Chapter Five: One Side of the Mushroom

For a moment, Theodore only stared at him. He was almost unable to process what he was seeing. How could Chesh have his pocket watch? He hadn't given it to him. His pocket watch was just missing. Then reality rushed in with a cold, dreadful finality.

His pocket watch was missing because Chesh had stolen it.

"What are you doing?" he shrieked, leaping down off his porch and scurrying towards him. The Cat looked up at him, unconcerned.

"I'm examining your pocket watch. Really a beautiful piece of work," he said offhandedly, gesturing at the open clock face where the suit motifs were clearly visible.

"Give it back!" Theodore cried, snatching at it. Chesh held it up out of his reach.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" the Rabbit sobbed. "You have no right—you can't just—I need it—"

"Yes," the Cat said calmly. "You do. And that is exactly the problem."

Theodore gulped, staring up at him with wide eyes. "But—but I—"

"I told you yesterday, Theodore," Chesh said, expression gentle, even though his words were firm. "You need to get over your reliance on the watch."

"But—but—Chesh, I can't, you don't understand, I need it, I can't just—" the Rabbit was almost crying now, the swell of panic rising up in his throat.

"I do understand, Theodore. I understand far better than you do." The Cat sighed. "I'm afraid I can't let you have it back—not until you don't need it anymore."

"But it's mine, it's—Chesh, please—"

"No, Theodore. You'll get it back when you're over your compulsion—and that's that, I'm afraid."

"No, no, Chesh, it's not—"

But it was. Not even bothering to drop back to the ground, the Cat vanished, leaving Theodore protesting to the empty air.

For the next week, Theodore didn't leave his house. The Cat still appeared in front of his gate every morning, but the Rabbit just ignored him and eventually he went away. He prowled restlessly through the rooms, obsessively checking the clocks, unable to sit still, his every thought focused on his missing watch.

Mary Ann found him standing in the dining room on the fourth day, staring at the mantel clock. A tiny, timid blonde girl, she poked her head into the room, watching him silently for several minutes. When he didn't turn, she finally got up the courage to clear her throat quietly.

"Sir?"

Startled, Theodore turned, eyes wide. "What? Oh, Mary Ann, it's you. What is it?"

"Your dinner is ready, sir," she said quietly, bobbing a curtsey—a habit that Theodore had long ago given up on breaking her of.

"Oh. Yes, thank you, Mary Ann."

The Rabbit followed her back into the kitchen, where she silently served his dinner, watching him with glances out the corners of her eyes. He didn't notice, lost in his thoughts as he sat down, dismissing her casually as usual—then, barely even thinking about it, he changed his mind.

"Mary Ann," he said suddenly, his voice overly loud in the silence of the kitchen, "why is it that no one has invented a portable wall clock?"

Taken aback, the girl only blinked at him. "A—a portable wall clock, sir?" she said finally.

"Yes, a portable one," he explained, his mind still elsewhere. "You see, I was thinking earlier how useful it would be, to be able to pick up that clock over my mantel," he said, gesturing at the formal dining room with his fork, "and carry it around with me. But of course it's far too large. So I started wondering, of course, why wouldn't someone have invented a portable version?"

Mary Ann gave him a look that clearly said she wasn't sure what to tell him.

"Well?" he asked, a touch impatiently. "What is it? Just spit it out."

"Uhm, sir, that is—wouldn't that be—a pocket watch?" she asked uncertainly.

It must be admitted that the thought had barely occurred to him. Theodore stared at her for a moment, then went back to his dinner. "Very well, Mary Ann, you may go. Thank you."

On the eighth day since the Cat had taken his pocket watch, Chesh appeared in front of Theodore's gate, as he had every morning for the past month and a half. However, this morning, instead of waiting at the end of the garden path, he swung the gate open, setting foot on the Rabbit's property for the first time since he had appeared in his kitchen so long ago. Theodore, who somehow always found himself at the window when the Cat arrived, watched him walk up the path to the porch with a rising sense of panic.

Almost before Chesh had had a chance to knock, he tore the door open, glaring at him. "Go away, Cat! I don't want to see you!"

