Chapter Text
I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then.—
Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass
There are things in life that Will would rather not do but does them anyway. Like when he goes hunting with his father, he'd rather spend his time sketching or scavenging the garden for flowers and herbs that could use to make oil paints. He'd rather not inherit the family business, he'd rather be a struggling street artist than run a brewery. But it's either him or Jonathan, and Jonathan has real substantial aspirations. Unlike Will whose only real want in life is to move somewhere he can live freely and make art. So out of obligation and love for his brother, Will is going to study brewing and fermentation science to inherit the family burden. He'd rather not be dressed in a three-piece suit in the middle of August, he'd rather not be at Angela's birthday party with a diamond ring in his pocket, and he'd rather not propose to her. But because Will can never truly have what he wants he's going to do it anyway.
"Nervous?" His mother asks while fixing his sweaty hair. It was always so hot in August, that Will wonders what made them think having the party outside was a splendid idea. On top of that, there are far too many people for it to be considered an intimate gathering. He does not doubt that Mrs. Orkin invited the whole town once she heard the news. Angela is going to be the first girl in their class to be engaged, possibly wed—
"Just a little bit." Will tries to muster up a smile but he's sure it looks more like a grimace. "Do you think they'll make us get married right away? I'd like to finish my schooling first." It's a cheap excuse but he needs time to mentally prepare himself. Figure things out.
His mom hums lightly, her fingers gently combing through his hair. "I'm sure Mr. Orkin wouldn't oppose" She leans in, whispering softly. "He doesn't seem ready to let her leave the nest yet."
Yes, Will noticed that as well. His face turned sour after he asked for her hand in marriage. But Mrs. Orkin is ecstatic, she's been dropping not-so-subtle hints for months now. Truthfully, She would've preferred for him and Angela to skip the engagement part altogether and just elope.
"Are you?" Will asked curiously.
"No. But I don't want to hold you back if you're ready." She steps back, giving his appearance a once over before nodding in approval. "Very handsome. Angela is a lucky girl."
Lucky isn't the word Will would use to describe her. A Lucky girl wouldn't have to marry a gay man for money.
Shrieking can be heard across the field as children chase one another. Will watches them play from the safety of the shaded tree. He longed for the days of childhood and simplicity. Ever since he turned eighteen life just kept going. Time was passing like a hand waving from a train he wanted to be on.
"You're father is so proud of you." Will glances at his mother, something bitter stirring in his chest. He hasn't wanted his Father's approval in a long time. He wanted to tell her that Lonnie isn't his father. He's your husband. Will wants no relations with him other than the fact he's married to her.
Conditional love isn't real love and he's tired of looking for love where it doesn't exist. It was a hard lesson for him to learn. It took Lonnie trashing his art room for Will to realize that the crumbs of affection Lonnie would give him whenever he did something right in the man's eyes isn't love.
Will wants to say it so desperately, he felt it in his chest like a physical living thing trying to break free. But he forces it down, locking those feelings deep within his heart. Letting the words die on the tip of his tongue before they can escape.
This is the healthiest his parents' relationship has been in years.
Will can't tell if his mom is terrified or in love with Lonnie. It all looks the same in his eyes. But, as of now, she looks happy. He doesn't want to be the one to ruin that.
"Will," He turns just in time for a familiar head of gold curls to jump into his arms. "There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere."
Angela looks lovely. Like a princess out of those fantasy books he use to read as a child. Her hair was pinned up with big bottle curls framing her delicate face and she was wearing a flowing white dress with lavenders carefully embroidered along the bodice.
He grins at her, ignoring the queasy feeling in his gut. "Sorry, I had a few things to take care of." He tilts his head towards his mom. "I'll see you later."
His mom shooed them off without much thought, much to Angela's glee. She pulls him through the crowd gathered along the large patio. Will does not doubt that she is familiar with every person here. While Angela can be quite callous she has a way of enchanting people.
Is he going to have to propose in front of all these people? Will hates the thought. He can't imagine having so many spectators witness him signing his life away.
"I have a few people I want you to meet." She says lightly.
Will blinks. "Who?"
"My grandparents. They flew in last night from Maine." Of course, they did.
"And they brought an old friend with them. You remember Mr. Cunningham, right?" Will nods, he remembers her talking about his lavish parties and charity events.
"If we make a good impression today he'll invite us to his next gathering."
"Are you sure?" Will asked, not too thrilled with the thought.
Angela nods, her mind already made up. "Positive, he'll feel obligated since we invited him to our wedding."
