Hydrogen Peroxide (A Varian Fanfiction)

Capabilities of Combustion

 Princess Rapunzel always got the happy ending. Always.

No matter what she did or how big a promise she broke, she won, and no one else, least of all Varian. It was like it was her fate, to move on in life, to never have to face the consequences for her actions, to never have to lose. To never have to lose a battle or her reputation or a friend or a father--

Varian choked back his tears as the cuffs were locked around his wrists. He'd failed. His dad was dead or, if not, as good as, and it was Varian's fault. If he had just listened and left the rocks alone, if he had seen the amber and moved out of the way before his dad had to intervene, if maybe his dad hadn't intervened at all and it was Varian instead of him encased in amber, with no hint at whether he was alive or not. Possibilities raced through his mind, but the reality stayed the same. Quirin was trapped. Not even Rapunzel could free him.

Varian heard the king say that he was going to get Varian the help he needed, and he wanted to scream, but he was afraid his voice would come out as a mangled cry instead. Help? Where was the royal family's help when he had needed it? He'd been turned away when their help could have been of use. What good was it to him now? What good was it to Quirin?

The quards jostled Varian into the carriage cell and closed the wooden door. There was a click as it was locked.

"I will make you proud of me, Dad," Varian vowed. "If it's the last thing I ever do."

˜"*°•-|I|-•°*"˜

Varian's cell was cold. And hard. And empty.

He could have laid down in the wooden bed attached to the wall by a couple of hinges and chains-- though wasn't much softer than the stone against his back-- but somehow, to do so felt wrong. Like laying down would be giving up. Like the moment he let himself be more comfortable, even marginally, all this anger and this- this rage would seep out of him, and he didn't want that. He wanted the anger and betrayal to smother him and choke him and suffocate him to death, because when it was gone he would be alone with what was left. He would be alone with nothing.

So he stayed leaning against the heavy stone-brick wall, and he tried not to cry too loudly.

He was startled awake by the sound of a corridor door opening with a heavy creak.

There was a sound of footsteps, and a sound of scraping metal, and a sound of footsteps, and a sound of scraping metal. It went on about three more times until the footsteps reached Varian's cell. This time, there was a pause before the sound of scraping metal. Varian was being watched.

With a blazing scowl, Varian looked up to the guard's eyes. Stan.

"Uh, hi," said Stan, averting his gaze under the heat of Varian glaring daggers his way. "I brought, errr, food. Though I mean, I hope you can eat it but if you eat nuts and bolts, that's alright because I have one! It fell out of an armor stand when Pete knocked it over but it was left over when we tried to put it back together, err, wrong pocket, yes, here Heh... heh..." With a nervous swallow, Stan rolled the piece of metal into Varian's cell, where it settled by the metal tray of food Stan had just slid under the door with the sound of a circling coin. "It's just, I know you're good at making robots-- although good's not a good word, is it? Oops, there I go again, but what you did wasn't quite good, it was bad, actually, but--"

"Don't you have other prisoners to feed?" Varian snapped, and Stan let out a frightened whimper. Some part of Varian felt proud at that, but another much more honest part was reviled. He wasn't not a monster. He's wasn't a villain. He was just a kid. He was a kid who'd had to do the hard thing for the right reason, didn't Stan see that? Didn't anybody?