The Cat said nothing, simply looking at him calmly. There was a hint of sorrow in his deep violet eyes. Theodore got the distinct impression that Chesh had seen him at the window.

"What do you want?" he snapped when he couldn't take the Cat's gaze any longer.

"I just came to say," Chesh said quietly, "that the Palace is open again. They're expecting you in an hour."

Theodore froze, his mind suddenly reeling. Dimly, he realized he had grabbed the door frame to steady himself. Chesh made no move to support him; somehow, that hurt worse than the knowledge that his extended vacation was finally over.

In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that the Cat had had plenty of extra time this past week to finish up his work on the Palace inhabitants. Bitterly, he berated himself for not making that connection; how could he not have seen it coming? Of course the Palace would get put back into working order, and of course he'd be expected to pick up his work again.

But go back? How could he go back now, with—

"Chesh, I need my watch."

The Cat only sighed. "No, Theodore, you don't."

"Yes I do, you don't understand, I can't—" the Rabbit choked. "I can't go back to work without it, I need it, the King—the Queen—"

"Are perfectly fine," Chesh said calmly. "Even if having your watch did make a concrete difference, it doesn't matter anymore. I've restored them to what they once were."

"But—but Chesh, I—please—"

"Do you want me to take you to the Palace?"

Trying not to cry, Theodore just shook his head.

The differences about the Palace of Hearts struck the Rabbit as soon as he walked through the gate. There were liveried guards—solid, dependable-looking guards—patrolling the walls and keeping track of Palace traffic. Some of them bore the eyepatches and scars and limps that marked those who had been put back together by the King, but they no longer moved with a gleefully predatory stalk. The garden was well pruned and tidy, and even the broken down guardhouse just inside the gate had been fixed up and given a fresh coat of paint. The soldier inside looked up as he entered, then, recognizing him, waved him onwards with a smile.

The unfamiliarity of the gesture put Theodore more off balance than any level of fear ever could.

At the entrance to the Palace itself, he encountered more guards, one of whom pulled the door open for him with a short bow. Inside, the halls were brightly lit with torches, freshly swept and scrubbed free of the grime of decades. The soldiers he saw were standing at attention at various posts, and the servants who bustled past looked both busy and energetic, a combination he had never seen within the Palace before. And so, wondering how much more shock his bewildered mind could take, he made his way down the hall to the King's study, looking forward to picking up his instructions and getting out of the Palace—when he was brought up short by the most unexpected development yet.

The King was sitting at his desk.

Uncertain, one hand still hovering on the doorknob, he froze, blinking stupidly. What was the King doing here? He was never at his desk. And then panic gripped him. He was going to get punished for entering without knocking, he just knew it—

The King set down the paper he had been looking over, catching sight of the Rabbit, still hanging nervously in the doorway. "Ah, Darwin. Excellent. The Cat said you'd be arriving soon." A frown creased his brow for a moment. "Although how he knows so much about what's going on in my Palace is a bit beyond me. Still, it seems he was right, and I can't begrudge him that."

Theodore could only stare.

"In any case, you're going to need to be in top form today. What with finally having the Palace running properly again, we've decided the only thing for it is to throw a ball. You'll be delivering invitations to the nobility today, as well as reading out the announcement in the village. We also have some paperwork to go through, some vacant positions to fill—somehow we've managed to get by for the last few years without a captain of the guard, I don't know what we were thinking—and then after that, the Queen was thinking of organizing a game of croquet for everyone in the Palace. We'd be much obliged if you'd join us."

"C-croquet, your Majesty?"

"Yes, well," the King said, smiling a bit sheepishly. "It's a passion of hers, as I'm sure you know—and I suppose it's a bit silly, but I can't help but indulge her—good grief, Darwin, are you all right?"