Wait— what? "Angela-"I mean," she cuts in with a light flush across her cheeks. "Theoretically, of course!"
Will assumed she already knew but the confirmation made his stomach twist unpleasantly. She knows, everyone here probably knew as well. Everyone was here to watch him leave his childish ways behind and become a man. He wasn't going to back out last minute, Will had every intention to see this through till the very end. But having the option taken from him is disarming.
She pulls him inside the house, past a room that smelt like cigarettes and liquor, past Mr. Orkin's study, and a room filled with boisterous laughter. All the way down a hallway with far too many windows until they reached the greenhouse.
The greenhouse is Will's favorite part of the Orkin Manor. The room was made entirely of glass. Its ceiling reached five stories high, tall enough to fit a variety of fruit-bearing trees and vines. Butterflies flitted between sparkling flowers. Honeybees collected pollen for their hive, which conveniently drips honey right into glass jars. And watermelons, root beer melons, and orangeade melons grew along trellises. Not too long ago Angela gifted him a bouquet of marigolds she grew here. They made a strong clear yellow paint that was perfect for painting sunlight sparkling across soft waves.
"Sorry we took so long," Angela says as they approach the elderly couple and a middle-aged man sitting under the magnolia tree. "Everyone wants Will's attention nowadays."
The elderly woman laughs lightly. "I can see why. He has grown into a rather charming young man."
Angela nods like a proud mother. "He is. Will is kind, and funny, and so attentive." She brags brightly. "Will even gifts me art that he painted, just for me! "
That wasn't quite true. Angela has a habit of going through his art room and taking whatever catches her eye. He's never tried to stop her but it always rubbed him the wrong way. There have been times when she took pieces that weren't finished yet, sketches that were personal to him, and paintings he was ashamed of. It felt invasive, but he couldn't find the heart to tell her to stop.
Will smile pleasantly at the woman. "Thank you, I'm afraid people give me far too much credit... Mrs?"
"Please, call me Olivia. It's a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance."
The elderly man beside her leans in, intrigued. "I must admit, you are not what I expected. I heard from your father that the only two emotions you have are indifference and self-righteous anger." He said rather rudely.
That wasn't true, but Lonnie didn't know him well enough to be aware of that."My father has the tendency to bring out the worst in people."
The middle age man beside Angela's grandfather laughs boisterously. Will could almost see it bouncing off the walls like it was a physical thing. "That he does." The man smiles at him. "It's been a while, Willam. I haven't seen you since you were a little boy."
"Have we met before?"
"Briefly. It was before Lonnie open the brewery." The man drawls lazily. He stretches against the wooden bench like a nasty old cat before turning to Angela's grandparents. "He was a rather... soft boy." He uttered the word soft like it's a curse one shouldn't say out loud. Like it's something Will should be ashamed of.
"Oh," Olivia said with raised eyebrows.
"Yes, there were some concerns." He smiles meanly. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now."
Everyone snickers like the man told a funny joke. Like he didn't just air out a dirty secret Will keeps close to his chest.
"Oh hush," Angela huffs light-heartedly. "They only called him queer because they were jealous. My Will would never dirty himself with such things."
Will swallows thickly, a sick feeling curling in the pit of his stomach. Wasps are working their way up from his stomach into his head, making him feel dizzy, and Will tries to calm himself by imagining the ocean, gentle waves, and the seagulls turning pinwheels in the sky.
He always wanted to live by the sea.
It will be over soon, Will tells himself. It will be over soon and then I'll go home, and I'll never have to think about this moment ever again.
Angela's grandfather snorted. "Lonnie always had questionable judgment. " he began, in a tone that threatened rudeness in every syllable. "But I supposed he was afraid Patrick's freakishness would rub off on him."
Will was beginning to understand why Jonathan didn't want to come. Why he chose to sit out on such a monumental occasion, Will wishes he could've sat this one out too.
Angela clings to his arm in a way that feels shackling, it's far too humid and— and suffocating, it seems like the walls are caving in. Their laughter sounds too mocking, a little too knowing.
All Will can think is: I need air. The rest of his thoughts is a blur of white noise and crashing waves.
"I have to go over some things with Mr. Orkin," Will says, perhaps a tad too abruptly. "It was a pleasure to meet you all."
