A/N: Fun fact: Bfee is inspired by Chris Fitzgerald's original Boq! I know Bfee is the Mayor of Munchkinland in Wicked, but I wanted to keep the woodcutter element—so in my version, Bfee's "retired" and mostly chops wood these days. Like father, like son… before all the tin business! Hoping for a Chris cameo in Part 2! 😉
GLINDA'S bubble drifted downward through a tapestry of clouds, the Land of Oz spreading beneath them like a child's patchwork quilt—golden fields of corn, the poppy meadows of various colors, and the sprawling blue ribbon of the Munchkin River. As they descended, Boq felt an odd tightness in his hollow chest that had nothing to do with the altitude.
Munchkinland. Home.
He'd imagined this moment countless times since his transformation—the return to the place where he'd grown up, to the people who had raised him. In his dreams, he'd always walked the familiar dirt road on his own two feet, flesh and blood, with Elphaba's tin curse somehow lifted. Instead, he was arriving in a glittering pink bubble, his tin body gleaming in the afternoon sun, with a talking Lion, a Scarecrow, and a tiny flying monkey perched on his shoulder.
"Why, Biq, you're awfully quiet," Glinda said with a gentle tilt of her head, her wand twirling lazy spirals of light through the air as the bubble drifted down. "Aren't you simply thrilled to be home?"
"It's Boq," he corrected automatically, though without the old bitterness. "And yes. And no."
Fiyero rustled beside him, his straw shifting as he placed a reassuring hand on Boq's metal shoulder. "We've all changed," he said quietly. "They'll still know you, Tin."
The Lion nodded empathetically, his medal of courage bouncing against his chest. "Course they will! Parents always know their cubs, no matter what."
Boq winced. He wasn't so sure. When he'd left home, he'd been a boy of flesh and blood, with soft brown hair and eyes. Now he was this—this-this hollowed-out tin replica of himself. His voice was different. His face was different. Even the way he moved was different, every step accompanied by the creak and groan of stiff metal joints.
Pip chittered softly, his tiny hands patting Boq's funnel hat in what seemed like reassurance.
"See? Even the little fella agrees," the Lion said, grinning nervously.
Boq managed something like a smile. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."
The bubble continued its gentle descent, passing over familiar landmarks—the Corn Exchange where his father had traded grain, the little schoolhouse where he'd learned his letters as a boy, the winding creek where he'd fished for silver minnows. Then, finally, it drifted toward a modest cottage set back from the main road, surrounded by cornfields that stretched to the horizon.
His parents' home. His home.
Munchkin dwellings were modest by Ozian standards but cozy and well-suited to their diminutive stature. The blue-shuttered cottage had been in the Boq family for generations—a simple one-story structure with a thatched roof and climbing roses framing the rounded doorway, their blooms fading with the coming autumn. A small apple orchard of just a dozen trees stretched behind the cottage, their branches heavy with ripe fruit ready for harvest, and a well-tended vegetable garden displayed the orange and yellow hues of autumn squash and pumpkins to the east.
As they neared, Boq could make out figures moving in the yard—a woman hanging laundry on a line, a man splitting wood beside a small shed. His parents. They looked smaller somehow, more weathered than he remembered. Or perhaps it was just that he'd changed so much.
His father, Bfee, was recognizable even from afar. Though short—even by Munchkin standards—he carried an energy that made him seem larger than life, a compact swirl of constant motion. His face was vividly expressive, shifting from stern to joyful in a heartbeat. His brown hair, once thick like Boq's, was now touched with silver at the temples, and his round, boyish face had gathered a few lines with time. Yet the way he moved was just as Boq remembered—quick, precise, and touched with a kind of flair, as if even chopping wood deserved an audience.
"There," Boq said, pointing. "That's my parents' house."
Glinda nodded daintily, guiding the bubble toward an open patch of grass away from the house. "Oh, I do believe it's best if I don't go along with you, dear," she said in her soft, tinkling voice, all sweetness and subtle sparkle. "My presence does tend to cause a bit of a stir, you know, and we wouldn't want to create a scene. It's ever so much better this way."
"Will you be alright on your own?" Fiyero asked.
Glinda sniffed, smoothing her glittering gown. "Of course. I am rather accomplished at bubble travel now, you know."
The bubble touched down with the gentlest of landings, its shimmering surface dissolving around them like dewdrops in morning sunlight. Boq stepped onto the familiar soil of Munchkinland, the weight of his tin body creating shallow depressions in the soft earth. Pip clutched the edge of his funnel hat, chittering excitedly at this new world of muted blues and golds—so different from the stark landscape of Kiamo Ko.
"I'll return for you in three days," Glinda said, her voice light as spun sugar as she twirled her wand and began to summon a smaller bubble around herself. "That should be ever so much time to speak with Dorothy… don't you think?" She didn't wait for an answer, already lifting a few inches into the air. "Good luck, all of you. And Biq—" She paused with a musical giggle. "Boq. I do hope your reunion is everything your heart desires."
With that, she rose into the air, a shimmering speck against the endless blue of the Munchkinland sky, and was gone.
The Lion stretched with an exaggerated groan, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. "Whew! That wasn't so bad," he said, his voice gravelly with a dramatic wobble. "Beats walkin' all the way from the Emerald City again—I tell ya, my paws still ain't forgivin' me for that one!"
Fiyero nodded, adjusting his straw-stuffed limbs. "Let's get moving. The sooner we find Dorothy, the sooner we can head back to Kiamo Ko."
Back to Elphaba, Boq knew he meant. Back to Ryn, for himself.
"Wait," Boq said, the words sticking like rust in his throat. "I...I need a moment."
His companions fell silent, watching him with matching expressions of concern. Pip climbed down from his hat to his shoulder, nuzzling against his neck with a soft, questioning chirp.
How did he even begin to explain what he was feeling? That this wasn't just a return home—it was a confrontation with everything he'd lost, everything he'd become. The last time he'd stood on this soil, he'd been a different person entirely. Now, he was returning as this—this shell of tin and hollow spaces.
