Summary: "Flynn should have known that the giant, blinking red button was a trap." Baird and Flynn have taken too long to tether. The Library takes things into its own hands. One-shot. S4E11 AU.
And The Misfortune Of Temptation
Flynn should have known that the giant, blinking red button was a trap.
.
"Welcome to the Trial of the One."
The Library's words echo through Jenkins's voice.
"Fight to the death between Librarians."
He tries not to meet Eve's eyes as he slides on the ring. His chest is heavy- he helped recruit the others, and now he has to kill them. And Eve, Eve can't do anything. She has to watch. It's twisted.
The Library calls it a Ring of Nightmares.
"It will transport you to the heart of your deepest fear. Confront that fear, and you'll be strong warriors, fit to compete in the Testing Grounds.
"Librarians will not fight their friends. Your fears will change that."
The buttons hum again, the red within them flaring brightly.
"Now, press the buttons, go into your nightmares, fight to the death."
"No. No, don't do it." Eve insists.
"There has to be something that we can do." Stone hisses to him. "We're Librarians! There's always a way."
He shakes his head. His eyes are wet, burning. This is his fault. He should have known what would happen, should have known that everything would lead to this. "There isn't. Not this time."
"I don't care what happens when I push this button, I will never hurt you." Cassandra promises them. She's right- because it won't be her that they fight, not really. They'll all be shells of who they are.
"Nothing will ever change that." Stone gruffly agrees. "Nothing."
"Librarians together, Librarians forever." Ezekiel promises.
They're all going to die together, in their nightmares. They all know that. They won't be fighting each other, not really. It won't be them.
Flynn manages a shaky nod. "I'm proud of you guys." He glances at Eve, briefly, for as long as he can stand to see the tears in her eyes. "We picked out the best of the best. And, uh, yeah…It's-it's been fun. How about one last time of saving the world?" He tries to smile. "It'll be the second time, by Friday."
They press their buttons.
The Door closes behind him. Slams behind him.
He gives it a trepidation glance, turns to observe- Oh, no.
Pressurized rooms, pumped-in oxygen, high voltage cables, temperature maintained and controlled at sixty-eight degrees- does he need to continue? It's an underground supercollider facility. The underground supercollider facility. There are bloodied claw marks scattered on walls and furniture around the room.
"You've got to be kidding me. Why here? Huh? I've faced things scarier than this place!" He shouts at the ceiling, stepping away from the Door. "The Apple of Discord! The Loom of Fate! Prospero! Apep himself!" Hysterical laughter tears from his throat. Unbelievable. "You can do better than this! You think I'm scared?"
The ceiling doesn't respond.
Oh, he's scared. Beyond scared. He's terrified.
And the Library knows it.
.
It's quiet. Too quiet.
Flynn doesn't like the silence, being able to hear his own footsteps.
Nonetheless, he forces himself to creep forward, to slowly grab onto the doorknob and twist it, popping the door to the hall wide open.
He listens. Nothing.
He peeks his head out. Nothing.
The hallway here is empty, just like it was when he and the other Librarians had first shown up here, when McCormick found them and led them back to the safe room.
Still, he hesitates to move. What if he were to just barricade himself inside of this room? Sure, maybe he'd starve to death, die of dehydration, actually go insane, but it's better than facing the werewolves.
"No. I'm a Librarian. I'm one of the smartest people on the planet. I can get out of this." I think.
.
His courage is short-lived.
He doesn't make it a step before the sector alarm blares to life. He remembers McCormick's panic, remembers the sound of werewolves snarling. He remembers the yellow eyes.
He runs, faster than ever before. Because he'll be damned if he lets those things catch him.
His feet pound on the floor, his arms swing wide. The real-time snarls start up, and he can hear the creatures begin their pursuit. Yellow lights flash down at him, illuminating the halls. He tries not to trip over himself.
Faster, faster, faster…
He stumbles, barely catching himself on a wall, barely righting his posture before he has to get moving again. His chest heaves, but he doesn't have time to catch his breath. He has to keep pushing forward, has to keep running.
He throws a glance over his shoulder, sees the loping bodies of creatures who were once men, sees their glaring bright eyes. Run, run.
