Archive of Our Own

The ritual had been imperfect. The Visitor had departed, yes, but the damage was done. There was a weeping, writhing mass of eyes and mouths in the bathroom. Leigh wanted to beat the shit out of Sam until he snapped back to reality or died. Lyle wanted to capture his soul in a photograph of him as a human. Fifty hours into the standoff, Hellen stood up, called for the kids, and headed down to Harriet's apartment with them.

"If it comes down to a vote, cast my vote alongside Leigh's," she said immediately before she closed the door. Well, that was something. The part of her that was The Beast hated the idea of some stupid, idiotic, objectively wrong idiot like Lyle even getting to have a voice at all. The part of her that was Leigh only hated it if it meant losing - but she didn't know how Ernest would see it, so she didn't know if she'd win. Social combat was harder than claws and jaws.

"Well. Now they don't have to see, heehee." She tried to sound excited. This should have been exciting! As soon as the creepy little photographer was out of the way, she'd get to fight Sam. And she'd win, because she was strong. And when he lost, his sanity would come back. That was how it worked for her, so obviously it was how it would work for him.

And if it didn't, at least he'd get to die like she wanted to die: an animal fighting for its life, a last gasp of the wild and ungovernable that was slowly being choked out, eaten, destroyed. In the woods. Not in a fucking zoo. Or a photograph.

Hmm. How was Lyle holding up? Any weakness? He was, regrettably, stronger than he looked. She'd seen what those jaws could do. He wouldn't have time to take her souls - as far as she was concerned she had two, Leigh and Beast, Sam had shown her that - but if he wrapped her up and covered her in acid, it would be problematic. She'd win in the end, but if she was too injured, she had no chance against Sam. Leigh hadn't gotten a great look at his new form, but what little she had seen, well... he looked good and powerful.

She couldn't wait to tussle with him again, once he was back in control of himself. She'd just have to beat the fear and madness out of him.

The other guests kept up their watch. Papineau was cleaning the kitchen, but his eyes never left them. Ernest was quietly jamming on his guitar - he was watching too, though. Canny, subtle. But Leigh always knew when she was being watched. Squeakums - there was more to that rat than met the eye, she was sure. Could she get convince everyone the rat ought get a vote? It would agree with her. She could tell it would, because it hadn't fallen to stupid, human lies like "it's better to be a human than a monster." Sam had showed her that they were strongest in lockstep, both man and beast in one. It understood too.

No. Lyle wouldn't accept a vote if he didn't think he'd win. Even if he lost, there was no reason to think he'd stand by it. She understood his type. They liked the rules because the rules protected them, weak creatures that they were - but they refused to listen when the rules weren't to their favor. Excuses, excuses. Her many mouths began to hiss. She hadn't gone this long without reverting to her smaller form, at least not since she'd started crashing on Sam's floor. But the Beast didn't need to sleep, and she knew - fucking knew - that the second she looked away from Lyle, he'd start developing that fucking photograph. Sam was alive. Alive in that monster. Even if he wasn't, he would have surely rather died. If Lyle couldn't accept that, if Lyle could only view Sam as this fake, idealized, "perfect" man who lived in his mind - well, then Lyle didn't deserve to call him a fucking friend. Let alone to fucking kiss him.

Disgusting. Human. If the internet still existed, and Leigh had been about eight years younger, and hadn't been blessed to be the Beast, she would've made a hell of a fucking Tumblr post about this.

The stalemate continued. She stared. He stared back. Everything that could have been said had been said a thousand times. This was a battle of wills.

Minutes. Hours? Couldn't be days, or Hellen would be back. Silence. A moment stretching. And then a strange and painful itch along her spine, like some little mutant crawling on her back, just bad enough to make her jerk, and-

Jerk, and thus just barely dodge a spew of film-bind from Lyle's spinners.

Instinct took over. Leap. Slash. Rend. Devour! It stayed with her, though, that sense of something riding her, tapping her here or there, so that she'd weave left or right just as she needed to. They had fought the Chaos Quartet together - Lyle knew her tricks. But he didn't know this. Not this... new instinct. (A second gift from the Visitor?) Down. Slash. She was the Beast. She was Leigh. The ring on her finger kept them together. He was just Lyle. It was two on one. Three on one, with whatever demon guided her. More film, this time above her as she let her smaller form return for just a second, just long enough to dodge. He was starting to run out - could only made it so fast, she remembered that much easy. Neither of them had eaten in over two days, but she was more comfortable with hunger than he.

They danced on, the world around disappearing. This was it, the moment. She sliced his flash module so deeply it began to spark. He got a good bite in, tearing off one of her arms. She gritted her teeth. His robes were torn to shreds now, his monstrous form revealed. Not so unlike hers. Shame he was a coward about it. He could've been someone, if he'd had a strong heart. He tried to take a photo of her at one point to find his best lens had already been smashed. Had she done that? Everyone else was staying back. She and Lyle had one thing in common: they weren't the types to be crossed.

Grasp! Claw! Kill! Kill! No, no - don't kill. She wanted to kill him, but for some Godforsaken reason, Sam liked him at least well enough to lead him on. (Maybe being seen by the Visitor would fix that. She wasn't gambling.) When she finally got her massive jaws around his thorax, she only repeatedly slammed him into the ground until he was fully and completely unconscious. Shit, what to do with his body? She didn't trust Papineau not to wake him up. That man was everything that was wrong with the world.

Ernest walked up to them both, then, confident, goofy. He was holding a slingshot. Oh. Well, that explained the broken camera lens. "Thanks," she said gruffly. Even though she could've taken Lyle either way.

