, exhaustion eating away at his will until his bones crumbled to dust and any shred of light left in his eyes blinked out. The feeling overpowered him for a moment. It swept him off his feet and dragged his mind far away from the rest of his body until he could only stand there, paralyzed by the sheer breadth of his own surrender. He wanted to turn on his heel and lock himself in his office for the rest of the foreseeable future. He wanted to walk away. He wanted to give up.

The more sensible part of Jekyll–the part half dissolved in guilt– shook him from his stupor. It was his job to keep trying. If he turned away from his duties for even a moment he risked the worst. He had already learned his lesson the hard way, thank you very much. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Taking a deep breath, Jekyll steeled himself for the second investigation of the day.

The atrium was abandoned, chairs neatly pushed in and countertops cleared of dishes, crumbs, any sign that the Lodgers had eaten their breakfast there a mere few hours ago. Perhaps that was to be expected, Jekyll mused, but the complete lack of life was a far cry from normal. The usually bustling hallways had drained, though the labs were empty as well. Jekyll peeked through a doorway, glancing around for a Lodger, a half-finished project, a light. Nothing.

He could still hear the chatter from further inside the Society, muffled as it was. The leaden fears in his stomach solidified, heavy and sinking down, down. The Lodgers were all together and he did not know why.

Jekyll began his slow walk down the hallway, all the while attempting to quell the sharp claws of hurt tearing at his seams. Each step echoed against the walls of the vacant hallway, a reminder amidst the silence that he was completely alone. The voices further down were growing in volume. The sound of his footsteps shrank beneath the increasing noise.

The door at the end of the hall–the door to Luckett’s laboratory, Jekyll realized– swung open. Cantilupe and Lavender stepped out, smiles pulling at their cheeks as they spoke animatedly, gesturing to one another in large, excited motions. Jekyll froze. They shut the door and turned, eyes widening and smiles faltering as they caught sight of the approaching doctor.

They bowed their heads as they scurried past him, indiscreetly peeking over their shoulders as they went.

Well, that confirmed it. Anger and hurt mingled to flush his face, dragging him back up a peak of emotion, the view from the top threatening to dizzy him. The overwhelm of the day settled in easily, finding space to fit between his guilt and his loneliness. Jekyll stalked forward, unable to think through the intensity, unable to hear past the rush of his pulse in his ears. He reached the door to Luckett’s lab and stopped.

He couldn’t let them see him like this. The thought was clear against the muddied mess of his mind, startling him into lucidity. He paused with his hand just above the doorknob, vehemence swelling and ebbing with each passing second as he took a moment to observe the tides. It flared up with a sharp cry in his chest, a wail at the unfairness of it all. Lanyon was missing. He shouldn’t have to deal with this right now, not ever. At least not until Robert was safe and well. Didn’t they care that their co-leader had gone missing? Didn’t they know?

Except they didn’t know, because he had never told them. The anguish receded and Jekyll took in a large, shuddering breath. He willed the tides to stop in their motions, to freeze in place and allow him a moment to gain some semblance of control over himself. The feelings burned at his fingertips but did not dare to creep any farther.

He took another breath. Blinked until his eyes had cleared. Then he grasped the doorknob and opened the door.

All eyes swivelled to meet his. He was correct, he thought, though he knew that already. The entirety of the Society was crammed into one laboratory and they all stared at him like they had been caught. As if everyone was in on some secret but he and only he was an intruder.

Well, that was likely what it was, wasn’t it?

As if snapped out of a daze, Pennebrygg began to speak. “Thanks for the parts, mate. That will work quite fine with my automations.” He made his way to the door, expression unreadable. Jekyll stepped to the side and allowed him to pass.

“Right!” Archer stuttered, wide eyes flicking from side to side. “Thanks a lot! I… uh… should be going back to my lab now.” He looked to Luckett and nodded clumsily, following Pennebrygg’s lead out the door. Luckett raised his hand in acknowledgment, face grim.

One by one, the Loders departed with mumbled excuses, none of them able to meet Jekyll’s flat stare. He let them all go wordlessly, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Not even Ito dared to speak to him as she left, though she didn’t endeavor to create a hasty justification for herself, either. She left quietly, head high and facing away from her mentor.

Soon the room had almost completely drained, leaving him and Luckett alone in the lab. Finally, Jekyll allowed himself to speak.

“Would you care to explain what all that was about?” His voice was quiet, steady.

Luckett looked away, gaze trained on what must have been a very interesting wall. “I was helping out some friends. I just got some new equipment approved and, uh, they wanted to come and check it out.” His tone was unsure, as if he knew that Jekyll would see right through him.

Jekyll did not flinch. “I remember approving your request. How are the new parts?”

Luckett blinked. “They’re fine.”

“Show me.”

Luckett’s eyes snapped to his own, startled. “What?”

“I would like to know what you’re working on, especially if it’s a joint project. It must be quite interesting if it’s gained attention across the Society.” Jekyll’s stare bored into Luckett’s, devoid of his usual cheer. “Show me.”

“Um. Alright.”

Jekyll moved from his spot by the door and joined Luckett at his workbench. The Lodger shuffled his papers around the counter and procured some small pieces of machinery, eyes darting every once in a while to Jekyll’s face. As if he was attempting to get a read on him.

Jekyll would not afford him that luxury. He picked up a diagram, eyes narrowing as he scanned the page. After a moment he set the paper back down, turning to Luckett. “What is this?”

“It’s a trigger mechanism. An igniter, to be specific.”

“Explain it to me.”

Luckett stared at him for a long moment, eyebrows knitting together. “Dr. Jekyll, are you doing okay?” His voice had softened into something like concern.

No, not concern. That was highly improbable, considering the situation.

“I’m perfectly fine. Please explain this igniter to me.”

It took a second for Luckett to tear his gaze from the doctor. When he did, he slid the diagram between them, finger planted beneath an image, directing his attention. His hands were shaking. “Well, it starts with the primer. When the firing pin hits the mercury fulminate, it will make a spark. That spark will light up the nitrocellulose, and, well, you can use the device to create gas. That gas turns a turbine to create energy.” He looked up at Jekyll, swallowing thickly. “I haven’t made the nitrocellulose yet. Last time I tried, I lost control of the temperature and… well…”

“It exploded,” Jekyll finished.

“Right.”

Jekyll turned to Luckett, expression unreadable. “You told me you were making a bomb.”

Luckett wrung his hands together. “It exploded like one, that’s for sure.”

“But it’s not a bomb.”

“No.”

They really wanted to keep him in the dark, didn’t they? Jekyll shook his head, lips pressed tightly together. “What’s it for, then?”

“Huh?”

“The trigger mechanism. What is the trigger mechanism going to be used for?” His voice did not betray his turmoil, remaining even, controlled. He pushed his hurt down and focused on that control. On the machine.

Luckett crossed his arms tightly, rubbing at his arms. “It’s kind of difficult to explain.”

“I’m a patient man.”

“Alright.” The Lodger swallowed again before beginning. “We’re trying to make a machine that can be used for sampling, especially if the sample is dangerous or difficult to obtain. If the subject is introduced to a special formula, this device should make it possible to capture its ‘essence’, so to say. But there have been a few issues so far.”

Jekyll’s heart dropped. He had all the experience, knowledge, and materials necessary for this project. He could help and they hadn’t even asked.

But the Lodgers had no way of knowing that this was nearly his area of expertise. He couldn’t blame them for their oversight, could he? They had no idea how badly he would want to work on this project, no idea what being left out of this would mean to him. He had purposefully hidden his science from them just as they had hidden their project from him. It was only fair that he would suffer this consequence.

Still, he had no idea why they would hide this project from him in the first place.

Luckett turned to him, apology clear in his face. “That’s why everyone’s working on it. Everyone either has something to add to this invention or something to gain from it.”

“I see.” Jekyll stepped away from Luckett, attempting a smile. It fell flat on his lips, too forced to be natural. “That is certainly an interesting concept. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors.”

Luckett’s mouth fell slightly ajar, eyes widening.

“However,” Jekyll continued, “I would request that you inform me of your projects next time. And do keep me updated on this one. I should be able to help out if necessary.” His smile faltered. “Who knows, I might be of some use.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Jekyll dipped his head and exited the laboratory.

The walk back to his office was painful, to say the least. He could feel the Lodger’s stares on him through the windows of their laboratories, he could hear their whispers as they passed him in the hall. He could only imagine the things they feared. Was he angry? Would he confiscate their equipment? Kick them out? Jekyll passed quietly, eyes trained on the path forward.

He had enough for one day.

Jekyll stepped into his office, closing the door behind him. Silence. The emotions he had quelled emerged once more, fiery and sharp, burning and prodding him until he could do nothing but close his eyes and bear the brunt of it. Lanyon was missing. The Lodgers hated him. All of it was due to his own mistakes.

He truly was a failure on all fronts.

Jekyll opened his eyes and turned to his desk, making his way to the chair. He sat down with a sigh and reached for his pen. There was work to be done; a hard day didn’t change that. It was better than speaking to the Lodgers, anyway.

It was afternoon when Jekyll had reached his office, and he was content to spend the rest of his day there. There was enough paperwork to pass the hours, enough responsibility to engage his mind. It was quite nice, actually. He didn’t have to think about anything else while he worked.

By the time Hyde piped up, the afternoon had dissolved into dusk.

“Don’t tell me that you’re still working, doctor,” Hyde sneered. “After all that’s happened today you’d think a bit of a break would be in order, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” Jekyll said, clipped. “I’m content to keep working, thank you very much.”

Hyde scowled, shifting closer to Jekyll. “I think a break sounds like an enticing offer. You certainly need one. You spent your whole morning running around the streets of London and when you returned to the Society–empty handed, might I add– you were met with open hostility.” His voice went syrupy sweet, oozing with false sympathy. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you relax? Hand over the reins to me for a bit? You know it’ll make you feel better.”

“I can’t deal with you right now, Hyde,” Jekyll said, leaning over his paperwork. “Go away.”

Hyde gasped, hand pressed to his chest. “I don’t understand why you’re so resistant to my help. I just want what’s best for you.”

“You’ve never wanted that a day in your life. Cut the melodrama.”

Hyde glared. “This seems like an offer you should take, doctor. Even if I want it for purely selfish reasons, you can’t deny it would help you unwind.”

Jekyll slammed his hands against the desk and whirled to face his shadow. “I am stressed out of my mind, Hyde. Keeping myself busy is the only thing that has worked thus far to get myself to stop thinking about it. Watching you be idle and stupid for a night while my best friend could possibly be dying is the last thing that I want to do!”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit. Letting me out works. It always works. That’s why you do it so often.”

“Secondly,” Jekyll continued, “I have alerted Scotland Yard of a missing person, so they are likely scouring the area for him as we speak. Letting you out would land both of us in jail!”

Hyde scoffed, flipping his wrist. “I can evade a couple of coppers.”

“I’m not risking it. Go away, Hyde.” Jekyll shook his head and sat back down, returning to his paperwork.

“C’mon Jekyll, don’t be like that! I’ll be careful!”

Jekyll continued to read the form in front of him.

“You’re wasting away here! Don’t you want to loosen up? Stop being so tightly strung? You must be exhausted! You know I can help with that!”

Jekyll flipped the page over and signed on the line before depositing it into a small stack of papers.

“I can even look for Lanyon while I’m out!”

Jekyll stood, chair screeching as he pushed it back. “I’m getting a drink of water.” He walked out of his office, ignoring Hyde’s protests as he went.

It was a lot later than he thought it was. Jekyll was taken aback by the lack of light filtering through the windows as he made his way to the kitchen and he was just as surprised to find himself yawning. Hyde was right when he said it had been a long, taxing day. Usually the night of sleep prior would be enough to keep him running for a day or two, but he could hardly ignore the fatigue settling deep within his bones. Perhaps he should get some sleep after he fetched his glass of water.

He snuck into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, taking a deep sip. He hadn’t eaten all day, he realized, though it was too late for that now. He would get some breakfast in the morning.

“Dr. Jekyll? What are you doing awake?”

Jekyll turned to see Tanis behind him, who looked just as surprised as he felt. “Oh, Mr. Tanis, you startled me. I was just getting a glass of water.” He gestured to the cup in his hand to prove his point, a weary smile pulling at his lips.

He had hoped that he wouldn’t run into a Lodger while he was out. It seemed luck was not on his side.

“My apologies for alarming you,” Tanis replied. They stood in awkward silence for a moment, but just as Jekyll was about to excuse himself back to his office, the Lodger asked, “Dr. Jekyll, are you alright?”

Jekyll blinked. It was near the last question he expected to get from any of the Lodgers at this moment and it took him a second to compose himself enough to answer. If he was truthful, he would risk driving Tanis even further away from him than he already was. Still, it was hard to ignore the sheer exhaustion which threatened to crumble his whole facade.

He attempted to brighten his smile. “I'm doing fine. Thank you for asking.”

Tanis’s unease deepened. “Are you sure? It’s pretty late and, well, I’ve seen you look better. No offence.”

Jekyll laughed. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m quite alright.”

