TIN wasn't supposed to feel physical pain.
But with each step up Kiamo Ko's endless spiral staircase, Boq's heart clock ticked with emotional agony, his joints screaming in mechanical protest, stiff from the oil tears he couldn't stop shedding. The rust was spreading - he could feel it catching in his elbows, his knees, his neck. Every movement threatened to lock his limbs completely.
Yet he couldn't stop. Not when Ryn lay so terrifyingly still in his arms, her blood staining his rusted chest. Not when Fiyero, made of straw and cloth, couldn't possibly carry her. Not when every second that passed drew her closer to…
"H-hurry," he pleaded, his stammer worse than usual as panic made his voice tremble and his heart clock tick erratically against his chest plate. His right knee almost buckled, his joints scraping like rusted hinges with a horrible screech that made Fiyero wince. "S-she's fading, and I…I don't know how much longer I can…" He forced himself up another step, though the motion sent grinding shudders through his deteriorating frame. The red glow of his heart clock reflected off the tear and blood-stained metal.
Fiyero's painted face twisted with worry as he led them higher into the witch's tower. His old friend moved with a grace that seemed impossible for a man made of straw, taking the steps two at a time. He kept glancing back at Boq's struggling form, clearly torn between rushing ahead to get help and staying close in case his friend's joints gave out entirely.
"We're almost there," Fiyero assured them, though the concern in his voice was obvious. "Just a little further. Just hold on, both of you. She'll save her, Boq. She has to."
Boq's hollow chest rattled as he spoke, each word accompanied by the sound of metal grinding against metal. "I-I can't stop," he ground out as another wave of tears welled in his eyes, knowing they would only make the rust worse. "If I stop now, I…I don't think I'll be able to start again." The admission sent his heart clock into an uneven rhythm, but they all knew it was true. Already his left ankle was barely moving, and the horrible screech of corroded metal from his knee was getting worse with each step.
Boq wanted to believe Fiyero's certainty about Elphaba helping them. But he'd seen how pale Ryn had become, felt how shallow her breathing was against his chest. The flying monkey attack had left her broken and bleeding, and even now, Pip's tiny whimpers echoed off the castle walls like accusations.
His heart clock skipped several beats at the sound. Your fault, they seemed to say. You failed to protect her. Your fault.
"F-Fiyero," Boq managed, his voice catching with a metallic rasp in his throat. "The witch—i-is she really…?" He couldn't finish the question. Even now, after everything, speaking Elphaba's name felt dangerous, making his hollow frame rattle anxiously.
Fiyero paused at a turn in the stairs, moonlight from a narrow window casting strange shadows across his burlap features. "Yes," he said quietly. "Though she's…different now. Using that much magic to fake her death—to make everyone believe she'd melted—it took a toll." A ghost of something—pain? regret?—flickered across his painted face. "She's only just begun to recover her strength. It's been days since she used that spell, and she still…" He trailed off, gloved hand brushing the castle wall. "But if anyone can help your friend, it's Elphaba. She has to. She's always been good at impossible things."
Boq's heart clock skipped a beat at that revelation. Elphaba had survived. The most powerful—and most terrible—Witch in all of Oz hadn't melted after all. She'd tricked them and used her magic to create the illusion of her death.
And Scarecrow—no, Fiyero—his friend, his fellow traveler on the Yellow Brick Road—had known all along. The betrayal of that truth cut through him like his axe could cut through wood, but he couldn't focus on it now. Not when Ryn's life hung by a thread. Once, knowing that Elphaba had survived would have terrified him. Now, it was his only hope.
They reached an old wooden door near the top of the tower. The wood was chipped and weathered from years of neglect, like everything else in the castle. Fiyero hesitated for just a moment, his gloved hand resting on the handle as he turned back to Boq.
"Wait," he said quietly. "Before we go in... she's not what you remember, Boq. The deception spell she used, pretending to die - it took more from her than she'll admit."
Boq's heart clock ticked faster at those words. Pip pressed closer to Ryn, tiny fingers curled in her torn sleeve.
"I-I don't care what she looks like," Boq stammered. "Just... please..."
Fiyero nodded turned the handle gently and pushed the door open. "Fae? It's me," he called softly into the darkness beyond.
As Boq stepped inside the circular chamber before them, Boq's tin body shuddered at what the scattered candlelight revealed. Green glass bottles lined the walls, their contents casting strange colors across the stone. Books lay everywhere—on tables, in stacks on the floor, some lying open as if their reader had just stepped away. The air felt suffocating here, heavy with magic that made his tin joints ache.
And there, leaning against the window frame that looked out over the endless expanse of the Great Kells, was Elphaba. Though she tried to hide it, Boq could see how heavily she relied on that support to stay upright. Her green skin was several shades paler than he remembered, almost translucent in places, with dark shadows beneath her eyes speaking of countless sleepless nights. Her long black hair had lost some of its shine, hanging limply past her shoulders. The black dress that had once seemed to float around her like crow's wings now hung loose on her gaunt frame. Yet there was still something striking about her - perhaps even more so now, as if the price of her magical deception had burned away everything but her essential self, leaving behind a figure as sharp and dangerous as broken glass. Her dark eyes still held that familiar burning focus, though now they seemed to flicker like a candle fighting to stay lit.