He excused himself before any of them could reply. Will was going to regret that later. He's going to lay awake at night wishing he laughed it off. Wishing he was as calm and charming as people perceived him. The truth is Will is just as soft as he was back then, he's just a lot better at hiding it now. Will was like one of those paintings full of small errors, the kind you could only pick out by searching the image from every angle. On the surface, Will seemed perfectly normal, but every now and then a mistake would peek through, a lingering glance at a handsome young man, a moment of grief after a long day of hunting, and his growing discomfort with Angela's affection.
Will hurries away from prying eyes, up the winding staircase, into the only room he’s familiar with on this level.
Angela’s library was soulless for the most part. She doesn’t care much for reading, the room is mostly used as an entertainment space and a quiet place to study. The room is bright and airy. A fresh vase of yellow carnations is sitting on the windowsill, comfortable furnishings, an upright piano pushed against the wall, and a few bookcases filled with books Will is sure she has never read in her life.
He spots a familiar painting hanging on the wall. It was a picture of a lilac whale gliding across the starry night sky toward you. She had just swam up to the top of a glorious blue wave, and the nearer slope of the wave came down towards you, with streaks and bubbles on it.
Will gently took the painting off the wall, lightly running his fingers across each brushstroke. Will remembers how proud he was of this painting. The hours he poured into each stroke, the never-ending pile of lavenders laying on the floor of his art room so he could get the exact shade of purple.
Will wishes he could turn back time. Wishes to relive that moment. To be anywhere but here.
His heart squeezed as he traces over cotton-like clouds. Will doesn’t know why he was crying or when he even started crying. Maybe stress was finally catching up to him, maybe what happened at the greenhouse was finally sinking in… or relief. Will thought Lonnie destroyed this painting along with all the other ones.
For once, he’s actually glad Angela took his art. It’s probably safer here with her.
Still, Will is crying and he knew that if anybody spoke to him or looked at him now he’d sob for a week. A few tears landed on the painting. He moves to wipe them away, to save the peace of himself he left behind— when he noticed the painting was moving. Down went the great whale into the wave and up went a great shock of spray.
Will blinks, sniffing slightly. This is a dream, he thinks as he watches the waves going up and down. He must have fallen asleep without realizing it. Suddenly, a book that had been lying on the piano bench flapped, rose, and sailed through the air to the wall behind him. Will felt all of his hair whipping around his face like it does on a windy day.
Will recalls wanting a great wind to fight against the humidity. That very wind was blowing out of the picture towards him. Suddenly, with the wind carried the sound of swishing waves and the slap of water against the whale. The creaking and the overall high, steady roar of air and water.
Will shook, he’s going crazy. His delusions are finally catching up to him. He is sure of it. He was sure of it until the water came spilling out of the painting, soaking his feet.
Will cried out as the room quickly filled up with water. He was never good in tight situations and has never been quick on his feet. Will looks wildly around the room. For…inspiration? Divine intervention? He doesn’t know what exactly.
What are you supposed to do in situations like this? Break the painting? No, that’s stupid. Will doesn’t think that’ll do any good. He glances around the room his eyes landing on the door.
absent-mindedly he stumbles across the room, knocking into bookshelves and floating tables. Water rushes out of the painting at a dizzying speed. Reaching past his waist before Will could even process what was happening. He reaches for the door but wouldn’t open. He pulls at the handle, and bangs on the wooden frame but it stayed shut.
“Hello!” Will wails, his hand aches from pounding on the door.
His heart beats wildly in his chest as the water rose higher. Will’s despairing cries end as salt water floods into his mouth.
I’m going to die, Will thought. Or maybe he’s already died and this is his enteral damnation. Maybe this is some kind of sick punishment for existing. Maybe he committed an unforgivable crime in his past life that Will is still paying for.
Water pressed against him at all angles. Will struggles to reach the surface if there even is a surface. His lungs burn, crying out for air. He realizes for the first time how precious air is, this thing that feels so much like nothing, neither liquid nor solid. Will’s eyes sting. He can’t make out anything around him, the room is dark and cool and green and he’s falling. There are shapes in the darkness, bits of furniture, and dark indescribable things that float and then sink with him.
The air leaks out of Will despite his mightiest attempts to hold it. He needs more but there is none. He can’t breathe. Something bumps into him, something slimy and cold. The sensation makes Will gasp, Water rushes into his lungs and—
Suddenly something grabs his arm. Pulling him up, up, up until he can finally breathe again.
“Hold on!”
Will can hardly hear anything over the ringing in his ears and angry roaring waves. He grabs onto the makeshift raft when, abruptly, the realization finally hits him.
He’s not drowning in Angela’s study anymore. He’s in the middle of the fucking ocean.