The Rabbit's knees had given out.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. A few moments stood out: cowering at the Duchess's door and being scolded for poor manners before she went through another one of her astonishing mood swings and began gushing over the invitation, trying to convince him to help her select a dress for the occasion; the disdain and—could it be?—fear in the March Hare's eyes as Theodore handed over the invitation granting all three Tea Party denizens access to the ball; reading the proclamation in the village square, accompanied by much muttering and excited whispers, before nailing the announcement to the notice board in front of the town hall. There was no invitation for Chesh; perhaps the King thought it would be presumptuous to invite someone obviously so powerful, or perhaps he simply didn't know where to find him. Not that it really mattered—if Theodore knew the Cat, he'd be there, invitation or no.

Then it was back to the Palace, sorting through a mountain of scattered paperwork and trying to determine whether an outdated guards' roster should be filed under "Irrelevant" or "Uninteresting," being found by the King and ordered to promote several servants and a soldier into managerial positions, running all over the Palace to find them, and finally locating the last servant in the middle of a very serious discussion about whether or not it was possible to get the dusting done without having any dust to strew about. And then after delivering his announcement and fleeing the conversation (with a cry of, "You know, it should really be called undusting!" following him down the hall), he found himself out on the front lawn, caught up in a romp with several servants, some off-duty guards, and the King and Queen all shooting croquet balls around and trying to get them to roll between the guards' legs in a game that, he felt, could only be described as "croquet-based nonsense." By the time he finally managed to get himself off the playing field, it was well past sunset, and his dinner had probably gone cold—not that he could tell, not having a pocket watch.

Throughout the day, all he could think was that nothing was as it had been and he felt badly out of place. He missed the comforting weight of his watch in his pocket, and the unfamiliarity of the Palace atmosphere was enough to send him into a spasm of nervous stammering every time anyone addressed him. The only thing for it, he decided as he tiredly stumbled out of his bath that evening, was to get his watch back from that blasted Cat. There was no way he could get through another day like today, so full of the unexpected, without expecting to collapse. And so, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind—that sounded remarkably like Chesh's, no less—telling him that it was stupid to be worried about feeling safe, he sat down at his kitchen table with a strong cup of tea to think about it.

The first thing he realized that there was no way the Cat could be carrying the watch on his person, for the simple reason that there were no pockets anywhere in his clothes. His pants were far too tight to hide the watch in them—and no, Theodore was not thinking about the way they nicely outlined his rear—and as for his shirt—well, could that thing even realistically be called a shirt? No, certainly not. And so, trying to tame the flush on his cheeks, Theodore progressed to the next logical hiding spot—Chesh's home. And there he was brought up short.

Where did the Cat live?

The King wasn't the only one who had no idea where Chesh could be found. Every time Theodore had seen him, it had been because the Cat had come looking for him, not the other way around. And he was sure that if the Cat had had a home, someone would have run across it at some point—but no one he had ever spoken to had mentioned anything about it, and as the royal messenger and herald, he had spoken to a lot of people. So where was the Cat to be found when he wasn't fixing Palace inhabitants, visiting the Mad Hatter, or following Theodore around?

Desperately, the Rabbit threw his mind back to every conversation he had ever had with Chesh. Had he ever mentioned a home? A nest, even? No, there was nothing. Some place he was especially familiar with? No, he was equally at home no matter where they went. He didn't even seem to have a problem with Theodore's own house. Perhaps some place he had seen the Cat more often than anywhere else?

And then he had it.

The Tulgey Wood.

That was it. In a burst of excitement, Theodore stood up, scurrying for the door. The Wood was only ten minutes' walk from his own front gate. He could be there in five, if he ran, and then all he had to do was search until he found whatever secret hole the Cat had tucked his watch into. It was so simple—how could he not have seen it before?

It wasn't until he was half an hour into the wood, tripping over roots in the darkness as he wound his way further and further off the beaten track, that he realized he in his pyjamas in the middle of the most dangerous forest in Wonderland, lost, in the middle of the night—and suddenly he had a lot more pressing issues to think about than his missing pocket watch.

What was it the Cat had said about a monster in the Wood...?