"What if they don't recognize me?" he finally asked, voicing the fear that had been haunting him since they'd set out. "What if they look at me and see only the Tin Man, not their son?"
"Then we'll tell them," Fiyero said simply. "Same as I told you when you finally recognized it was me all this time."
The Lion nodded, his mane giving a little bounce. "Sure they will!" he said, puffing up his chest with a shaky kind of confidence. "They're your folks, ain't they? And that's what folks do—they believe in their cubs… even when it sounds nuttier than a flying monkey on a unicycle!"
Boq wasn't sure where the Lion's newfound burst of confidence was coming from—as far as he knew, the Lion had never even known his parents—but there was still something reassuring in the Animal's certainty.
"All right," Boq said finally, straightening his metal shoulders with a creak. "I'm ready now. Let's go."
They set off across the field, Boq leading the way with steps that grew heavier with each yard. As they neared the house, he saw his parents pause in their work, shielding their eyes against the afternoon sun. His mother and father stood frozen, watching the strange procession approaching their cottage—a Tin Man, a Lion, a Scarecrow, and a tiny blue-capped flying monkey riding on the Tin Man's shoulder.
Of course, they wouldn't recognize him immediately. Why would they? The Tin Man was a figure of legend in Oz now, one of the three companions who had helped Dorothy defeat the Wicked Witch of the West. They would surely see the legend first, not the son who had left home years ago to study agriculture at Shiz University.
As they drew closer, Boq could make out the expression on his parents' faces—confusion, wariness, a hint of fear. His father reached for the axe he'd been using to split wood, not brandishing it as a weapon, but holding it ready, just in case. His mother quickly stepped behind him, her eyes wide with alarm and fear.
Up close, his father's face was even more familiar. Bfee had the same expressive gray eyes as Boq, now edged with crow's feet that deepened whenever he squinted with suspicion. His nose was small and slightly upturned, and his eyebrows seemed to move with a mind of their own, dancing across his forehead with every flicker of emotion. Though he barely reached Boq's metal chest, Bfee carried himself with the confidence of someone much taller—back straight, chin lifted, as if always prepared to take on the world. His mother was smaller still, with delicate features and hair that had once matched Boq's dark chestnut brown hair, now streaked generously with silver at the temples.
They didn't recognize him. The knowledge was like a physical blow.
Still, he pressed forward until they stood perhaps twenty paces from the house. Far enough that his parents wouldn't feel threatened, but close enough that they could hear him speak.
"H-Hello," Boq called, raising a tin hand in nervous greeting. "Mr. and Mrs. Woodsman? I'm—"
"We know who you are," his father interrupted, his voice gruff with suspicion. "You're the Tin Man who traveled with Dorothy Gale, that girl from the Other Land. What business do you have at our home?"
Boq felt something inside him break. They knew of him, but they didn't know him.
"We've come to see Dorothy," Fiyero stepped in smoothly. "We heard she's staying with you."
His mother's eyes grew even wider. "The Scarecrow," she whispered. "And the Lion." Then she looked back at Boq, her gaze sharpening with curiosity. "But how did you know Dorothy was here? She only arrived a few days ago. Poor thing was half-drowned when she washed ashore. My husband found her."
Boq offered a faint, cautious smile, his tone quiet but sincere. "We have… mutual friends," he said carefully, the words chosen with deliberate restraint, mindful of Elphaba's warning. "We'd like to speak with her, if she's willing. Please—it's important."
His father's grip on the axe tightened. "That poor girl's been through enough already. She's just a child."
The Lion stepped forward, puffing out his chest, though his tail gave an anxious twitch. "We're her friends, sir! Honest! Why, we helped her find her way home once before, and we wouldn't hurt a hair on her head—no, sir, not me! I might be a coward, but I've got principles!"
Something in the Lion's trembling sincerity seemed to strike a chord. Boq's father's grip on the axe eased, and his mother stepped out from behind him, eyeing the travelers with careful curiosity.
"Dorothy did speak of you to us," she admitted. "She told us of your journey together. How you helped her defeat the Wicked Witch." She looked at Boq again, her gaze lingering on his tin face. "She said the Tin Man was searching for a heart."
Boq nodded, unable to speak for a moment. It was strange to hear his own quest as if it belonged to a character in a storybook, not to himself.
"I—I found one," Boq said at last, his voice low and heavy, like it had to be pushed out. "Only… not the way I thought I would."
His mother, Binda, tilted her head, studying him with a puzzled expression that was painfully familiar. It was the same look she'd given him when, as a child, he'd tried to explain his more fanciful ideas or ambitious dreams.
"If it's not too much trouble," Fiyero said, scratching behind his ear like he was thinking it through mid-sentence, "we'd really like to see Dorothy. It's—well—it's important. More important than we probably look."
After a tense moment, Boq's father nodded. "She's in the orchard. She likes to sit among the apple trees, under the largest one at the center." He lowered the axe but didn't set it aside. "I'll show you the way."
As they moved toward the back of the house, Boq felt his mother's gaze following him, tracking his every mechanical step. There was something in her expression—not recognition, not yet—but a kind of quiet questioning, as if some part of him tugged at her memory. His family's apple orchard stretched out behind the house—small by Ozian standards, just a dozen trees in tidy rows, nothing like the vast groves of Kiamo Ko. But it had always been Boq's favorite place. As a boy, he'd spent hours climbing those trees, reading in their shade, or helping with the harvest. Now the branches were edged with gold, early leaves beginning to drift down in slow, lazy spirals.
Ahead, Boq's father led them between the trees, and Pip suddenly perked up on Boq's shoulder. His tiny nostrils flared at the scent of ripened fruit, and before anyone could stop him, he darted up the nearest trunk in a flash of motion and fur.
"Pip!" Boq called, alarmed. "Come back here!"
But the tiny monkey was already among the branches, chittering excitedly as he examined the shiny red fruit. With theatrical solemnity, he inspected several apples before selecting a particularly large one. His tiny hands struggled to twist it from the branch, his little face scrunched up in determination.