“If you say so.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“I’ll be returning to my office now. Sleep well.” Jekyll waved at Mr. Tanis and left the room, hurrying the moment he was out of the Lodger’s sight. He didn’t want to risk running into anyone else while he was out. If his countenance was so frightening as to promote questions, it was important that he get some rest.

It was up to him to mend his relationship with the Lodgers. Jekyll was their leader. If he couldn’t be that, he might as well be obsolete.
-

Lanyon was trapped. Again.

The fear he felt had long since melted into frustration. Lanyon sat against the locked door and drew in measured, even breaths. Slowly, he lifted his head and hit it back against the stubborn wood once. Twice.

This didn’t make any sense. It was the second time he had lived through some fever dream and ended up here, locked in a dark, creepy room with a horde of monsters. He didn’t know how, where, or why this was happening but he would like it to stop, thank you very much. He needed to get out of here before this turned into a never-ending cycle of nightmare room to fever dream back to nightmare room.

There was no logical explanation for this. Lanyon pinched at the bridge of his nose, focusing on his breathing. When he left this room, it really did feel like he was dreaming. The world had been hazy, nonsensical. He couldn’t think straight and it felt like he was floating. But he was wide awake now; the moment he had been sucked down the stairwell he was snapped back into complete lucidity. It was highly unlikely that he was still asleep. So what was going on?

He couldn’t shake the feeling that the last dream hadn’t been about him at all.

There were so many things to focus on and yet, for some reason, he kept going back to the way he had seen a completely new side of Jekyll in his dreams that he had never seen in his waking. That all eyes were trained on Jekyll, not him. That Jekyll had screamed about being good. It was strange and completely unlike the qualities of any dream he’s had before.

Lanyon thumped his forehead with the heel of his hand, squeezing his eyes shut. It wasn’t productive to keep entertaining that idea. It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t even know if he had been dreaming or not, so this debate wasn’t going to be of any use to him right now. First and foremost, he needed to find a way out.

He looked up, scowling into the dark room. The maggot-dog’s glowing eyes stared back.

That was the other thing. A sense of familiarity kept creeping over him every time he caught sight of the beast, though he was absolutely positive he had never seen such a monstrosity in his life. Perhaps he had heard of it from somewhere, though he couldn’t fathom from whom. Someone from the Society, most likely. Lanyon shuddered at the thought.

He had to be dreaming. It didn’t matter how lucid he felt or how odd the situations he experienced were. There was no way that the monsters he was trapped with were real.

Lanyon pinched himself for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. The skin burned an angry red and still he did not wake up.

By the time that the door finally swung open, he had yet to wake up.

Lanyon stood clumsily, peering out of the room before glancing back inside. What would happen if he left again? If he walked up that stairwell for a second time? Would he find an exit? Or would he be trapped in another dream?

The maggot-dog was still looking at him.

Lanyon paused.

The maggot-dog continued to stare.

He grimaced.

The glowing eyes didn’t blink.

No. Absolutely not. Lanyon shook his head, attempting to dislodge the idea from his mind. He wouldn’t do that, not in a million years.

But it would give him a better grasp on the situation, wouldn't it?

Lanyon's heart sank, horror rising like bile in his throat. God, he couldn’t believe he was actually going to do it.

He stepped forward, awkwardly crouching down to the creature's height. It wasn’t that small, but he would rather keep his head high above the wriggling mess of parasites. He shuddered, pasting a forced smile to his lips.

“Here, boy.”

The dog cocked its head.

Oh, God. It was actually listening to him. Lanyon had really hoped that it wouldn’t listen to him. He bit back the urge to cry and tried again. “Here, boy.”

The dog remained seated. Perhaps he was too close?

He took a slow step out of the room, putting some distance between himself and the creature. “Here, doggie. Um. Follow me?”

Slowly, with all the horrific sounds of squelching flesh and rattling bones, the maggot-dog took a step forward.

Lanyon cursed himself for ever coming up with such an idiotic idea. “Good. Good dog. I think.”

He really didn’t want to do this. Any attention from this creature felt like the precipice of a slow, painful death, and he certainly didn’t care to spend more time with it than he had to. But it was better than being trapped for all eternity, wasn’t it?

If he could bring the maggot-dog through the barrier, he would find out if it was transported to whatever dream state or alternate reality he went to with him. And that would be a step in the right direction, wouldn’t it?

He didn’t have many options. He might as well make use of the ones he had.

Lanyon glanced up at the spiralling staircase above his head, cringing. This was going to take a while.
-

The scratch of pen against paper filled the room. The noises seemed alive, filling the room until each and every side buzzed with the sound. They scraped and resounded together, growing in volume and swelling until it was impossible to hear past it.

Lanyon opened his eyes. A fog had descended over the room, the abyssal blood of midnight bleeding through the window panes and sweeping him inside with currents of chilled, starlit air. He took a staggering step forward, eyes widening as he waited for his head to catch up with the rest of his body. The curtains fluttered, breathing in and out in ripples of fabric. The world was shaded in gray. Color was soaked with shadow.

The scratching tickling at his ears wrested his drifting attention toward the source.

Lanyon’s eyes moved, disjointed from the rest of his body, head trailing after the pupils. A dwindling light flickered from a desk, glowing against pale skin and yellowing auburn hair into chestnut flame. His neck bent beneath the weight of his turning head until it rested propped against his shoulder. The world lolled to the side, the sight of the office sprawling out in a diagonal horizon.

Ah. He was in Jekyll’s office.

Jekyll sat hunched over his work, pen caught in his fingers as he scribbled furiously, flipping the page over to continue his frenetic work. Lanyon gazed at him for a moment, the night fog blurring his peripheral. With the dying light, it looked as if the doctor was encased in amber.

He discarded his paper into a small pile and reached for another from the stack to his right. Lanyon’s eyes followed it up, up, up, head falling back as he stared further still. The stack disappeared into the inky sky. He tracked it until he could no longer distinguish the white pages from the enveloping, smothering night.

Lanyon’s head rolled back into place, the world blurring and warping until it clicked into position. He took another stuttering step forward. The scratching of Jekyll’s pen ate away at the paper.

“Henry?”

The floating sound of his voice was drowned by the cacophonous scraping.

Lanyon walked forward, ears deaf to the sound of his steps. He stopped behind the chair and leaned on it slightly for support, hands drifting to Jekyll’s shoulders. The warmth seeped through the fabric, igniting a spark of life in the palms, energy whispering through his fingers. He squeezed the stiff muscles between Jekyll’s neck and shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles into his spine, mind going hazy at the lazy, drifting scent of peppermint exhaled by his hair.

He snaked an arm forward and dislodged the pen from Jekyll’s grasp, pressing it firmly against the table. The scratching stopped.

Returning his hand to Jekyll’s shoulder, Lanyon tried again. “Henry?” He kneaded at Jekyll’s shoulders, feeling the man pause beneath his palms.

A faint sigh ambled from Jekyll’s throat, fogging vision like glass. He relaxed and leaned into Lanyon’s touch, head reclining against his friend. “Robert.”

“Henry.” Lanyon smiled, closing his eyes. Peppermint kissed at his cheeks, sweet against his nose.

“I miss you.”

Lanyon cracked his eyes open to find Jekyll turning to face him, back casting a slight shadow against the tower of paperwork. His smile lost its strength, corners of his mouth receding as he gazed into the dull, tired eyes. A wave of exhaustion nearly swept him off balance, the world flinching down, bobbing back up.

“I’m right here.”

It was Jekyll’s turn to smile, close his eyes. He rested his head against Lanyon’s stomach, the back of the chair dissipating like a cloud against an outstretched hand. His words rumbled in his throat when he spoke, glowing against the draping night. “I found you.”

Lanyon continued to massage at his shoulders, the radiance of Jekyll’s voice lighting a grin to his lips. They shared the moment in silence, breathing together. Smiling.

It was all ripped away when Jekyll jolted forward, jumping away from his touch. “That’s-”

He followed Jekyll’s gaze across the room and was met with a gleaming gaze and a wriggling, half-eaten face.

“The maggot-dog,” Lanyon murmured, a nagging itch tugging at his clouded over lucidity. He reached for feeling and it fell away from his fingers.

Jekyll frowned, eyes glued to the monster across the room. “From university.”

Lanyon blinked slowly, confusion muddying his face. His hands were so cold without Jekyll beneath them, his nose numb in the absence of peppermint. The world seemed to span universes between them, the space sprawling out for leagues until he could no longer reach out and feel his fingers brush against warm skin. He ached in the lack of it.

“You should get more sleep.”

“That’s what you said last time, too.”

“I was right,” Lanyon said, and Jekyll turned to him with amusement dancing on his lips, glittering in his irises. He longed to brush the creases away from beneath his eyes with his thumb, to smooth out the skin until it caught light instead of shadow. “You should take better care of yourself.”

Jekyll laughed a humourless laugh and stood, steps spanning the length it took to cross the distance between them. He stopped before Lanyon and looked. Lanyon looked back. The world swirled in midnight around them.

“I miss you so much,” Jekyll whispered.

Lanyon’s feet began to sink into the floor, his view of the office inching up slowly. He glanced down, watching the wood disintegrate into dust. He looked back up and met Jekyll’s eyes.

“I told you, I’m right here.” His words faded as he spoke them, crumbling with the floorboards.

Jekyll shook his head. “You’re not.”

And just like that, Lanyon fell.

A wave of terror crashed over him, knocking the air from his lungs. His eyes widened, mouth stretching into a silent scream as lucidity ran ice cold in his veins. He flailed, arms grasping for the last shreds of the scene he could see, panic wracking his frame as he was pulled down, down.

He needed Jekyll to hear him while he still could.

As he pitched back down the stairwell, the door to the cursed room open and waiting, Lanyon finally felt like he understood.

The door slammed shut behind him as he tumbled into the room. He stared at it in dawning horror, face pale and body shaking all over. He looked at it for a long moment, heart lurching and stomach flipping. He felt sick.

Slowly, fearfully, Lanyon got to his feet. He grasped the doorknob with trembling hands and twisted.

Locked.

All the blood drained from Lanyon’s face. He slid down against the door, eyes wide and vacant, mind going numb with horror. This couldn’t be true. There was no way he was right. If he was…

Lanyon was doomed.
-

“Archer, I was wondering if you could provide me with an ingredient I need for the formula I’m making?”

“Shh, he’s right there. You might tip him off.”

“He already knows. Plus, I think I was much more discreet than you shushing me.”

“Keep your voice down, will you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Would you happen to have any- Dr. Jekyll, are you alright?” Ito turned to the doctor, concern twisting her features into a perplexed frown.

Jekyll waved it off, cheeks flushing a bright red. “Quite. My apologies, this tea is surprisingly hot.” He set his cup down and reached for a napkin, unable to hide his burning mortification behind the cloth.

Ito’s eyes narrowed. “It’s unlike you to be so careless. And excuse my bluntness, but you look like death warmed up. Have you slept recently?”

Jekyll attempted to laugh. “In fact, I slept just last night. I appreciate your concern, but it is truly unwarranted.”

It was a gross overstatement to claim that he had slept. It had taken him hours to shut his eyes, and when he had finally fallen asleep, he dreamt restlessly, strangely. When he awoke it was suddenly and with an ache deep in his chest. He still couldn’t shake the empty feeling of waking up alone.

That was none of Ito’s business, however. He hoped the half truth would be enough to sate her curiosity.

Her frown only deepened. “If you say so.” She looked back at Archer for a moment and, ignoring the widened eyes and panicked shake of the head sent her way, turned to Jekyll and asked, “Dr. Jekyll, would I be able to request your guidance on-”

Ito was cut off by a loud knock against the door.

Jekyll smiled uneasily. “Give me a moment, Miss Ito.” He walked briskly to the door and pulled it open, his heart stammering in his chest when he saw who stood on the other side. “Sargeant Brokenshire, good morning.”

Brokenshire’s face was unreadable. He crossed his arms neatly behind his back, jaw stiff and eyes carrying their usual gravity. Desperation surged so strongly within Jekyll that he struggled to keep it from bleeding into his face.

He needed news. Anything would be better than this waiting, this ignorance, this constant bite of anxiety gnawing at his core. He needed to know something. He hoped to God that Brokenshire knew something.

Brokenshire cleared his throat. “Good morning, Dr. Jekyll.”

He paused and the pause seemed to span eternities. Jekyll’s breath caught in his throat as he waited for what came next. He couldn’t breathe.

“It’s Lanyon.”

Chapter Text

The thing that unsettled Jekyll the most was just how still Lanyon was.

He lay with his head tipped back into the pillow, skin sallow and eyes squeezed shut, lips slightly parted to make way for the minute rise and fall of his chest barely noticeable beneath the sheer blanket. Every memory of fluid dramatics, every memory of arms wide and hands gesturing wildly, every memory of life within the very soul of the man had seeped away from the deathly frame laying in the hospital bed. Jekyll had never seen someone this still before. Not without being reduced to a corpse.

