Mira left for the second room with Wren, refusing to speak to Lucas as she fired a withering glare at the man who failed to protect her dearest friend.
She left, no mind for the horrors in the hallway, anger stemming from her finely combed hair as Wren hurried after her to prevent any incidents from occurring. She left Lucas still on his knees.
He looked a little disoriented, creating a sense of unease in the room.
Some children understood, and others didn't. All they knew was that something serious had occurred, and that the adult who'd led them here felt... strange. Different. As if he'd lost part of the charm that made him irresistible to follow.
Then, as if it were never there to begin with, the gloomy mist dispersed, and Lucas slowly stood.
He glanced around the room with tired eyes, his rounded nails pressing into his palm silently. The children waited for him to speak, plopping to the ground or tucking themselves into their respective beds.
They chose not to mention the empty beds, folded neatly and free from the wrinkles of life.
"Tonight, don't worry about anything. Sleep if you can sleep, don't sleep if you can't," said Lucas finally, his voice quiet even flatter than usual. "You'll be safe tonight."
He believed that the Teller didn't lie regarding the game—it'd be too unfair, and likely go against the rules of the Story. Honestly, he didn't want to think about anything, organizing the numbness and scathing sparks of emotions in his mind.
A moment to think, and to separate the contrasting thoughts. The memories that clung to him like a second skin, but couldn't be his.
Of death, death, and more death. Belonging to those he killed.
He felt grateful to Wren, sly and full of nonsense as she liked being, for the momentary rest from the overwhelming memories that would come later, the children's loud cries for help that only he'd hear.
Naturally, they'd inevitably come, but later, he'd be back in the hospital that felt strikingly similar to a distant home.
He wondered if that feeling of home was due to the location or the company.
Then he decided he didn't want to think about that.
Berry curled beside Will, concerned for the paleness of the teenager and the unsteady, slow breaths. He refused to move himself from the bed, regardless if something came to steal him away at night.
The single green flame extinguished, plunging them into a devouring darkness.
The nightly scratching resumed at the windows, unknown nails scraping and clawing, desperately trying to slip inside. Shadows pressed wetly against the glass, thorns curled and twisting along the edge.
The remaining children climbed into their beds, sleepily rubbing their eyes. Stomachs were empty from having thrown up, or legs were numb from running.
Rome stared at the floor with a tightly knit frown before stuffing his pillow into his arms and striding to Lucas' bed, where the man quietly sat at the edge and observed the twisted bodies outside squeeze against the glass.
Rome shuddered and sat cross-legged on the end of the bed. Waiting. For what, he didn't really know.
He understood that he was already steeping in self-hatred from his lack of ability, but that it was Lucas who really put himself forth as a protector. Who took it upon his shoulders to save them.
Therefore, the boy couldn't begin to imagine how it would feel.
Attempting to grasp an understanding as Lucas brooded over various subjects, Rome thought of his father, who'd died and rotted away in prison long ago.
His father, whose back was hunched and cowardly, yet always stood in front of him, no matter what happened. The back was thin from starvation and covered in blooming welts or injuries.
Rome, in his weakness, could only curl up in the corner nursing his own wounds, basking in a growing, seething anger that boiled over his vision.
And then... and then he had protected his father.
He'd done what he spent days thinking about, murder in a hundred different ways, roaming his mind. He'd acted on those thoughts that existed for too long to cast them aside.
The child, at the time, had been assured without a single glimpse of hesitation or shame.
He'd saved them both—himself, and his dear father.
Until the blaring sounds of sirens drowned out all happiness, and the sight of his father weakly glancing back, shaking his scruffy head once, and being hauled into a car by aggressive officers became the only memory that mattered.
Until Rome was left still covered in blood, with his crime stolen and pinned on another. Even though he would've admitted that it was him.
Even though all he wanted to do was be with his father.
When he tried bringing up those memories, the aching guilt fell into a torrent of nausea, and the hopeless tears as he begged to see his father again—that was when Rome thought he could only barely understand Lucas' feelings.
Lucas, whom Rome had idolized since he'd been saved from those thugs. It felt like years ago, but it was mere months.
And now, Rome suddenly realized, his back no longer hunched and curled into himself. Now he stood with straight shoulders that faced forward, matching Lucas' stride.