"Nobody's ever thanking old Ernest! Ain't you sweet! Well, go on, you've got to dance with our friend Sam, don't you? I'll make sure he don't cause no trouble." He flicked a lighter. "I'll burn the photos he ain't developed yet, thataway he can't cause no trouble either way. Sam's meant to be a roadie, he ain't gonna smile if he's stuck in a picture book. Oh, and take this Tonic?"

She drank the tonic, then stretched herself back. The itching sensation - the new instinct - was still with her, riding her. She could almost hear it whispering: save him, save him, save him. The Visitor made him like us. Teach him.

She opened the bathroom door.

The Visitor made you something you saw in yourself. That's why so many of them couldn't take it. She knew who she was, who she needed to be, so the Visitor had freed her. The weak-willed would simply dissolve. The creature before her was vaguely rat-like, still wearing the King's crown, shaped like Ratty Jr. Dozens - hundreds? - of little arms and legs holding up a massive form, like Lyle. The many mouths and eyes along his neck were hers. Overgrown teeth - Joel's. Even the humans had had their influence on his inhumanity. Hunched like Ernest. Blue-ish, like Papineau. Was that all Sam was to himself? All of them?

No. There was more in him. Someone in him who existed for himself. He was an animal, like any human, not just some... extension of someone else's memories. Not just a thought of a thought. He wailed at her, and she snarled back. "Sam." Wailing. "Sam, Sam, Sam! You're Sam!" Wailing, wailing!

"You aren't me. You aren't Lyle. You're Sam." Wailing. "You know why? Because I wouldn't lose to myself - and you're about to."

She had sort of figured he'd instinctively understand how to fight in his new form. Most Cursed did. She had, in fact, been right. The moment she fell upon him, all fangs and claws, he jumped back, hissing, dozens of rat tails writhing behind him like snakes. Spit flew from his mouth, burning her wherever it touched. Second time she'd been sprayed with acid in the past twenty minutes. It just made her angrier. She jumped on top of him, digging into his side, and he flipped and turned and wriggled out from under her, bit her in the side. Oooh, that was going to get infected. Oh well. That was Leigh's problem; right now, she was the Beast, and the Beast didn't care.

She smashed him into the mirror, shattering it. Bleeding, he ran through the door and she ran after, her instinct - old and new - guiding each step. Ernest had the sense to pull the unconscious Lyle out of the way; when Sam saw him he began to keen and wail even worse, even as he bit and clawed. Fuck, the man had been about to subject him to a fate worse than death and he still felt bad. Well, that was Sam. Friend to stalkers and monsters, roaches and rats. The instinct at her spine pulled her to the left, right out of the path of a molotov. Oh, shit, he was remembering how to use items? That was good! That was good!

Snarl! Fight! The Beast wasn't a madness but a higher truth, and she danced its dance with joy. She'd never submit, not to anyone. Sam slammed into her and she retaliated by shredding several of his arm-legs with her hideous jaws. The taste of his blood invigorated her. She fucking loved biting things. Oh, she and Martin had had some fun, back before her little grasshopper had gone and cheated. Well, she liked biting prey even better than biting a pretty man.

They fought there, for seconds or hours. Sam sent her flying into the TV at one point, filling the Beast's back with shattered glass. Well, she'd broken his mirror, so it was only fair. She threw him through the couch. Assuming they both survived this, there'd be a lot of picking splinters... Papineau just barely kept the kitchen safe by the power of his mop, so instead they tumbled into the bedroom. She threw him onto the bed and jumped on top of him, biting and snapping and clawing and digging. She and Lyle - two bucks locking horns for their territory. She and Sam - flatworms fencing. Her blood was rushing, her heart pumping. She could think of nothing better to do with a man in his bed than mutually try to eat each other alive.

Sam was starting to shrink. She shrunk herself with him, mostly to make it easier to resist the urge to swallow him alive. They bit and snapped, jaws and jaws, and her blood rushed and her head rushed and she wrapped herself around him. He wasn't hers, but he was hers to hurt and she was his to bite, and they could destroy each other here in peace, two jaws of the ungovernable wild, crying out! Fuck, was this cucking Lyle? It wasn't sex, but it wasn't not sex. Maybe she should've killed him after all. Or maybe he'd just off himself! Served him right.

With each bite, each scratch, they became a little more human-shaped. And when all was said and done and she'd eaten about ten of his limbs and he'd plucked out and devoured a good half a dozen eyes, he was - not as human-shaped as she could get, still having thirty limbs and mouths all along his neck and torso (oooh, and couldn't those be fun?) and way a lot of eyes and a rat tale and hell, he was still hunched and blue, but at least they'd be able to fit him through the remaining undamaged doorframes without making any holes.

He was breathing heavy, panting. But she could see Sam in his eyes.

"You're like me now!" she told him, straddling his torso. "You were being a real asshole about it, so I returned the favor and fixed you, hehe. But I beat you this time! Also, don't worry, no one has died."

"Uh. Okay." His voice was breathy and heavy. "Um."

"Oh, am I having an effect on you now? Ha, that's hilarious!" She bent down and gave him another bite on the neck, and he moaned and bucked beneath her. Oooh, he smelled good. She'd won their little match, and if she understood anything about human sexuality via knowing about bug sex, that meant she was on top. "Hey, can I sit on your face?"

The sound of shuffling outside. Oh, yeah, they'd ripped through the doorframe. No privacy anymore. "You fucks can leave, by the way! Go sit in Lyle's apartment, he owes me now! Come back at night!"

It took three hours for them to emerge from the bedroom. And if they both had a lot more bite marks, a lot more human-sized bite marks, than they'd had before... well, that was nobody's business.