Faster…The facility flies by him.
It still feels too slow.
His heart hammers against his chest, his ribs compress his lungs. His skin is slicked in sweat.
He doesn't stop. He can't.
Something leaps out of a side hall, latches onto his coat. Claws dig through the material, into his arms, drawing blood.
He doesn't care that the Guardian- What was her name?- gave him this coat, that it's one of his favorites. He throws an elbow into the werewolf's gut, slips free of his coat when it recoils. Screaming, he whirls around, launches a powerful, wild kick into it. It flies back. He turns and runs. And runs.
And runs.
His blood soaks his shirt sleeves.
He doesn't care; it didn't bite him.
The werewolves keep chasing him.
He doesn't think he's ever going to forget the sound of their growls.
He's certainly never going to forget the untamable fear that urges his body to continue its torturous race.
He wonders if the werewolves will ever tire. Because he might.
He keeps running. His head hurts nearly as much as his chest. He still keeps running.
.
He begins to slow down.
A door flies open on his right.
Hands grab his arm and drag him into a familiar room- the infirmary.
The figure deadbolts the door again, locks them in.
There are a few whimpers outside as the werewolves catch up, uselessly throw their bodies against a door that cannot be unlocked from the outside.
Bent over with his hands on his knees, he coughs as air finally begins to flood back into his suffocating lungs.
His savior is turned away, but his build is familiar. A name that he hardly remembers passes through his lips in a wheezy laugh. "Stone! Th-that was great timing! What are you doing here?"
The other man snarls, turns towards him. His eyes are yellow.
No.
There's a flare of red light on the table beside him. A button, large, unlike any he can remember seeing before. But that's not saying much, his whole head is a bit foggy. He tilts his head, baffled for a moment, his fear forgotten.
The yellow eyes flash, and he turns back towards them.
Fear flashes through him again at the reminder of the werewolf's presence, but claws dig into his arms, pin him in place against the wall.
He can't move.
Teeth clamp shut on his shoulder, fangs plunge deep into flesh and bone.
He throws his head back, a hoarse cry tearing from his throat as blood gushes from his shoulder, staining his shirt, leaking from the wounds just a little as the werewolf releases him and rips its fangs away. Fangs that glisten crimson with his blood.
The moment he can move again, he's sinking down to his knees against the wall, already feeling light-headed and lethargic. Pain lances up his shoulder, through his chest, without him so much as thinking about it.
"No." He moans, one hand clutching his wound, the other his head. "No, no, no, no…"
The werewolf growls at him from across the room.
.
The lights turn on.
He recognizes the young woman by the switch. "Cassandra! Stone, he's-he's been turned."
But the werewolf seems either unbothered or unaware of her presence. Both do. The Australian thief has never looked such a horrifying sight- except for the first time he was bitten. No. Not him too. Not again.
"C-Cassandra?" He stammers, his heartbeat rising as if he'd never stopped running. He manages to rise to his feet, cautiously holds a trembling hand in front of him as he approaches the other Librarian. "It's me- it's Flynn! What's going on here? Ezekiel, Stone- what happened to them?"
She hardly blinks at him, her face a mask, her eyes shadowed.
"Hey, are you alright?" He snaps his fingers in front of her face, trying to let concern show through his fear. "I'm not going to hurt you, Cassandra."
The lights flicker out, then back in.
Cassandra's wearing a red dress. Her eyes are lined with black, cold and hard.
Startled, he stumbles back, losing his footing and falling to the floor. A new flare of agony ripples through his shoulder and he hisses, gritting his teeth as he tries to prop himself up on his elbows.
She bursts out laughing. Loud, manic laughing- not the giddy, excited laugh that he remembers.
"W-what are you doing?" He demands. "Cassandra! Hey, snap out of it! Jones, Stone!"
The werewolves turn to converge on him, snarling, their fangs dripping the same crimson liquid that stains his own shirt.
"Listen to me!" He roars.
"No, Flynn. Listen to me." Cassandra's stopped laughing. Her soft voice is as cold as ice.