"What in—what in Oz is that little creature doing up there?" Bfee asked, his words quickening with nervous curiosity, expressive eyebrows shooting upward as he gestured frantically at the tree.
"That's Pip," Boq explained. "He's, uh, he's... with me."
After a mighty effort, Pip managed to free his prize. But the apple, nearly as big as he was, immediately pulled him off-balance. He dangled from the branch by his tail for one precarious moment before dropping—apple and all—directly into Boq's outstretched metal hands.
"Gotcha," Boq said, relieved.
Pip, undeterred by his fall, immediately sank his tiny teeth into the apple with a possessive growl. Juice dribbled down his chin and onto his blue cap as he gnawed with single-minded focus, tiny hands clutching the fruit with a determination that dared anyone to try taking it away.
As they neared the center of the orchard, Boq's joints nearly locked up at the sight that met them.
There she was—just as his father had said—sitting beneath the largest tree in the orchard's heart: Dorothy Gale.
But she wasn't the small twelve-year-old girl Boq remembered from only weeks ago. She'd grown. Still young, perhaps fifteen or sixteen now, but different. He recalled Elphaba once mentioning that time passed differently in Oz and the Other Land. Her brown hair was longer now, no longer in its familiar plaited braids but loose and flowing.
She wore a simple blue dress in the style of Munchkin Country, though it didn't quite fit her taller frame. She was reading, her back resting against the broad trunk of the tree, so serene that Boq almost couldn't bring himself to interrupt.
Her dog Toto, curled at her feet, was the first to notice their approach. The little dog's ears perked up before he leapt to his feet, barking excitedly.
At the sudden noise, Pip froze mid-bite. His eyes widened to perfect circles as he spotted the dog, and with a shriek of alarm, he scrambled up Boq's arm and disappeared inside his funnel hat, taking his half-eaten apple with him. Only his trembling tail remained visible, curled tightly around the rim.
Dorothy looked up at the commotion, startled, her eyes widening with shock and then—to Boq's immense relief—pure joy.
"Scarecrow! Lion! Tin Man!" she cried, her voice lifting with that distinctive musical lilt that Boq remembered so well. She scrambled to her feet and rushed toward them, skirts swishing. "Jiminy Crickets, is it really you?"
Fiyero laughed as she flung herself into his straw arms, hugging him fiercely. "It's us, Dorothy."
She pulled back to look at him, her eyes shining. "But how? I thought—when I left—" She looked between them, suddenly realizing something. "Oh my, it's been years since I was here! Nearly three years back in Kansas. I'm fifteen now, almost sixteen." Her eyes widened with sudden understanding. "But you all look exactly the same as when I left!"
"Time moves differently between our worlds," Fiyero explained gently. "What feels like years to you has been only a matter of weeks here in Oz."
"How curious!" Dorothy marveled, her head tilting with that signature wonder. "Well, I suppose that explains why Mr. and Mrs. Woodsman were so surprised when I told them how much time had passed for me." She turned to embrace the Lion, who puffed out his chest proudly even as tears welled in his eyes.
Then she was before Boq, her smile so bright it almost hurt to look at.
"Tin Man," she said, her voice sweetly earnest as she reached for his metal hands, eyes wide with innocent wonder. "Oh, I've missed you so! There truly is no place like Oz when you're here."
Something in her voice—warm, familiar, full of genuine affection—hit him all at once. His eyes stung, vision swimming as tears welled up, threatening to spill over and rust him right where he stood. She remembered him. She was happy to see him.
"Hello, Dorothy," he said softly, allowing her to take his hands in hers. "It's good to see you again."
A curious chittering sound from above drew Dorothy's attention. She looked up, spotting the quivering tail poking out from Boq's funnel hat.
"Tin Man? What on earth is that?" she asked, pointing.
From within the funnel cap, Pip cautiously poked his head out, peeking from beneath the rim, as if sensing he'd become the topic of conversation. His tiny face tilted sideways as he craned to look, curious but uncertain. At the sight of Dorothy, his fear seemed to waver. Clutching his half-eaten apple tightly, he slowly crawled out of hiding, inching toward Boq's shoulder.
"Oh, this is Pip, Dorothy," Boq said gently, his voice tinged with that familiar metallic warmth as the little monkey clambered down to his shoulder. "He won't hurt you. He's… well… he's like a son to me. In a manner of speaking."
Dorothy's brows lifted in surprise. "Your son? But how—" She stopped herself, then smiled. "Well, I suppose Oz is full of wonders I don't understand. He's absolutely darling!"
Boq appreciated her curiosity and felt a surge of affection for the way she accepted the unusual with such grace.
She offered a finger to the tiny monkey, her smile soft and welcoming. "Well, I do declare! Aren't you just the dearest little thing I ever did see?"
Pip hesitated, glancing between his apple and this new human. After a moment's deliberation, he carefully balanced his precious fruit on Boq's shoulder to free his hands. He sniffed Dorothy's finger with exaggerated caution before allowing her to stroke his fur, preening at the attention.
"Oh my! He's wearing a little blue cap!" Dorothy exclaimed with delighted awe, her voice rising slightly in pitch as it always did when she was excited. "Isn't that just the sweetest thing?"
Emboldened by her admiration, Pip made a grand gesture of breaking off a small piece of his apple and offering it to Dorothy—a tremendous honor that wasn't lost on Boq.
"My goodness, thank you!" she said with genuine sincerity, pretending to take a bite. "That's the most delicious apple I've ever tasted!"
Pip straightened his cap and puffed out his tiny chest with pride. His moment of triumph was short-lived, however, as Toto, who had been hanging back, decided to approach for a closer look at this strange new creature. The little dog trotted forward with friendly curiosity, tail wagging.
Pip froze mid-preening, his eyes widening in alarm. With a shriek that could have shattered glass, he abandoned his apple and scrambled back up Boq's arm, disappearing once more into the funnel hat. Only the tip of his trembling tail remained visible, curled tightly around the rim.