"What have you brought me, Yero?" Her familiar voice cut through the darkness like a blade. Even weak, it carried that same power that had haunted Boq's nightmares for far too long, since his transformation.
Elphaba turned on her heels in a twist of her homespun black skirts, and Boq froze as her gaze fell on him, burning with the familiar burning focus he remembered. At the sound of Fiyero's voice, she stiffened, and for a moment, Boq saw genuine shock crack through her cultivated facade. Her eyes widened as they moved from Fiyero to him, then to Ryn's still form in his arms.
"Yero—" Elphaba's voice cracked as her eyes locked on Boq. Her composure shattered, green hands trembling as she stumbled back. "Why is he here, Fiyero? I...it doesn't matter why. No. I won't do this again. Not after—" Her fists clenched until her knuckles cracked. "Not after what my magic did to both of you."
"Fae—" Fiyero started, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"Look at them, Fiyero!" The words scraped from her throat, raw and trembling with something close to panic. "A tin man and a scarecrow—that's what my 'help' did. Every time I try to save someone, I end up twisting them into something else entirely. And now you want me to—" She broke off, turning away from them, one hand rising to her throat. "I can't. I won't risk it. Not again."
"P-please," Boq begged, his heart clock ticking wildly as his rusted joints screamed with each careful step forward. "S-she's dying. Your flying monkeys, they—" His voice was soft, pleading rather than demanding, even as his tin frame trembled with fear and worry.
"Then find a normal doctor!" Elphaba winced and swallowed hard before continuing in that same rough whisper. "My magic isn't…it isn't safe. I would have thought you of all people should know that, Boq. Or have you forgotten what happened with Nessa? What I did to you?"
"I-I remember," he said softly, his heart clock skipping at the memory. Oil tears traced down his tin cheeks as he looked at Ryn's pale face. "But I'd rather see her changed than... than..." His voice caught like a rusty hinge, unable to speak the terrible word. "Please! She's so kind, so full of life. I promised to keep her safe, and I... I failed her."
The last words came out in a whisper that echoed in his hollow chest. His tin fingers were impossibly gentle as they cradled Ryn, even as more tears fell, spreading rust across his face.
Elphaba opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word, a loud growl filled the air. Boq's metal heart almost stopped as he turned and saw a huge shape burst through the doorway.
An old Bear stood there, her brown fur mixed with gray. Scars covered her strong body, showing a long life in the wild. She curled her lips back, showing sharp teeth. A deep growl rumbled in her throat as she looked at the group with sharp, smart eyes. Boq felt his neck tingle as her fierce yellow eyes passed over him. Her claws dug into the stone floor as she moved closer. The sound of her claws on the rock and her constant growl were the only noises. She stood in front of Elphaba, ready to protect her. Boq shook with fear at the sight of the angry Animal.
"Get back," the Bear snarled. Her old voice was still strong. "Elphaba, move away. I can't leave you alone for a minute without trouble finding you." She turned her glaring eyes to Boq. "How dare you come here—"
"Please, I-I mean her no harm," Boq stammered, his gentle nature showing even through his terror. "We only came because... because..." His voice seized up entirely as he looked down at Ryn's still form.
"Dulcibear, stop!" Elphaba's rough voice was urgent. She pressed her emerald fingers on the Bear's back. "They're not here to hurt me. It's...it's Boq. The Tin Man, remember? The one I told you about?"
The Bear frowned, a low growl rumbling in her chest. She looked more closely at him with eyes narrowed. Slowly, she recognized him.
"What? The Munchkin boy?" She relaxed a little but still stayed between them and Elphaba. "But why would he come back? After everything—" She stopped talking when she saw Ryn in Boq's arms, the blood on his rusty chest, the way his joints were sticking from crying oily tears. Then she looked at Pip, his eyes wide and terrified. Her anger faded away. "Oh," she said softly, her voice kind and tired. "Oh, my dear boy. What happened to your young lady?"
"The m-monkeys," Boq whispered, his words catching as his throat threatened to rust shut. "They attacked us in the forest. She's dying, and I..." His knee buckled with a terrible screech, but still, he held Ryn with utmost care. "Please help her. I'll do anything."
Elphaba watched as Boq's joints locked. His metal form shook under the weight of Ryn and Pip in his arms, but he refused to let go, even as rust crept through him.
"For Oz's sake, Boq, stop crying, you're only making it worse," she whispered hoarsely, taking an involuntary step forward. A ghost of her old sarcasm surfaced, but brittle now, barely masking her fear.
"I c-can't," he choked out. His neck had seized almost completely now, metal grinding against metal as he fought to look down at Ryn's pale face. The sound made even Fiyero flinch. "I beg you... h-help her..."
