Chapter Text
“You’re grisha!”
The words hadn’t meant to come out. Well, he did want to say them but not like this.
He had been angry. Anger mixed with confusion and maybe he felt somewhat defensive. Wylan didn’t want anyone to find out about his defect but here was Jesper, patronising him. The very thing he had wanted to avoid.
Growing up that was all his life had been. His father’s anger, every tutor's growing disappointment and the maid's pitying stares after he would leave his fathers office nursing a plethora of new bruises and cuts.
It was like his very being stemmed from the fact that he couldn’t read and being anything other than a walking, useless disappointment was nothing but a distant dream. Similar to the ones he would have when the yelling got too much and his mind would drift to some other universe. Another world where someone would be proud of him and love him. Wylan would be able to read and the waters would still. He wouldn’t be drowning anymore.
Finally, he had gotten that. Finally there was someone who he thought loved him and in turn the iron bars that barricaded his heart melted and bent away. Wylan didn’t care that the hands that held him so tenderly could do so. To him it was beautiful.
Jesper did not share that sentiment.
If the look on the now newly revealed fabrikator’s face was anything to go by, Wylan knew he had messed up but he just didn’t get why. He hated this feeling. Not knowing what was going on but still messing up time and time again.
He barricaded himself with anger, told himself he was frustrated with Jesper for having this gift, for not using it. He could do so much more than Wylan ever could and was mad at him for it. Mad that Wylan didn’t understand. Ghezen wasn’t that a familiar feeling.
A question appeared in his mind, slipping in through the crevices of his skin like the biting cold water of the canal, freezing him on the spot.
Was he angry about Jesper’s skill or his own failings? Because no matter what the grisha hid he was still perfect, beautiful secrets and gorgeous truths. Wylan knew that even if Jesper hid that perfect face he could still bring half of Ketterdam to their knees with that soothing baritone voice of his and words that make your heart flutter and soar till it felt like butterflies had filled the space where the organ used to be.
Butterflies.
Brilliant blue and black contrasted with the burst of orange flowers. Wylan felt his breath catch in awe. Datura Meloxia, a perfect example of symbiosis as the cyan morpho butterflies process the deadly poison and pollinate the plants in return.
One born to destroy and one with the natural abilities of nature to give life, creating a perfect balance together. Like a little love story, he thought.
Wylan.
Like him and Jesper, said a quieter part of his brain.
“Wylan!”
The words were muffled but said with such urgency that he didn’t hesitate to run to the door. It was locked. Impenetrable for most but Wylan was not most people. Always an outlier but at least this he could do.
Fumbling with his bag and feeling a small leather pouch Wylan used the drawstring to tie it to the intricate metal designs on the door. He hoped it would be strong enough to damage the door but not harm the people inside.
Ducking to the side of the door after lighting a makeshift fuse that stuck out of the bag he listened as the hissing of sparks began. The vials of red phosphorus and potassium chlorate should create a big enough contact explosion to break the door.
Sure enough the faint sound of glass shattering was followed by the deafening boom of the chemical reaction and the residual crackles of the resulting flames that began to die out.
Thankfully he had enough experience with exploding things that covering his ears was muscle memory, after learning the hard way that your ears ringing for hours afterwards is not the most enjoyable thing it had become instinct.
The hole created in the door was just big enough to catch a glimpse inside, Inej was laying by the door, the others passed out behind her sprawled out unceremoniously. He observed them cautiously and anxiously for a while until he spotted the steady rise and fall of their chests indicating that they were still breathing. He let out a small sigh of relief at that.
Jesper momentarily stirred in his sleep and Wylan felt hope briefly bubble up in his chest before it was squashed down when nothing else happened. He instantly regretted their argument, it felt silly when faced with the possibility of death. Wylan prayed with every inch of his being that those would not be the last words he would speak to the sharpshooter.
Orange powder seeped out of the gash in the door in rivulets, dancing around him like the waves of a calm sea. The tendrils fluttered around in the still air, reminding him of the butterflies that sat on the similarly coloured flowers he had been mesmerised by just moments prior, lulling him into thoughts of his counterpart, the butterfly to his poison, the life to his destruction.
