Chapter Text
Charles missed living a lot. Naturally. How could he not? Eating, being seen, talking to normal people, eating...
But it was easy to forget that living had it's major downsides, too. Like, for example, being corporeal when your best mate was under a hunk of ice and a boiling sea.
With any luck this'll be a once in a death-time problem but it'd still make the top five of worst scenarios anyway. Forget the dragon, this was the real fucking issue.
Or, well, actually, don't forget the dragon. Because it's sleeping a few hundred meters away and might not be too happy with them in a minute. Bad shit came in twos and threes and fifteens so the water wasn't the real issue, it was just a part of the whole of the shit.
Like technically the water didn't kill him, it was the stones and his so-called friends and the cold –
Now was not the time for that trip down memory lane. No matter how much his stomach churned like the swirling water below. Water that he had to get into and feel.
“Don't suppose your bag has a diving suit from some Drowned Driving Instructor case or something?” Thomas' voice is quiet, his eyes still flicking to the dragon every few seconds.
Charles aimed a tepid glare at him. He wishes they had a bloody diving suit. But again, the whole ghosts thing made something like that stupid to keep around. His efforts to find anything at all in the bag are proving difficult as it is considering how much is tucked toward the theoretical back of the stupid thing.
“I didn't really prioritize remembering all of our water-based items for a trip to the arctic, did I?”
Thomas shrugs in a condescending way, the look on his face implying that he'd have the whole of the backpack's contents memorized if he had his way. The absolute liar. Especially considering he'd called it a “fashion faux-paux he wouldn't be caught dead wearing” on two separate occasions.
From what Charles did remember, there was a pair of indestructible ski goggles he bought at his first magic shop outing for the novelty of it because it was the only thing he could afford that wasn't cursed or haunted itself. He also had plenty of rope that could survive a (hopefully quick) dip into some hot water.
And that was about it for helpful items. They'd probably sold or swapped a half dozen water breathing items over the years, and even more for toughing out extreme weather.
That type of tat wasn't looking so useless now, eh Edwin? Because maybe he didn't truly need to breathe right now and heat probably couldn't kill him again, but this was probably going to hurt like a bitch.
Tapping his fingers on the ice, Thomas looks a touch sheepish. “If I specialized in protective magic, I'd be able to whip something up for you, but alas...”
“You've spent all your decades making things gaudy and glittery instead and now it's my problem?” Charles finishes, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge.
“Gaudy is subjective.” He counters heatedly. “But maybe I've focused too much on the fun and not the function.”
It's not like he'd had a lot to protect until recently.
Charles' fingers brush across a jack in the box that electrocutes people and he sighs. “Well, maybe I'm not too much better.” He finally pulls his arm out of the bag and pushes it towards Thomas with finality. “So just focus on the dragon and keeping that safe, yeah?”
Thomas nods seriously, not putting on any theatrics as he puts on the backpack despite his earlier comments about it. “Such an easy task.”
“Wanna swap?”
“I like my skin on my beautiful face where it belongs, thank you.”
With an amused scoff, Charles dons the goggles and gets to work tying the rope around his waist. The other is securely tied inside the bag so he won't lose way up. “Then I hope you don't let it get clawed off by our friend over there.”
“If it does, I'm blaming Crystal for the gun not working.” Not that the gun would be at fault for Thomas' lack of aim, but if nobody was around to see it he could claim anything he wanted.
“Whatever you have to do to feel better about yourself.”
“I won't be mocked by someone wearing goggles, Chuckie.”
It's an absurdly empty threat so Charles sticks out his tongue in reply before standing up. “Shut up and clear me a path, Mittens.”
Thomas rolls his eyes but pops the gun in the pocket of his jacket and gets to work on doing so. He leans forward on his knees puts his hands against the ice, purple light sparking along his fingers and they dig into the stubbornly solid surface.
The water on this side starts to bubble too, heating up from the magic. But the ice fights him the whole way, desperately trying to freeze back over with every passing second. He has to press in with his body weight, tearing his fingers and then his hands through it until they start to sizzle against the boiling heat below.
Charles tears his eyes away from the slowly forming hole, double checking that the dragon isn't sensing something amiss. Thankfully, it seems completely unaware and unmoving still. Their luck wouldn't – couldn't, based on their track record – for long, but things weren't taking a turn yet.
