A/N: As promised, I'm back. Okay not promised. But still.

Shadowfang14: hehehehehehehe *maniacal laugh* Well thank you.

Odeebee: The rest is coming; this is only just part of the rest! But it is the next part of the rest! Thank you very much!

*WARNING IS STILL IN PLACE FOR THIS CHAPTER. POSSIBLE GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION.* And on we go! Also yes, same POV as last time because it's convenient. I promise the next chapter will be someone different.

Beatrice's POV:

A new form of panic began taking hold of her body now, as she watched the spirit prick at Wirt. It was a panic she'd never felt before. Beatrice always helped anyone who needed it no matter how annoying she found them, and now she could do nothing but stand and watch. Her heart felt like it was being pulled away from her as each passing moment continued. At every scream she was forced to look away and then was forced to look back at what now resembled something made of demons, nightmares.

It was a bloody, black, stormy mess of Wirt and a thing flying around him. The spirit was definitely winning now, it had gotten itself most of the way into Wirt's arm and was soon inside of it, unseen but still smog leaked from the wound. Wirt became utterly silent within seconds; it almost appeared as if he were not breathing. Beatrice held her breath, choking on bile and sobs in her throat that begged to be let lose. It was already over so quickly…how was this possible? How did things like this happen to the most undeserving people? Her mind wandered for a second, to Greg, and the disappointed look she'd have to witness on his face when she told him Wirt was gone, the Beast was victorious.

In those seconds, she recalled what slow-motion was once described to her as. The world seemed to turn into a complete slow motion frame in that instant, and then suddenly Wirt was breathing and writhing again. So he hadn't lost-but he hadn't won either. The Beast was taking root once more, except this time gashes appeared where roots thrust out of Wirt's body, on his legs, on his arms, on his hands even. Beatrice prayed that there would be no guts spilled, gut wounds were always the worst, and it seemed the Beast did not want to penetrate Wirt's chest or stomach area. Both were completely unharmed by the roots and gashes. Perhaps the vessel had to still be mostly intact.

The writhing worsened by each minute, a new tension there where it hadn't been before because the red-head could see very clearly that the roots were not being pulled back as they had been. They were stuck in the ground. The real battle was happening inside of Wirt's mind now, no doubt about it because he started screaming at the Beast. Words Beatrice could not ever imagine coming from Wirt, even a few she did not quite comprehend or recognize. But all of them began pouring out of his mouth; he was angry, more furious than she thought was possible for the seemingly harmless boy.

Rain had begun pouring down, but she didn't care or notice. It always rained when something horrible happened. Or snowed. The weather in the Unknown seemed to channel itself to being at the right mood for when things were going on. Beatrice had become accustomed to it. The Beast, it seemed, did not like the turn of events, as the roots were indeed soaking up the water but at the same time, pulled back a bit, the ends raising from the ground and then stepping back in like large, horrible feet.

Wirt was still screaming, and she heard at one point his mouth sort of make a hacking sound, it was pouring so badly she just knew he'd choked on water. A clumsy fool even when he was trying to save himself. A tiny smile came across her lips, but it disappeared as she watched Wirt struggling still. The shouting was over, but that was all that seemed to be over.

And suddenly, everything was over. Wirt stopped writhing. The roots stopped grabbing, and lay still, motionless on the ground, no longer attached to it. The black spirit's smog was gone. The screams had ended. Beatrice didn't believe it. She really didn't. Considering the roots were still attached completely to Wirt, she didn't know what had happened. But the next thing she did know, she was running over to him and shaking him, begging for Wirt to wake up.

His eyes opened after half an hour of waiting, causing Beatrice to give a sigh of complete relief. Upon seeing his eyes, her eyes widened. No longer were they white, no, not the brilliant glowing pair of the Beast. But brown flaked with white, like a remnant of the Beast. A sigh escaped Wirt's mouth as well, and something floated out of it, a small black piece of cloth-like material. All that was left of the Beast.

The roots disappeared; but that was when the bleeding began. Beatrice struggled to find enough of anything in her pockets to cover the gash on his arm, and continued to struggle for the rest of his body. Wirt was completely torn up, flesh hanging limply all over the place. They were both sitting in his blood.

With his eyes closed, he moaned, moving his head in her direction, "Beatrice…"

"I'm not going to tell you to not talk but I need to get you back to the Woodsman. We have to get you bandages." She said it as quickly and urgently as she could, still pressing against the gash in his arm with a rag she'd found.

"He's gone." Wirt said in a whisper, eyes opening once more and looking at her with something Beatrice never thought she'd see in him again. It was hope and affection. Emotions that surely otherwise would be gone.

"You're back. You're safe, Wirt." She bit her lip, a few tears escaping her eyes anyways.

Wirt said nothing. He was indeed back, that was true. She knew it, he was returned to his normal body, no roots, no antlers, no creepy glowing eyes, and no emotionless mask. It had all slipped away with the Beast. He was in pain, she could tell. From the way his face echoed it, and the way he suddenly sat up, gripped her arm, and pulled her toward him into a hug, it was all stiff and painful.

Laying her head on his shoulder, and not caring in the least about the blood that was everywhere, or would be, she gripped him tighter to her. She wouldn't let the tears fall. Not now, this was not the proper place. Perhaps later, in her sleep, but in front of Wirt once more…anymore sobbing when he was around and she might go hide in humiliation for all of eternity.

They sat there for, well, Beatrice didn't know how long, but it was long enough for Wirt to make a soft sighing noise and lay quickly back down again, blood still dripping from most of his torn legs and arms. She shifted her arms and stood up, holding Wirt bridal style. Despite definitely being heavier than she'd thought, he was slightly skinnier now due to his imprisonment time without food. They began to move out of the clearing and towards where they had come from. It was no longer raining either, the sun was suddenly out. Wirt buried his head into her shoulder, having his one arm around her helped the load a little bit.

"Put me down." He ordered in a moment's notice, just as they were nearing the mill house. Beatrice looked down at him, and shook her head.

"I can't."

"Just let me." He was struggling to get out of her grip, so she was obliged to let him go. Wirt landed on his feet like a cat, and with both hands on her shoulders, stared into her eyes once more.

It was smoother this time than it had been the last, she was certain of that. As they came closer, she trained her focus on him entirely until they were kissing, and then she closed her eyes. It was a soft, gentle, rhythm that they moved in. Something new, so Wirt wasn't going to go long at it. But something extraordinary, Beatrice could feel the tingle in her body as they broke apart and he collapsed into her shoulders once more.

There was not a single word spoken between them as they made the last bit of the journey back. Wirt leaned on her now instead of making her carry him despite his blood loss, and Beatrice tried to imagine what she was going to tell Greg and Lorna and the Woodsman. She hadn't considered what she would tell them had it gone either way, but perhaps now it was a better time to look over that.

Despite her worry, it wasn't until they actually reached the edge of the house clearing by the creek that Beatrice gave up and decided to just lead Wirt into the house where it seemed everyone was, and just hope for the best reaction. He was there. It was Wirt, despite his immense wounds and dire need of medical attention. After all, having Wirt back was what all of them had wanted, wasn't it?

A/N: Oh we still have a few more to go, fellow Wallers. Is that what we call ourselves? Well anyways, that was chapter 16! It is not the last one, expect more soon! (Soon as in either tomorrow or Friday. We shall see. There is still more to my plan. A good bit more. It does not end here.) I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading, and please, review, review, review!