It took all the strength in his body to refrain from checking for a pulse. When that strength proved too lacking, he cradled his hands against his chest to keep them from wandering. His heart was pounding through his shirt. He could feel it in his wrists.

Beside him, Brokenshire cleared his voice. “The doctors have reported that his condition has been stabilized, though days without food, water, and shelter have certainly taken a toll on his health. He’s lucky that the man who stumbled across his body was kind enough to bring him to a hospital; you really can’t trust anybody to do the right thing these days.” His voice was baritone. Jekyll nodded along as if by instinct, stupefied.

“Will he be alright?” The words were spoken before Jekyll even realized it, mouth working of its own accord. The voice didn’t sound like his. Slowly, Jekyll lifted his fingers to his lips. He couldn’t feel his face.

Brokenshire hesitated. Jekyll’s stomach dropped impossibly further.

“Will he wake up?” he revised. Lanyon had to wake up. Jekyll couldn’t imagine a world where he wouldn’t. Still, it was difficult to look at the static, skeletal body and believe it was possible.

He couldn’t breathe.

“The doctors aren’t sure,” Brokenshire admitted, shifting uncomfortably in place. “His condition is unlike anything they’ve seen before. It’s… perplexing.”

Jekyll stared at the shell of a body, willing him to sit up, open his eyes, move even the tiniest amount. He remained still.

“You have a few options,” Brokenshire continued. “You could leave him here and allow the doctors to take care of him or you could take him back to the Society and treat him there. You have plenty of capable scientists and a good education yourself, I’m sure it would be a task you could handle.”

Jekyll’s gaze remained glued to the hospital bed.

“But if you wanted to leave him here, that would be a good decision as well,” Brokenshire said hastily, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Hospitals have vastly improved in the last couple of years. I’m sure you could safely entrust him to the professionals.”

“I’ll take him back with me.” Jekyll tore his eyes from his friend, voice eerily flat. He could hardly recognize it as his own. “I can take care of him.”

Brokenshire looked at him a moment before nodding once. “As you wish.”
-

“Help! Somebody help me!”

Lanyon was back to plan one.

The door rattled with each pound of his fists, shaking on its hinges yet refusing to give. Lanyon’s hands ached, red and wailing with each slam against the stubborn wood, crying out after what must’ve been hours of abuse. He couldn’t let up.

“If anyone is there, please help me! Anyone!” Lanyon’s voice broke, ragged voice inflamed and feeling as though it had torn down the middle. “Jekyll!”

He collapsed against the door, forehead knocking against the cool wood. Chest heaving, he listened for any sign of life on the other side, any indication that someone had heard him.

Through his inflamed gasps for air came the very familiar sound of silence.

Lanyon swore, sliding to the floor. He wrung his wrists with aching fingers, swallowing thickly against his bullied throat. He couldn’t keep this up. It had been too much exertion for far too long. He had banged against the door, screamed, and had even turned to the nightmares for help. All to no avail. If there was somebody outside that door, they would’ve heard him by now.

For not the first time since he had returned to this room, doubt resurfaced.

It settled heavily in the marrow of his bones, weighing him down with hopeless exhaustion. His theory was impossible, but it was the only one he had. If it wasn’t correct, he was back at square one. And he was almost positive that there was no way in hell he was correct.

Still, he couldn’t let it go that easily. If he truly was trapped in Jekyll’s mind, he could rely on his friend’s genius to get him out of it.

God, it even sounded ridiculous to him.

It was the only thing that made sense. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to fit. Jekyll had been the focal point of each and every maybe-dream, expressing memories and anxieties Lanyon would never be able to coax out of him on his own. The scenes were fantastical, unfamiliar to him, and completely tailored to Jekyll’s terror. Through it all, Lanyon had simply been an observer.

The best piece of evidence Lanyon had was the maggot-dog. He had never seen the beast before his predicament, save his friend’s fevered descriptions. He had forgotten where he had heard of it until Jekyll had pointed it out.

It was a hallucination. It traveled with him to the maybe-dream, it had returned with him to this godforsaken room. Jekyll had recognized it. Seen it. Lanyon was seeing it now.

This highly improbable theory of his was the only one that made sense. It was terrifying how deeply he found himself believing in its validity.

Perhaps he was going mad.

Maybe it would be better if he was mad. If he wasn’t, he would have to wait for Jekyll to fall asleep to next speak with him. The thought alone was hell.

Eyes fluttering shut, he slumped against the door, hands curled against his stomach as the unforgiving floor bit into his numbing legs. He had found it impossible to sleep in this room, nor did the blanket of exhaustion sweep over him. Still, he needed reprieve somehow. He might actually go mad if he had to suffer all this time, assuming he hadn’t lost his mind already.

With his eyes closed, the dark room could almost be a comfort. Lanyon nestled into that notion and pretended to dream.
-

The first thing Rachel noticed upon entering the Society was that it was much quieter than how she left it.

She had to ground herself before going inside. Her nerves had mounted to an electric buzz in the palms of her hands, her breath chilled and quickened in her chest. The doors had never looked so large before. So unwelcoming. As if the knob would be locked when she tried to turn it.

This apprehension wasn’t like her. Rachel shook her head and rubbed her hands together, nerves sparking between the fingers. No, this wasn’t like her at all. She just needed to open the door and step in.

She’d have to face everyone at some point. She couldn’t just stand outside forever.

Taking a steeling breath, she grabbed the doorknob and pulled, preparing herself to be met with all the life of a Tuesday morning, the eyes of curious Lodgers. Friends.

Instead, she was met with silence.

Something had gone very, very wrong; that much was evident. The Society had lost its signature clamorous charm, once-bright hallways now dimmed and barren of any chattering Lodgers. No laughter could be heard, no scientists roamed the area or glanced from their labs to greet her. Even the equipment which eternally cluttered the walkways had been cleared away; not a safety hazard in sight. She looked around, eyes wide with disbelief. What had happened while she was away?

Could the Society really not survive a week without her?

“Hello?” she called out, voice wavering. She cleared her throat, cheeks flushing, and awaited an answer. Nothing.

She tried again. “Is anyone here?” Silence. Not even the sound of a door creaking open or footsteps shifting atop wooden floors. It seemed the place really was abandoned.

Her vision blurred and she wiped at her eyes, hands trembling. She had only been gone a week and somehow it was enough time for everyone to pack up and leave. Had anyone thought to inform her of this development? She hadn’t even received a letter.

Rachel turned slowly and made her way back toward the door, eyes glued on her feet. This certainly wasn’t what she expected to find upon her return. What was she supposed to do if everyone was gone? Where was she supposed to go?

She grabbed the doorknob and willed the tears in her eyes to disappear.

“Miss Rachel!”

Rachel yelped and whirled around, hand clutching her chest. “Dr. Jay! Don’t scare me like that!”

Jekyll smiled apologetically, beckoning her back inside. She stepped closer to him, a wave of gratitude washing over her like clear, cool water. If Dr. Jekyll was here, maybe not all hope was lost. He could offer an explanation, at the very least. She deserved that much.

Perhaps nothing so catastrophic had happened. His smile was too wide for the Society’s collapse, his gestures too wide and inviting. If his life’s work were to be abandoned, Rachel didn’t think he would be smiling so wide. He looked…

Actually, upon closer inspection, he didn’t look great.

She squinted, leaning in to get a closer look. His hair was mussed and the skin beneath his eyes was bruised, his signature sparkle completely absent from his visage. Sure, Jekyll’s smile was wide, but it was too wide. It was the kind of wide smile that didn’t sit quite right, as though he had fitted it over his face and had neglected to align it with the rest of his features. His lips were trembling.

“I apologize for startling you,” he said, laughing politely. It sounded like he was wrenching each syllable from his throat. “Come in, come in.”

They sat in the atrium, which was uncharacteristically empty and completely eerie, if Rachel was being honest. It was odd to see a place usually filled with chatter and life so devoid of vitality. It gave her the heebie-jeebies.

She wasn’t able to hold back the question any longer. “What’s going on?”

Jekyll blinked, cocking his head to the side. “Excuse me? I’m afraid you’ll have to elaborate.” His smile wavered a moment, flickered like a light before resuming its previous position.

Rachel went cold. He was keeping something from her; that was the only explanation. There was no way he hadn’t noticed how the building had gone dead silent, how not a single Lodger had made an appearance since her arrival. He knew damn well that the Society was not like this when she left. There was no way in hell that this was normal. Why was he acting like it was?

“Don’t tell me that things have changed so drastically since I’ve left that you don’t even realize how quiet it is,” Rachel said, voice low. “It’s only been a week. What happened?”

Jekyll’s smile strained wider, shoulders tensing. “I suppose it is a little quiet this morning. However, I can assure you that there is nothing to worry about. All is well.” His lips were white.

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “I thought the Society was abandoned when I first came in. That’s not normal, Dr. Jay.”

The smile slid from the doctor’s lips. He glanced away from her for a moment and it was all the time Rachel needed to see just how pale Jekyll had become. The rings beneath his eyes were darker than ink.

“Ah. Well. There was an incident as of this morning, but I can assure you that I have it under control.” He looked back at her, face pained. “I didn’t think it proper to bother you with the details before you had ample time to settle in.”

Of course there had been an incident. Rachel simply had no idea why he would try to hide it from her.

“I’ve worked at this Society for quite a long while. I think you’ll find me capable of dealing with a mishap or two.”

“Of course you are,” Jekyll said quickly, eyes widening.

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, jaw set. “Then tell me what happened.”

Jekyll hesitated. His mouth opened for a moment before closing, then opened once more. He sighed. When the words finally came, his voice was soft. “It’s concerning Robert. There was an explosion beside my office while he was inside. He went missing shortly after that; we can only assume that it was a consequence of the accident, but even now, it’s unsure exactly what happened. He was only found this morning, and now he’s in my care.” He looked at her for a moment, face unreadable. “I know it must be scary to hear, but I can assure you-”

“How is he now?” Rachel cut him off, palms clutching at her skirts.

Jekyll hesitated again. Her stomach sank to the floor.

“He has yet to wake up.”

Her breath froze in her lungs, ears deafened by the feverish rush of blood surging forth. She couldn’t feel her hands.

Lanyon had been involved in an explosion. Gotten hurt. He was missing and when they found him, he was comatose. Still was. He was still hurt.

Lanyon was hurt, and she hadn’t been there to help.

“I’m doing everything I can to take care of him.”

Rachel’s head whirled. She couldn’t see past the glaze of her own eyes.

“He’s going to be okay.”

She needed to help. Her friend was hurt and it was her duty to make sure that he was okay. What if he died? She’d never forgive herself if he died.

If she had been there at the time of the explosion, she could have prevented any further harm. If she had been there, she could’ve scanned Lanyon for any injuries, carefully monitored him for any signs of concussion, shock, internal injury. If she had been there, Lanyon might be okay.

Rachel had thought it was a good time to take a break, what with the exhibition ending and Frankenstein leaving and all. It seemed that she had been dead wrong.

She never should’ve left.

“Rachel? Are you alright?”

Her head snapped up. Jekyll was looking down at her, eyebrows creased and lips chewed into a worried frown. He needed her help. She had to help him.

“I’m going to-” she started, mouth beginning to form the next word before pausing.

No.

She had to be better than this. It was why she left in the first place; she never would’ve spent a week away from the Society if she didn’t have to. But it was becoming a problem, this obsessive doting of hers. It only pushed people away. Hurt them more.

The last thing Jekyll needed was to have more on his plate, and the last thing Lanyon needed was to be hurt more.

They didn’t want her help, she had to remind herself. She’d only make things worse.

She had to be better.

“-leave,” Rachel finished, pushing herself from the chair. She stumbled slightly, feet numb beneath her. “You’re right, I should probably get settled in. Please let me know if you need anything.” The words came out muddled and breathless, saturated with the haze overtaking her mind.

She didn’t dare raise her eyes to Jekyll’s. Instead, she turned on her heel and fled.
-

Oh, Jekyll thought as he watched her leave. Even Rachel wanted nothing to do with him.
-

By the time the door creaked open, Lanyon had already circled through the same topics of ‘is anyone looking for me’, ‘what have I done with my life’, and ‘will the maggot dog get hungry and eat me’ at least five separate times, so the development was a nice change of pace, to say the least.

Lanyon climbed to his feet and peered out the door, taking a couple steadying breaths. Alright. He had a plan to follow, now he just needed to stick to it. Somehow.

If he truly was trapped in Jekyll’s dreams, he had to let him know. It was kind of, well, it was definitely the least he could do to alert Jekyll of his little issue.

He just wasn’t sure that Jekyll would believe him. If he had a dream where his best friend told him that he was trapped in his head, he’d forget all about it come morning. Dreams never really made sense, did they?

Still, he had to try.

Lanyon passed through the doorway and began to walk up the stairs. He was only a couple steps out when he heard the awful, spine-curling sound of squelching trailing behind him, the sound of bloodied flesh against bloodied flesh, of liquid trickling and hitting the floor. He froze. The noise died down, save for the occasional dripping.

Slowly, Lanyon turned around, face ashen. And oh, how he wished he hadn’t. It was much, much worse out in the light. He didn’t even have it in him to scream.