Wait, what was he just thinking about?
“Wylan! We’ve been poisoned.”
This immediately snapped him out of his daze, clearing the slight haze that covered his thoughts. He felt like he was in a dream but Wylan could still feel the pang of panic that the words brought to his mind.
“Oh-um, vomiting or hallucinations?” He had two theories. Cyanide was colourless and odourless, perfect for quietly taking someone out but then Wylan remembered something, something orange? The flowers.
“Hallucinations.”
Datura meloxia. That’s what he was thinking about. Standing up, he felt dizziness hit him but assuming that was just from the stress of the situation he pushed it down and stabled himself against the door. There was no time for his stupid feelings, his friends were in danger and he had to help them, this wasn’t about him.
Cyan Morpho butterflies processed the poison from the flowers, they must contain the antidote. Plucking them from their perches Wylan muttered a quick apology to the butterfly before handing it over to Inej through the hole instructing her to eat it. The wraith did so without protest, which Wylan was mildly surprised about before focusing his task.
The shadows of the garden seemed to warp around him. Stone walls stood over him with disapproving glares, branches began reaching out towards him and Wylan flinched away from the raised arms. It was getting late and they needed to retrieve the blade quickly.
Focus. There are four of them in that room, minus Inej, who had already gotten the antidote that was three, he needed three butterflies. Wylan grabbed the butterflies by their wings to prevent their escape, holding his breath all the while, feeling that if he let it go he would somehow forget where he was.
Wylan slumped by the door as the last butterfly crossed the threshold. Everything felt heavy, his arms, legs, head, it was all too much for Wylan to carry as he sat there allowing himself to rest for a minute. Something in the back of his mind screamed that this was familiar but he was too tired to listen to that voice.
Suddenly he heard a door slam. Looking around in alarm nothing seemed out of the ordinary, the door that the others were behind was still closed and he heard voices from the other side. Jesper’s which he could never miss and then Tolya’s, thanking him for their rescue but Wylan’s tongue felt too heavy in his mouth to answer.
“We need to keep moving, now.” That was Kaz’s voice, he could tell from how raspy the voice sounded as he started to explain some plan that he had begun scheming the moment things turned sour.
The words became distant to Wylan as his surroundings morphed around him, grey cobblestones became perfectly embroidered red carpet, clusters of brightly coloured flowers became a large mahogany desk. Fear froze him to the floor as memories from this room flooded his brain. Behind the desk, Kaz’s voice spilled from his fathers lips, a plan he desperately tried to understand through the haze of memories.
It wasn’t like this was unusual for Wylan, ever since landing in the barrel he had seen his fathers face everywhere. In the shadows of rooms late at night when he couldn't sleep or in the large crowds that filled the streets of the barrel, making his skin itch with each touch. He could never escape the piercing blue stare of disappointment. The memories loomed over him no matter how hard he tried to forget.
Wylan closed his eyes, willing the memories to go away. This was no time to wallow in his past. Set it aside, lock it away. Set it aside, lock it away. He repeated this to himself under his breath until the fog cleared enough to allow the plan to register in his mind. An ambush, nobody could have predicted that they would overcome the poison.
His job was simple, blow the door and bring reinforcements, so why wasn’t his body listening to him? He had to move, he had to get through this so he could see Jesper again, apologise for this stupid fight because in the end didn’t he also have secrets? Shameful secrets he hadn’t even told his… boyfriend? He didn’t know. Wylan didn’t even know if Jesper would want him back after all of this or did he already mess things up beyond repair, the stone cold glare that Wylan was all too familiar with seemed to agree.
Willing his trembling hands to still so he could unclasp the metal buckles on his bag and find something powerful enough to blow the door, Wylan ignored the echoing footsteps of the two grisha behind him. Nina and Zoya had seemed to finally quell their bickering as he fumbled with straps and pouches, securing enough explosives to the door to do a whole lot of damage.