"Elphaba." Dulcibear's aged voice was gentle but firm as she moved closer, her silver-streaked fur catching the candlelight. "Look at them. Really look. This isn't like before - this isn't about changing someone against their will. This is about saving two lives." The elderly Bear's eyes softened. "And perhaps saving yourself as well."
For a long moment, only the grinding of Boq's joints and Ryn's labored breathing broke the silence. Then Pip let out a soft, desperate whimper, pressing closer to Ryn's side. Something in that sound reached Elphaba. She exhaled in frustration, then turned sharply. "Put her on the cot. Now."
Boq could only comply, his rusted joints screaming as he carried Ryn to the narrow bed on the other side of the tower room. Each step sent grinding pain through his metal frame, but he hardly noticed. All that mattered was Ryn. He laid her gently on the pile of quilts he assumed was the bed. She shuddered once, as if in pain, then fell still. Pip scrambled down from Boq's shoulder, curling beside Ryn and gently stroking her hair. Boq's tin torso nearly ached as he reached out, his tin fingers trembling as he brushed a strand from her pale face, his touch impossibly soft.
"Oh Ryn," he said softly, "Just a little longer now. We'll make you better, I promise."
Elphaba's fingers danced over Ryn's still form, trailing gently over Ryn's wounds. Her brow furrowed as she examined the wounds, and Boq saw something dark flash across her face.
"How long ago?" she demanded, her voice still raw but urgent.
"H-half an hour," he managed through his increasingly locked jaw. "We came as fast as we could, but the stairs—" Another grinding sound cut through his words as he tried to gesture in his rusting state.
"Hush, will you." She pressed her palm against Ryn's forehead, and Boq watched in horror as her face contorted in pain. Pip let out a distressed chirp but didn't move from his protective position.
Boq lurched forward instinctively, his rusted joints screaming. "Stop! You're hurting her!"
"I'm assessing her is what I'm doing," Elphaba snapped, though Boq heard the strain in her voice. "And you're making it impossible to concentrate. What magic I've regained over the last few days is…delicate." She drew back slightly, and Boq saw how her hand trembled. "More delicate than I'd like."
"Is she—" Boq's voice seized as rust crept into his throat. "Will she—"
"Get out."
The words cut through his oil-choked sobs like a knife. He turned his rusted neck toward Elphaba as best as he could, the agonized screech of deteriorating tin making Pip press his tiny hands over his ears.
"W-what?" His voice emerged as a shaky whisper. "No, I can't—"
"You can and you will, Boq." Her eyes hardened as she straightened her gait, her black skirts rustling like crow's wings. "You're of no use to your friend like this, Boq. I need space to work, and you—" She gestured sharply at his deteriorating state. "You're one sob away from becoming a garden statue. Get out and oil yourself before you rust completely."
Boq tried to protest, but his jaw had nearly locked shut. The tears wouldn't stop, no matter how he fought them, and each one traced new paths of corruption across his tin face. His fingers refused to uncurl from where they gripped the edge of Ryn's cot.
"Boq." From behind, Fiyero's gloved hand settled on his shoulder, gentle but insistent. "Come on. Let her work."
"N-no," Boq managed through a half-locked jaw. "I-I promised her. I promised her I wouldn't—"
"Enough!" Elphaba's hoarse voice cracked like thunder. Several of the glass bottles on her shelves rattled ominously. "Yero, Dulcey—get him out of here before he rusts himself beyond repair. I can't help both of them at once."
The elderly Bear moved with surprising swiftness for one so old, placing herself between Boq and the cot. "Come, dear," she rumbled, her voice softer than before but still brooking no argument. "Your heart is in the right place, but your body needs tending. Let Elphaba do what she does best and follow old Nanny outside."
Before Boq could find words through his rusted throat, the Bear and Fiyero began carefully guiding him toward the door. His seized joints made each step agony, but he tried to move as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb Ryn with the sound of grinding metal. Behind them, Elphaba began to chant.
The ancient words seemed to echo in his hollow chest like dark bells, while candle flames danced and green bottles hummed in harmony. This wasn't her gentle humming from their days at Shiz—this was older, deeper, a desperate reach into powers that made the very air heavy with possibility.
The last thing Boq saw before they led him through the doorway was Pip curled protectively against Ryn, while Elphaba's green hands glowed with a soft, pulsing golden light. Power crackled around her like lightning poised to strike.
"Ryn," Boq whispered, his voice catching on her name like rust on a hinge. "Please…please don't—"
The heavy wooden door closed behind them with a quiet thud, but Elphaba's chanting still filtered through the wood, filling the corridor with its otherworldly resonance. His heart clock ticked anxiously at each unfamiliar sound.
Dulcibear helped lower his rigid frame to the floor with surprising tenderness, while he fumbled with shaking hands for the oil can at his hip. His joints had locked so badly he could barely move, but his fingers still worked enough to uncap the spout.
"Easy there, Tin," Fiyero said softly as Boq's trembling hands splashed oil everywhere. "Let me help you with that—"
"Oh, n-no, please," Boq's voice quivered, his tin frame shrinking back slightly. "I need to... I have to..." His voice caught as he poured oil over his shoulders and neck, watching it mix with the faint red traces of Ryn's blood still staining his tin. The sight made his heart clock stutter. "Her blood... I need to clean it off. All of it. I c-can't bear to see it..."