It seemed all his friends from inside the room had decided to follow him out.

He took a hesitant step back.

The nightmares slithered a pace forward.

Lanyon took another step.

The nightmares followed after.

Lanyon swallowed thickly, looking nervously back up the staircase. This was going to be interesting.
-

A guttural screech ripped from swarms of throats, a multitude coalescing into one beastial singularity.

The room sweated with calenture. Writhing masses of bodies struggled against one another, pushing and yelling and bleating with vehemence. Lights swam in the air, spotted with blood and clouded with lymph, waterfalls of warm, metallic liquid oozing from the ceiling. Thousands of eyes stared down. They smiled with stacked rows of sharp, tiny teeth.

Lanyon’s head fell back into the cradle of his spine, lashes fluttering shut. Something warm splashed onto his cheek, rolled in a thick bead down to the corner of his mouth to creep inside. His tongue flooded with iron. The clamour and the taste drowned out the buzzing cacophony.

It all came exploding back when he stumbled forward, shouldered into another straining body. Fogging heat clouded his eyes, trapped by the caging, swarming horde. Another strong thrust propelled him deeper into the core of it. The heat swallowed him whole, throbbing in his wrists, his ears, his neck. He melted away and into the crowd, breath strung out in wisps before him, body melting with the heat, melding into the others. He couldn’t see through the steam.

Somewhere across the feverish sea of bodies echoed a scream.

It cut across the discord, sharper and wilder than the rest. It was a spark, burning instead of melting, reducing him down to his singular form. Lanyon condensed on the floor, head thunking against the white tile. Above him, the lights were shrieking. They cried viscous, sanguine tears. They wailed. He burned a hole into the floor. It was scorched in his shape. The mass around him was nebulous, flailing in its urgency forward. Forward, toward the scream. He watched as it separated the mass one by one.

“I know nothing, I swear it!”

The words looped Lanyon’s chin forward like a tugging string, drawing his hazy eyes forward and through, toward the man who had screamed.

Jekyll.

He was backing away from the throng, hands outstretched and face pale, pupils darting between the animalistic mass and the monsters creeping upon his peripheral. The words torn from his lips were swallowed by the gurgled protests of blood-soaked, agglutinated throats. He retreated into a corner. He was going to be overtaken.

Lanyon pushed forward, stumbling over his feet as he squeezed through the mess of melding figures. It fought to absorb him, heat emanating from its form. He plunged forward with stuttering feet, away from greedy, flesh-toned tendrils. His pulse throbbed behind his eyes and all he could see was Jekyll.

The mass’s maw ripped open, expelling more horrific, leering beasts. Nightmares choked the room until it was sweltering. Jekyll’s back hit the wall behind him.

Lanyon couldn’t hear his own voice over the noise. He hoped with a fogged mind that the sound reached Jekyll.

“Hyde!” the crowd roared. “Hyde!”

“Please, I swear I know nothing about him! It’s all a big misunderstanding!”

“Hyde!” The word was fragmented with snarls and tearing vocal chords.

“I had to,” Jekyll wailed. “Please forgive me!”

The world blurred, magnified in a rush of boiling color as it turned itself inside out, twisted and writhed, settled. The steam cleared and Lanyon’s hand was clasped around Jekyll’s wrist.

Jekyll looked at him, eyes wide. His pulse thrummed like hummingbird wings beneath his palm.

“Come on,” Lanyon slurred, tugging weakly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Jekyll nodded quickly, slipping his hand into Lanyon’s and squeezing tight. His fingers constricted around the other man’s and, for a moment, the rest of the room seemed to fall away, dissolving into the comfort of russet irises and peppermint skin. The last remnants of prior fervor seemed so senseless now, so cruel. Let his feet grow roots and tether him to the ground, for all he cared. Let the earth creep up his veins and encase his skin in a shell of stone. Lanyon felt content to stand here forever, just like this. What was the rush?

The hand entangled with his squeezed harder. What a beautiful hand.

It squeezed again, frantic this time. It tugged him forward a step, two. Lanyon stumbled, careful not to let their fingers separate. How clumsy of Jekyll, how careless. If he kept pulling like this, they might be washed away from one another in the tides of heat. They might be stranded forever. No, he needed to hang on.

“We have to go, Robert.”

The pain in Jekyll’s voice forced Lanyon’s gaze up, a frown weighing down the corners of his lips. Why did Jekyll always have to sound so sad, so scared? Couldn’t he understand that everything would be okay if he never let go? They wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again, so long as they hung on. Why didn’t he get it?

But oh, his eyes. They looked so pretty like this, glazed over with fog. A pretty flush decorated his cheeks and Lanyon wondered how much darker it would stain if he kissed it. He looked so alive in this feverish room. Lanyon never wanted to look away.

“Robert, please,” Jekyll whispered. He was trembling. His eyes flicked up every now and then, skin paling and lips tightening with each glance. Lanyon wanted to kill whatever it was that was taking this moment away from them. Taking Jekyll’s stare off him.

Jekyll wrenched at Lanyon’s hand again and this time he allowed his feet to be uprooted. They staggered from the wall, Jekyll pinned at his side as they writhing mass screeched and warped. Disgust welled up against the back of Lanyon’s teeth. How could something so terrible interrupt his time with the man he loved so dearly?

“Hyde!” The crowd howled with ten thousand voices. The sharp syllable tore the jaw open, apart. “Hyde!”

Jekyll shuddered and hid his face in Lanyon’s shoulder. “Stop it, stop looking at me!”

“Hyde!”

‘No,” came the muffled groan, puffs of warmth against his neck. “No,”

It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t they ever just be happy? Something always had to get in the way; eyes, Hyde, fingertips repelled like incompatible magnet ends. Lanyon couldn’t see over the swarm of bleeding bodies.

“Leave him alone,” Lanyon mumbled, pushing at the looming figures. They gave like butter beneath his hands.

Carefully, slowly, they pushed through the crowd. It rippled from their delving like nerve endings, spiking and roiling backwards, still tumultuous in the middle but unable to break past the hardened edges. The separating edges. Lanyon watched as he walked. The crowd looked back with many eyes.

Lodgers. They unstuck themselves from one another, peeling away just to stand there and look. Lanyon pulled Jekyll closer. Jekyll lifted his head.

“Dear God,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t look at me like that.”

A bloodied, soaked-through Archer shook his head, eyes hard. “Hyde.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Hyde,” Rachel wailed, melting to the floor.

A choked sob punched out of Jekyll’s throat. He turned to Lanyon, eyes swimming with the buzzing heat. He stared at him like he would burst into flame if he looked anywhere else. “Help me,” he begged, voice low. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Gently, Lanyon loosened his grip on Jekyll’s hand, feeling the pulse in Jekyll’s wrist weaken, the comfort disintegrate into the muggy heat of the room. He trailed his fingertips up Jekyll’s arm, watching the point of contact as it crept higher, higher. His hand landed in Jekyll’s hair. He coaxed the other man’s head back down to his shoulder, wrapping his arm around the small of his back. Consuming heat softened back into their shared, tranquil warmth. Closing his eyes, he breathed in. It smelled like home.

Lanyon dipped down, lips brushing against the shell of Jekyll’s ear. “It’ll be alright, darling. Just follow my lead.”

The crowd parted around them as they moved slowly forward. They cried out in tandem with the nightmares, garbled nonsense melting into accusation, into a name. Jekyll burrowed impossibly closer and Lanyon rubbed circles into his skin with his thumb. It was soft. Sweet. He could taste the peppermint with his fingertips. They ambled toward the exit and the nightmares didn’t stop them.

The urgency of their protests increased when Lanyon grasped the doorknob, twisted slowly. It was cold, biting into the meat of his palm. It smelled like iron, like blood.

He pulled the door open and stepped through.

The Lodgers shrieked with one marred, gory voice. “We know what you’ve done!”

Lanyon slammed the door shut behind them and the noise gave way to silence. They stood there for a moment, buzzing with the ebbing heat, reeling with whiplash. Hesitantly, Jekyll raised his head.

“They’re gone,” he murmured.

Lanyon nodded, watching the world dance and sway with the movement. Jekyll’s face was close, so close. He could feel the flutter of those perfect eyelashes tickle the tops of his cheeks. Jekyll’s nose bumped against his.

“Thank you,” Jekyll said before leaning in.

The kiss was sugary sweet and feather-light, a brush of adoration against his lips before pulling away. Lanyon chased the taste and was met with air. He cracked his eyes open, frowning.

Jekyll’s forehead had pitched back down, resting against Lanyon’s collarbone. His eyes were closed, his breaths coming in even, measured puffs. He was so pretty, so perfect. Lanyon wanted to kiss him again.

“I’m sorry.”

Lanyon’s eyebrows knit together. “Don’t be.” Why did it always come back to this? He traced Jekyll’s fingertips with his own, hooking and looping them together between them. His heart was practically beating out of his chest in an attempt to get to Jekyll. Couldn’t he feel it?

Jekyll looked up, eyes brimming. “It’s all my fault. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“I’ll help you,” Lanyon replied, trying not to let the confusion bleed into his voice. The colors were so much less saturated out here. He had to squint just to see the rusty depths of Jekyll’s irises.

“You can’t,” Jekyll breathed, desolate. “I need to help you first. How do I help you?”

“I don’t need any help. I just need you.”

Jekyll shook his head, swallowing thickly. “What happened to you? Why won’t you wake up?”

Something in Lanyon’s stomach clenched, a thrum of urgency electric in his veins. He blinked, trying to comprehend it. It fell away before he could grasp it fully but he attempted to put the taste of it into his words all the same. “I’m right here, Henry. That’s how you help me. By realizing. I’m right here.” It didn’t make sense to him, sounded like nonsense to his ears, but it felt right. He put the emphasis in the syllables that called for it.

“No,” Jekyll said, stepping away. Lanyon ached with the loss, ached like his chest had been hollowed into a cave.

“Yes,” he whispered. Reached out. Jekyll looked at his hand, pained, and made no move to take it.

“No,” he repeated, a small smile tugging at his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes. “This is just a dream.”

The collapse of the dream was much more sudden than any other waking he had experienced. Consciousness hit Lanyon like a punch, blindingly white behind his eyes as he plummeted back down, down. By the time he had regained his sight, his breath, the dream above him was already dissolving into millions of pieces.

“No!”

He pitched mercilessly downward. Despair and panic made a home in his throat. “I’m right here, Henry! Help me, please!”

The dream flickered out. He was falling, falling. Frustration exploded from his eyes, burned at his throat. He had never felt so alone before. He didn’t know what to do with it.

Lanyon squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.
-

It was about time for Jekyll to wake up. Hyde floated from the subconscious, felt himself materialize with a dull thrill. There was so much to do, he didn’t know where to start.

Lanyon’s injury was the perfect opportunity, wasn’t it? Combining that stress with the Lodger’s apparent hatred, Jekyll would practically beg him for some relief. Even if he refused Hyde’s help, his mind would be in shambles, surely enough disarray to allow him to take control.

No, he wouldn’t be trapped here forever. The thought was sweet against his tongue, pink behind his eyes. He would be free soon enough.

He floated up to the staircase and began his ascent, taking the journey one leisurely step at a time. A smile played with the corners of his lips. Freedom was so close. The anticipation was almost as good as the real thing. Almost.

He was ripped from his thoughts by a scream.

It wasn’t unusual for the nightmare room to make some noise. He had heard the hinges rattle and wails echo off the walls enough times to know not to mess with the door. They had been louder than usual, more insistent, but it was easy to put out of his mind. The nightmares had always been eager to escape.

This was different. Closer, louder. Like it wasn’t coming from the room, but from farther up the staircase. The scream was composed of words.

Hyde whipped his head up, eyebrows creased. What the fuck?

Was that Lanyon?

Chapter Text

Nobody had come to visit Lanyon since he had arrived at the Society.

The room was empty. Quiet. Dark even without the curtains pulled. All Jekyll could hear was himself, all he could see was the immobile door, all he could feel was the quickening ebb and flow of his breath and the buzzing in his pulse. Lanyon had never liked people, but he disliked stagnancy even more. He would hate this room.

It felt as though all the vivacity in the room had dissipated the moment Lanyon had been carted in. Like his body was so devoid of life that it sucked it out of the air itself. Drank it in and still couldn’t quench the thirst.

He was sapping the life out of Jekyll, too. Caring for his comatose friend was a new kind of difficulty that Jekyll had never before been forced to face. Even the simple tasks wore him down: washing the London grime from Lanyon’s face with a damp rag, placing a finger over the faint throb in his wrist to measure his pulse, checking every ten minutes or so to ensure that he was still breathing… Jekyll wasn’t sure how long he could take it. Just watching over the shell of his friend scoured something out of his chest that he wasn’t sure he could live without. It hollowed him out until he was a shell, too.

Between the two of them, Jekyll couldn’t tell where life began. He wasn’t positive that it was there at all.

Waking up Lanyon was the only thing that could bring life back, he was sure. Once he woke up, everything that had been scooped out would be filled back in. As long as he woke up.