"No. Don't be ridiculous, Theodore," he told himself, trying to sound firm instead of like he was about to shake himself to pieces. "He was just trying to scare you," he said, trembling, stumbling backwards to press himself against a tree, eyes darting around in the gloom, hoping desperately that he wouldn't see anything. "It was all just—just a joke. He was playing with you."

"Playing?" rasped a deep voice right next to his ear. "Can I play with you too?"

Theodore tried to scream, tried to run, but there was a strong grip on his wrist and his voice was suddenly muffled into a cloth—he was struggling, fighting wildly, but his limbs felt so weak, and the cloth smelled sickly sweet, and he was so tired... and the voice in his ear was laughing, a dry, scratchy cackle as his vision started swimming, and for a moment he could have sworn he could see the bright shape of the Cheshire Cat running through the trees towards him...

Chesh... help...

Then the world faded into thick, soft blackness and he welcomed it gratefully, sinking into its foggy depths until even that faded too.

Now that his work at the Palace was done, Chesh finally had a night to himself, and he had planned to use it to sleep—not that he really needed to sleep, all things considered, but being a cat meant that a certain amount of slumber was never unwelcome. The Cat had never had trouble dropping into a nap, or sleeping through the night, or dozing in uncomfortable places—so why was it that he had unexpectedly woken in the middle of the night now that he finally had a good opportunity for some shut-eye?

Why, indeed?

Crawling out his window onto the branch outside, he held very still, head uplifted, ears twitching, scenting the air deeply as he reached out with his mind and sensed. It was nothing physical—nothing that could be seen or touched or heard or smelled, nothing that was amiss in the area surrounding his home, nothing that disturbed the quietly slumbering air of the Tulgey Wood—but still... something...

Something was wrong.

Biting his lip, the Cat sat up. I should check on Theo.

The thought had been unbidden, unanticipated—but if anyone knew to trust their instincts, it was the Cheshire Cat. If something was wrong and his first thought was for the Rabbit, the only thing that could mean was that Theodore was in trouble. And so, without thinking, without even questioning it, he grabbed the branch he was sitting on, swinging himself off.

He had vanished before hitting the ground, and when he touched down, he was in the Rabbit's bedroom. More to the point, he was alone in the Rabbit's bedroom. The bed was neatly made and didn't seem to have been slept in, despite the late hour—by the moon outside, it was almost midnight. The Cat had got to know Theodore rather well over the last months, and he knew even without having to be told that if the Rabbit wasn't in bed by ten, there was a problem.

So where was he? Surely not in the house.

Growing agitated, Chesh took the stairs three at a time, landing in the dark hallway with barely a sound. There were no lights on in the kitchen and no one at the table; Theodore hadn't fallen asleep in one of his living room chairs, or in the dining room, and he already knew there was no one upstairs—the Cat had learned to trust his nose, and there were no fresh scents on the second floor of the house. It was deserted, silent but for the overloud ticking of the synchronized clocks in every room. The Rabbit was gone.

So where was he?

Terrified now, he reached out again, letting Wonderland flow into his consciousness, searching for the familiar sweet softness of the Rabbit—

Nothing.

He couldn't feel him.

But if he couldn't feel him, then—

No, he couldn't panic. He had to think. Theodore was a creature of routine. What could have possessed him to leave his house in the middle of the night—and where would he have gone? He was terrified of everything, and everywhere, especially without his pocket watch—

His pocket watch.

No, that didn't make sense. His pocket watch was safely hidden away in Chesh's home, and nobody knew where that was, least of all the Rabbit, who was scared of everything past his own doorstep. It didn't make sense—but it was the only thing that made sense. That pocket watch was the only thing he'd panic over to such an extent, even if there were clocks everywhere in his house—clocks keeping time, time was flying and Theodore was in danger, could he slow time, stop time—Benjamin had stopped time—

Benjamin had stopped time and the Hare hated Theodore.