"She'll be alright, Boq. If anyone can save her, it's Elphaba."
"But what if—" His voice cracked like thin ice, echoing in his hollow chest. "What if she becomes like... like me? She's so full of life, so kind. The way her eyes light up when she smiles, how she's never once been afraid of..." He gestured helplessly at his tin form with an oil-stained hand.
"Better changed than dead, dear boy," Dulcibear rumbled gently, settling back against the wall. "You said so yourself. Now rest here with us."
Boq let them guide him down, his metal frame creaking softly in protest. The sound echoed through the castle, a counterpoint to the mysterious chanting beyond the door. His heart clock ticked faster when he realized he could no longer hear Ryn breathing.
"H-how long?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady and failing. "How long until we know?"
"As long as it needs to take," Fiyero said quietly, folding his straw-filled limbs as he settled beside his old friend. "Magic like this... it's never simple. Especially with Elphaba still recovering."
From behind the door, Elphaba's chanting rose higher, and Boq heard glass rattling on shelves. His tin frame vibrated in response, nearly making him drop the oil can as he continued carefully cleaning the bloodstains from his chest.
"Well," Dulcibear said after a long moment, pushing herself up with careful dignity. "Our witch will likely be peckish after this ordeal. And likely be cross as a bear—" she smiled slightly at her joke, "—I should go downstairs and see what that disaster of a kitchen might have to offer us." The Bear paused, her aged eyes growing serious. "And I must have words with Chistery about tonight's events. This attack should never have—"
"They h-hurt her!" The words burst from his hollow chest in a cry of pure anguish, fresh oil tears streaming down his face as he reached toward the Bear, his frame creaking with distress. "She was just trying to help, and they... they..."
"Boq!" Fiyero caught him gently before he could rise, gloved hands steady on his shoulders. "We're all trying to help. Let us."
All the fight drained from him at once, leaving only worry. "Oh... oh, I'm so sorry," he whispered, his heart clock ticking unevenly. "I didn't mean to... it's just...I-I can't…I never…"
"I understand, dear," Dulcibear said softly, her voice carrying none of the reproach Boq deserved. "But save your strength. Your friend is going to need you when this is all over."
Something clattered inside the chamber. Glass breaking? A book falling? Boq couldn't tell. But no one screamed. No one cried out. The silence stretched on, broken only by the quiet drip of oil running down his cheeks.
"Please," he whispered, though he wasn't sure who he was begging anymore. "Please."
The silence grew heavier after Dulcibear's departure, broken only by the occasional pulse of magic from beyond the door and the persistent scraping of his tin fingers against the bloodstains that wouldn't fade.
"You knew." The words escaped before he could stop them, soft and pained rather than bitter. His heart clock ticked unsteadily as he spoke. "All this time, you knew who I was. What you were. Even when you and Dorothy found me rusted there, even when we…"
Fiyero's painted face tightened. "Boq—"
"I-I trusted you." Fresh oil tears traced down his tin cheeks, his voice gentle even in his hurt. "Do you know how h-hard it was? Having to tell Dorothy how I became this way? Watching her face fill with pity while you stood there, knowing the truth?" His tin fingers trembled against the floor. "I told you and Lion everything about that night. About losing my heart, about waking up to find that I'd become… this." He gestured angrily to his metal body. "And you just…you just let me think I was alone." Boq touched his hollow chest was his heart clock was pinned, the motion delicate despite his distress. "You and Elphaba planned everything, didn't you? And never said a word to help me understand."
"I couldn't tell you," Fiyero said quietly but firmly. "You know I couldn't. The Wizard had turned all of Oz against her, sent us after her broomstick—"
"He promised to help us." Boq's voice cracked, the sound like a rusty hinge, but there was more sadness than anger in it now. His heart clock ticked faster as he continued, "He said if we brought him her broomstick... and yes, I was afraid of her then, for what happened to me. But she was trying to save me, wasn't she? Just like she saved you." His voice grew softer, more uncertain. "You knew that all along. You knew the Wizard wasn't telling the truth. Why didn't you help me understand? I was so lost, so angry at her for everything...you knew, and you still let me believe—"
"That's enough." There was steel in Fiyero's voice now, an echo of the captain he'd once been. "This isn't the time or place for that conversation, Boq. Not with Elphaba weakened, not with your friend fighting for your life in there. We can deal with the past later."
Something crashed inside the chamber, followed by a string of words in that ancient language that made the very stones around them vibrate. Boq jerked toward the door instinctively, but Fiyero's gloved hand caught his shoulder.
"No. She needs to concentrate," he reminded him, his tone gentler now, but still not up for discussion. "And you need to keep working on those joints. Focus on that. The rest…the rest can wait till later."
Boq wanted to argue. Wanted to demand answers about all the lies, all the things he should have told him. But another sound filtered through the door—Pip's frightened chirp, followed by what must have been a cry from Ryn, it was her voice, but it was too faint to make out the words.
