Light My Fire
by taitofan
Rated T for sexual situations
Disclaimer: I don't own Over the Garden Wall or its characters.
Author's Note: A friend on tumblr suggested that I write some Poetree that involved hypnotism. Well, I ran with that idea and stretched it a little, but the results mostly remain the same. Also, present tense, because why not. …Mostly though, I need an origin story of sorts as a kick start for any other Poetree fics I might write, so this fic serves as that!
If you have any CC, please share and I'll listen. Please read, review, and enjoy! Finished 05-05-15
"That's dumb," Wirt says, and he means it. Greg isn't the one who brought them here—he can admit that now—and he can't bring himself to lock his brother's soul in the lantern. Then it hits him, and he eyes the Beast carefully. Maybe a deal isn't such a bad idea. After all, even if he can stop the Beast, he doesn't know how to save Greg. And that is his only priority. "This is your soul in the lantern, isn't it? Then save my brother and let everyone go, and I'll… I'll carry your lantern. I'll keep it lit."
The Beast appears to be far more pleased with the deal than Wirt imagines he should. But it's too late—Beatrice and the Woodsman cry out not to, but Wirt ignores them and shakes the Beast's hand.
It feels like wood.
He's scared at first. Greg is home, and Beatrice and the Woodsman were allowed to flee, the bluebird with the scissors he'd secretly held. He misses them all, and he wonders if he did the right thing. His brother is alive, but what about him? His parents, Greg, Sara… He longs for home and worries about the creature beside him.
"You need not fear me," the Beast says as they stop to rest. Wirt is sure the Beast doesn't require it, and the generosity he's shown confuses him. "Your situation is quite unlike the Woodsman's, and neither of us will benefit from your uncertainty. Forget your past, and relish in our present."
Our present. Wirt doesn't know how to respond to that, so he says nothing.
The Beast chuckles deeply, then begins to sing. His melody soothes Wirt's nerves, just a bit. Greg will be fine without a brother blaming him for everything. His parents still have one child. Sara has Jason Funderburker. They'll all be better off without him.
He doesn't notice the blue flames swirling with the light in the lantern.
Wirt doesn't know how long he's been carrying the lantern. Time follows steadily, and he walks, walks, walks with the Beast through the forest. The lantern burns brightly, and he remembers what the Woodsman had to do to the Edelwood in order to gather oil. He hasn't done that, but the lantern shows no signs of burning out.
When he asks the Beast how long it will be until they'll need more oil, he laughs.
"Come now, you didn't think I could entrust the lantern carrying my soul to someone who knew the secret, did you?" A cold chill wracks Wirt's body, though the night is warm. "As soon as we made our deal, your soul entered the lantern as well. We will be together for all eternity, and our souls will keep the other fed. Much more convenient, wouldn't you agree?"
He feels sick—he doesn't even remember when he last ate, but he feels the bile rise in his throat. He knows now why it's ill-advised to make a deal with a demon.
"So, I… I can't die unless this lantern goes out?"
"That's correct. So no trying to cheat me out of our deal if you wish to stay alive." He pauses and laughs again. "Not that you could ever leave this place anyway. Your other body is surely dead by now."
Wirt can no longer feel regret for his actions, and as the Beast soon begins to sing, the nausea leaves him as well. He still doesn't see the two souls twisting together in the lantern he dolefully carries.
"You could benefit from not looking so glum all the time."
Wirt ignores the Beast and keeps a steady pace. He doesn't know where they're going, but the Beast seems to be leading them in a specific direction. He doesn't care because it doesn't matter. It isn't as if he has anywhere to be anymore.
"Now, now, listen to me, child—"
"Wirt," he interrupts, not fearing repercussion. Fear left him some time ago. "My name is Wirt, so please call me that. I'm not a child."
"Of course not, Wirt." Wirt isn't sure what he detects in the Beast's tone, but he's sure he doesn't like it. "As I was saying, don't you think it would be best if you took an interest in this job? In the forest? In me? You will be very unhappy for a very long time if you don't."
His words make sense; Wirt still doesn't like the idea.
He tries to smile more, all the same.
They always seem to be traveling where it's dark, moving on before light comes to the area. The lantern glows brightly in the dark, and Wirt often catches glimpses of the Beast. He looks as if he's made from Edelwood, and the patterns on his body are rather concerning. Wirt isn't scared anymore, not of the Beast. He sees no reason to be, considering if one of them dies, so does the other. No, it's more himself that he's scared of.
It had started one night as he'd—at the Beast's request—recited poetry. He'd been thinking of Sara, his lost love, and once he was done the Beast had begun to sing. Wirt can't remember the lyrics, but he can remember thinking how nice the Beast's voice was. Deep and commanding. He remembers thinking that he wanted to feel the touch of his hand again. He remembers all of this, and he thinks it even now.
He knows it's wrong, so he tries not to think of his constant companion.