"Oh dear!" Dorothy laughed, scooping Toto into her arms. "I'm afraid they haven't been properly introduced."
"Not the bravest little fellow when it comes to dogs," Boq admitted, tapping his hat gently. "It's alright, Pip. Toto won't hurt you."
A pair of suspicious eyes peered out from underneath the funnel's edge, regarding Toto with profound distrust. The dog, for his part, tilted his head and whined softly, seemingly confused by the monkey's reaction.
"You two are going to have to get along," Boq told him exasperatedly. "We've got a long journey ahead."
Pip chittered what sounded suspiciously like disagreement before retreating back into the funnel. The abandoned apple lay on the ground between them—a casualty of this first diplomatic incident.
With a frustrated sigh, Boq retrieved the apple and held it up to his hat. Almost immediately, a tiny hand shot out, snatched the fruit, and disappeared back inside with a satisfied chirp.
"Well," Fiyero observed dryly, "at least food trumps fear."
"Perhaps they'll become friends," Dorothy suggested, stroking Toto's ears. "You are staying for a while, aren't you?"
Boq glanced at Fiyero and the Lion. "Actually, that's why we're here, Dorothy. We need to talk to you about something important."
Just then, Boq noticed his mother and father moving to join them under the tree, watching the reunion unfold before them. His father's expression had softened somewhat since their arrival, the earlier wariness in his eyes gradually giving way to cautious curiosity as he observed Dorothy's obvious joy.
"I see why you've told us so many stories about them," Bfee said to Dorothy, though his eyes kept returning to Boq with an intensity that made his metal joints feel oddly stiff.
"Oh, they're just wonderful, Mr. Woodsman!" Dorothy exclaimed, her hands clasping together at her chest, brown eyes bright with sincerity. She returned to Boq and Fiyero's sides, linking her arms through theirs with easy familiarity. "The Tin Man has the kindest heart in all of Oz, even if he doesn't think so himself. Why, he's just about the nicest person I've ever known, truly he is!"
Something flickered in his mother's eyes at that, her gaze sharpening as it moved between Dorothy and Boq. He recognized the expression—it was the same one she'd worn when he was a child and she'd caught him in a half-truth. There was a dawning awareness there, a possibility taking shape that she seemed almost afraid to consider.
"Dorothy," Fiyero said as he stepped forward, his tone careful but kind. "We were hoping to talk with you about something important. About why you've come back to Oz."
The girl's smile faltered slightly. "I don't know why I'm back," she admitted. "There was another storm, even worse than the first. Our cellar flooded, and I was trying to get Toto to safety when…" Her voice softened with a hint of something tender. "Hunk—he's one of our farm hands—he was helping me. He's always looking out for me." A slight pink blush colored her cheeks. "He'd just grabbed my hand when something happened. A flash of light, a terrible wind, and suddenly I was torn away from him."
She glanced at Fiyero with a curious expression before continuing. "The other farm hands, Hickory and Zeke, they were helping Aunt Em and Uncle Henry secure the house. But Hunk..." She sighed, twisting her hands in her skirt. "He must be beside himself with worry. Last time I was gone for just a few minutes in Kansas time, even though it felt like days here in Oz. But now—" She looked much older than her years for a moment. "I've been here for a few days already. Back home, they might think I'm..."
"We may be able to help you get home again," Boq said gently. "But first, we need your help."
"My help?" Dorothy looked surprised, her expressive eyes widening as she placed a hand against her dress. "Oh my! What could I possibly do?" Her voice had that familiar cadence that managed to sound both innocent and brave at once, the Kansas farmgirl who faced witches and wizards with equal parts wonder and pluck.
Boq glanced at his parents, who were watching them with undisguised curiosity. "Perhaps we could continue this somewhere more private?"
Dorothy nodded, catching his meaning. "Of course. We can go to my room—it's the spare bedroom Mr. and Mrs. Woodsman so kindly gave me." She turned to Boq's parents. "If that's all right?"
His father hesitated, clearly reluctant to let Dorothy out of his sight with these strange visitors, friends or no friends. But his mother placed a hand on his arm, watching Boq thoughtfully.
"It's fine, dear," she said softly. "I think…I think Dorothy is safe with them."
There was something in her voice—a tremor, a question—that made Boq wonder if she was beginning to suspect. If some mother's instinct was whispering to her that the tin man standing before her was more than just a legendary figure from Dorothy's tales.
His father still looked uncertain, his hand resting on the handle of the axe, but after a long moment, he gave a curt nod. "If Dorothy says it's all right, then… all right. But we'll be close by."
As they followed Dorothy toward the cottage, Boq couldn't resist looking back at the orchard. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, dappling the ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow. How many afternoons had he spent in this very spot, dreaming of adventures far beyond Munchkinland's borders? Never once imagining that when he finally returned, it would be as this—a man of tin, hollowed out and remade.
Toto trotted at Dorothy's heels, occasionally looking back at Pip. The little monkey, still perched on Boq's shoulder, clutched his apple protectively whenever the dog glanced his way, his free hand holding tight to the edge of Boq's funnel hat as if ready to dive for safety at a moment's notice.
The cottage was exactly as he remembered it—the faded blue curtains his mother had sewn when he was ten, the collection of painted plates on the wall, the slightly uneven floorboard in the entryway that creaked when stepped on. A fire crackled in the small hearth, warding off the early autumn chill, and bundles of drying herbs hung from the ceiling beams. Dorothy led them down the short hallway to a small bedroom at the end—his old room, Boq realized with a pang. His parents had given Dorothy his room.
The furnishings were mostly the same—the narrow bed with its blue quilt, the small desk beneath the window where he'd studied as a boy, the bookshelf filled with worn volumes. But his personal belongings were gone, replaced by Dorothy's few possessions—a hairbrush on the dresser, a shawl hanging from a hook, a pair of sturdy shoes beside the bed. It was his room, but it wasn't his anymore. Just as he was Boq, but not the Boq who had left this house all those years ago.
Dorothy closed the door behind them, then turned to face her friends with expectant eyes. "Now, what's this all about? Why do you need my help?"