Before he even had time to think he was gone again, and all he could focus on was time and anger and suspicion and it was all mixed up in his head now and he had to get to Theodore—

He landed with a clatter in the middle of the Tea Party, upsetting sugar bowls and sending waves of cream and tea sloshing across the table. The Hatter gave a yelp of surprise and jumped out of the way—the Dormouse got a rude awakening with some hot tea, squealed, and fell off his chair—the Hare was hit full in the chest with an upended creamer and leapt to his feet, crying out in disgust as the liquid poured all over his tailored suit. The sky here was a strange shade of dusty orange, some suspended twilight, and time had stopped just like he'd thought, and there was the Hare just like he'd thought, and before he could stop himself he'd lunged towards him, springing off the table to grab him by the collar, snarling in his face as the bewildered Hatter cried for calm in the background, and all he could think about was the Rabbit—

"Where's Theodore?"

The March Hare had obviously never seen the Cat this angry—and with Chesh looming over him, making the difference in their heights very obvious—had he been this tall before?—all the Hare could do was stammer. The Cat snarled again, tossing him to the ground, crouching next to him with one knee pressed on his chest, looking every inch the feral beast he was.

"I said, where's Theodore?"

"I—who—but—I don't know who—"

"The Rabbit," Chesh hissed, fangs growing dangerously close to the Hare's throat. "Where is he?"

The Hare just made a strangled noise, shaking his head, eyes fixed on the Cat's sharp teeth. Chesh shook him, and he whimpered.

"I—I don't know—I haven't seem him since yesterday—"

"Please, Mr. Cat, you're choking him," the Hatter begged from behind the Cat, still hovering, frozen, where he had jumped away from the table. On the ground, the Dormouse squeaked, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.

"If he's got Theodore—"

"I don't know where he is!"

"Mr. Cat, please, you're going to hurt him—"

"No! Theodore's gone, something's wrong, I can feel it, and I can't find him, I don't know where he is—and if I can't find someone then they are in trouble and I have to find them and if you've got him, I swear I'm going to—"

"Really, Chesh," said Benjamin calmly. "Think for a moment. You're not making any sense."

The Cat was so surprised that he almost tripped over the Hare in his haste to get to his feet.

"Benjamin? But you—what's going on?"

"Only a brief lucid moment, I can assure you," he said crisply, sitting down in a vacant chair with all of his former elegance. For a moment, a flash of bitterness crossed his face, and then he was back to business. "So—the Rabbit is missing. Well, he's not here, Chesh, you can be sure of that. Harlan is much too self-centred to even think to kidnap him—oh, don't give me that look, Harlan, you know it's true. Chesh, please think for a moment. If you can't find him, something must be blocking you."

"But nothing blocks me, Benjamin, I can always find—"

"Think. You told me this yourself. Wonderland is a world of ideas. Ideas are the most confusing—"

"At the centre," Chesh breathed. "He's in the Wood."

"Exactly so."

"But he's terrified of the Wood, Benjamin," the Cat cried desperately. "If he's in trouble there, it could be anything, even something he imagined! Where the fuck do I start?"

Behind him, the Hare sniffed, getting to his feet. "I don't see why we should care."

The Cat rounded on him "You—"

"If anyone knows," the Hatter interrupted delicately, before Chesh could make any more violent gestures in the Hare's direction, "it will be those who creep in the tangled places in the centre, seeing everything and going unseen."

The breath froze in Chesh's throat. Of course. The most powerful denizens lived in the centre of Wonderland, but sometimes those desperate for a taste of that power found their way in, as well—and there was no telling what they would do to get it when they were drunk on stolen dreams...

"'Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass'," he quoted woodenly. "'Sometime, upon a bough, from which he doth descend in plush upon the passer-by'."

"Emily Dickinson," Benjamin said, eyes going wide in surprise. "That's—"

"The Caterpillar Riddle," Chesh confirmed. "Evan Savage has him."

Theodore awoke groggily, blinking away a dizzying heaviness. Everything was outlined in a golden glow, and he thought for one confused moment that something was wrong with his eyes, but then his perception snapped back into place and he realized his glasses were missing and there was firelight reflecting off the trees. Then the nausea hit him, and he doubled over, heaving wetly until his stomach was empty.

It was only when he straightened again that he realized all that had held him on his feet were the thick ropes looped around his chest, securing him to the tree behind him.