He had to wake up.

Jekyll reached over the vast desolation between his chair and the bed, fingers hovering over Lanyon’s face. He paused. After a moment, a whisper of an exhale tickled at his palm, soft and fleeting. He moved his hand up to the other’s forehead and tucked a rogue puff of hair back into place. After waiting to make sure it wouldn’t stubbornly migrate back, his arm fell limply by his side.

Useless.
-

It was futile, Lanyon realized, chest heaving and eyes still adjusting to the pervasive dark of the godforsaken room. Clearly whatever plan he had wasn’t going to work and his only theory to explain his situation would get him committed to an insane asylum if he spoke of it openly in the street. He had been trapped for days–most likely, it wasn’t as if he could tell time in this prison–and nobody had rescued him. Lanyon wondered if anyone was even looking for him.

He slid down the door and sprawled across the floor, staring blankly at his fellow inmates. They writhed and loomed in the shadows, reduced to silhouettes by the spare light creeping beneath the bottom of the locked door. Were they once human like him? Perhaps they had been trapped in this room too, unable to escape, diminished to messes of flesh and garbled howls throughout the duration of their sentences. Was that his fate? Was he doomed to become a horrible creature like those groaning and bleeding before him?

For not the first time, Lanyon wondered if he was going to die in this room.

He knew in his bones that it was all over. He could keep trying, but what was the point? It was hopeless, really. This was the end for him. Unless he was granted a miracle, he was never going to return to the life he once knew.

As if in refutation, a knock resounded through the room.

Lanyon sat up, eyes widening. The door shuddered on its hinges. Another knock.

“Hello? Is someone in there?”

Lanyon sprang to his feet, heart pounding and hands pressed against the wood. “Help me! I’m trapped, I’ve been trapped for days! Please help me!” Hope crashed into Lanyon with so much force that he felt dizzy. He clung to the door for support, tears budding in his eyes.

The person outside swore and the doorknob rattled, still stuck firmly in place. “The door is locked. There’s nothing here to pick it with; I’m going to have to bust it down.”

“Thank you,” Lanyon said, taking a step back. His voice shook in his throat, hands trembling as he tucked them beneath his arms. He was saved. Good God, he was saved. He wouldn’t have to die in this bloody room.

“Get away from the door!” the person called. Lanyon took another step back for good measure.

A loud thud resounded through the room and the door lurched, still stubbornly staying put. Another impact followed. Another. The wood sounded as if it was splintering with each collision, cracking and shaking yet refusing to give. Lanyon held his breath.

A lull in the noise was soon followed by rushing footsteps and the boom of a body slamming against wood, the door breaking free of its hinges and smashing into the ground. Light flooded into the room too quickly for Lanyon’s eyes to adjust, too harsh for him to recognize the figure hurtling toward him before it was too late. With a yelp, his saviour crashed into him, effectively knocking all the air out of his chest as they tumbled to the ground in a flurry of limbs.

Lanyon gasped for breath and the person atop him groaned, pushing himself up. They sat there for a moment, panting and grumbling in pain, the reality of the situation taking root.

He was free.

Lanyon blinked his eyes open, squinting at the person above him as his vision fought to clear. He looked familiar, somehow. He wished the stars dancing before his eyes would dim a bit to reveal the face of his rescuer.

It seemed the other man got there first. With a gasp, he exclaimed, “Holy shit, it really is you! You’re not your mindscape counterpart. What the hell are you doing here?”

Lanyon cringed at the crass language and rubbed his eyes. He sat up, pushing the man off him to give himself space to breathe, to see. He opened his mouth to reply but was cut off when he saw clearly the face of his saviour.

“Hyde?” Lanyon squawked, scrambling to his feet.

Hyde gaped up at him, incredulity overtaking his features. He pushed himself to his feet and brushed the dust from his knees before turning to face Lanyon again, hands stationed on his hips. “That’s me. How the hell did you get here?”

Before Lanyon could open his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by a low growl and the squelching of bloodied flesh. He had no time to brace himself before the monsters pushed past him and into the light, escaping the room in a mad dash of translucent blue and amalgamated anatomy. His eyes were glued onto the figures as they squirmed away, nausea twisting in his stomach.

“Those things look even worse in the light,” he said, nose wrinkled.

Behind him, Hyde laughed. Lanyon turned to see that the other man’s expression had turned into a broad grin, his eyes wide as he beheld the mystery that was Robert Lanyon. The sound of his voice was eerie as it bounced off the walls and echoed from the staircase outside the room.

There was so much he didn’t understand, so much he needed to ask. The sheer amount of his confusion was overwhelming. Where was he supposed to start? With the monsters? With the dreams? With Hyde?

There was too much; he had to take this one step at a time. First things first: he needed to leave the room. If he stayed in here any longer, he might scream.

Lanyon stepped over the door and through the exit, taking in his surroundings. It was the same as when he entered the dreams, if that’s what they were. The staircase spiralled up and down, stretching into a black infinity when he peeked over the banister. Looking up, he was greeted with the same glinting, white threshold he had passed through so many times before.

He turned to Hyde, who was trailing after him through the demolished doorway, staring at him with an intense sort of incredulity that made Lanyon’s cheeks burn. He cleared his throat. “Where am I?”

Hyde grinned. “You haven’t figured it out yet, then?”

Lanyon hesitated, taking a step back. “Well, I have a theory, but it sounds mad even to me.”

“Good thing you’re talking to me, then,” Hyde said, eyes sparkling. “And it’s mad that you’re here at all. I’d wager that your theory isn’t nearly as impossible as you seem to think.”

A chill ran down Lanyon’s spine, goosebumps rising on the skin of his arms. He turned away from the other man and stared up at the barrier. “I don’t know how I got here. I remember being dizzy and walking home from the Society, and before I knew it, I was trapped here in that room with a bunch of monsters. The door opened after a while, so I walked up the staircase and through that barrier. I thought it would be an exit of some sort, but from there, everything felt as though it were a dream. Once it ended, I was sucked right back into that room. It’s happened a couple times by now.” His voice was low, shaky in its footing. Was he really going to explain his theory to Hyde? “It sounds crazy, but I think I’m in Henry’s mind.”

Hyde’s smile stretched wider. He joined Lanyon at the banister, craning his neck up to fix his gaze on the threshold above. “Impressive. And to think that Jekyll would have been none the wiser.”

Lanyon’s eyes widened. “Are you telling me that I’m correct?”

“Right on the money. I have no clue how you got here, though.”

“That makes two of us,” Lanyon said with a groan. His mind was reeling; how on Earth could this have happened? How was he supposed to fix it? Just thinking about it made his head hurt.

He couldn’t believe he was having a civil conversation with Hyde. Scratch that; how was he talking to Hyde at all?

“Are you Henry’s conceptualization of Hyde, or something?” he asked.

The other man snorted. “Something like that.” He paused, nose wrinkling. “You know, you have your own counterpart here in the subconscious.”

Lanyon blinked. “Really? What’s he like?”

“Awful! He’s the most bumptious cullion I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. The pompous bastard has a stick so far up his ass that I’m surprised I don’t see it coming up his throat when he talks.” Hyde rolled his eyes with a grimace. “He is Jekyll’s inner gentleman, after all. Of course he’d be the worst.”

Something inside Lanyon twisted. “That’s what Henry thinks of me?”

Hyde shrugged, teeth pointed and gleaming. “Take it up with the big man.”

A gentleman? There was nobody further from a gentleman than him! He had spent his life running away from such limitations; Jekyll, out of everybody, should know that. The notion that his friend perceived him in such a way… he tried not to let his hurt show on his face.

‘Alright,” Lanyon said through gritted teeth, “My counterpart is Henry’s ‘gentleman’. What about you, then? What do you represent?”

Hyde’s chest puffed out, a proud smirk creeping across his face. “Why, isn’t it obvious? I’m the embodiment of his ghastly, wicked, base desires! I’m everything he represses, everything that keeps him up at night.” With a flourish, he raised his arms and shouted, “I’m the Spirit of London at Night!” His voice echoed in the empty hall.

Lanyon stared at him. “The resemblance is impeccable.”

Hyde dropped his arms and sneered.

“So, why didn’t you let me out sooner?” Lanyon asked, choosing to ignore Hyde’s display of villany. “I’ve been screaming and banging at the door for days now.”

“I didn’t know you were in there! The nightmares are kept in that room; screaming and banging at the door is what they do!”

Lanyon eyed the wreckage in the doorway warily. “Well, it doesn’t seem like they’ll be doing that anymore.”

Hyde snorted. “Oh, Jekyll’s going to have a field day now that they’re out.”

“You think?” Lanyon glanced up at the threshold, eyebrows knitting together.

“It’s his problem, not ours,” Hyde dismissed, a chuckle residual in his voice. “What we should be concerned with is getting you out of here.”

Right, he still had to find his way out. Lanyon’s chest ached at the idea. He longed for freedom, for the return to his life. He missed the feeling of sunlight on his neck, the taste of a good meal, the peaceful moments of quietude before drifting to sleep. Most of all, he missed Henry. Sure, he was technically closer to him than he had ever been before, but it wasn’t the same. In his dreams, Henry looked right through him. To him, Lanyon was a smear of color and memory, nothing more. He faded by sunrise.

Lanyon wondered if Henry missed him.

“The good news is, we’ve found your body,” Hyde continued, snapping Lanyon’s attention to him with a jolt. “You’ve been in a coma for the last few days, so Jekyll’s looking after you at the Society. Once we alert him of what’s going on, I’m sure he’ll figure out a way to put your consciousness back in your body.” He grinned. “That sort of science is his specialty, after all.”

A sigh ripped its way out of Lanyon’s chest, and he sagged in relief. “So there’s hope, then? I can return to my body?”

Hyde shrugged. “Guess we’ll have to let him know to find out.”
-

The Society had regained some life upon Rachel’s return. Rather than holing up in their labs for the day, the aroma of freshly baked scones drew the Lodgers down the hall and into the kitchen, and chatter began to echo from the atrium. It was almost enough to give Jekyll hope; perhaps if their spirits had returned, so had their comfort in his presence.

It was a little optimistic, he was aware. It took him ten minutes to gain the courage to leave his office and join the group.

Jekyll strode past the atrium with a nod toward its inhabitants, trying in vain to ignore the hitch in their conversation that came and went with his appearance. He stood outside the kitchen doors for a moment, listening to the mirthful voices within, his stomach tying itself into knots. All he wanted to do was grab a scone and speak with Rachel. He didn’t want to impose himself, though it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice, these days.

He could almost hear Hyde’s teasing lilt as he stared at the heavy wood, palm hesitating above the doorknob. This was pathetic. He shook his head and stepped inside.

A small group of Lodgers was huddled at the counter in various stages of excitement, stuffing bites of pastry into their mouths between sentences. Behind the counter, Rachel was floating between rolling dough and pulling trays from the oven. She laughed and wiped her hands on her apron, turning to see who had just stepped into the kitchen.

Jekyll’s heart sank as she froze, smile stiff and much too wide for her face. The Lodgers across from her went quiet.

Yep. He had definitely been too optimistic.

“Good morning,” he greeted, attempting his signature sparkling grin. “I’m glad to see that you’re settling in well, Rachel.”

She nodded once. “It’s good to be back.”

The group across from her looked at each other in a manner that Jekyll supposed was an attempt at discretion. Slowly, Archer stood from his seat and grabbed another pastry, taking a step toward the door. “I should probably get back to my lab. It was good seeing you again, Rachel.”

Jekyll stepped away from the door to allow Archer exit. The Lodger offered him a nod before leaving, eyes trained on the floor.

The door fell shut, leaving the room in a deafening quiet. Jekyll cleared his throat and turned back to Rachel. “How was your time away from the Society? Restful, I hope?”

Another nod. “It was nice. I needed the time away.” She refused to meet his eyes.

Jekyll paused in the hopes that she decided to continue and found himself grappling with silence. It stung; what had he done to drive away even Rachel? She had always been there for him and now… Her arms were stiff to her sides as she slid another tray into the oven, cheeks flushed and lips pressed together tightly. The conversation preceding his entrance had died away completely; Chabra and Bird were staring at their hands, unnaturally still in his peripheral. He wondered if they were even breathing.

The message they were sending was clear. He wasn’t wanted here.

Jekyll dipped his head, taking a step away. His face burned. “I’m glad to hear it. If you need anything as you reacclimate… well, you know where to find me.” He turned his attention to the frozen Lodgers at the counter. “Good day, Chabra. Bird.”

They sent small smiles in his direction, yet the counter seemed to be a much more interesting sight. He sighed and turned to leave.

Was he already in such a hopeless spot that he was forced to give up? Jekyll had barely attempted conversation yet was waving a white flag, running away with his tail tucked between his legs. It was as if he was watching himself from afar, horrified by what he saw yet unable to take control. Like Hyde, but worse. He never expected much from Hyde. This, however, was a front row seat to his own ruin, with him starring as the villain who brought everything crashing down.