Boq exchanged glances with Fiyero and the Lion. This was the delicate part—explaining enough to convince Dorothy to come with them without revealing Elphaba's survival prematurely.
"Something's going on, Dorothy," Fiyero said gently. "Something magical… and maybe dangerous. It started after you left the first time—and now that you're back, well… it's only gotten worse."
Dorothy's eyes widened. "Because of me? Oh, but I—I haven't done anything!"
"It isn't your fault, Dorothy," Boq said softly, his voice almost tender. "It's to do with the magic that brought you here... and sent you back. It made a kind of connection between you and Oz. And when that was broken… well, it unsettled other magic. Made things go a little wrong."
"What kind of things?" Dorothy asked, sinking onto the edge of the bed.
The Lion shifted uncomfortably. "The flying monkeys went bonkers, for one thing," he said. "Started attacking folks, destroying villages."
Dorothy gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, those poor creatures! I always felt they weren't really evil, just under the Witch's spell."
"You were right," Boq said gently, his voice full of quiet relief. "We've found a way to break the spell for good… but we can't do it without you."
"Of course I'll help," Dorothy said immediately, with the same ready generosity Boq remembered. "What do I need to do?"
"Come with us," Fiyero said. "To Kiamo Ko—the Witch's castle in the Vinkus. There's someone there who can fix the magical connection and send you home safely."
Dorothy's face paled slightly at the mention of the castle. "Go back there? But..." She swallowed hard. "The last time I was there, I... I killed someone. I didn't mean to, but I did."
The memory of Elphaba's supposed death clearly still haunted her. Boq felt a surge of sympathy for this girl who had shouldered burdens no child should bear.
"The castle is different now," he told her gently. "Peaceful. And you won't be facing any danger this time. I promise."
Dorothy looked between the three of them, trust warring with uncertainty in her expressive face. "And this will help the flying monkeys? And help me get back home to Auntie Em and Uncle Henry?"
"Yes," Fiyero said with more certainty than any of them truly felt. "To both."
After a long moment, Dorothy nodded. "All right. When do we leave?"
"Three days from now," Boq said, his voice light with relief at her easy agreement. "Glinda's offered to take us there herself."
"Glinda?" Dorothy's face lit up. "Oh, I've missed her so much! Is she well? Is she still as beautiful as ever?"
Boq smiled, her enthusiasm warming something in his chest. "Yes to both. She's in the Emerald City now—she thought it best not to arrive here herself, in case it stirred up too much excitement."
Dorothy laughed, the sound bright and infectious. "I can imagine! Everyone would be falling over themselves to see the great Good Witch of the North." She sobered slightly, the edges of her mouth turning down in a small, worried frown. "But I should tell Mr. and Mrs. Woodsman about the journey. They've been so kind to me; I don't want to worry them."
At the mention of his parents, Boq felt that now familiar tightness return to his chest. Were they still his parents if they didn't recognize him? If they looked at him and saw only a stranger made out of tin?
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. His mother's voice called through the wood: "Dorothy? Is everything all right in there?"
Dorothy quickly moved to open the door. "Everything's wonderful, Mrs. Woodsman! My friends have come to help me and Toto get home."
His mother stood in the doorway, her gaze moving past Dorothy to settle on Boq with an intensity that made his metal joints feel suddenly stiff. Behind her, his father hovered in the hallway, his expression unreadable.
"I've made tea," his mother said, though her eyes never left Boq. "And apple pie. I thought your... friends might be hungry after their journey."
"Oh, I love apple pie!" the Lion exclaimed, his tail swishing enthusiastically.
"I wish I could," Boq said gently, a faint smile touching his lips. "I don't eat or drink anymore… but thank you, truly, for the kindness."
Something flickered in his mother's eyes at that—a shadow of sadness. "Of course," she said softly. "How foolish of me. I imagine tin doesn't digest well." There was a question in her voice, a probing quality that suggested she was feeling her way toward a truth she suspected but couldn't quite believe. "Why don't you all come downstairs?" she continued, her voice gaining strength. "We have much to discuss if Dorothy is to travel with you tomorrow."
They followed her downstairs to the kitchen, where the round table was already set with mismatched teacups and plates. The familiar blue teapot steamed in the center, and beside it sat a golden-brown apple pie, its crust latticed in the distinctive pattern his mother had always used.
"Please, sit," she invited, gesturing to the chairs.
The Lion and Fiyero sat immediately, with Dorothy between them. Pip scampered from Boq's shoulder to the table, where he promptly began investigating the teapot with exaggerated caution. Dorothy laughed, gently steering him away from the hot ceramic.
Boq remained standing, painfully aware that the wooden chairs might not support his metal weight. His father seemed to realize the problem at the same time.
"Oh! I—I'll get a sturdier chair from the workshop," he said, hands fluttering with sudden purpose. "Just wait—just one moment!" He disappeared through the back door with quick, hurried steps.
His mother busied herself pouring tea, her hands steady despite the extraordinary situation. She served Dorothy first, then the Lion, pausing when she came to Fiyero.
"Do you...?" she began uncertainly.
"No, thank you," Fiyero said politely. "I don't drink either. Straw tends to get soggy."
She nodded, setting the teapot down. "Of course. How thoughtless of me." Her eyes found Boq again, studying him with that same searching intensity.
His father returned with a solid bench made of oak, placing it on the side of the table nearest Boq. "This should—this should hold you," he said, placing it down with anxious precision. "It's my strongest bench. Oak! Very sturdy. Very—very reliable wood."
"Thank you, sir," Boq said, carefully settling his tin body onto the bench, which creaked but held firm.
An awkward silence fell over the kitchen as his mother served generous slices of pie to Dorothy and the Lion. Pip received a tiny crust fragment, which he examined thoroughly before nibbling with theatrical appreciation.
"So," his father said finally, settling himself at the head of the table with a nervous adjustment of his posture. "Dorothy tells us you're here to—to take her back to the Witch's castle? The very same one? With all the—" he made a fluttering gesture with his hands, "—flying monkeys and such?"