Now that Thomas' fingers have made it through the ice he channels his energy into pulling the surface apart now, sliding his hands around and widening the hole bit by bit. It feels like trying to rip a hole in solid metal but he'd find a way to do that too if the need arose. Even as he grunts with effort and grits his teeth, his magical fire remains a steady purple.
As soon as the hole is wide enough for Charles to jump through, Thomas urges him forward. “Good luck. Go fast.”
Even as he holds the hole open it fights him, new ice creeping out from the parts of the edge he isn't touching. Charles sucks in an anxious breath and claps Thomas on the shoulder before taking the plunge, dropping feet first into the gap.
It bloody hurts.
He was expecting it to, but fucking hell.
The initial plunge bursts an all-consuming pain through his whole body and nearly punches the air out of him. It takes all of his rapidly dwindling senses not to suck in a mouthful of liquid that would boil him from the inside out. But the first shock of pain doesn't ease, it festers, lapping at his exposed skin and turning his clothes into a hundred hot irons against his flesh.
Up and down and left and right are meaningless in the painful haze. His hand flails for the rope, instinctively moving to pull himself back out of the wet fire. But he's moving too madly to grasp onto it, sore fingers getting tangled in bits of swirling fabric instead.
He finally manages to open his eyes, the pain in his body begging him to tense and squeeze them shut again despite them being the only parts of him untouched by the boil. He whips his head around until he spots the rope, grasping it and turning his attention up to the hole he came through.
It's hard to see through the bubbles and the flat, dim colors the goggles create but the rope winds a clear enough path through it.
He's kicking up before he even means to, rising to the gap. Closer now, he can see that Thomas' hands are still gripping at the ice, bare fingertips dipping into the burning water as he keeps Charles' escape route open.
The sight is sobering enough to cut through Charles' senses.
He can't run away. Not now. Not without Edwin.
Every instinct Charles has rages against him as he flips upside, finally heading deeper. He can't dwell on the pain, or the water and the past, or even the dragon that could smash into him at any second. Right now his goal was as simple and straightforward as it had been for years: Help Edwin.
When the dragon didn't instantly stir upon Charles jumping into the water, Thomas foolishly hoped they were in the clear. Maybe it was taking the mother of all naps – recovering after it's earlier injury – and was going to be down for the count.
But that would be too fucking easy, wouldn't it?
Thomas hisses in frustration at the first sign of movement from the cave, a tendril of black flicking out onto the ice. The rope tethering Charles to land whips against one of his hands as it unwinds into the water and it's a stark reminder that he has to divide his attention here. The ice could sever the rope outright or stop it in place, keeping Charles from going any deeper. If that happened before he was able to grab Edwin, they'd be screwed.
So he keeps one hand in the hole, right near the rope, and uses his other to pull the gun out of his pocket. His fingertips are raw, the skin blistered and painful, so it's a battle to even click the safety off. Without the use of his other hand to steady his aim, the odds of him hitting this monster properly were even lower than they'd be normally, but he'd have to make do.
Life was so much more fun when he could make choices. When he had options that weren't limited to bad and worse.
The beast growls and it's a deep, thunderous sound. Thomas raises the gun with a shaking hand and tries not to think about how he only has a little over a dozen chances to take down a behemoth with a few hunks of metal.
It crawls from the cave, black unfurling and uncoiling from the hole. Mist and steam gather around it but it can't distort it's figure entirely. The problem isn't going to be seeing the thing, for better or worse.
The head slowly turns back and forth as it's long and snake-like body pools out, slithering and dragging itself forward with it's skinny front legs. It's golden eyes are slitted as it searches for whatever had disturbed it, spiky pieces of it's mane-like covering seemingly twitching in irritation.
It definitely knows there's a problem, but it hasn't quite sussed him out yet.
Just as it's back legs drag their way out of the tunnel, it's massive wings pop free. They flap lazily, like it's testing them after it's nap.
Thomas can feel the wind from all the way where he is. It dispels the mist and steam momentarily, taking away what little cover he had in this empty expanse.
And all too quickly the dragon is able to spot him now.
It's long tail finally flicks out of the cave and buffets the wall with an angry lash as it screeches terribly. The water above and below the ice ripples and jumps with the sound.