It was humiliating, truly. Jekyll couldn’t breathe through the shame welling in the back of his throat. He was being suffocated by his own cowardice. Strangled by his own failure.

A bloody mound of flesh hung above the door.

Jekyll stiffened, heart leaping into his throat. The beast blinked its forty eyes in succession and grinned a toothy grin that split through the dripping gore. It’s stare cut right to the bone.

Horror punched him in the gut. Jekyll’s face drained of its color, feet stuck to the floor as if they had grown roots and lodged there. He hadn’t seen the nightmares in long enough for him to recognize that this was wrong. It was vaguely horrifying; of all times, he had to be losing his mind now?

“Jekyll? You alright there, mate?”

Blood drizzled into a puddle on the floor. When he looked at it, eyes wide and blurring at the edges, he saw his own reflection looking back at him. It smiled of its own accord, as if in welcome, before its face began to shed its tissue, strip by strip, rotting.

Jekyll swallowed back a gag. “Fine. I thought I saw a spider, that's all.” There was no time to assess the reception of his lie. He straightened his shoulders and, training his eyes firmly away from the creature on the doorframe, left the kitchen.

Everywhere he looked was in a state of mayhem and disarray. Giant monsters peeked from crannies and corners, howls echoed from the throats of Bethlem's convicted, blood dripped down the walls in rivulets. The Society smelled of decay, thick and curdling in his nostrils.

He cut through the atrium with long steps, heart beating too loudly in his chest, so loudly that he worried someone else might hear it. He glanced across the room as he closed the distance between the kitchen and the staircase. Scattered around the space were Lodgers, talking and laughing amongst themselves as their faces corroded to the bone and eyes fell out of their sockets.

Jekyll pressed the back of his hand against his mouth and willed himself not to vomit.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he practically ran to his office, slamming the door behind him. He stood there a moment, back pressed against the hard wood and chest heaving in the shellshocked silence. This was supposed to be over. Why the hell would Hyde choose now of all times to torment him like this?

Before his eyes, a large centipede curled around the walls of his office, thousands of blood red legs gleaming in the low light. Its body twisted and contorted and suffocated the walls with its intestinal rapacity. The legs of the beast squirmed for air against the coils of the snaking body, mandibles gnashing and grinding together with a wet squeal.

A violent shudder ripped its way across Jekyll’s body. With a tremendous effort, he peeled himself away from the door and retreated into the middle of the room.

“Hyde?” Jekyll asked, hating the tremor in his voice.

He waited a moment for a reply and was met with silence. Anger swelled in Jekyll’s chest, waves of hate burning in his cheeks and tingling at the tips of his fingers. No, no. Hyde didn’t get to do this to him, not again. Not now.

“Hyde, I know you’re behind this. Come out this instant.”

Nothing answered his call, not even the giant centipede hanging from his wall like bloody household decor. Jekyll blinked, feeling the rage ebb away as panic took its place. Where was Hyde? His alter ego could never resist a dramatic entrance.

The centipede was looking at him.

Behind him, the door creaked open. “Dr. Jekyll?”

Jekyll flinched. He plastered a smile to his face and turned around, voice tight. “My apologies, you took me by surprise. What do you need?” He hoped that his voice didn’t sound too strained.

Lavender and Tanis stood in the entryway, small smiles wavering on their faces. They stepped into the room, Lavender fidgeting with her fingers and Tanis shifting from foot to foot. Neither of them paid any notice to the coiled monster swelling on the wall.

“Well,” Tanis started, voice soft, “We saw you running to your office just a moment ago. We were wondering if you’re alright.”

Lavender nodded. “You looked scared.”

Jekyll’s heart sank. He had put in so much effort to appear strong in these last few chaotic days, and it had all been undone by the surprise appearance of a couple hallucinations. How could the Lodgers rely on him if he broke down under pressure?

He would demand an explanation from Hyde when he next saw him. This was all his fault, Jekyll was sure of it.

Jekyll laughed lightly. “I appreciate your concern, but there’s no need to worry about me. Everything is just fine.” He cocked his head. “Is that all you came here for?” The centipede was secreting blood in gelatinous waves. It was up to his ankles.

Tanis hesitated, looking at Lavender. She had furrowed her brow, mouth twisted into a small frown. Rolling her shoulders back, she took another step into the room, eyes gleaming. “We all know that there’s a lot going on right now, Dr. Jekyll. It must be especially difficult for you, considering the current state of your friend and cofounder.” Her voice softened. “You can talk to us.”

Lanyon. The mention of his friend knocked the wind out of his lungs. Jekyll should be with him, tending to his limp, lifeless body. What if he had stopped breathing?

Jekyll’s stomach twisted, bile rising up in the back of his throat. He couldn’t show this weakness to the Lodgers. If they knew just how terribly he was handling the situation on his own, they would never trust him again. They would mutiny, he knew they would. They had done it only weeks prior.

“I’m sorry if I distressed you, Miss Lavender, but I can promise you that I am alright. It’s all under control.”

It wasn’t under control. He had never felt more out of control in his life.

He smiled again and hoped they couldn’t see a reflection of the beast in his eyes.

Tanis blinked, anxiety morphing into something uglier. He pressed his lips together tight, taking a step back toward the door. Retreating. Leaving him there. He looked disgusted and he couldn’t even see the centipede.

Lavender tried again. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

What was this ambush? Why was she so convinced of his fragility despite his assurance that he was fine?

What was he doing wrong?

Jekyll frowned, attempting to quell the anxiety buzzing in his hands. “You have no need to worry.” He raised an eyebrow. “If there is nothing else, I will return to my work.”

Lavender shook her head with a sigh. She joined Tanis at the door, exchanging a glance that Jekyll couldn’t comprehend. “Good day, Dr. Jekyll.”

The distance between them felt further than when they entered. He didn’t know how, but he must have given a wrong answer somewhere in their exchange. Something to alienate him to an even greater degree. Where had he messed up? Jekyll couldn’t make sense of it.

The blood was up to his calves.

“Good day.”

The two backed out of the room, leaving Jekyll alone with his hallucinations. It seemed that no matter how brightly he smiled, how fervently he promised his strength and reliability, he would always end up like this. Hated. Crazy. Alone.

Jekyll dropped into his chair and closed his eyes. It seemed the world was against him, what with Lanyon’s state, the Lodger’s disdain, and the hallucinations. It was too much for him to bear all at once. He couldn’t keep it up much longer.

The sound of Lavender’s disdain ate at him, burrowing into his ears and dwelling there. The Lodgers hated him. He had thought their relationship to be salvageable, but evidently, he had been monumentally incorrect. Jekyll couldn’t even come close enough to extend an olive branch without scaring them away. It was his fault that Lanyon’s room was so empty, he was sure of it. If he hadn’t committed himself to remaining by his side, perhaps his friend wouldn’t be so alone.

Lanyon was half dead in that room, and it was Jekyll’s fault that nobody came to visit him.

He couldn’t shake the sight of Lanyon, pale and still, chest rising and falling so shallowly that he worried if he was still alive. He didn’t look alive. He looked like a body settling into death. All the years of animated gossip, shared bottles of wine, dances hidden in the cloak moonlight… gone, just like that. Jekyll couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the promise of a gravestone flickering against his eyelids.

But if he opened his eyes, he would be faced with the sight of his slipping sanity.

Jekyll groaned, running his fingers through his hair. It was his responsibility to put the world back in order, to make things right, and instead he was watching it all crumble in his fingertips. He had to fix this.

It felt impossible, but there must be a way. There had to be.

From the corner of his vision, something shifted. Jekyll squeezed his eyes shut and found himself facing a different type of terror.

“Stand up, Jekyll. You’re humiliating the both of us by cowering like that.”

Jekyll’s eyes snapped open. He whirled to face the source of the voice and found Hyde sneering at him, arms crossed and eyes flashing.

Hyde.

“What have you done?” Jekyll asked, voice trembling. His fists went numb with how tight they strained at his skin. He could hardly see through his anger.

Hyde scoffed. “If you’re finished with this pathetic show of extraordinary weakness, we need to talk. We have a problem.”

Chapter Text

“He really hasn’t shown any sign of distress? Not even, like, in the tone of his voice? A twitch of the eye? Nothing?”

Tanis shook his head, eyes wide. “He seemed fine. I don’t understand how he can be so unphased.”

The surrounding Lodgers looked at one another, whispering amongst themselves. Helsby looked in the direction of Jekyll’s office, brow furrowed and a scowl dark on his lips. Griffin seemed just as agitated.

Lavender cut in quickly. “We did see him running to his office, and he looked panicked.” She glanced around, hoping to see something closer to sympathy on some of the other Lodgers' faces.

Bird nodded. “He was acting weird when he left the kitchen earlier. He just… stopped in his tracks. Got all stiff and quiet.”

“He saw a spider,” Chabra scoffed.

“We didn’t get a good look at his expression when he ran to his room,” Tanis said, frowning. He cocked his head to the side, glancing at Lavender with an expression that asked ‘you saw what I saw, right?’. She cast her eyes down at the floor.

It was true that as of late, Jekyll had been much too normal. He had handled the explosion with frightening nonchalance, and then had brushed off the discovery of the Lodgers’ secret project like it was nothing. Lavender was not alone in thinking that those events called for some sort of consequence, or at least a reaction on Jekyll’s part. Even a scolding would be better than nothing, and no, that talk he gave to Sinnett and Luckett did not count as a scolding.

The Lodgers had all agreed after the fact that they should have notified Jekyll of their work. Sure, many of them were still nervous of the doctor after everything that had gone down with Frankenstein, but it wasn’t like he was a bad person. There was no real reason for them to keep their project a secret, even if Jekyll would have urged them to work on their commissions first. At the very least, telling him would have prevented the explosion from happening.

Some of the other Lodgers had been terrified of Jekyll after he uncovered their secret; Lavender thought it was a little ridiculous. At the end of the day, Jekyll was the same person he had always been, even if his relationship with the rest of the Society was a bit more strained. And Jekyll would never do anything truly malicious, not to them.

As it turned out, he didn’t end up doing anything at all. To Lavender, that was more frightening.

And then… Lanyon.

Lavender hadn’t even known that Lanyon was missing until Jekyll dragged his comatose body through the doors of the Society. And the doctor seemingly took it in stride. He smiled as he explained the situation to the Lodgers and never once asked for assistance. It was as if he hadn’t been bothered by the critical state of his friend in the slightest!

But Lavender wasn’t convinced. Jekyll had mastered his easy smile a long time ago; he had used it to recruit Lodger after Lodger and keep the Society standing. It was likely that he was using that smile now.

Which meant one thing: he didn’t trust them enough to want their help.

It stung, but it was fair. If Lavender had been in his shoes in the time surrounding the exhibition, she wouldn’t trust the Lodgers, either.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that Jekyll really is having a tough time with everything going on. But he’s not telling us for a reason.” She looked up, jaw set. “He needs some space. If we keep pestering him, we might only make the situation worse.”

Archer shook his head. “If Jekyll’s really having a tough time, we should help. It’s us that’s going to suffer if the Society collapses, and if Jekyll’s the only one keeping it running…” He gestured wildly with his hands.

“I don’t think that Dr. Jekyll is completely untouched by the situation either,” Ito said, pursing her lips. “We should show him that he’s not alone, he’s surrounded by capable scientists. If we can help, we should.”

“How has he once shown that he’s been affected by the situation in the slightest?!” Tanis exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “The only time I’ve seen him moderately bothered was when we caught him running to his office, and that can easily be explained away. It’s freaky! He’s like some sort of robot!”

“I’m with Tanis,” Helsby said. “I’ve not heard a single distressed peep out of that man. If Jekyll wants to deal with everything on his own, so be it. I’m not getting involved with a guy who can’t be arsed to worry about his comatose friend.”

“If Jekyll wanted our help, he’d ask,” Griffin agreed.

Lavender rubbed at her eyes, worry pooling in her stomach. “We have to give him a little bit of grace. Everyone acts differently in tough situations; he just needs some time.”

“I think we just have a simple communication issue,” Pennebrygg said. “I’m willing to go talk to him and clear things up.”

Helsby barked out a laugh. “Good luck getting anything out of him.”

“I’ll go with him,” Luckett said. He stepped forward, brow furrowed. “I’ve been nothing but a pain in his side these last couple of days. I should let him know that I’m here for him if he needs it.”

Lavender buried her face in her hands. “Don’t you think he’ll come to us once he’s ready?”

The group of Lodgers all looked at one another for a moment before turning back to her, answering with a resounding, “No.”

“Fine,” she said, shaking her head. “You can go. But don’t push him too hard.”

Just as the pair turned toward the staircase, a scream came from Jekyll’s office.
-

Jekyll was going to faint.

He had only fainted a handful of times in his life, but every time he did so, it started like this. His hands were buzzing with millions of tiny pinpricks and his fingers had gone numb with the incessant tingling. Cold saturated every breath he took, accumulating in his chest until each inhale felt too thin to sustain consciousness. It was difficult to see past the flurry of emotion encroaching upon his vision. The confusion and anger and stress all blended together to become one whirlwind of hysteria, and it was dizzying. Jekyll wasn’t sure if he was going to laugh, scream, or cry.

