Just FYI, in this fanfic, the freaks never joined Olaf, Olaf didn't take Sunny, and the Baudelaires are walking the whole way to VFD headquarters.

Because why not.

Klaus trudged forwards, lungs burning and legs quaking with exhaustion. He took step after step, limbs heavy as if full of liquid lead. Finally, he crumpled, landing on the ground and lying down, not caring that his already filthy clothes were covered in a fresh coat of mountain dirt and dust. "I can't do this anymore," he gasped. "I need to take a break."

Violet stopped, sitting down next to him and putting Sunny on the ground. Sunny crawled over to lie down in between her two older siblings, closing her eyes with exhaustion.

"It's no use," Violet groaned, leaning back against the rocky mountainside. "We're never going to make it to VFD headquarters before Count Olaf."

"He's probably there already," Klaus said dejectedly, sitting up with a sigh. "Killed everyone there and burnt the place to the ground."

"But Olivia said that the headquarters are abandoned," Sunny pointed out. "So maybe he hasn't killed anyone."

"He still could have burnt the place down," Klaus said. "Everything we've been looking for could go up in flames because he gets there first!"

"Klaus," Violet said. "We can't give up. We've already come this far. We can't go back; the only option is to push forwards."

"We have been pushing forwards!" Klaus shouted, and Violet flinched. "We've been pushing forwards ever since that fire, and we've gotten nothing!" he hit the ground next to him in a rare fit of rage.

"Klaus, please," Violet pleaded.

Klaus looked down and blinked the tears out of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, taking his glasses off and roughly wiping the heel of his hand across his face. "You're right. I'm sorry. Let's keep going – what else have we got to lose?" he stood up, smiling weakly, and picked up Sunny.

Violet smiled and held out her hand. Klaus pulled her up, and the trio continued to follow the tire tracks imprinted in the dusty road of the mountain path.

This is all we have left.

xxx

Mello leaned back in his seat, draping an arm over the steering wheel. Matt kicked his feet up in the passenger's seat next to him, lighting a cigarette and dangling it out of the side of his mouth. "Why've we got to talk to this guy, anyways?" he asked, blowing a wave of smoke in Mello's direction.

Mello wrinkled his nose and waved the smoke away. "Put that out. If you start a fire in my car, I swear to god I'll murder you in your sleep." Matt shrugged and flicked the cigarette out the open window. "And this man's the guy who's been involved in the Baudelaire case since the beginning: he's Vice President of Orphan Affairs, and the one who's brought them to all their different guardians, done the papers, et cetera." Mello peered over the rim of his dark sunglasses to look at the small house they were parked right outside. "If anyone knows where they are, it's him."

"And if he doesn't?" Matt asked.

Mello narrowed his eyes as another car pulled up, parking right in front of them. A dark-haired man got out of the car, straightening his hat and heading for the door. "We'll soon find out." Mello got out of the rickety station wagon, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the rusty old vehicle he had salvaged from the junkyard shake on its wheels. "Mr. Poe!" he called. "Mr. Poe! A word, please!"

Arthur Poe turned around, starting at the leather-clad young man jogging towards him. "Er, may I help you?" he asked, glancing uneasily at Mello's provocative attire, eyes lingering on the holster at his belt.

"Yes, you may," Mello tugged out his wallet, flipping to one of the many fake IDs he carried around with him as Matt appeared behind him. "Michael Fuchs, FBI. And this is my partner, Matthew Jones. We have some questions for you."

Mr. Poe looked positively dumbstruck. "FBI?" he spluttered. "But, I'm sure that I haven't done anything wrong! Is this about the crow in the Village of Fowl Devotees? Because we brought it to a vet, and last I heard, it was doing just fine, could even breathe on its own –"

"No, Mr. Poe," Matt interrupted. "We wanted to ask some questions about the Baudelaires."

Mr. Poe stared at them for a moment, mouth open. Finally, he said, "So, this is about the crow?"

Mello felt like hitting himself. Even R was smarter than this guy. "No, Mr. Poe. We're currently working on a case investigating the series of events that have been occurring and are all, in one way or another, connected to the Baudelaires."

"Oh," Mr. Poe clasped his hands, looking at the sky, in an of course, why didn't I get it before? kind of way. "Of course, why didn't I get it before?"

"Can you please tell us everything about the Baudelaires? Please start with fire that claimed Bertrand and Beatrice." Mello nodded at Matt, who flipped open a notebook and held the pen over the paper.

"Well, now," Mr. Poe looked rather pleased to have an audience as she swung his arms at his side. "It all started when the parents perished in a terrible fire. . ."

xxx

Mello shut the door of the car with a grunt. Matt sat down next to him, sighing with dissatisfaction. "That," he decided. "Was painful."

Mello snorted in agreement. "I think I lost a few brain cells just listening to him talk."

"Indeed," a filtered voice spoke through a speaker from within Mello's jacket. "That was next to useless."

"So, I guess you didn't get anything?" Mello asked grudgingly.

"Unfortunately, that was nothing but two hours of absolutely worthless rambling." L sighed. "But, perhaps the notes that Matt took could help. Please bring them back to the hotel. You may remove the wire, now, Mello." there was a crackle to signify the end of the transmission.

Mello sighed, tugging the wire out from underneath his fur-lined coat. "Well, that was a waste of time."

"I will never look at a crow the same way again." Matt agreed as Mello floored the station wagon, kicking the gas pedal to get it started.

xxx

She opened the door of her car and rushed out, scarf fluttering in the wind behind her. Please no, please no, please no, she prayed as she raced towards the Caligari Carnival.

She stopped dead as her face was hit with a wave of heat. The roar of flames filled her ears as she stared, horrorstruck, at the sight before her.

The tents crumpled as they were consumed by the inferno, falling with the rickety old roller coaster, which was steadily vanishing as walls of fire charged down the tracks. Not even the frames of the tents were spared for, as she watched, tongues of flame licked up the metal rods, turning them as flimsy and weak as the sheets that fell from them.

She stood there, sweat running down her face, as the symbol of the once-noble organization was swallowed by the inferno of its own making. No fire department could put this horror out.

Who do you think this mystery woman is? It should be pretty obvious, but if you have any not-so-common ideas. . .