Heartstopper Inktober 2K24

25 - Scarecrow (Wicked!AU P2)

It was a long time before anyone came to him, finally.

They had believed the ruse. That he had died. That the little girl who had his sister's shoes attached to her feet and wouldn't remove them had melted him. After all, they believed Tao, who told them so.

If only they knew how wrong they all were.

It had all been smoke and mirrors, with the help of a trap door and some creative thinking. Given he's lost everything anyway, what's one more trick? What's one more spell or illusion? He had given the book away and the people that used to care about his every move were long gone, huddled away in fear of him.

They couldn't touch him anymore and all those dreams of his were dashed in a single moment.

He supposed living in exile was better than living the simple life he was meant to. Perhaps he would have done better things if he had let the Wizard control him.

That was not for bother now. It was a past that he would have to hold onto like a cherished heirloom now. Alone.

At least, he originally thought it would be alone. For who, out of anyone he knew once, mourns the so-called wicked? The answer at first, is no one.

Then the trap door opens.

Charlie almost hopes it's Tao, appearing from his bubble to put him out of his misery before it gets started. It's what he deserves after all. He's already braced for death once, he can face it down again. It'll be actually peaceful this time, or so wishes. Better than being alone.

Only problem is that the person that greets him...isn't Tao at all. It's a scarecrow. A very familiar, very relieved looking scarecrow. A scarecrow whose eyes meet Charlie's and make him burst into tears, water running down his emerald coloured cheeks. He had said to Tao that they had seen Nick's face for the last time.

Obviously, as the wicked does, he's quite good at lying, even to himself as a straw made and glove covered hand reaches out to him and he practically uses it to pull himself up the ladder before he's embracing the latter and sobbing into his clothing. Of course, the hessian scratches, nothing like the silk that Nick used to wear and obviously, may never again, but at least he was his.

At least he was his.