His anger drained away, leaving only fear in its wake. Fiyero was right. None of the past mattered now. Nothing mattered except the desperate magic being worked out behind that heavy wooden door, and Ryn's life now hanging on by a thread. Boq returned to cleaning his tin in silence, trying not to think about how the blood.
Time dragged on, each minute stretching into eternity as Elphaba's chanting rose and fell behind the door. A single candle had barely burned down a finger's width when the chanting finally stopped. The silence that followed made Boq's hollow frame rattle with anxiety. Then the door creaked open so softly he almost missed it. He and Fiyero looked up as Elphaba emerged, her green skin nearly gray with exhaustion. She swayed, gripping the doorframe for support, her knees buckling. Fiyero moved faster than Boq had ever seen a scarecrow move, catching her before she could fall.
"She's alive," she whispered, her voice hoarser than before. "She's sleeping now, but she's—"
"Fae," Fiyero murmured, cradling her carefully. "What did it cost you?"
"What it needed to." Her words were fading like dying candlelight as the last of her strength waned. "I couldn't... couldn't let him lose her. Not like that. Not when I could..." She tried to straighten her gait, but couldn't manage it. "She'll live, Boq. She's... different now, but she'll live."
Boq was already moving toward the door, his newly oiled joints carrying him as quietly as he could manage. The chamber felt heavy with lingering magic, making his tin frame hum softly as he entered. The candles had burned low, casting strange shadows on the walls.
Then he saw her and his whole frame went rigid with horror.
"No," he choked out, stumbling backward. His tin hands clenched into fists at his sides. "No, no, not again. Wh-what have you done to her?!" The words came out sharper than any he'd spoken before, echoing off the stone walls. "Haven't you changed enough people?"
Yackle's prophecy crashed through his hollow frame like breaking glass: "The shape of you now isn't the shape you'll keep." The old crone's words echoed with terrible clarity as he stared at what Ryn had become. She'd warned him about this - about Ryn being remade, about her being "bound anew." He'd failed to protect her, just as the prophecy had foretold.
She lay so still on the cot, countless black stitches running along her neck, her face, her hands. Her skin wasn't skin anymore, but something fabric-like that had been pieced together with terrible precision. Her once-simple green dress had transformed with her, becoming a patchwork of varying shades sewn together, the colorful fabrics a stark contrast against her new form.
"Ryn?" His voice came out as a horrified whisper. Pip looked up at Boq from his place beside her, his small face worried but not afraid. He reached out to touch her hand—her horrible, jointed, doll-like hand—with such gentleness that it made his heart clock skip a tick.
"I had to," Elphaba said softly from the doorway, leaning heavily on Fiyero. "Her injuries…there wasn't enough left to…I had to remake her, Boq. It was the only way."
Boq couldn't look away from Ryn's face. Even in sleep, he could see the seams where Elphaba's magic had stitched her features back together, keeping her alive in this new, impossible form. She was like a life-sized doll, a patchwork creation of cloth and thread and spells.
"You always have to!" His voice cracked as he spun to face her, oil tears tracking down his face despite his anger. "Just like you had to change me! Like you had to change Fiyero! Is this all your magic can do? Turn people into—into things?"
But even as the words left him, he saw Pip gently stroking Ryn's stitched cheek, showing no fear at all. The little monkey's acceptance made his anger falter, remembering how Ryn had never flinched away from his tin hands, how she'd seen past what he was to who he was.
"Will she..." his voice softened, betraying his fear. "Will she still laugh the same way? Still see the good in everything? Or will this change her inside too, like..." He trailed off, one tin hand rising to his hollow chest.
"I had no choice, Boq," Elphaba whispered, her exhausted voice carrying a thread of old pain. "She was dying. Would you rather I had let her go?"
The question hung in the air between them as Boq looked back at Ryn's still form. His anger drained away, leaving only worry in its wake.
"No," he admitted softly, his frame sagging. "No, I couldn't bear that. But she's so... she was so full of life. If she hates what she's become... if she hates me for bringing her here..."
"She'll wake soon," Elphaba murmured. "The transformation…it takes time to settle. To become real. She'll need a comforting face by her side for what comes next." Her knees buckled slightly, and Fiyero tightened his hold.
"She won't hate you, if anything, she'll hate me for this," Elphaba said softly, still leaning heavily on Fiyero. She took an unsteady step forward, her hand trembling against the wall for support. "She'll be frightened at first, yes. How could she not be? But she won't hate you, Boq."
"How can you know that?" His tin hands hovered over Ryn's stitched ones, not quite touching. "She's not just changed, she's…she's like a doll now…" His voice caught. "What if when she wakes up, she sees herself and—"
"And what?"
Elphaba's hoarse voice carried a hint of her old sharpness. "Realizes she's different? Feels lost? Afraid?" She gestured weakly at him. "You've been there, Boq. You know that path. Instead of fearing for her, why not be the guide she'll need?"