Suddenly his fear came tumbling back, and he looked around in terror, but without his glasses he could barely see anything. His feet were brushing grass, so he was still on the ground, and trees surrounded him, so he was still in the Wood, but where in the Wood was anyone's guess. The firelight seemed to be coming from somewhere above him, but when he twisted his head up, he couldn't see its source; it was reflected back, flickering, on several glittering objects on the ground, but otherwise the clearing was still. He seemed to be quite alone.

And then a hand reached out from behind him and delicately set his glasses back on his nose.

Choking back a scream, Theodore twisted wildly away from that hand, struggling against the ropes to face his captor. Now that he could see again, details were jumping out at him—the glass bottles and jars full of powders scattered all over the ground, the abnormally large mushrooms growing all over everything, the branches around him that were choked with vines and brambles, blocking his way out, even if he hadn't been tied up—and the man who had kidnapped him, the owner of that cracked voice, looming out of the shadows and laughing his raw, scratchy laugh as Theodore cowered back from him—a man he had never seen before, but who he recognized, beyond any doubt—

This, he knew, was the Caterpillar.

Tall and dreadfully emaciated, with unnaturally long, bony limbs and dirty, matted black hair falling around his shoulders, he was easily the most horrifying creature the Rabbit had ever seen, within Wonderland or without. His bulging black eyes glittered feverishly out of his sunken eye sockets, his skeletal face stretched wide in a manic grin; he was naked, every inch of his sickly flesh exposed to the open air, but he didn't seem to care. His body was spotted with irregular patches of bruise purple, as though he were rotting from the inside; the colour extended onto his face, colouring his right cheek and the circles around his eyes. A dark green mould spread across his back and over his hips and shoulders, and poisonous red mushrooms grew all over his back. He barely looked like he could be real, much less a living being.

His limbs working in a kind of jerky concert, bunching his muscles as if he wasn't quite in control of them, he moved out of the shadows, and it became apparent what he had been working on; behind him, Theodore could see an opium pipe lying against one of the bulbous mushrooms, the lamp already lit and glowing softly. He flinched back again.

The Caterpillar advanced on him, still chuckling roughly, leaning over him, his chest pressed against the Rabbit's. Unthinking, Theodore turned his head away, straining backwards.

"You struggle so beautifully," the Caterpillar whispered. Theodore flinched again. Eyes clenched shut, he kept his face turned away, trying not to whimper. His voice sounded as though it hadn't been used in years.

"Would you struggle like that once I claim you, I wonder," he continued, that dry cracking outlining every word. "Would you keep fighting me?"

With a sick shock, the Rabbit realized what he was talking about, his eyes going wide with fear as a wave of revulsion clawed its way up his throat and he started up his fighting anew. "N-no—no, please don't—don't touch me, don't—"

"That's what I thought," the Caterpillar breathed, pressing close against him, his blackened, pointed tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Theodore shuddered, struggling to get as far away from him as he could. He couldn't stand this, he couldn't—

But the Caterpillar wasn't paying attention to his reactions, lost in his own twisted imaginings. "Should I let you, I wonder?" he continued. "Should I watch you strain against your ropes and fight my every movement and know that I have you regardless? Or should I drug you like I planned?" His hand trailed down the Rabbit's chest, hovering over the waistband of his pyjamas. "It might not be as satisfying... but it would be a shame to waste the opium..." Then he smiled, a dreadful, feverish grimace. "Well, I suppose I can always get more." And then his hand dove into Theodore's pants, wrapping around him firmly, as if he belonged there, in the most invasive touch the Rabbit had ever experienced.