All Thomas can do is wait, keeping the gun as steady as he can while the beast stalks forward. Wings beat in agitation as it stomps and slides across ice that sizzles and melts beneath it. The screech turns to a roar as it approaches, huge nostrils flaring.
Perhaps it's close enough to recognize him as part of the group that had injured it before.
It dips low, spindly legs crouching against the ground, before launching itself forward in a unsteady leap.
Thomas flinches and fires off the first shot.
A piercing roar echoes through the tunnel.
Niko yelped in surprise, grabbing onto an equally off-kilter Crystal for support as their icy surroundings shook. Meatball yowled and spun in a circle with his nose to the air, trying desperately to catch a scent.
“Is that coming towards us?” Crystal asked, trying to raise the sword without accidentally swinging a wobbly arm in Niko's direction.
Meatball's nose twitched. “No.” He answered confidently, moments after the ground stopped shaking.
“It sounded really mad.” Niko pointed out worriedly, shaking her legs out in an effort to undo the jelly-effect her fear had caused.
Crystal groaned. “And if it's not mad at us, we have some idiots to save.”
“Let'ss go!” Meatball took off running first, peeling deeper into the darkness like he'd be of any use in the upcoming fight.
Niko nodded, yanking Crystal forward. “Let's go!”
The distorted noises of the dragon ricocheted in the water, aggravating the swirling mess around Charles even more. If he wasn't already moving as fast as he could, the knowledge that their toothy friend was up and about would serve as good motivation to do so.
As it is he's helpless to do a damn thing about it. The lake is too wide and deep to make quick progress and though the water itself was crystal clear, the tinted lenses, bubbles, and debris made searching a real slog.
Even past the sensation of burning all over he can feel a deep ache in his chest screaming out for air that he doesn't actually need, feeling like a semi-physical ticking clock sensation. Time was of the essence and he could only move so fast.
His hands clench into frustrated fists as he continues to swim forward.
His first shot goes wide, his aim poor and his hand shaky.
Luckily, the dragon's injury still seems to be affecting it. The clumsy leap doesn't quite manage to close the distance, even if it gets it distressingly close.
It roars again, claws poking into the ice as it starts to barrel forward. Thomas is forced to abandon the rope as he scrambles back, firing again.
At this distance it's hard to miss but Thomas nearly does anyway. The bullet merely scrapes against the beast's neck, a negligible scratch that only serves to enrage it further.
When it swipes forward with it's long front claw, he's able to fire off one more shot before he has to throw himself out of the way. It blasts through the thin leg and lodges itself deep inside. The swipe turns to a flail as the dragon thrashes in distress, giving Thomas enough time to slide madly across the ice in an effort to get some distance back.
He nearly trips on the rope at one point, and wouldn't that be fitting? His current life cut short by him trying to be someone else's literal lifeline.
The rampaging dragon tantrums against the ice, breaking it open and quaking almost the entire surface. It's not as troublesome as it would be if Thomas wasn't already awkwardly sliding for most of his escape. He's stuck in a graceless cycle of pushing himself up enough to launch himself forward, knees skidding him against the slick ground until he slows enough to do it again.
That all-too-familiar stench of desire festers in the rapidly heating air and Thomas feels stupid for not realizing it earlier.
He'd thought the stink was coming from him – his stress making the powers stolen from Ambrose rebel. Instead, the cloying, awful sweetness is emanating from every inch of the dragon.
Desire was the root of this thing's anger. It had gone well and truly mad with it, a raging carcass of pure want. The people in the water, the things in the snow, this beast would fight to the death to keep any little piece.
There would be no retreat. No hiding even if Charles managed to get Edwin out of the water. This thing would attempt to tear through dimensions now that it's made a proper claim on Edwin.
It might even succeed, given the strength of it's hunger.
Xxxxxxxx
There!
Charles spots the stupid, old-fashioned coat first. It looks familiar enough to give him pause, squinting.
Sure enough, the coat isn't just a loose piece of fabric, it's attached to a body. Edwin's body.
A worryingly still body, but a body nonetheless.
He attempts to launch himself forward, reaching out to grab onto his best mate. Instead, the rope abruptly goes taut, jerking him up again with the force of his momentum.
Charles knew damn well the rope was longer than this, which could only mean one thing: The ice had closed around it.
Fuck, he was so close!