Boq's frame rattled softly as her words sank in. "But this is different. When I changed, I was alone. Nessa was... and you were..." He stopped, his voice growing quieter. "I had no one to help me understand."
"And now she has you." Elphaba swayed slightly, her green skin almost translucent with exhaustion. "Someone who knows exactly what it means to wake up different. To learn how to move in a new body. To find yourself again."
"I-I don't know if I can..." he started, but Elphaba cut him off with a weak wave of her hand.
"I see how you look at her, Boq," she whispered, a ghost of gentleness in her voice. "How you've been so careful with her even before this. She'll need that tenderness now more than ever."
Boq looked down at Ryn's sleeping face, tracing the careful stitches with his gaze. "She was never afraid of me," he said softly. "Even when everyone else... she just saw me. Just Boq."
"Then trust her to be that same person still," Elphaba murmured, her strength fading. "The magic didn't change who you were inside, did it? Just gave you a different way to be in the world. She's still herself, just…different now. Like you." She stumbled slightly, Fiyero steadying her.
"Come on, Fae," Fiyero said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "You need to rest. And eat something, if Dulcey's found anything in that kitchen." He glanced at Boq. "We'll be in the east wing when she wakes. And we'll find Chistery too, get answers about what happened and what's been going on."
Boq barely heard them leave, his gaze fixed on the delicate features beneath the stitching. Even now, he could see her in there—the curve of her smile, the arch of her thin eyebrows. But she was so different—
Pip chirped quietly and curled up against her side as if he had decided he belonged there. As if nothing had changed at all.
The delicate stitching along each slender finger, the way the fabric of her dress seemed to flow into what had once been skin. His tin fingers hovered over hers, trembling. She'd held these hands before, never flinching at their cold metal surface. Would she now? Would she hate what she'd become, hate him for bringing her to this?
He watched as Pip began grooming her hair, which stubbornly remained unchanged—rich brown waves falling across the pillow. The sight made his heart clock stutter. Such a small, normal gesture in all this strangeness. Her fingers curled around his, fabric against tin. Pip stopped his grooming and watched intently as Ryn's head turned toward the sound of his voice. Boq could hear his heart clock ticking faster, its rhythm becoming erratic as her eyelids flickered.
"I-I'm here," Boq whispered, his tin fingers hovering gently over her stitched hand. "You're safe now, Ryn. You're..." The words caught in his throat as he looked at her transformed form. She was alive but so changed. Just as he had been. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, oil tears falling softly onto their joined hands, tin and fabric meeting where flesh used to be. "If only I'd been braver, if I'd protected you better..." His voice creaked like a rusty hinge.
The candle beside them flickered, casting dancing shadows across the delicate stitches on her face. In its gentle light, Boq watched for any sign of waking—the slight movement of her fabric fingers against his palm, the soft rise and fall of her breathing. Each subtle shift made the seams move, like a precious doll coming to life through magic.
Pip crept closer on tiny feet and stroked her cheek with such simple love that it made Boq's hollow chest ache. The little monkey showed no fear, no hesitation—just pure acceptance. Boq wished he could find that same peace, but every carefully sewn stitch reminded him of how he'd failed to keep her safe.
"Ryn?" he called softly, his voice full of worry. "Can you hear me?"
Her lips parted slightly—those same lips that had smiled at him so often over the last several days, now traced with delicate seams. A small sound escaped her, something between a whimper and a sigh. Boq's free hand hovered uselessly above her shoulder, afraid to touch her and make this nightmare more real.
Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused and confused. Boq leaned forward anxiously, his joints creaking, as she stirred on the cot.
"B-Boq?" she mumbled, her voice thick with disorientation. "What happened... I remember the flying m-monkeys, and then..." She tried to lift her hand to her head, but the movement was jerky, unnatural—like a puppet with strings.
His heart clock nearly stopped as her gaze drifted to his chest plate, catching her reflection in the polished tin. He watched the horrible moment of recognition dawn across her stitched features. Her fabric hands began to tremble.
"Wh-what..." The word caught in her throat as she stared at her reflection—at the new face now looking back at her, traced with neat black stitches where her skin had been. She lifted a shaking hand and touched her cheek, then jerked back as if burned when her fabric fingers met the stitches.
"N-no," Ryn stammered, real terror creeping into her voice. Her fingers scrabbled desperately at her face, tracing the careful rows of stitches that circled her neck, mapped her jaw, and crossed her cheeks. "No, p-please, this can't be—"
She tried to sit up, to get away from her reflection, but her body moved all wrong. Her joints bent at strange angles, loose and stiff at the same time. When she finally managed to push herself upright, she swayed unsteadily, like a marionette with tangled strings.
"I have to—" She tried to stand, her movements frantic and jerky. "This isn't—I'm not—" In her panic, she grabbed at her arm, fingers catching on a loose thread. Before either of them could react, she pulled—and the seam began to unravel.
A strangled scream tore from her throat as her arm simply... came apart. There was no pain—and that was somehow the most horrifying part. Just the terrible sensation of thread pulling free, stuffing beginning to spill out where flesh and bone should be.
