Chapter 10

"You need to understand your limitations so you can overcome them."

-Night Circus

Matthew knew. Before the sound of sirens pulling up, before the screaming that echoed across the empty train lot from the big top. He just knew.

"Something went wrong." Gilbert comments from his cot beside Matthew's. He must be worried about his brother, about his best friends, from the way his voice, normally so cocky, almost trembles.

Matthew knows better.

"Alfred lied..." He whispers in response. His voice does not hide a tremor. Gilbert doesn't have a thing to worry about. Oh, Lord... he feels sick...

Gilbert looks up from his laptop, confused. From the look Matthew gives him, though, he understands immediately. How to explain the linked dread they feel in that moment? The intimate understanding that's as odd as all else that has been taking place?

"Damn kid! He didn't wait for us to tell him just what the hell he was up against!" Gilbert shuts his laptop a hair too hard, shoving it aside.

A deep sigh from Matthew, then a slightly pained grunt as he sits up so he can face Gilbert.

"Do we even know the answer to that?" Matthew is so scared right now, so terrified for his baby brother... It breaks Gilbert's heart to hear the quiver in his voice.

"We know exactly who he is!" Gilbert is trying to be confident enough for them both.

"We know he's dead..." Matthew replies limply, "How can we possibly fight a dead man? We can't win that fight..."

"We summon him!"

"Gil no one knows how to-"

Arthur bursts into the room, out of breath. His eyes are filled with tears. Matthew feels a slight sliver of hope for the first time since the feeling of dread struck him at the sight of their magician.

"It's... Alfred... oh, God..." He manages between pants. He's still in full costume. Arthur has always been terribly fond of the two brothers. The closest thing either of them had to a father was somewhere between Francis and Arthur, after all.

Matthew's eyes close tightly. His mind is torn between despair and... a new plan. "I know, I- is it bad?"

Silence, in this case, is worse than an answer. Matthew's heart clenches, he tips towards despair.

"He's dead... He-... he's dead isn't he?!" Matthew chokes out.

"No..." Arthur finally responds.

"But...?"

A single nod from the magician. Matthew doubles over for a moment, shaking slightly. He wants so badly to be there, with Alfred, to just quit and give Ivan whatever the hell he wants as long as he never never touches baby Alfie again...oh, God, please...

"I'm so sorry..." He doesn't know who says it.

All three of them sit in a thick fog of silence. When it feels as though the loss will become unbearable, Matthew makes his decision. He abruptly straightens, tear tracks down his face gleaming in the light.

"We're going to get Ivan."

"Mattie-" Arthur is startled.

"Tonight." Matthew's sudden cold gaze doesn't match the redness in his face.

"But-"

"Now. Go get everyone. Gather them in the train yard."

"I... why..."

"We're summoning Ivan. You're summoning Ivan."

Arthur stands in a haze, staring at the suddenly calm Matthew with some confusion through his tears.

"Now! You want more of this to happen?! Go!" Matthew snaps, and Arthur is spurred into motion. Gilbert isn't surprised by the sudden coldness and need to do something. He understands the feeling. Now is not the time to break down, cease functioning- as he very well knows Matthew wants to.

"We're just going to wing this?" Gilbert asks; hand still on Matthew's shoulder.

"Well he can't defeat us all." Matthew takes Gilbert's hand, squeezes it for a moment, and then the still heavily burned, but recovering well, man helps him up.

"Are you sure, Matt?"

Matthew hesitates, and not because he's unsure. It's the opposite. He wants to say no. How can anything be 100% certain? Yet...

"Yes. I'm sure. He wouldn't be working so hard to tear us apart if that weren't true." Matthew's eyes narrow. "He wouldn't have targeted our leader."

(A shift in the perspectives of the story...)

Here's the thing: everyone knew that Arthur dabbled in black magic. Well, everyone but Alfred (as per usual on that account). It was no coincidence that he insisted upon being called a magician, upon being THE magician. Sure he knew most of his tricks were just that, but he also very deeply believed that some of them were not. Francis, who lived with that man, swore up and down- with the help of some wine and out of his earshot- that all those strange bits of black magic Arthur bragged about were, in fact, very real.

Whether or not Matthew believed any of these rumors was not of consequence. Arthur had been bragging about contact with various darker places in other worlds for years. As far as Matthew was concerned he had better damn well prove it now.

The loose ring of performers, half in costume and half injured, some both, are very clearly upset. Matthew isn't having it. Grief has its place, yes, and there will be time to mourn, but not in a moment of action.

Matthew simply appears among them. He doesn't stride in, or capture anyone's attention just with his presence. That wasn't his style. He is simply there, when he was not before. To begin there aren't any commanding words, or any sort of a speech. Instead he simply takes Arthur's hand, who then in turn takes Francis' (who is also currently in a wheelchair because of his injuries [as Matthew and Gilbert should be]), who in turn takes the hand of Antonio, and so on, until the entire circus- minus one ringmaster- is all linked up. They fall silent on their own accord, and a moment after everyone has grabbed a hand Matthew nods.

Arthur takes the cue, closing his eyes. Chanting pours from him like a living thing, liquid and without hesitation, twisting around the other performers, his words an inky black spelled out against the lighter night sky. Words compound upon one another, seeming to tug each human soul, and perhaps those very un-human, towards the center of their makeshift ring.

Now, let's be honest here, Arthur has been waiting, fantasizing, about this moment for years. Sure, he didn't want Alfred to be hurt, but he did want to show off why everyone should (fear) be impressed with him. He wasn't going to screw this up. No way in hell. Both figuratively, and in this case, literally.

The glowing is so subtle that most don't even realize a form is taking shape until the light from it grows brighter than the weak, filtered moonlight streaming down on them. Those purple eyes are the first thing that come into full focus. They look at the man chanting.

He's making a mistake.

"Ivan Braginski." Matthew's voice doesn't need to be loud to capture attention.

The apparition whirls, becoming substantial in an instant, as all the haze surrounding his being snaps into focus with the sharp movement. There is no color today, save for those intense purple eyes.

Matthew releases Gilbert and Arthur's hands, stepping forward. Ivan assesses the circle around him with careful consideration, taking in the performers- who are now all stripped of their masks. Not a hint of a smile can be found.

Both face off, one a stand in for an energetic younger brother that knew too much and pushed too far, and the other a very weary, long-faded soul.

They lock eyes.