He had to get free. He'd probably be able to find the rope again easily enough, right?
His fingers are fiddling with the knot on his waist before he can properly think it through, frustration and pain slowing his progress and pissing him off. Before he can make any progress, though, the rope goes slack again.
The water is thrown into even more chaos, an underwater wave shooting past him from the force of whatever was happening up above.
But he can't really worry about that right now because Edwin begins to tumble away. Charles swims faster than he ever had before, burning skin and aching ribs screaming at him ineffectually. Nothing was going to stop him now.
Nothing.
He closes his hand around his leg and yanks him up, guiding his body upright so Charles can tuck his Edwin's back against his chest. His fingers splay out against Edwin's chest in turn, unconsciously seeking out a heartbeat that doesn't exist.
There isn't time to look at him properly. Charles would almost certainly get lost, a quick glance turning into a starving investigation of his well-being. So he tilts his head up instead, eyes locked on the rope.
Time to get Edwin out of here.
Crystal and Niko careen around another corner of the tunnel, finally getting the exit in their sights. A blast of unsettlingly warm air accompanies the light.
Another roar sounds. Thomas and Charles have really managed to piss that thing off.
The ground turns to ice as they approach the end of the cave, turning their mad dash into a barely-controlled slide. They emerge into the open air, anxious and out of breath.
Charles is nowhere in sight but Thomas is running for his life from the dragon in an undignified way that borders on hilarious. But what isn't funny is that he fires the gun and even from this distance she can see that he missed terribly.
Damn it, Crystal had been to the shooting range with Thomas. Thomas should not have the fucking gun.
Rolling her eyes, Crystal not-so-gently nudges Niko back into the relative cover of the cave and strides forward on the slippery ground. “Thomas! Heads up!”
He turns just in time to see her fling Exscaleibur like a discus, sending it spinning through the air wildly. It's admittedly a very poor attempt to actually get it all the way to him, but it's all he needs. He reaches out with his magic and snatches the blade, popping it into his ruined hand with a burst of fire.
There's no time to waste trying to do a swap, though. The dragon is catching up and he needs to regroup if he's actually going to do anything with this sword.
“Drop it, bosss!” Meatball yells as he skids forward.
Well, that works well enough. Thomas drops the gun, breathing a sigh of relief when it doesn't fire upon impact. Immediately Meatball is on the weapon, batting it across the ice like a deadly hockey puck back towards Crystal.
Thomas preferred his fights verbal and catty, but he's no stranger to a sword.
He forces his aching body to slow down despite every instinct screaming at him to get away from the murderous airplane with teeth. At this point the fear was less about the dragon itself, and more about it plunging him into the water. He could lose a life to a stray claw no problem but if this thing swatted him into it's macabre little pond it would be game over.
Still, not taking a chance was just as likely to end is disaster.
The dragon roars again as he slows, sensing an opportunity. He grips the sword with both bloody and burned hands as it ducks low once more. It looks like the thing was too conditioned to attacking from above to abandon it's nature fully and close the distance by continuing to run.
That works just fine for Thomas. He plants his feet and prepares to rush forward.
It leaps once more.
Thomas scrambles forward, raising the sword up as he slides low. The beast just barely soars over him, hazy heat pouring off of it's matte black scales like a physical weight. Exscaleibur bites into it's exposed belly effortlessly, spurting boiling blood like a jetstream.
It screams, panicked, and flaps it's wings desperately in an effort to fly away from the blade. There isn't another clearance, though. One wing crashes into the wall as it unfurls while the other wing flaps in earnest, sending it into a lopsided spin.
He doesn't let up on the sword, using the extra few seconds of it's airtime to continue slicing down it's underside. He's racing against the blood that bursts out and cuts through the ice, threatening to dunk Thomas into the boil if he slows. Droplets tear through his coat and sizzle on his skin.
The dragon starts to fall, unable to right itself with only one wing.
Time's up.
Thomas drops Exscaleibur and changes into his cat form. He pivots to the right, claws giving him just enough purchase to run out from underneath the dragon as it crashes violently to the ground.
Ice splinters and cracks, turning the nearby area into a series of glacial islands. He yowls and picks up speed, desperately trying to outrun the danger.