Nina was saying something, he thought she might have been, but Wylan zeroed in on his moving hands feeling that if he strayed in his focus even the slightest bit then the world would slip away from him completely.
Sounds of a struggle erupted from the other side of the door, he could hear the clinking of metal and the thud of a body hitting the floor, Wylan’s heart almost jumped out of his chest when he heard a pained yell erupting from the other courtyard that sounded so much like his beloved zemeni man’s voice. He wasted no time in igniting the fuse and watching it roar to life in a flurry of sparks and crackles.
It glittered like the stars he once saw in the clear fjerdan sky when his father had brought him on a business trip, before Wylan’s defect had shown. There were no stars in Ketterdam, the smog from mercher owned factories covered their light pumping the sky with constant dark grey smog. Wylan learned that he loved the stars, loved how they glittered in the pitch black offering hope in the unforgiving night.
He was startled out of his thoughts by a hand jerking him backwards just in time to not be blown up himself.
“Wylan what in the saints were you-” Nina was cut off as the smoke cleared and the struggle on the other side presented itself, lifting her hands on the offensive.
But when the smoke cleared what Wylan saw was no struggle, it was a massacre. Blood drained from his face and suddenly his legs trembled under his weight. Wylan gripped the straps of his bag as if they could hold him together in the face of the horrors that faced him.
Red, the whole scene was painted in red as if an artist had run out of colours and filled the rest of the landscape in a terrifying red but the gray he found was even worse, lifeless gray eyes stared at him, the face contorting to whisper, “It’s your fault.” This is your fault, your fault, yourfaultyourfaultyourfault.
Pain burst through Wylan’s wrist and he could no longer see the gory scene before him, instead it morphed back into the same face, the same room that had taunted him time and time again. The books that lined the walls still mocked him and his fathers unforgiving grip didn’t budge, only getting stronger till he swore he could feel the bones snap and break, tearing through his skin letting the blood drain out. It felt as if his body was fighting itself and the blood was trying to force its way out.
He couldn’t cry, crying always made it worse. Father hated it when he would cry, so he would not.
Wylan bit the inside of his cheek till he tasted metal on his tongue when the pressure on his wrist suddenly dissipated leaving behind a dull ache and the distinct feeling of something being wrong.
The sight before him made his brain swim, no red painted the courtyard as it did before and Wylan found himself on his knees with everyone else in front of a woman he did not recognise.
As she spoke the words floated around him but nothing made sense, nothing but the sight of Jesper alive and breathing in front of him made sense and no amount of dizziness could shake his need to apologise. Nothing else in the world mattered except for the fact that Jesper needed to know Wylan was sorry and that he loved him.
Ghezen he loved Jesper so much it hurt and he refused to die without him knowing that.
Die? Why would Wylan die? Jesper was alive and okay meaning everything would be okay. Why would he think such silly things?
Turning to face the man, Wylan's heart shattered as he began to walk away, called by the woman as everyone began to filter out.
He’s leaving you, he knows how useless you are now.
The voice belonged to Inej, but Inej would never say something like that to him, would she?
Everyone knows, you’re a burden to the rest of us.
Nina? No, nonono nobody but Jesper was supposed to know, why do they know? Did Jesper tell them? Would he really do that? All along was everyone just laughing at him behind his back willing to discard him the moment he was no longer needed?
You should have drowned in that harbour.
Those raspy words froze him, spoken in the same emotionless tone as everything else the bastard of the barrel says. Callous words that made water rise around him, stealing all the air out of his lungs.
Darkness enveloped him like the fold, seeping into his vision. The chill in the air seemingly came out of nowhere, just like the freezing cold canal waters that weighed down his clothes and bag making them so much heavier. It was like the chill of the Ketterdam air as he trudged through the barrel, dripping wet from head to toe onto the grey cobble stones beneath him.
The dripping continued and wiping a hand at his face watching as the sleeve came back red, Wylan vaguely registered that his nose was dripping blood onto the sleeve of his jacket and the grass beneath him.
Now that he thought of it, Wylan was really cold.