The boy swallowed and crawled over to swing his thin legs beside Lucas.
Lucas glanced sideways. "Go to sleep."
"I... I'm not sleepy. You said we didn't have to sleep, right?"
The man raised an eyebrow before nodding slowly. "I did. But that doesn't mean I'm encouraging you to stunt your growth. You'll remain short forever if you don't sleep."
That was a terrible thought as Rome quickly pursed his lips in protest. "I'm going to grow! I'm definitely going to grow tall, one day!"
Lucas scoffed lightly. He'd never really had a proper conversation with the child he picked up, who followed him around like a duckling. Rome hadn't been brave enough to start a conversation.
Things were changing; people were growing stronger. Why did it feel like he was falling behind—now unable to protect a child that barely reached his knees?
"Thank you." A soft, somewhat shy voice said suddenly, making Lucas' eyes widen. "Thank you for protecting us, mister."
His words flicked a switch, and soon, other voices chorused between muffled sobs or voices hoarse from screaming.
"Thank you!"
"Thanks... for saving us..."
"Wah—! Thank you, mister!"
Lucas stare remained blank, gradually absorbing the grateful sounds around him, and his shoulders slumped. Giving a short nod, a ghost of a genuine smile tugged at his lips.
He waved the children off, watching them giggle through their exhaustion and bundle up under their covers, until only fat lumps under white blankets could be seen.
Rome remained by his side, knees curled to his chest. Finally, he muttered, "I'm sorry."
"What're you apologizing for?"
"Being unable to do anything. For making you sacrifice to save us," answered the boy honestly, disappointment weighing his chest.
"...You didn't make me do anything."
"If we weren't here—"
"Then I might act recklessly and be dead."
Really, protecting made the ones being shielded feel as if they were a burden. But, in contrast, they were something that bound the other to safety.
Because to protect, one needed to protect themselves too.
He'd collected most of his disordered thoughts thanks to Rome's meddling and speech. Although he was ardently aware that a sinking despair pressed against his stomach with permanence, it was time to keep moving forward.
He'd think about it after the Story, because thinking of it during felt far too daunting and complicated, after watching those deaths.
And it wasn't running away from the matter, if he'd come back to it later.
He'd found Kane. He made a deal with Wren for power, and then Elias, which only worked due to the man's careless behaviour that sought amusement in the dreary world.
The eventual thing to consider was the Forsaken Throne. One day, soon, somebody would have to claim their wish. But the Teller, Snow White's Teller, had told other tales.
A wish would be undoubtedly granted, but twisted to match the End Delusion's desires.
What wish would defy that?
He was certain that he could simmer in his bubbling thoughts, and come up with all sorts of ideas—but there was no guarantee anything could be enough.
And... what thought had Kane made, sitting on that Throne?
"....."
To claim the Forsaken Throne, before battling the Catalyst that guarded it, he had to meet the other four Kings. Rome had been given his title, and Elias would trade it to Kane willingly.
And two more, for whom he had not a single clue of their whereabouts. It was looking for a needle in a haystack.
To begin with, Lucas was pathetically weak at the moment.
His mind whirled, and Rome tilted his head as the man's face changed by a twitch or a fraction. The first thing Lucas needed to prioritize was power, strength. To claw his way to the top.
Tartarus.
The Punisher, a while ago, had mentioned the requirements of ten murders, insanity, and more. Lucas hadn't been certain at the time.
But now, with the death of 5 children on his hands, of the Punisher and another in the various Stories, he almost had enough. He'd also killed Snow White—though whether she met the requirements of 'living', he didn't know.
No, by the end of this Story...
...He'd definitely surpass 10. There were still children buried within the walls that he still had to save.
"Mister." Rome's soft voice tugged at Lucas' attention. "I... I'm not sure, but I saw something. I noticed that the... creatures, when they killed, tagged, they could've done it with their own hands, but they didn't."
Lucas' gaze sharpened in listening. "Explain."
"Ah, when the girl's head was..." A pause, before Rome decided to stop avoiding their deaths. "When her head snapped, the creature still used a needle to stab her. She was already dead—why did they need the needle?"
The spindle on a spinning wheel.
Was that a requirement to 'kill' somebody in this Story, to make them fall into the same slumber as Sleeping Beauty once did?