He often fails.
They reach a destination, a small cottage at the edge of the forest. The Beast tells him to wait where he is while he meets with someone. A witch, perhaps, Wirt thinks. There seem to be many of them here. He still doesn't know if "here" is purgatory or an afterlife or something else completely, but he has accepted that he had been dying, and that he is now dead.
The more he thinks about it, the more he wonders if he shouldn't just accept his new life. Dying children won't need to be kept if he's there, keeping the Beast alive with his own soul. He's doing them a favor, in a way. And if he is to spend his afterlife with the Beast, well, maybe it won't be so bad to get closer to him. A friend is better than a keeper.
The Beast arrives, humming in a way that tells Wirt his meeting went well. He decides not to ask for details.
"So, um…" He holds the lantern up a bit higher than usual, trying not to be conspicuous that he's trying to catch his companion in the light. "How long have you been in this forest?"
He can feel the Beast's eyes on him, and he shivers.
"As long as humans have been finding ways to get themselves into danger they cannot get themselves out of." Wirt assumes that means a very long time. "If you wish to see me in the light, you need only ask."
Wirt pretends that he isn't embarrassed at being caught. He imagines that the Beast knows very well that he is.
"Y-you don't mind?" The Beast answers by putting a large hand over Wirt's and lifting the lantern up. Wirt cannot ignore the sensation of that alien hand on his own, even as he clearly sees all of the eldritch features of the Beast. His open gap for a mouth, the lit eyes, the holes and face-like patterns littering his body… They are horrifying; they are beautiful.
He reaches out and touches the Beast's face with his unburdened hand—there are many crevices and holes, but the wood almost feels polished otherwise. He wonders what if would be like to kiss him, and just as he is ready to push those foolish thoughts aside, the Beast begins to sing, deeply, slowly. He carefully takes the lantern from Wirt and places it on the ground, and for the first time, Wirt notices the entwining blue and yellow lights.
He doesn't think about how wrong kissing the Beast would be anymore. He can't even feel upset that the Beast has obviously been manipulating him through his song. He wonders if this is some sort of hypnotism or if it's magic. Whatever it is, he doesn't care. It's helped him, has it not? He's no longer scared or lonely or angry or holding back from what he desires. The Beast is helping him; the Beast wants him and only him…
He stands on his toes and presses kisses to the edge of the Beast's odd mouth, moaning lowly when the Beast's hands are on his body. This—this is what he wants. This is what he needs.
He lets the Beast take what he wants from him, and he gives it willingly.
"We don't need the oil to live," the Beast explains, in good cheer. Wirt shares the feeling. "However, oil from the Edelwood trees can still fuel our power. Would you like that, Wirt? To be more powerful? To be as powerful as the lord of this forest?"
"I don't think I could ever be as powerful as you," Wirt says earnestly, "but if it's for both of us, I'll do what I can."
"Ah, that's the Wirt I love so much." Wirt shivers happily at the praise. "Now, my dear, I know you don't want to hurt children, so I have another proposal. You see, children aren't the only ones to make poor decisions and then wander off into our woods…"
Wirt can barely tell that the tree had once been a human. But he can still make out an adult's figure deep within the twisted branches. He gulps, but any hesitation he has quickly dies when he thinks of how happy the Beast will be if he does this. They are the lords of this forest—this human should be pleased to fuel their power.
He takes the axe that the Beast offers him, and he doesn't hesitate anymore.
"A beast and a prince? That's stupid. You're stupid!"
"But that old man said—"
"I don't care what he said. Let's just go already! We need to get home or we'll be grounded for a year, and it will be all your fault!"
Wirt watches the children walking the path. It will only be a matter of time before they stray. He's done this long enough to know that bickering siblings will always wander, and none ever succeed as he and his brother once did. It's a pity—they should listen to the stories that warn of the Beast and his Prince, wandering their domain and taking the pitiful souls of those who dare enter uninvited.
Wirt always feels a swell of pride, knowing that he is part of the songs and stories people tell the lost souls who tumble over the garden wall. No one knows his name anymore, except perhaps for Beatrice, if she's still around. He doesn't know, and he supposes that it doesn't matter. He is the Prince now—with a pointed red hat instead of a crown—and that is all he needs. Only one being need know his name…
"They will make lovely oil, won't they, Wirt?"
He relaxes into the arms of the Beast, not taking his eyes off the children, who still bicker and snap as they walk. He gives them no more than two days.
"The richest oil this year."
The Beast chuckles and runs his fingers down Wirt's body in a tantalizingly slow manner. Even in the dark, Wirt can make out a jagged smile on his face. With every new batch of oil, their magic grows; the Beast can certainly be creative with the changes he can now make with his body. That thought in mind, Wirt turns in his arms and begins to kiss his eldritch form. He pauses only long enough to gently place the lantern on the ground.
The fire burns a bright green.