A/N: Merry Christmas everyone. Oh and congratulations, you've now caught up with what I've written, which is only bad news in the sense that updates will probably take a lot longer to come to pass. Apologies! Enjoy this last of the predictable updates, but by all means not the last chapter. Thank you so much for your reviews, keep on doing so, especially if you haven't written one before. They're some of the best Xmas gifts ever .


Captain Sparrow got to his feet tentatively and sidestepped. There was a prolonged shout of surprise somewhere above him as Constable Crane suffered the same fate of Jack's shortcut. He slid, feet-first, to a halt where Jack had been standing moments before.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr Crane," the pirate muttered.

Ichabod picked himself up, unaware of the nightmare behind him, and looked goggle-eyed at the room in which he had landed. It was as bright as a casino, as intricate as a space station and not at all like a chocolate factory. Machines of all sizes dotted the room like partner-less ballroom dancers, some spiralling to the ceiling, others squatting in the corners. A few were emitting gasps of steam as though they'd recently been in motion.

Crane noticed a selection of tools scattered about the floor. The workers had left in a hurry. Before he could hope to calculate why, Jack had grabbed the scruff of his neck and spun him around.

"Oh my -."

The empty space above the headless horseman's upright collar had Ichabod's full attention. He gulped and edged behind Jack.

"What should we do?" he hissed.

Sparrow narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. He motioned for the constable to stay put and approached the black rider.

"Begging your pardon, mate, but it occurs to me, being the civilised people that we are, that you might consider an act of negotiation?"

Jack gazed solemnly where he believed the horseman's eyes would have been.

"Mr Sparrow, I really don't think -," Ichabod began, but closed his mouth when he saw the horseman lessen his grip on the horse's mane.

The pirate turned to flash Crane a victorious smile as the armoured spirit dismounted. He spun on his heel, ready to discuss terms, but the answer was not one he expected.

The horseman's sword drove through Jack's stomach.

Ichabod should have known better, but he screamed anyway.

Jack sighed as he looked down at the hilt protruding from his midriff.

"I'll take that as a no then," he said.

He tried to remove the offending weapon but it only served to burn his fingers. Growling, he ripped his cutlass from its scabbard.

For an otherworldly being, the horseman was taken aback.

"Mr Crane," Jack roared. "Go find the others. I'll 'andle this!"

The constable had no time to protest. Jack thrashed the horseman's steed with the flat of his blade, causing it to shriek and bolt. Ichabod leapt onto the horse's back as it passed, snatched up the reins and galloped off through the Inventing Room.

Sparrow struck out at the horseman but an iron fist stayed his hand. The spirit of Sleepy Hollow cracked the knuckles of its free hand and tore the sword from Jack's belly.

The pirate gritted his teeth and rolled between the horseman's legs, giving him an extra moment to emphasise a silent 'Ow' he'd been saving.

The angry spirit turned. Their blades met.


The production zone of the Whipple Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight had developed a rhythmic clanging as the unhinged writer stalked the rows of machines, striking them with the bar in his fist.

William cowered at the back of one of the rumbling bodies of metal. He screwed his eyes up at every deafening bang, terrified that his heart was beating loud enough for the world to hear.

He had lost sight of Edward, for the boy had scarpered since their journey on the conveyor. Not even Mr Wonka's anxious cries had brought him back. And now William was alone, and not the kind of alone he was used to. Most kinds of alone didn't involve the ominous music he was experiencing in his head.

Why does Mr Rainey want to kill me? His mind raced.

"'Cause you know the truth, Willy," Mort's voice cut from somewhere nearby.

Now that can't be good, Wonka thought. This guy can read minds!

"Though I wish I were that talented, chocolate man, you might wanna learn how not to think out loud."

There was a plastic squeak as William slapped himself in the head.

"Shoot!" he hissed. "The truth about what anyway?" he called out warily. "That you're a bad person?"

Morton smiled deliciously. At least, the face of the man with this name did, for he knew the soul at his core was thoroughly caged. Shooter was all that mattered.

"I'm just doin' what's right, Willy," he simpered. "I can't let the spawn of my imagination go running about where they please. If I destroy you, fair game says I'll be free of this place. Might even get loose of this old do-gooder mister Rainey, but that's maybe a bit too hopeful, do you think?"

As he spoke, Mort had drawn closer to William's hiding place and at the last second he struck the side of the machine. Wonka cringed at the vibrations and made a break for escape, but Rainey tripped him up.

His cane flown from his grasp, William rolled to see Mort standing over him, the pointed end of the jagged lever raised to strike.

"Don't worry, Mr Wonka. I'm sure that in time, every bit of you will be gone and your death will be a mystery…even to me."

Mort brought the weapon down. William snapped his eyes shut.

There was a metallic screech.

Rainey traced the course of the blade that halted the lever's fall to the almost lupine gaze of Edward. The boy's eyes were crusted with an arctic ferocity.

Traditionally, the average 'bad guy' would have opted to buy time with a witty or snide quip at this point. However, Mort was anything but a stereotype. He'd learnt that a calm façade got away with murder.

He lifted the lever and stepped back, watching the scissors carefully.

"How does it feel, Eddie," Mort asked softly, "to be a killer like I am?"

Edward crossed his blades in defence and moved to block the chocolatier entirely from Rainey's view.

"I'm not a killer," he whispered with force.

Mort passed his own weapon from palm to palm, his eyes never leaving the boy's.

"I doubt the folk of jolly old Suburbia would agree. Or the man who fell from your mansion window after you'd impaled him with your bare…whatever you wanna call those things."

Mr Wonka rose cautiously, his brows creased with worry.

"What's he talkin' about, Mr Edward?"

"I – I don't know," the boy said, truthfully.

Mr Rainey crept up to Edward so he was almost nose-to-nose with him, scanning his familiar eyes. At this distance, it was like peering into a mirror.

"Well isn't that something?" Mort said eventually. "None of your stories have finished. Hell, Ed's here ain't even begun." He smiled cruelly. "If I don't kill you here, you got a tragic life left to lead is all I can say."

Tears started to form in the boy's eyes.

"Don't you take no notice of that old crook, Mr Edward," William said angrily. "Why he's nothin' but a rotten Snozzberry."

Mort drew back his arm for a sneak strike towards Edward's chest, but the less experienced boy was learning fast. A sharp blade tapped the top of Mr Rainey's inside leg.

William shuddered for the rest of gentleman-kind.

Rainey swore.