"To help her get home," Boq clarified quickly. "And to fix a magical problem that's affecting Oz."
His mother's eyes never left Boq's face as she returned to her seat. "And how is it that you knew Dorothy was here, with us? In our home, specifically?"
The question hung in the air, deceptively simple yet loaded with deeper meaning. Boq could feel the weight of his mother's suspicion—not hostile, but probing, searching for confirmation of something she was beginning to suspect.
"We have friends with powerful magic," Fiyero answered smoothly. "They sensed Dorothy's return and located her."
"I see," his mother said, though her tone suggested she didn't entirely believe this explanation. "And what will happen when you reach this castle?"
"The magical connection will be repaired," Boq said carefully. "And Dorothy will be able to return home safely."
"And who exactly—if I might ask—who exactly is waiting for you at this castle?" his father pressed, his hands fidgeting on the table, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm. "This friend with the—with the powerful magic? Someone we should know about?"
Boq hesitated, caught between Elphaba's warning and his parents' direct questioning. Before he could formulate an answer, Dorothy spoke up.
"It doesn't matter who's there," she said firmly. "I trust my friends. They helped me before, and they'll help me again." She reached across the table to touch Boq's tin hand. "The Tin Man has the kindest heart I've ever known. He would never lead me into danger."
"But does he have a heart?" his mother asked suddenly, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "I remember the stories you told us, Dorothy. How the Tin Man was searching for a heart because he believed he didn't have one."
"I found one," Boq said, echoing his earlier words. "Not in the Emerald City, as I'd hoped. But later. In a girl made of patchwork, who saw past the tin."
His mother's teacup halted halfway to her lips. "A...a girl made of patchwork?"
Boq felt a tremor run through his tin frame, and it took everything he had within himself not to show it, lest his metal body start rattling. "I…yes," he confirmed carefully. "Her name is Ryn."
"Ryn Merribolt?" Bfee's eyebrows shot upward, his whole face animating with recognition. "Tillen Merribolt's daughter? Tillen the—the merchant? With the fancy cart and the—" he mimed adjusting a bow tie, "—the blue bow tie he always wears?"
The shock in his father's voice confirmed what Boq had suspected—his parents knew Tillen and Ryn. Of course, they would; Tillen was one of the most respected traders in Munchkinland, and Ryn had often accompanied him on his routes.
"Yes," Boq said, the single word carrying the weight of all that had happened. "She was... transformed, as I was."
"Sweet Oz," his mother whispered, a hand flying to her mouth. "That lovely girl? What happened to her?"
The genuine distress in her voice told Boq everything he needed to know about how his parents had felt about Ryn. They had clearly adored her, as most people in Munchkinland did.
"It's a long story," Boq said softly. "One I promise to tell you. But we need to speak with Dorothy first." He hesitated, then added, "Ryn is waiting for us at Kiamo Ko. She's well, considering the circumstances. And she..." He paused, metal joints suddenly feeling oddly warm. "She cares for me."
His mother's eyes widened with something between astonishment and wonder. "She loves you?" The question came out barely above a whisper, as if she feared speaking it too loudly might make it untrue.
"Yes," Boq said simply. "Despite everything."
The kitchen fell silent save for the ticking of the old clock on the wall. Outside, a light breeze stirred the corn, creating a gentle rustling backdrop to the tense tableau within.
"I think," his mother said finally, setting her napkin aside with deliberate care, "that you have a story to tell us, Tin Man. And I think it's one we need to hear."
Boq looked into her eyes—so like his own had once been—and saw the glimmer of recognition struggling to break through her disbelief.
"My name wasn't always the Tin Man," he began carefully. "Once, I was just Boq."
His father's head snapped up, his eyes widening with shock. His mother grew very still, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles whitened.
"It—it can't be," his father whispered, the words tumbling out in disbelief. "Our boy went to Shiz University. He wrote us—didn't he? It wasn't that long ago… was it?"
Boq shook his head slowly, a heaviness in the motion. "The last letter I sent… was years ago," he said, his voice low, almost metallic with regret. "Before Nessarose cast her spell… shrank my heart, made it love her whether I wished it or not. And before Elphaba… saved what was left of me. Turned me into this."
He lifted one tin hand and touched his chest with quiet finality. "This body of metal. Hollow… but still alive."
"No," his father said, pushing back from the table. "No, this is some cruel joke. Some trick."
But his mother hadn't moved, her eyes never leaving Boq's face. "What was the first book I ever read to you?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"'The Little Munchkin's Big Adventure,'" Boq answered without a pause, a quiet warmth in his voice. "I made you read it so many times, you hid it behind the flour jar in the pantry. But I found it anyway."
She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "And the day you left for Shiz... what did I pack in your lunch basket?"
"Apple pie," Boq said, the memory rising as vivid as ever. "With cinnamon hearts baked into the crust. And a note that said, 'My heart goes wherever you go.'"
A tear traced down her cheek, then another. "Boq?" she whispered, the name trembling between disbelief and recognition. "My Boq?"
"Yes, Mother," he said softly, his voice catching on the word. "It's me."
His father stood still, the edges of doubt beginning to fray. "That's not possible," he murmured, though the certainty had drained from his tone. "Our boy was flesh and blood… not… metal."
"I was changed," Boq said gently. "By magic. To save my life."
His mother rose from her chair, moving around the table with trembling steps until she stood before him. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out to touch his tin face, her fingers tracing the contours of his metal features.
"Your eyes," she whispered. "They're the same." She turned to her husband. "Look at his eyes, Bfee. It's our boy."
His father approached more cautiously, studying Boq with the careful attention he'd always given to crops that needed assessing or machinery that needed repair. "How? How—how is this even possible?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly as he gestured helplessly at Boq's metal form. "Our son—made of tin? It's—it's incredible! Unbelievable! I—I don't know whether to be terrified or amazed!"
"Magic," Boq said simply. "The same magic that brought Dorothy to Oz. That transformed Fiyero into the Scarecrow. That scattered all of us and is now bringing us back together again."