He stares at her, mouth hanging half-open. She's no friend…She's no friend. He tries to lower the pitch of his voice to be steely itself. It gets halfway there, though he mostly just sounds eternally sad. "What do you want with me? What did I do?"
Because this is his fault. Because he has always lost or driven everyone away, one way or another. Nicole, Judson, Charlene…Why should it change now? He hates being alone, he fears it- as much as losing himself to this blasted lycanthropy curse.
He feels awful. The pain is getting worse. It's hard to think about anything other than the pain, than his own suffering. He groans, but the sound is gruffer, more animalistic than he remembers. It resembles the growls of the two men- oh no, their names, he doesn't remember them. His canines feel longer, sharper, prodding at the skin beyond his lip.
"What. Did. I Do?" His voice doesn't even sound the same. It's deeper, so much deeper.
He grabs at the leg of the table to haul himself up. His fingers are longer, the ends as sharp and pointed as his teeth, scraping at his palms. He's stronger, too, the whole table coming down to meet the floor instead of helping him to rise back up.
"Make it stop!"
A flash of red catches his attention, and his head jerks back towards it. The button, sitting on the floor.
In it, he sees his reflection- the werewolf's reflection. Yellow eyes, sideburns and bearded chin, the shine of his fangs…
No, no, no. That can't be him. It can't be.
"Make it stop!" He snarls, eyes flickering back up to the woman who's name slips his mind.
"Push the button." Her silky voice sounds so condescending. "Push the button and forget."
Push the button. And forget.
He wants to forget. He wants to forget that he's alone again, that he's turning into a werewolf.
He doesn't have much time.
His sanity is limited. It won't be long before he's a full werewolf.
He has to choose.
"Push the button and forget!"
The other werewolves howl, and there's a primal urge within him to do the same.
"Push the button and forget!"
Everything's so…fuzzy, out of focus.
He doesn't think that pressing the button is a good idea. But does he have any other choice? He can barely think.
Need to do something…
"Push the button and-"
Oh, just press it!
A growl rises up in his throat as he forces his focus onto the bright red button halfway between him and the girl. He musters his energy, gathers his limbs beneath him, leaps forward-
His hand slams down on top of the button.
It's so bright.
He's laying in some dry grass, which pokes through the back of his sweat-soaked white shirt. He smells awful. He wipes at his damp forehead, moves to sit up. Where am I?
"Mr. Carsen, sir, can you hear me?" There's a voice, but no one around. But he knows the voice.
"Loud and clear, Jenkins." He staggers to his feet, rubs at a bloodied spot on his sleeve. He doesn't remember how that wound got there. But it's not really bothering him. He glances around at the clearing he's in, notes the dulled green of the foliage and trees. It can't be the weirdest thing he's ever seen. "What's going on? Where are you?"
"I have been taken by dangerous forces. There is a dagger pressed to my heart."
Right. Jenkins hasn't been immortal for some time. The harness and the dagger, he remembers them. He doesn't remember why or what for, but he remembers them.
"Alright, alright, I hear you. Head's a little fuzzy, but…What do I need to do?"
"These are the Testing Grounds- a place where memory dies and heroes survive."
A place where memories dies? "Well, I've probably gone through worse before…"
"Please focus, Mr. Carsen." Jenkins urges. "I need you to cross the Testing Grounds and hit that golden button. You will be returned home and my life saved."
"O…kay." He frowns, kneels down to peer through a bush. In the middle of a load of rectangular concrete pillars, he sees the button and the pedestal it sits on. It seems too good to be true. A trap, most likely. He's not alone, is he? "Where's my competition?"
"Three others are here, and they will stop at nothing to get to that button first. They may even kill you in the process."
"Right, I see death is a common theme here." He spots an Australian boy peering at something- someone, most likely- over a large rock. Get on with it. "What's so special about them?"
"They are the most cunning and clever adversaries. They are dangerous, skilled, and motivated."
"He doesn't look very dangerous, Jenkins."
"My life is in your hands, Mr. Carsen." Jenkins reminds him, as if he'd forget such a thing.
"I know. Don't worry, your life is in good hands. Come on, have I ever let you down?"
.
He has a spear.
It's not much, but he knows that he will save Jenkins.
The Librarian never fails.