"P-please, don't!" Boq lurched forward, his tin joints clattering in panic. "You m-mustn't move! You'll hurt yourself!" His hands hovered anxiously around her partially detached arm, wanting to help but terrified of causing more damage. "I... I don't know what to... if I could just..." His gentle voice trembled as he tried to think of how to help, his tin fingers shaking. "Please, let me try to..."
She couldn't tear her eyes away from the cotton stuffing peeking through the split seam. "I'm coming apart," she whispered, her voice rising with hysteria. "I'm actually coming apart! There's no blood—why isn't there any blood?!"
"Please, just... just hold still," Boq begged, carefully gathering her partially detached arm. "M-may I...?" At her tiny nod, he tried to hold the seam together, his tin fingers trembling with the effort to be gentle.
The fight seemed to drain out of her then, though her whole body still shook. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered, slumping back against the wall. "I'm making everything w-worse, aren't I? First getting hurt and m-making you worry, and now..." She gestured helplessly with her good hand.
But even as exhaustion crept into her voice, her fingers kept straying to the stitches at her neck, her face, each touch making her flinch as if hoping this time she'd feel skin instead of fabric. Every few moments she'd notice something new—the way her joints bent wrong, how she couldn't feel the coldness of Boq's tin hands, the horrible lightness of being stuffed with cotton—and fresh horror would flicker across her stitched features.
"The f-flying monkeys," she whispered suddenly, fragments of memory surfacing. She looked down at where their claws had torn deepest, and her breath caught as she saw not healing wounds but neat rows of stitches disappearing beneath her dress. "Who... who did this to me?"
Boq's joints creaked anxiously at the question. "I..." His voice came out rusty. "We're in Kiamo Ko. The castle of the..." But he couldn't finish.
Her fingers stilled on one of the longer seams. Understanding dawned in her eyes with terrible certainty.
"The W-Witch of the West?" The words came out in a horrified whisper. Her fabric body began to shake violently. "No. No, you couldn't have... you wouldn't have brought me to..." Her stitched hands clutched at her dress—at what was now her skin. "She's evil! She's the most w-wicked person in all of Oz! She... she..."
She tried to pull away from Boq then, pressing herself against the wall, staring at him with new fear. "You brought me to the Witch? The one who t-terrorized Munchkinland? Who kidnapped Dorothy?" Her voice rose with panic. "Why would you—how could you—"
"She survived," Boq cut in quickly. "She used magic to fake her death. And she saved you, Ryn. You were dying. There was no other choice."
"Saved me?" Ryn's voice cracked with disbelief. "She turned me into a... a hideous patchwork thing! Like one of my old d-dolls!" Fresh horror bloomed in her eyes as another thought struck her. "Like what she did to you? With N-Nessarose?"
Boq's tin frame stiffened slightly at her words, a barely perceptible flinch. His heart clock skipped a beat as he looked down at his own metallic hands. "Is that…is that what you think of me, then?" he asked softly, his voice carrying a note of pain he couldn't quite hide. "That I'm hideous too?"
"N-no!" Ryn's eyes widened with immediate regret. "Oh no, Boq, I-I didn't mean…you're not…" She reached for him instinctively with her good hand, then stopped, looking at her fabric fingers with fresh dismay.
"Then perhaps," he said gently, though there was still a tremor in his voice, "there's more to both of us than what we're made of."
She fell silent for a moment, processing this. Then her head snapped up. "Wait... before? You knew her b-before?" The confusion in her voice was raw and vulnerable. "But... but everyone knows the Witch was always w-wicked. Always evil. How could you have..."
"I knew her. At university," Boq admitted quietly, his voice growing steadier as he spoke of his old friend. "She wasn't... she wasn't what they said. What they made her out to be. She was just trying to help, in her own way."
"Help?" Ryn's voice trembled. "Like she h-helped you? By turning you into..." She gestured at his tin form, then at her own fabric body, fresh tears soaking into her stitched cheeks. "Everything I ever heard about her... every story... she was the W-Wicked Witch! And you're telling me she was your friend? That she's been alive all this time, turning people into... into..." She looked down at her fabric hands again, the horror of her transformation tangling with this new revelation.
"I don't understand anything anymore," she whispered. Her fingers traced the stitches at her wrist obsessively, shoulders hunching inward. "I used to make dolls as a little girl," she added, voice distant and lost. "I loved fixing them when they broke. But now I'm... now I'm the one who's..." She couldn't finish. "And the W-Witch of the West is the one who... who..." An unexpected yawn escaped her, and she covered her mouth, looking mortified even through her distress. "S-sorry! Everything just feels so... so..." Her words slurred slightly as fatigue dragged at her.
"Would you like me to stay?" Boq offered softly, understanding her unspoken fear of being alone in this new form. His tin fingers still hovered uncertainly near her partially detached arm. "And perhaps... perhaps in the morning, we can ask the Wit—we can ask Elphaba to show us how to mend this properly. She must know how since she's the one who..." He trailed off, not wanting to upset her further.