Will looks around with wild eyes. Humans and strange creatures are floating on broken pieces of furniture. Whales flying across a dark red sky and— “Look what you’ve done.” Will’s head snaps towards the voice, his jaw-dropping. “I should be wrapped in luxury right now, but Noooooo. You had to be rebellious!”
A cat is talking. An honest to god cat. A brown British short hair, if Will had to guess. The cat was sitting on top of the raft wearing a top hat and glasses. Horribly wet and if cats could scowl it would’ve.
“How was I supposed to know this was going to happen Murray? I can’t see the future!” The boy hanging off the other side of the raft was definitely scowling. His elegant face is scrunched with a nasty frown.
“If you learned we wouldn’t be in this position.”
Spitefully, the boy flings Murray’s top hat into the vast sea. The three of them watch as it plops into the water and sinks below the waves.
“That was immature.”
Hysteria bubbles up inside Will, everything catching up to him all at once. They stared at him with wide eyes as pearls of laughter burst out of him. Will can’t tell if he’s crying or if it’s just salt water stinging his eyes. All he’s aware of is his ribs acing, chest burning, and they’re staring at him like he’s the strange one here. Like this is normal.
“I told you to let him drown,” Murray said blandly.
The boy sends Murray a mean glare before reaching over, his hand grabbing Will’s tightly. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?”
Will lays his head down on the raft. He’s definitely crying now, a sob is trying to force its way out of his chest and his breath is shallow.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” The boy moves closer to him until they’re shoulder to shoulder. His presence was surprisingly comforting, warm, and grounding. Will glances up at the kind brown eyes peering down at him. Will has so many things he wants to say, so many questions that he doesn’t even know where to begin. He takes a deep shuddering breath and the boy squeezes Will’s hand reassuringly in return.
“I don’t know where I’m at.” He settles on.
The boy’s face brightens. “We’re at a small village by the magic tower!— well we were. I’m not too sure where we are now but I think we’re still in the Heart kingdom.”
“We’re in Spade territory,” Murray adds work a long-suffering sigh. “We passed King Henry’s glorious statue not too long ago.”
“…oh.” The boy said with an odd expression on his face.
Nothing they said made any sense. Will tried to piece it together but his mind felt so slow and sluggish, he was at a loss. He’s not sleeping, Will knows this for certain. He can’t recall falling asleep and he’s never had a dream this vivid before. Maybe he had a heatstroke? It was extremely hot outside and Will can remember feeling a bit faint. Maybe the heat is making him delusional, maybe he’s in a coma, or… “Am I died?”
The boy laughs, it sounded startled and a bit awkward as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do or say. “I don’t believe so.” After a clear moment of hesitation, the boy grabs the side of Will’s face. He tilts it this way and that as he examines Will intently. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? I think you have a concussion.”
Murray creeps closer to the boy, whispering just loud enough for Will to hear. “I’m telling you, he’s deranged! It’s not too late to let him drown. If you push him off I won’t tell.”
“I should’ve let you drown.” The boy mumbles under his breath. He swats the cat away like one does with a fly before turning his attention back to Will.
“I’m fine,” all things considered, Will does feel fine. The burning in his lungs died down until it was nothing but a tender ache and his ears stopped ringing awhile ago. Will doesn’t feel like he has a concussion. He didn’t bump his head, at least not significant enough to be concerning. “I’m fine, I’m just confused. I was at Angela’s house one moment and suddenly I’m…” he gestures to the vast body of water around them. Unable to find the words to explain what’s going on in his mind.
They’re drifting on a raft in the middle of the ocean for heaven’s sake. Well, no. That’s not right. Now that Will is looking he can see trees, houses, and land marks peaking out from beneath the rushing water. It’s looks like an awful flood or the aftermath of a tsunami.
The boy nods, a soft expression on his face. “We’ll figure it out together—” Suddenly the boy flushes a pretty shade of pink. The color is vivid against his milky skin. “I mean if you want my help. I wouldn’t mind helping you, I like helping people—“Oh. My. God.” Murray cuts in with a groan.
“Thanks, I’d like that,” Will said with a slight grin. He feels floaty, like a balloon or like one of those colorful bubbles children chase around the garden, and he can’t explain why. “I’m Will.”
“Mike.” The light that twinkled in the boy’s, Mike’s, eyes reminded Will of stars and it utterly fascinated him. He imagines what it would take to recreate that exact twinkle on a canvas.“— just Mike.”
“It’s nice to meet you, just Mike.”
Murray scoffs. “I should have stayed with Nancy.”