The noise that came out of his throat was an embarrassing mixture of the three. “I’m aware that we have a problem; it’s fairly obvious,” he croaked, gesturing to the bloodied centipede wrapped and writhing around the walls. “Why the hell would you release the hallucinations now, of all times? Have you no sense of self preservation?”

He stood from his chair and stumbled as his knees almost gave out beneath him. The beast gnashed its pincers, legs drumming in a tinny chorus. Waves of coagulating blood lapped at the material of his trousers, cold and clammy against his thighs. Jekyll shuddered and leaned against his desk. His chest was so tight, too tight. He was trapped no matter where he went. He couldn’t breathe.

He was going to drown in here.

Hyde wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t mean to set the nightmares loose. I mean sure, it was my fault or whatever, but I was just trying to free Lanyon. You should be thanking me.”

The words refused to cooperate with his muddied brain. Free Lanyon? What did Lanyon have to do with any of this? Clarity fled his every attempt to make sense of it. Jekyll blinked twice before sending a baffled expression in the direction of his shadow. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Hyde rolled his eyes and sneered. Jekyll wanted to throttle him. How dare he do this to him right now, and how dare he look so unaffected by everything? Anger flared up in a fiery wave, and he swayed on his feet. The blood washed across the floor had slowed in its climb, instead acting as an anchor, a chain. It was too thick to move through, too nauseating to look at for too long. He couldn’t breathe through the thick stench of iron and rot.

“Calm down, Jekyll. You’re getting hysterical.”

“Explain to me what is going on right now,” Jekyll seethed, fingernails digging into the edge of his desk with the effort to not fall over. “This is no time for your sadistic little games, Hyde.”

Hyde leaned in close, a grin creeping across his lips. “You look so wretched when you’re scared.”

“Tell me what is going on this instant!” Jekyll barked, vision blinking out for a moment. When it returned, it was filled with flashes of color. The edges of his sight were swallowed by black.

The shadow’s smile grew. “I will if you ask nicely.”

“Tell. Me.”

“Fine, but only because it helps both of us to get him out.” Hyde said. He leaned back and crossed his arms, a smug expression fitting across his face. “Lanyon’s in your head.”

Jekyll blinked. In his head? That made no sense whatsoever. How the hell would Lanyon have gotten into his head? That couldn’t be right.

No, it couldn’t be.

Hyde watched him with gleaming green eyes and Jekyll knew that it couldn’t be right.

Outrage flared up so sudden and burning that Jekyll almost fell over with the force of it, breaths coming too fast, too cold. “Go away.”

Hyde’s eyes narrowed, lips curling into a snarl. “Excuse me?”

“Go away,” Jekyll repeated, voice low. He took a step toward his shadow, muscles straining through the metallic sludge. “I don’t know why you think that now is a good time to mess with me, but I’m not going to put up with it. There is too much to deal with right now, too much that I need to fix, and I don’t need you added to that list.” He couldn’t see past the fire blazing in his eyes, white hot and dizzying. “Go away.”

“I’m not lying to you,” Hyde snarled. “Lanyon’s been trapped in your head ever since he went missing. You’ve seen him in your dreams; you’ve just been too wrapped up in your own melodrama with the Lodgers to see it. And while you’ve been busy sucking up to your employees, Robert bleeding Lanyon has had every chance to discover our secret!”

The world was blurring into smears of color across Jekyll’s vision, all reds and green whisking together and falling apart before his eyes. His body had gone completely numb besides the ache in his chest and the whistle of air down his throat, the temperature too extreme to tell whether it was freezing or burning. Tears pricked at his eyes. He was going to pass out. He was going to pass out and drown in the blood. He was going to pass out.

Jekyll stumbled back, hand grappling for the desk. “You’re lying to me,” he said, voice weak. “I don’t need this right now. Go away; I’m not going to ask you again.”

“Fine,” Hyde said, voice distant. “I’ll prove it to you.”

Jekyll heaved himself back onto his chair. He squinted his eyes shut and willed the spots of color dancing behind the lids disappear, the heels of his palms kneading at his temples. It wasn’t real. He shook his head in an attempt to knock dislodge the buzzing in his skull. It wasn’t real. The cold slime clinging to his legs wasn’t really there. The centipede was nothing but his imagination. Jekyll’s hands moved from his temples to his eyes, rubbing them as if to scrub the sights away. It wasn’t real. None of this was real. He took a stuttering breath and opened his eyes.

The room was empty. Jekyll sat in silence for a moment, chest heaving as he looked around, searching. The floors were clean. The walls were barren. The air smelled faintly of peppermint. All the bugs and blood and gore had seemingly vanished.

Jekyll buried his face in his hands. All the world seemed to settle, but the dizzy spell continued its spinning, and the buzzing behind his eyes refused to dissipate. He swallowed thickly and raised his head. Nothing. The room was vacant, save for him and the splashes of color still dancing in his peripheral.

He needed to calm down. This wasn’t becoming of a gentleman; it would be a shame if he were caught in such a state. Jekyll took in a slow breath, eyes fluttering shut. He couldn’t hear through the rush of blood in his ears.

Jekyll stepped out of his chair tentatively, backing away from his desk with his arms outstretched in a grapple for the residual balance the counter offered. The ground was solid and dry beneath his feet. He counted four picture frames hanging from the walls, not one even a touch askew. The air was slightly stale with dust but otherwise clean. He still couldn’t shake the cold lodged in his chest. It was only then that he remembered to exhale. The doorknob was cold in his palm.

Jekyll yanked the door open and promptly floundered backwards, falling to the ground in his haste to get far, far away from the figure standing in the entryway. He shook his head, scrambling back with a quickening breath. The entirety of his body buzzed with renewed agitation.

“No,” he whispered, vision falling in and out of focus. “No, no. You’re not real. You can’t be real.”

Moreau loomed above him, dead eyes boring into his. They pierced right through the shell and delved deep into the meat of him. Those watery eyes saw him in his entirety. The charred lips curled over rotting teeth. Disgust.

He could see himself reflected in those eyes and, for a moment, the surrounding face looked just like his.

Jekyll couldn’t breathe. He squinted his eyes shut and turned away, fear too thick in his throat to swallow, stomach roiling. He was going to vomit. He was going to vomit and then he was going to faint.

“Please, get out,” he begged.

Moreau didn’t budge. He stood there, lips curled and eyes incisive, flesh falling from his bones in ribbons. He was being stripped to the bone and Jekyll knew that it was really him who was rotting.

The world attacked him with its whirlwind of tingling pigment. His limbs gave out in his effort to crawl away from the hallucination, and he collapsed into a flurry of pinpricks, bone chill, blaring hue dancing with blaring hue, inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He choked on it.

“It’s me,” he rasped, curling in on himself. The world loomed above him, unbalanced in its rotations around and across. He was stuck in its push and pull. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Henry?”

Jekyll looked up and screamed.

Standing not two metres away from him was Lanyon, brow furrowed and a small frown pulling at his lips. He knelt down, reaching out toward Jekyll’s trembling, retreating frame. His skin was pale, too pale. No, translucent. He was glowing a faint blue and Jekyll could see right through him.

Never in his life had he expected to see Lanyon’s ghost. Even his mind couldn’t have grown dark enough to think up such a torment.

Jekyll couldn’t staunch the sobs ripping from his chest. He pushed himself off the ground and stumbled past Moreau, through the doorway, darkness choking his vision so entirely that he could only see through blurred pinpricks, nothing but the tripping of his feet one after the other as he fled to Lanyon’s room.

He couldn’t be dead. He had looked like a corpse before but he couldn’t be dead. His skin had been too pale, his breaths coming too shallow, his pulse languid in his wrist, in his chest, but he couldn’t be dead. No, not the man who had trained his feet in a steady box step, hands warm against his waist as he coached him through a dance. Not the man who had shared expensive bottles of wine with him in his office, skin like golden syrup in the melting light of the afternoon sun. Not the man who had once intertwined their fingers and taught him to crave that fleeting touch. Not the man who had stolen his first kiss.

Lanyon couldn’t be dead.

Jekyll flung open the door to Lanyon’s room and staggered to his bed, chest hollow at the sight. He looked dead. His lips were ashen, body motionless beneath his thin blanket. He lay there like a corpse and Jekyll’s heart plummeted when he realized that he might actually be one.

Tears blurred his slipping vision as he pressed his fingers against the side of Lanyon’s neck, fingers wavering too much to uncover a heartbeat. Jekyll shook his head, dismay mounting in his chest.

“Please,” he whispered, pressing harder. Lanyon’s skin was cold. “Please, Robert. Please.”

A faint pulse thrummed beneath his fingertips, almost too fleeting to catch. Jekyll waited for it to reemerge. After a couple of tortuous, trembling moments, it did.

Jekyll’s knees gave out beneath him, sending him collapsing at the edge of the bed. His chest was heaving, eyes too full of color and stinging with salt to see clearly. He was alive. Lanyon was alive.

“It’s okay,” came the familiar voice from behind him.

Jekyll shook his head, tears dripping from his chin. “No.” The word came out wet and warbled. He couldn’t drag his gaze up to meet the ghost’s.

“Henry,” the ghost tried again, voice soft. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m right here.” A misty knee poked into his vision as the apparition crouched down beside him.

Jekyll squeezed his eyes shut. “No, no. No.”

Lanyon had always been so warm; the ghost felt like nothing. The translucent figure was air against his skin, devoid of life, deader than the body laying in that godforsaken bed. It was a sad attempt at a recreation and Jekyll couldn’t bear to see him like this any longer.

“Henry, please. I can explain what’s going on, but you need to listen to me.”

“No!” Jekyll yelled, head whipping up so fast it gave him vertigo. “I know what you’re doing, Hyde, and it’s not going to work.”

The ghost’s eyebrows creased, a puzzled look stretching across its face. “Excuse me?”

“You’re using the hallucinations against me so you can take control. It’s not going to work this time, so leave me the hell alone!”

The room was eerily quiet as the ghost stared at him, fuzzy in the scope of his sight. Jekyll couldn’t feel his arms. They fell loosely by his sides.

The ghost shook its head slowly. “I’m not Hyde. It’s me, Lanyon. I’ve been trapped in your head ever since the explosion, and I need you to get me out. I swear that I’m telling you the truth.”

Jekyll buried his face in his hands. “I’m not letting you out. Leave me alone.”

“Henry-” the plea was cut off by the creak of feet against floorboards.

Jekyll looked up, cheeks stained and eyes red. Pennebrygg and Luckett stood frozen in the doorway, staring down at him with matching expressions of horror drawn across their faces. Luckett took a tentative step forward, hands out as if he were attempting to soothe a wild animal. Something within Jekyll crumbled.

The Lodgers would never trust him again.

“Dr. Jekyll?” Luckett asked, voice soft. “Is everything alright?”

He took another step and Jekyll snapped. “Get away from me!” he screamed, pushing himself back against the bedframe. “Everyone get the fuck out!”

Pennebrygg’s eyes widened. He pulled Luckett back toward the door, shaking his head frantically. The two disappeared just as quickly as they came.

“Henry!” the ghost cried, but Jekyll had already slumped to the ground.

He couldn’t get enough air. His whole body trembled with the need of it, the desperation for something, anything to draw the buzzing out of his chest. His brain was too fogged with panic and tears to think. He was going to faint.

“I’m losing my mind,” he murmured to himself. “I’m going mad.”

Somewhere far away, Lanyon’s voice continued to plead, but Jekyll’s ears had long since gone numb.
-

For the first time since she had returned to the Society, Rachel was alone in the kitchen. Chabra and Bird had left soon after Jekyll, exiting with a sort of tense, silent air that Rachel didn’t quite understand. The kitchen had been barren since then.

She must have missed something. Sure, Jekyll’s relationship with the Lodgers had been recently strained, but things should have been improving, not getting worse. And all this– this silence, this avoidance, this discomfort–was much, much worse. What had happened while she was gone?

Yes, she must have missed something; she was trying hard not to think about it. If Rachel asked for more information, she would likely find herself wrapped up in an upsetting situation that would be impossible to restrain herself from trying to fix. She had taken a break from the Society just to collect herself, to gain the strength necessary to refrain from butting into other people’s lives like she always does, and she could not let all of that go to waste. No, she could not get herself involved with whatever was falling apart here.

The last thing Jekyll and the Lodgers needed was her “help”.

Still, it was too quiet. Rachel hadn’t heard voices outside her door or a bump from the floor above in too long, and years of working here had taught her that silence in the Society spelled disaster. She should probably go check it out.

Rachel stuck her head out of the door slowly, surveying the surrounding area. The lack of noise immediately made sense: there were no people left to make it. Nearly all of the Lodgers had gathered around the foot of the stairs, huddling together and speaking in hushed, urgent voices.

For a moment, Rachel hesitated. If she got herself involved in whatever had caught the Lodgers’ attention, she would run the risk of being overbearing. If she let the Lodgers continue to plot on their own without intervention, however, there was a large chance that something would explode. Things tended to do that when these scientists were left without supervision.