For a moment, he froze, too shocked to do anything else. Then a sob ripped its way out of his throat and he started kicking, fighting to get away, but the ropes held him firm and there was nowhere he could go—the Caterpillar was stroking him, stroking and smirking, and every second of his touch was a thousand years of disgust and shame and horror and Theodore could feel the panic coiling in his stomach and he'd never wanted this, never wanted a touch like this from anyone but Chesh—Chesh who held his eyes and his thoughts and made the blood pound in his ears—but this wasn't Chesh and it was so wrong, all wrong, and he couldn't get away—

And then out of nowhere the Caterpillar was torn away, slammed back against a tree, and the vines had parted to let something in from the outside and now they were twisting around him, thorny brambles digging into his flesh and making his blood run red against his skin and the Cat was there, the Cat was snarling in his face, feral and angry and terrifying and—

"You sick fuck!" he roared, his claws flashing out to tear four vicious scratches across the Caterpillar's face. "You don't touch him, you understand me? You're never fucking touching anyone ever again!"

The Caterpillar laughed, that broken, cracked chuckle, his eyes wild and vacant. "His struggles were beautiful," he whispered.

The Cat's only response was to snarl and pull back his fist, the impact leaving a blooming purple bruise on his left cheek to mirror the marks on the other side of his face.

Once again the Caterpillar barely appeared to notice. "It looked like such ecstasy..."

Another snarl, another strike—another spreading bruise.

"I've claimed him now... he's mine..."

And at that the Cat lost all semblance of control, lashing out violently until the Caterpillar's face was broken and bloody and it was impossible to tell where the marks ended and the bruises began. Through his beating, he only laughed, sagging against his restraints, driving the thorns deeper and deeper into his body.

At last, Chesh dropped him, disgusted, and turned away. Stalking over to Theodore, the ropes fled before his hands, freeing him, and he caught the trembling Rabbit against his chest. In one last violent gesture, he flung his hand towards the softly glowing opium pipe; they were gone before the shattered glass had hit the ground.

And the Caterpillar still hadn't stopped laughing.

"Chesh, he touched me, he—he was going to—"

"Shh, Theo, it's okay, it's okay, you're safe—just hold onto me—"

"No—no, it's not okay—I couldn't—he touched me and I couldn't get away—"

They had reappeared in Theodore's room, and Chesh had immediately carried him over to the bed, tucking him in and crawling on top of the covers to cradle the Rabbit against his chest—but rather than calming now that he was out of danger, his shaking had only intensified and he wouldn't stop sobbing. Nothing the Cat said seemed to get through to him.

"I know what he did, but you're safe now, Theo, you're safe, it's okay—"

"No, no—it's too much, I want out, I want—" the Rabbit sobbed, his whole body shuddering violently. "I want out, Chesh, I want out, I hate this place—it's a madhouse—"

"No, no it's not, Theo, it's okay," the Cat soothed, curling closer around the smaller boy. Theodore shouldn't have been shaking this hard...

"Yes it is, it's an asylum, a lunatic asylum and I want out, Chesh, I want out—" And then his body went into a fit of spasms and a choked sound burst out of his throat, halfway between a sob and a scream, and he wouldn't stop shaking and then Chesh understood—this wasn't just fear or panic or helplessness, it was something much worse—a nervous breakdown or a panic attack and all he could do for him was hold him close until it passed.

"It's okay, Theo," the Cat whispered, bending his head down against the Rabbit's as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "It's okay, I promise you, I'm here..."

At last the Rabbit's screams subsided and his body calmed, though his shaking and sobs didn't stop, and Chesh continued whispering, not caring that Theodore was barely conscious enough to hear him, let alone understand his words.

"You know where lunatic asylums get their names from, Theo? They were meant to be places of refuge—a safe home for those who couldn't look after themselves. That's what asylum means, you know—protection. But they were never safe for the people who were committed—just like Wonderland hasn't been safe for you... and that's my fault, Theo, and I'm so sorry..."

The first tear spilled over his cheek, falling softly towards his lips, but he ignored it, only cradling the young Rabbit closer.

"But things are going to change, I'm going to make things better, I'm going to make this a place of protection like it should have been all along... From now on, I promise you, my love..."

And now the tears were falling thickly and his voice was choked with sorrow, but it didn't matter, Theodore was all that mattered, and he curled around him, shielding him from the outside world, breathing his vow against the Rabbit's hair as Theodore finally, gently slipped into sleep.

"... I'll look after you, Theo... I'll be your asylum."