And if that was the case, then could the spindle kill Maleficent as well?
The detail hadn't gone entirely unnoticed by Lucas, but with his mind pressed on darker, depressing matters of self-hatred and guilt. He had lost his attention to detail. Hearing Rome mention it made a glimmer of ideas flicker in his mind.
"Killing Maleficent is a necessity," muttered Lucas, more to himself than the boy. "But how do we kill Maleficent?"
And by chance, when he'd determined that they had to kill the Teller for a door to the outside to open, he found a 'method' that could drag the woman to the same murky waters of sleep that Aurora had once been in.
"....." It was a method worth testing. They no longer had anything to lose, save for themselves. "Rome. Do me a favour."
The boy's soft eyes lit up upon hearing those words of reliance, and he nodded without a shred of doubt. It made Lucas falter for a second, as if he were about to corrupt a child.
It was risky, his idea. But risks were necessary, and to remain secure and safe was to eventually die.
"Tomorrow night."
That would either be the day they escaped or the day Lucas died.
For several more hours, Rome sat impatiently on the soft covers, his heart racing at the flooding thoughts, the scenes and images he conjured from the man's words.
He listened and nodded, then waited as Lucas fell into a daze again and went silent. The man's mind couldn't ever return to complete calm, much as it mimicked peace.
When Lucas finished discussing with Rome, he lifted the child up and laid him down on the bed, tucking the covers up. "We'll see tomorrow. I'll be relying on you, kid. Sleep."
Rome felt too jittery to sleep, similar to having a big presentation the next day, though the things at stake weren't simply his grades.
Nevertheless, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced his small body to shut down.
Lucas lowered his eyes gently as he watched the child's chest fall into a steady rhythm, soft snoring mixing with the others. They were all exhausted from running, screaming, and crying.
Turning his head, he paused at the clear pair of eyes that blinked at him.
Will blinked away the sleep, solemnly gazing at Lucas. "...Is it finally... will more die? Or will... it be the end... soon?"
"Soon," answered Lucas. "Soon, it'll be the end of something. I just don't know what yet."
"...What do you... mean...?"
"You were awake." It was a statement, not a question. "You listened to my discussion with Rome. Then, you should know what role I expect of you."
Will's eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if to protest. "I can... help more..."
"You've helped enough."
"But..."
Lucas shook his head, cutting down any further protests, any more promises to help out at the risk of his own body. He'd already overexerted himself.
That teenager, young as he was, had saved all of them with his efforts.
And that was more than enough for now.
"I won't be dragging your heavy corpse out because you were determined to help," stated the man bluntly. "Don't kid yourself."
Will hung his head in disappointment, frustration streaking across his gloomy features. He curled his fingers into the blankets, grasping them tightly.
"Oh, I forgot to say something."
Will lifted his head with a frown, peering through the strands of hair that hung low over his forehead, obscuring his eyes.
"Thanks." Lucas raised his chin in acknowledgment, turning to find his own bed, swinging his legs over. "Your barrier prevented another death. That was more than I could do, so thank you."
"Why... praising me..."
"Don't children like to be praised?" The man shrugged the covers over him, staring at the blackness of the ceiling, the depth seeming endless. "Take the compliment."
"I didn't... do anything..."
"Are you talking back to me?"
Will clamped his mouth shut, a little speechless. Technically, he was, but Lucas' tone made it as if he'd done something diabolical and disrespectful. The man, hearing the silence, scoffed and rolled to his side.
The teenager waited for further words, but heard nothing. Since the other wasn't speaking, he thought he might as well admit, "Thank you... too. Not many... adults... have helped us... anymore."
"...yeah. Don't cry about it, okay?"
"I'm not... crying."
In the hospital, many children had been abandoned or abused, left to rot in their treatments while their families moved on with their lives.
That wasn't the case for all, but most, in that particular building.
Where the patients played, slept, and cried together. A family built on time and emotions, with nothing to tie them together but the hospital. And yet, that was more than enough to create everlasting bonds.
Lucas distantly heard a sniffle, and then a muffled sob that warped as a certain teenager buried themselves under their blankets.
A faint smile curled his lips as he turned over once again, before disappearing completely, replaced by a thin line of determination.