Rachel took a deep breath and, steeling herself, approached the group. The closer she got, the clearer the expressions on their faces became. Their voices were laced with something akin to fear.

Something was wrong.

She cleared her throat. “What’s going on?”

The group turned to face her, panic glinting in their eyes. “Rachel, thank God you’re here,” Sinnett said, voice wobbling. “Dr. Jekyll’s been possessed.”

Ito smacked the back of his head, scowling. “He’s absolutely not been possessed. He’s just…” she trailed off. She looked around for a moment, brow furrowed. “Something’s happened, but it’s not possession.”

Rachel blinked, fear mounting in her chest. “Dr. Jay? Is he okay?”

Archer shrugged helplessly. “I don’t think so. This has never happened before.”

Her voice sharpened. “Explain.”

“Luckett and I went to check up on him,” Pennebrygg cut in, “and we found him crouched by Dr. Lanyon’s bed, sobbing. He screamed at us to fuck off.”

“He swore at you?” Rachel exclaimed, eyes wide.

“Maijabi says that changes in personality are signs of possession,” Tweedy offered.

Maijabi shook his head. “While unusual behavior is often present in possessions, I don’t believe that Dr. Jekyll is being possessed.”

Griffin looked at the older man like he had grown a second head. “He swore at Pennebrygg and Luckett,” he repeated, drawing out his words.

“He was showing emotion. That’s not usual,” Helsby chimed in, just as emphatically.

Maijabi sighed. “Dr. Jekyll may seem sanitized at times, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t human.” He looked around, gesturing to Luckett. “Mr. Luckett and Mr. Pennebrygg reported that Dr. Jekyll was at Dr. Lanyon’s bedside, did they not? He was clearly very emotional, and it likely had something to do with his friend.” His gaze softened, voice dropping slightly. “He’s experiencing quite a lot as of late. It’s possible that everything got the better of him and you two simply walked in at a bad time.”

Rachel’s stomach plummeted. This whole time she had been holding herself back, keeping herself out of Jekyll’s way in an attempt not to be overbearing, when Jekyll had needed her help from the start? This was worse than being smothering; she had ignored someone she cared about when he had needed her most.

Jekyll was hurting, and she ran away when she should’ve been there for him. Now he was hurting worse for it, and it was her fault.

She was a terrible friend.

Rachel couldn’t quell the tremble in her lips. Tears sprouted in her eyes, too thick for her to see through as they fought to fall. She buried her face in her hands and tried not to sniffle too loudly. Shame burned an angry red in her cheeks.

A hand rested on her back. “Miss Rachel? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, shoulders beginning to shake. She couldn’t speak through the guilt clogging her throat. She should’ve left Hyde alone. She should’ve been there for Jekyll. Nothing she did was ever the right thing.

There was a line drawn somewhere between caring and smothering, and Rachel just couldn’t seem to find it.

“Miss Rachel?”

She raised her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. Jasper had moved to stand between her and the rest of the Lodgers, face drawn into a worried frown. He led Rachel away from the group, into a quiet corner far from prying eyes and curious ears. He looked at her with more care than she deserved.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice wavering. “It’s just… I should’ve been there for him.”

Jasper shook his head. “You didn’t know,” he said. His voice was soft.

Rachel laughed wetly. “I should’ve known; I’m his friend. I should’ve at least asked how he was doing or what he needed.” She dipped her head, eyes refilling with tears. “But I didn’t. I was scared that I would be too much, like I always am. And I neglected him. He deserves a better friend than me.”

“No,” Jasper said, voice firm. “You’re a wonderful friend, Miss Rachel. And Dr. Jekyll will be alright, I’m sure. You can be there for him from here on out, but nothing good can come from beating yourself up about it.”

“I can’t figure it out,” Rachel sniffled. “Everything I do is either too much or not enough. I’m trying to be better, but it’s not working.” She looked away, chin dripping with tears.

Jasper was quiet for a moment. His hand left her back to catch her palm, his fingers intertwining with hers. His grasp was steady.

“You’ll figure it out,” he finally whispered. “I know you will.”

Rachel squeezed his hand. “How are you so sure?”

“Because you’re willing to try this hard, and that means more than you think.” Jasper’s voice was strong, sure. “You’re a friend anyone would be glad to have.”

Rachel withdrew her hand from his and hugged him. They stood there until the tears dried from her cheeks, and when she pulled away, Jasper smiled at her.

“Feeling better?”

Rachel nodded. “Thank you, Jasper.” She looked up toward the door of Jekyll’s office and set her jaw, eyes steeling. “I’m going to apologize to him and offer my help,” she decided. “I won’t go overboard; I’ll only do what he asks from me. That’s all.” She looked at Jasper, brow furrowed. “Do you think that will be enough?”

Jasper nodded. “More than. Two things, though.” He cleared his throat and looked at the floor, suddenly shy. “You’re more than the help you offer. Don’t do everything just because someone asks you to. If Dr. Jekyll ends up asking for more than you can give, you shouldn’t get in over your head.”

Rachel wrung her hands together, a frown tugging at her lips. Shouldn’t she do everything she could to make up for her recent behavior? Jekyll was clearly cracking under the pressure of it all; as his friend, she should relieve some of that pressure.

But that was smothering, wasn’t it? She couldn’t imagine having a friend of hers work themselves into the ground just because she asked them to. She wouldn’t want someone else to do that for her.

So she nodded, pushing down the discomfort that his words brought. “You’re right. I’ll do my best.” She smiled a small smile. “What’s the second thing?”

“It’s much less insightful,” he said with a laugh. “It’s just that, uh…” He looked up at Jekyll’s office, grin stretching into a grimace. “You should probably wait before speaking with him. I don’t think now is the right time.”

Right. Based on the Lodger’s recounts, Jekyll wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. If she was going to have a heart to heart with him, she’d want him to be in the right state of mind to do it.

“You’re probably right about that, too. I’ll give him some time. Thanks, Jasper.”
-

“What did you do to him?!” Lanyon stalked over to Hyde, fists clenched. Anger bubbled up within him, so hot that it scalded his tongue when he spoke. He spat the words out before they could char.

He couldn’t shake the image of what he had just seen: Jekyll, tearstained and cowering by his bedside, looking at him with more mistrust than he had ever been subject to in his life. Like he had seen a ghost.

He hadn’t listened to him because of something Hyde had done, which could only mean one thing. Hyde had hurt him somehow.

Hyde blinked, stepping back. “Excuse me? I wasn’t even there!”

“Don’t fuck with me!” Lanyon yelled, grasping a handful of Hyde’s shirt and yanking him forward. “Henry was terrified out of his mind. I couldn’t make him listen to me, and it was all because of something you did.”

Hyde stilled in his hold for a moment, and Lanyon hoped he was scared. He was so angry he couldn’t see straight, fists trembling and knuckles white with the effort. All he could see was Jekyll crying, Jekyll pleading beside his body, Jekyll yelling at him to leave him alone. Jekyll breaking. How could someone make him break like that? He wanted Hyde to be as petrified as Jekyll had looked.

Instead of cowering, Hyde tipped his head back and laughed. “Impressive. How have you managed to scare him more than I have?”

“He thought I was you,” Lanyon seethed. “He said that he wouldn’t let you take control again. What the hell did he mean by that?!”

Hyde’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed Lanyon’s hand tight, forcing the fabric from his fingers and wrenching his arm away. “Piss off.”

“No!” Lanyon yelled. His voice echoed in the spiral stairwell, reverberating in the tight space. “None of this makes sense. You need to tell me what is going on right now.”

“There’s nothing going on!” Hyde growled. He pushed his palms flat against Lanyon’s chest and shoved him stumbling back. His eyes glinted a venomous green, teeth bared and glinting. He looked dangerous as he stalked towards Lanyon, and it only made the fury flare up even more.

So this was going to be a fight, then.

“Bullshit. Why does this mindscape even exist? Why are you here, and how the hell can Henry see you? What have you done to him?”

“It’s none of your goddamn business!” Hyde spat, voice raising.

A cruel laugh exploded from Lanyon’s throat. He hadn’t realized he could be this angry, so enraged that the raw emotion burned his skin and bittered the backs of his teeth until the words poured out of their own volition. It washed over him in one, large wave and he wanted it to drown Hyde, too.

He swung his hands wildly, feeling half like a madman as he stormed toward the other man. “It absolutely is my business! Henry is my friend, and I refuse to stand by and let you hurt someone I care about!”

“You don’t care about him!” Hyde shouted, voice laced with acid. He sprang forward like a viper, teeth sharp and fists clenched. “You’ve never cared about him, so don’t try that shit with me!”

Lanyon stumbled back, out of Hyde’s reach. Hurt clashed against anger so violently it made him dizzy. “Never cared about him?” The words were sour in his mouth. “Who are you to tell me how I feel?”

“Never!” Hyde repeated, his eyes so cutting that they hurt to look at. “You haven’t cared for him as a friend, as a coworker, not even back in college. He’s never been anything to you but a plaything.”

“Of course I care about him!” Lanyon said, distraught. “And I want to know what’s going on, because I want to help him! Because I care about him!”

Hyde’s scowl darkened, voice coming out as a growl. “No, you don’t. You don’t deserve to know shit.”

“Stop telling me that I don’t care about Henry! He means more to me than anyone else I’ve ever met!” Lanyon ran his hands through his hair, feeling half hysterical. He hadn’t meant for something that personal to escape his lips, and he cringed as it bounced off the walls of the stairwell. But they were true, he realized, and he let the certainty of them solidify in his voice. “I need to make sure that Henry is safe, because I can’t stand to see him hurting like that. You have no right to say that I don’t care for him.”

Though the conviction had settled comfortably in Lanyon’s chest, it seemed to have the opposite effect on Hyde. The other man bristled, head shaking so vehemently that Lanyon worried for the state of his neck.

Lanyon tried again, taming his voice into an emphatic plea. “Tell me the truth.”

“The truth will only make you hate him!” The words exploded out of him with such force that Lanyon wondered if he had even meant to say them.

His feet were moving before he knew what he was doing. Lanyon walked over to Hyde in long strides, gathering his hands in his. His skin was cold against his, and his eyes had widened into something much more vulnerable than the spitting display of anger just moments before. Lanyon looked into his eyes and was met with fear.

Finally, Hyde was scared. Except Lanyon wasn’t sure he wanted him to be scared anymore.

“Nothing,” He breathed, “could make me hate him.”

Hyde shook his head, glowering. “You don’t know that.”

“Try me.”

They stared at one another, each waiting for the other to back down. Lanyon could feel Hyde’s indignant breath against his chin.

Just as Lanyon decided that he wouldn’t be the one to surrender, he realized what they were doing. It seemed that Hyde recognized this at the same time; they sprang apart as though the other had burned them, faces blazing. Hyde gathered his arms to his chest and hissed, taking a threatened step back. Lanyon felt dizzy.

How was he supposed to get any information out of Hyde? He was more akin to a wild animal than a rational human being. There was no way he could get him to crack.

Perhaps he could figure it out without him; he was in Jekyll’s head, after all. There was sure to be some evidence of what was going on somewhere. He had seen his dreams, for Christ's sake. He had more access to this information than ever before.

Lanyon’s eyes widened. His dreams! Hyde had been mentioned in the last dream he had observed; he remembered it somewhere in the midst of melting bodies and Jekyll’s hand in his. They had accused him of Hyde, whatever that meant. And Jekyll had understood. It had terrified him.

Jekyll had always been secretive about Hyde. His ‘assistant’ had appeared seemingly out of nowhere on one random night, quite literally falling out of the inky sky and into a flower bed, according to Rachel. Jekyll had refused to explain where he had found him, and it wasn’t until the shitshow at the Blackfog Bazaar that Lanyon had actually had the opportunity to meet this assistant of his. He was elusive, appearing in the dead of night and disappearing completely the moment his face had been plastered on Wanted signs across London. Lanyon had never even seen him with Jekyll to get a straight story out of the two of them.

No, he had never seen them together. Not until this mindscape version of Hyde had spoken to him in the form of a hallucination.

And when Lanyon had tried to speak with Jekyll, he had said something about Hyde taking control. Something about letting him out. It wasn’t possible to let a hallucination out of your head, right?

Unless Hyde wasn’t a hallucination.

Lanyon went cold. He turned to Hyde slowly, face ashen and eyes wide. Hyde startled at the change in his expression, taking another tentative step back. There was something hidden in his face, beneath the sneer pulling at his lips. Something like dread. Like he knew what Lanyon was about to say.

It all made sense.

“Are you…” Lanyon began, breathless. Hyde looked at him and Lanyon hoped that he would cut him off before he was able to ask his question. He didn’t.

He wasn’t going to stop him; the realization was heavy in his stomach. He had to ask.

“Are you Edward Hyde?” It sounded stupid, asking a man who looked just like Hyde if his name fit his face. But he knew what he meant. He could see it in the way he froze, the way his expression contorted.

Lanyon watched the terror wash over Hyde's face, and he knew that he was right.