Pip chose that moment to scamper back to Boq's shoulder, chittering softly as he settled into his favorite spot. His tiny presence seemed to break some of the tension in the room.
"And this little fellow?" his mother asked, cautiously extending her finger to Pip, who sniffed it with exaggerated dignity before allowing her to stroke his fur.
"This is Pip," Boq said, relief flooding through him at her apparent acceptance. "He's... well, he's my son now. He chose me and Ryn as his family."
"Ryn," his father repeated, still struggling to absorb all of this. "Tillen's daughter? She…she has your... heart?"
Boq nodded, a strange warmth spreading through his hollow chest at the thought of her. "Yes. She was transformed, too, though more recently. She's waiting for us at Kiamo Ko."
His mother's face crumpled then, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. With a choked sob, she threw her arms around him, pressing her face against his cold metal chest. "My boy," she wept. "My beautiful boy. Whatever form you take, you're still my Boq."
The embrace should have felt awkward—her soft flesh against his unyielding metal—but somehow it didn't. It felt right. It felt like coming home.
After a moment's hesitation, his father joined them, one strong arm around his wife, the other cautiously encircling Boq's metal shoulders.
"My—my son," he said, the words catching in his throat, carrying more emotion than Boq had ever heard from his usually flustered father. "My boy—my Boq."
They stood like that for a long moment, this strange reunion of flesh and tin, the past and present merging in a kitchen that smelled of apple pie and home.
When they finally separated, his mother wiped her eyes, offering Boq a tremulous smile. "You must tell us everything. Where you've been, what happened to you. All these years of not knowing..."
"I will," Boq said, his voice warm with quiet resolve. "But first… we need to see Dorothy safely to Kiamo Ko."
He turned to the girl, who was watching with glistening eyes and a trembling smile. "I—I'm sorry, Dorothy," he said softly. "This wasn't how I meant to tell them. Not like this."
His voice caught on the last word. A faint tremor ran through him, and he lifted one tin hand to his face as something pricked behind his eyes—a feeling he hadn't known in years. For a moment, he feared it might be tears.
Dorothy gasped. "Oh, Tin Man!" she exclaimed, rushing forward. She pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket with the urgency of someone who knew what was at stake. "Don't cry—you'll rust so dreadfully!"
With gentle hands, she dabbed at the corners of his eyes. Whether or not any tears had truly fallen, Boq didn't know—but the gesture, the kindness of it, settled deep into the hollow space where his heart once beat.
Dorothy smiled up at him through her tears. "Don't apologize," she said. "It was beautiful."
The Lion gave a great sniffle, his nose wrinkling as he wiped it with the back of his paw. "Gets me right in the ticker, it does," he said thickly, tapping his chest. "Real family stuff."
Fiyero nodded, his painted smile softened with quiet understanding. "I'm happy for you, Tin—uh, Boq."
Boq's father cleared his throat, the sound gruff and oddly final, like a man settling back into himself after being knocked off course. "Well then," he said, his voice rough around the edges, "seems we've got quite the journey ahead of us."
Boq blinked. "We?"
"You don't think we're letting you walk out of here again without us, do you?" his mother asked, a hint of her old spirit returning. "Not when we've just found you again."
"But the farm—" Boq began.
"Can wait!" his father finished with sudden conviction, his usual nervousness giving way to determined energy. "Pell from next door can—can look after the animals. For a few days, that is. Or longer if need be! We've waited years to find you—what's a few more days away from the farm?" He placed a hand on Boq's shoulder, the touch careful but certain, his fingers trembling slightly with emotion.
Boq looked between his parents, their determined faces so achingly familiar despite the new lines and silver threading their hair. There was a part of him—the part still trapped in tin, still aching for what he'd lost—that wanted to refuse. To insist they stay safely behind while he ventured back to Kiamo Ko with his friends.
But the stronger part, the part that Ryn had helped nurture back to life, knew better than to reject this precious gift of reconnection.
"All right," he conceded, his voice softening with gratitude. "But the journey won't be easy. Glinda's transportation is... limited."
His father let out a nervous laugh that teetered on the edge of bravado, the sound so familiar it sent a jolt of nostalgia through Boq's hollow frame. "I've—I've ridden bull oxen in thunderstorms! And traveled by bread cart during the Great Northern Floods!" His hands gestured animatedly as he spoke. "Nearly fell out twice, but I held on! I think I can manage whatever, um, whatever frilly carriage your witch friend provides. Even if it's pink. Is it pink? I bet it's pink."
"It's not exactly a carriage," the Lion mumbled, his tail swishing nervously.
His mother was already moving around the kitchen with renewed energy, pulling out supplies and packing items into a wicker basket. "We'll need food," she said decisively. "Dorothy, dear, help me gather some clothes for the journey. And Boq—" she paused, his name still new and precious on her tongue, "—you must tell us about Ryn while we prepare."
Beneath his funnel hat, Pip chittered excitedly, clearly sensing the change in mood. He scrambled down to the table and began industriously gathering crumbs of pie crust, packing them into his cheeks with an air of someone preparing for a grand expedition.
Toto, who had been quietly resting under Dorothy's chair, perked up at the commotion. He trotted over to investigate, his tail wagging cautiously as he observed Pip from a respectful distance.
Dorothy laughed, the sound bright and musical with that distinctive Kansas warmth. "I think your little friend approves of the plan," she said, scratching Pip gently between his ears, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Goodness, he's almost as excited as Toto before a walk!"
As his parents bustled about, Boq found himself drawn to the small window above the kitchen sink. Outside, the cornfields stretched toward the horizon, gold-tinged and familiar, anchoring him in memories of a childhood spent running between the rustling stalks.
The afternoon sun had begun its descent, painting long shadows across the yard where he'd played, dreamed, and grown. Where he'd first felt the stirrings of ambition that had led him to Shiz, to Galinda, to Nessarose—and ultimately to this moment, returning as a man of tin to the home he'd left as a boy of flesh and blood.
