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Where Your Nightmares End

Summary:

The Announcer can’t help bringing home a new friend.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Jim Hawkins is pretty sure he’s got the absolute coolest room in the manor. He’s surprised he didn’t have to fight anyone for it, honestly! It’s at the very top of the tallest spire, with tons of space for his totally-legally-obtained treasures, and an obscenely ornate bed right in the middle of it all. His favorite part, though, has got to be the balcony. 

 

It’s a little thing, one of the bigger residents likely wouldn’t be able to stand on it without fear of it collapsing, but it’s the perfect size for a young pirate. It gives him a perfect view of the starry night sky that never seems to give way to daylight, a convenient spot to toss apple cores out of, and is prime real estate for people-watching. 

 

It’s what he’s doing right now, actually. Hawkins sits with his legs dangling between the balcony’s railing, enjoying an apple he nicked from the garden while watching the time pass. 

 

There’s not really much to see, though. 

 

It’s remarkably still tonight, both inside and outside the manor. No screams of agony from Dr. Jekyll testing another new chemical on himself, no bickering between Millie and Dracula, hell, Adam wasn’t even in the garden to stop him from swiping any fruit! Everyone else must be asleep right now, a rare occurrence for such an unconventional household. 

 

Hawkins giggles, his mind already buzzing with thoughts of how much mischief he could get up to with this golden opportunity. He could try more passwords on Winston’s computer? He’s so curious about what the old man gets up to on that weird machine of his, and of them has to be right eventually! Maybe sprinkle catnip around Millie’s room and see what happens? Oh, an even better idea, he could raid the wet bar again! That’s always fun, and the others refuse to let him have any beer on their watch, for whatever reason. Forbidden drinks always taste better. 

 

Just as he’s about to wriggle free from the railing to get absolutely shitfaced, something catches his eye in the distance. 

 

The little pirate grins. The wet bar can wait.

 


 

The Announcer sighs, wiping non-existent sweat from his brow as he walks. His most recent excursion has been an eventful one, that’s for sure. 

 

While it has been fun, the shadowy showman can’t help but be happy to see the slowly but steadily restored form of the House of Usher coming up in the distance. Once they get inside he can get the spoils of his little trip acquainted with his new home, and he can finally drop his human disguise and get comfortable enough to nap until he’s 40.

 

“Is that the place?” The aforementioned spoils ask. A young man in his late 20s, possibly early 30s, with dark, greasy hair, a gnarly scar across the bridge of his nose, and a vice grip on two briefcases, one in each hand. 

 

“Yes, Mr. Stiles, it is!” The Announcer flashes a winning smile. “Much nicer than Bellevue, don’t you think?”

 

Mr. Stiles frowns at the mention of the hospital that the Announcer whisked him away from. Understandable, really. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the nurses there treated their patients poorly. Especially patients that were rumored to be half-human-half-rat abominations that command hundreds of vicious rodents to devour innocent men, women, and children. 

 

“Much nicer.” Mr. Stiles agrees, “And you’re sure there’s enough room?” He asks.

 

“More than enough!” The Announcer reassures, opening the manor’s gate for his new friend to step inside. “There’s a vacant room right next to the stairway that leads to the cellar, and I believe it will be perfect for you and your little friends!” The disguised creature of course leaves out the minor issue of Winston Smith and his debilitating fear of the little rodents that Mr. Stiles is so fond of. Could that be considered irresponsible? Yes, but the Announcer elects to cross that bridge when he gets to it. 

 

“Wait here for a moment, please. I have some business I must attend to before you can get settled.” The Announcer says when they finally make it to the front porch of the manor. 

 

With Mr. Stiles waiting patiently outside, the Announcer steps inside to get an idea of who’s milling about at the moment. The worst case scenario, of course, would be Winston, but a nosy little bugger like Hawkins wouldn’t be ideal either. 

 

He’s pleasantly surprised, however, to find that the house seems to be completely idle at the moment. How convenient! He quickly ducks back out to usher Mr. Stiles inside without anyone seeing him. It looks like this will go much better than he thought-

 

“I thought you said you were done stealing people?” A nauseatingly smug voice breaks the silence. Speak of the devil. The Announcer slowly turns around, and his nervous smile comes face to face with Jim Hawkins’ shit-eating grin. 