Behind him the beast screams and screeches, thrashing violently as most of it's body dunks into the water. It's narrowed, golden eyes remain trained on it's attacker as it's front claws slice through the ice as it tries to crawl back out.
Charles nearly screams when the tail end of the dragon crashes into the water above them. He has to hold on to the rope for dear life as the churning water work to toss him and Edwin end over and end and separate them.
The hole in the ice was certainly helpful, but there's no way to safely skirt past the dragon now. Visibility was at a new low with all of the frantic movements of the beast. He'll have to do his best to hold this position so that they're far enough that the dragon doesn't smack them and close enough to get out before the ice closes back over.
He feels helpless, stuck here. Waiting for someone else to finish out the rescue even though he's the one that has Edwin is a total nightmare situation.
Except, given the choice, he'd happily get Edwin over slay the monster any day. Especially considering Thomas didn't seem to be fucking it up.
Hopefully.
Crystal runs forward and bends to pick up the gun while Meatball careens past her, back into the cave with Niko. She fumbles for a few seconds, her nerves threatening to choke her.
“You've got this, Crystal!” Niko cheers.
“Uh...” Meatball seems less convinced, which they will have words about later.
Taking a deep breath, Crystal gets the gun situated in her hands. The dragon is a good distance away but it's still huge. After the wound Thomas had inflicted, it should be possible to finish this thing off from here.
It's massive head is turned towards Thomas, giving her a clean view of one side of it's face. She takes aim at it's eye as quickly and carefully as she can afford to. Even if the bullets don't land perfectly, they should still pierce something important.
She fires, flinching so violently at the noise she doesn't even see whether it hits or not. Her ears are ringing but she steadies herself and fires again and again, as fast as she can without completely giving up on accuracy.
And yeah, maybe she'd been overestimating herself a little, based on the complete non-reaction from the dragon after her first few shots. Being ok at hitting a fairly close practice target wasn't really the same as trying to finish off a monster.
The dragon is halfway out of the water before Crystal is able to land a proper shot.
It's a damn good one, though, as it's eye explodes in a splatter of gore.
It loses purchase on the ice again, sliding back into the water up to it's head before it catches itself again. Crystal can't help but let out a satisfied, “Yes!” before taking aim again. Now that it was staring balefully at her, she could probably get it where it really hurts.
Assuming dragon brains are in the spot you'd think they'd be.
It's definitely slower now as it starts to pull itself back up again. Weakened and tired. There's no room for feeling sorry for it considering the day they've had though.
She unloads the rest of her bullets in it's direction, utilizing that same fast but vaguely careful approach. Anything short of busting out it's other eye would be hard to see at this distance, but the dragon lets out a few noises of distress that hopefully mean she connected again.
All too soon her gun clicks, signaling that it's empty. Her ears ring as she finally lowers it, straining her eyes to see the state of the beast. Niko stumbles up next to her, trying to figure out the same thing.
With one final wail, the dragon's head slammed into the ice as it collapsed, dying. It stubbornly kept it's nail dug into the ice but it had no more strength to try and pull itself free.
On one hand it was a triumphant sight. On the other...
Crystal averted her eyes, looking over at Niko.
“It's ok now!” Niko shouts through cupped hands, projecting her voice across the lake.
Crystal assumes she's talking to Thomas before she gets a good look at her face and realizes that wouldn't make much sense.
Niko's chin is wobbly and sad, eyes locked on the dragon as it's claws twitch against the ice. “You don't have to be angry anymore!”
There's an exactly zero percent chance that this crazed monster speaks English but it lifts it's head in her direction anyway. It's remaining golden eye settles on Niko as it blinks slowly.
“You can rest now!” She yells, her voice thick with emotion.
The gold of it's eye begins to cloud over with white as it stares at her. Whether that's some sort of clarity or just a natural consequence of it dying, Crystal doesn't know. But it's certainly nice to think it's the former.
With one final, rumbling noise, the dragon's claws go slack and it slides fully into the water. Niko's breath hitches and Crystal is immediately at her side, pulling her into a one-armed hug as she scans the misty surroundings for any sign of Thomas. Or Charles, for that matter.
Turns out she doesn't need to look to get confirmation that Thomas is still alive. His ever-snarky voice rings out with an exhausted, “Cut it pretty close there, Crys!”
“Don't start with me. I could still have a bullet left, fucker!”