"Oh please, y-yes," she whispered, settling back against the pillows but keeping hold of his hand with her good arm like an anchor. She glanced at her damaged limb, fresh tears threatening. "I suppose I should be grateful there's no pain, at least. Though that almost makes it worse, somehow." Even as her eyes grew heavy, her fingers kept brushing against the stitches at her wrist, each touch making her shudder. "I keep thinking I'll wake up and this will all be a terrible dream..."
"I'll be right here," he promised, his tin frame hunched protectively beside her bed as she finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, her fabric hand still clutching his tin one.
As her eyes grew heavy, she murmured, "Thank you, Boq. For…for not running when…when you saw what I'd…what I've become."
"Never," he whispered, but she was already drifting off. His heart clock ticked an uneven rhythm as he watched over her, amazed and terrified by how much he'd come to care for this young woman from Munchkinland who somehow saw past his dents and awkwardness to something worthwhile beneath.
Boq knew he should go find Elphaba, and tell her Ryn had woken. But watching her sleep now, her fabric fingers occasionally twitching against her stitches even in unconsciousness, he couldn't bring himself to move.
What if she woke alone, disoriented in her new form? What if she needed... but no, he was probably just making excuses. The truth was simpler and far more frightening: he cared too much to leave, even knowing she might look at him differently now, knowing what he'd hidden from her.
So he stayed, his tin frame creaking softly as he settled in to watch over her through the long night ahead.
A floorboard suddenly creaked in the hallway, making Boq startle. He turned to find Fiyero standing in the doorway, his straw-stuffed form silhouetted against the corridor's dim light.
Fiyero stepped into the room, then stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Ryn's transformed state.
"Oh," Fiyero breathed, his painted features softening with understanding. He moved closer, studying the careful stitching that now made up her face. "So this is what Fae meant by…she's like us now, isn't she? Another of magic's patchwork children." His voice held a peculiar mixture of sadness and affection. "Our Scraps."
The new nickname, spoken with such gentle affection, made Boq's hollow chest tighten. "She's still Ryn," he said softly, protectively.
"Of course she is," Fiyero agreed, his painted smile understanding. "Just like I'm still me under all this straw, and you're still you beneath the tin. But sometimes... sometimes a new name can help make the change easier to bear." He gestured at his own transformed form. "It helped me, being Scarecrow for a while. Until I was ready to be Fiyero again."
"She's..." Boq looked back at Ryn's sleeping form, at the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. "She's stronger than anyone knows. Even herself."
Fiyero nodded, then hesitated. "Elphaba needs to rest, but she'll want to check the spells when she wakes. Make sure everything's settling properly." He watched as Boq gently adjusted the blanket around Ryn's stitched shoulders. "She'll need all of us, you know. To help her understand what she's become."
"R-right," Boq stammered, suddenly very aware that he was still holding Ryn's fabric hand. He carefully tried to disentangle their fingers, but she made a small sound of distress in her sleep. His heart clock skipped at the sound, and he found himself frozen, unsure what to do.
Then he remembered why they were here in the first place. "Fiyero, a-about Chistery and the other monkeys..." He glanced at Ryn's sleeping form, his voice growing tight. "Glinda—"
"Not now," Fiyero cut in, his painted features growing serious. "That's... that's a conversation we need to have together, in the morning. All of us." He glanced meaningfully at Ryn. "When everyone's stronger."
Something in Fiyero's tone made Boq frown. "How bad is it?"
"Bad enough." Fiyero's voice was grim. "But it can wait till morning." His features softened as he looked at Ryn again. "For now, just be here for her. Scraps here is going to need you most of all, Boq."
Before Boq could respond, Fiyero was gone, his straw-light footsteps fading down the corridor. Boq sat there in the flickering candlelight, his tin face flushed with embarrassment in a way that shouldn't be possible, his hollow chest tight with worry at Fiyero's words. Still, he didn't let go of Ryn's hand.
After all, she'd asked him to stay.
In the quiet that followed, Pip let out a soft, worried chirp, his tiny hands reaching out to touch Boq's tin fingers - that same gentle gesture from when they'd first found him in the forest.
"I know," Boq whispered, his voice barely audible even in the quiet room. "I'm worried too." He watched as Pip carefully smoothed Ryn's hair with the same tenderness he'd shown since that first day. "But you're not afraid of what she's become, are you? You just see...her."
Pip looked up at him with those intelligent eyes and chirped again, softer this time, before curling closer to Ryn's side. The simple acceptance of that gesture made Boq's hollow chest ache. The little monkey's only response was to nestle closer to Ryn, his eyes already drooping with sleep. Boq fell silent then, but somehow the quiet felt less heavy than before.
As Pip's breathing evened out into soft, steady rhythms, Boq settled deeper into his watch, letting the night's stillness enfold them all. The stars wheeled slowly overhead beyond the castle walls, and somewhere in the distance, a night bird called. Boq kept his vigil, watching over this fragile new life they'd both been given, wondering what darkness tomorrow might bring.
For now, though, they were safe. They were together.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.