 

“Ah, but, you see Hawkins, I didn’t steal him! He came willingly!” Judging by the pirate’s flat stare, he doesn’t believe him in the slightest. How rude! The Announcer sighs, knowing that this is a lost cause already. “Regardless, how he came to be here is of little importance at the moment, and I urge you to leave us be.”

 

Diligently ignoring the Announcer’s pleas, Hawkins strolls up to the newcomer and gives him a thorough inspection. “Who even is this guy, anyway? Doesn’t look very spooky to me.” 

 

“His name is Mr. Willard Stiles, and he will fit in perfectly once I get him settled.” The showman pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “If you truly must be a part of this then I suppose you can ask to carry his luggage to the cellar.” 

 

The young pirate stares up at Willard with the biggest, cutest little puppy eyes he can muster, and with his sweetest saccharine voice, he asks, “Can I pretty please carry your things down to the dark, dreary, creepy cellar that you’re gonna sleep in for some reason? Pretty please?”

 

“Oh, no, he’s not-“

 

Willard gently hands a briefcase over to Hawkins, who nearly doubles over from how unexpectedly heavy it is. “Yes.” 

 

The Announcer pouts at the rude interruption, but can’t help but smile watching Willard and Hawkins descend into the cellar. They’ll get along great, he can feel it.

 


 

“So what’s in these things, anyway? A bunch of rocks?” The kid in the pirate getup, Hawkins as the strange man who freed him called him, asks while struggling to carry one of his briefcases. 

 

“Something along those lines, yes.” Willard can understand why the child would be curious, honestly, the bags were made to carry paperwork, not around 25 of his rodent companions. 

 

Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, Willard immediately scopes out the warmest corner of the damp cellar and gently places his briefcase on the ground to avoid jostling the rats too badly. Willard can barely contain his pride at how well behaved they’ve been throughout the whole ordeal, despite the stresses of being corralled from the walls of Bellevue Hospital into the cramped bags and carried as they walked for what seemed like forever to this strange new environment. He elects to get them some sort of treat as soon as he’s able. He did see some fruit trees on the way that he’s sure they’d enjoy.

 

“Whew, finally!” Hawkins says, relieved after finally making it to the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Thank you, please place it down gently-“

 

Willard doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Hawkins unceremoniously drops the briefcase on the hard cellar floor. Willard grimaces. He isn’t particularly afraid of the rats getting hurt, they’re hardy little things and Willard can attest to that, but he doubts they’d appreciate the manhandling after such a long day. 

 

As if on cue, rats of all sizes come pouring out of the briefcase, drawing a startled yelp from the pirate kid. One of them, a small white rat with a little brown patch on his back and big, clever eyes, scurries across the floor and up Willard’s leg to settle in on his shoulder just like his dear Socrates would have, so long ago. Willard scratches behind his ears affectionately before snapping his fingers, which causes every rat in the room to stare at him intently. Surprisingly enough, the pirate kid hasn’t run away screaming yet, instead watching him with what seems a bit like awe? 

 

“Welcome to your new home, for the time being.” Willard says to the rats, “I’m sorry for the rough landing, but I’m very proud of you all for being so good.”

 

One less experienced with rodents wouldn’t be able to tell, but Willard can see the rats puff up with pride at his praise. 

 

Willard lets the rest of the rats out of the other briefcase, and once the room is comfortably overrun with the little critters, Willard finally turns his attention over to the pirate kid.

 

“No way! That’s your thing? That’s amazing!” Hawkins gushes. Willard can practically see the sparkle in his eye.

 

“My… thing?”

 

“Your thing! Everyone here has got something weird or freaky about them, and yours is so cool! You talk to animals? Is it all animals or just rats? Or all rodents? Can you talk to mice too? Do they all have to listen to you or do they just like you? Do you have to feed them all? Where do you find the food? Where did Mister even find you?”

 

Willard blinks owlishly at the pirate kid. People are supposed to be disgusted, afraid, or both upon finding out about his affinity for rats, especially in this manner, but this child is neither.

 

“What about the little guy on your shoulder? Is he special? Why is he special? Does he talk? Can only you understand him?”

 

It doesn’t seem like the questions will end any time soon, but Willard doesn’t mind. He tears up a little, but Plato licks it up just like Socrates would have. Acceptance is a new sensation for him, at least from humans, and Willard hopes he’s welcome here long enough to get acquainted with it. He’ll fit in here just fine.

Notes:

Willard will probably be a background character in like every other gothic whore fanfic I write I’m sorry y’all I love him

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