"It's strange," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else, "I thought coming home would be the hardest part of this journey."
Fiyero moved to stand beside him, his straw rustling softly. "And now?"
"Now I'm thinking..." Boq watched as his father headed toward the barn, likely to make arrangements for their absence. "Now I'm thinking perhaps the hardest part was never coming home at all."
"It suits you," Fiyero observed. "Being someone's son again."
The observation startled Boq, not because it was wrong, but because it was so precisely right. In the months since his transformation, he'd been many things—a servant, a companion, a friend, even a father to Pip, and something more to Ryn. But being someone's son again? That was a piece of himself he'd thought lost forever, melted away with the flesh and blood the Witch's spell had transformed.
"Yes," he agreed simply. "It does."
His mother returned with a small bundle of clothing for Dorothy and a weathered leather satchel that Boq recognized with a pang—his old school bag from Shiz. She caught his gaze and smiled, a touch of sadness in her eyes.
"I kept it," she said softly. "Along with your books, your clothes, everything you left behind. Just in case."
The unsaid words hung between them—In case you ever came home. And here he was, transformed beyond recognition, and yet known immediately by the heart that had first taught him what love was.
"We need to be ready by sunset, three days from now," Boq said quietly, his eyes flicking to the fading light. He turned back to his mother with calm determination. "Glinda will meet us in the east field—right where she left us."
"Three days," his mother repeated, nodding firmly. "That gives us enough time to prepare properly." She looked between Boq and his companions, her expression brightening with determined hospitality. "And enough time for you all to rest and for us to catch up on..." she faltered momentarily, "...on everything we've missed."
The Lion, who had been unusually quiet during the family reunion, suddenly perked up with wide eyes. "Say… does this mean—we get to sleep in real beds tonight? And… and maybe—maybe there's more pie?" He licked his lips hopefully, then added with a tremble, "I mean, if that's not too much trouble…"
Dorothy laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made her look older than her fifteen years. "I suspect it does, Lion."
"Well then!" Bfee said, clapping his hands together with a flurried enthusiasm that was so achingly familiar, his words coming faster as he worked through the logistics. "Let's get you all—all settled in! Dorothy, you already know where the spare linens are. The Lion can take the sitting room sofa—it's sturdy enough, I reinforced it last spring—and the Scarecrow..."
"Doesn't sleep," Fiyero finished for him with a good-natured shrug. "But I appreciate a quiet corner to sit and think."
"And you," Binda said, turning to Boq with eyes that shimmered with unshed tears, "you can have your old room back." She hesitated. "If you'd like it."
Boq felt something inside his hollow chest swell with emotion. "I would. Very much."
Later, as twilight gathered around the small cottage, Boq found himself standing in his old bedroom, now cleared of Dorothy's few possessions. His mother had quickly moved the girl to the small sewing room, insisting it was no trouble at all. The familiar blue quilt lay spread across his childhood bed, the bookshelves still lined with volumes he'd once pored over by candlelight, dreaming of worlds beyond Munchkinland.
Pip explored the room with typical thoroughness, scampering along the windowsill and investigating each corner before finally settling on the pillow with a contented chirp. Outside, the first stars were appearing in the deepening blue of the Munchkinland sky.
A soft knock at the door drew his attention.
"Come in," he called, careful to keep his voice low so as not to wake Pip.
His mother entered, carrying a small oil lamp that cast a warm glow over her features. She'd aged since he'd left home, silver threading through her dark hair, fine lines etched around her eyes and mouth. But her smile was the same, warm and steady as the lamplight.
"I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed," Binda said, setting the lamp on the small desk. "I know you don't sleep anymore, but..."
"But it's nice to have a place to belong," Boq finished for her. "Thank you."
She nodded, her eyes moving around the room as if cataloging the memories it held. "The last time I stood in this room with you, you were packing for Shiz. So full of dreams and plans."
"I remember," Boq said softly, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "You helped me fold my clothes. Made sure I packed extra socks."
Her laugh was watery. "You always forgot socks."
A comfortable silence settled between them, bridging years and unspoken thoughts.
"When you speak of this place—Kiamo Ko—" Binda began, hesitant, "you sound... at peace. Are you? Despite everything?"
It was a mother's question—quiet but piercing, aimed straight at the heart.
"I am," Boq said, and meant it. "Not right away. For a long time, I was lost in the anger. In what was taken. But now…" He looked down at his tin hands, then back up, steady. "This—this isn't the life I would have imagined. But it's led me to people who matter. To Ryn. To a kind of family I didn't know I was missing."
"Including that little fellow," she said, nodding toward the sleeping Pip.
"Especially him," Boq said, a softness in his voice. "He chose me and Ryn, Mother."
Her expression shifted—tender, reflective. "Choice matters, doesn't it? Even when so much feels out of our hands."
Boq nodded, thoughts flickering through him like old pages turning. "Yes. It matters more than we realize. Even the smallest choices leave trails behind them."
She reached out then, fingers trembling just slightly as they touched the curve of his tin cheek. "When I look at you, I still see my boy. Not the metal. Not the changes. Just... Boq."
Something inside him ached—a full, quiet ache. "I hoped you would."
"A mother always knows her child," she said gently. Then, with her usual quiet resolve, she straightened. "Tomorrow, you'll tell us everything—about Ryn, this castle, how it all came to be. Your father will have a thousand questions once he finds his footing."
"I will," Boq promised. "Every detail."
She nodded, satisfied, then turned toward the doorway. Before she stepped through, she paused—her eyes catching the light just so. "Good night, my son. Welcome home."
"Good night, Mother," Boq replied, the words wrapping around him like a familiar embrace.
After she left, Boq moved to the window, gazing out at the moonlit cornfields that stretched to the horizon. In three days, they would leave for Kiamo Ko—Dorothy, his friends, and now his parents, too. Two parts of his life, once hopelessly separated, now merging into something new and unexpected.
His reflection stared back at him from the window glass—a man of tin, hollow inside yet somehow more complete than he'd been in years. Behind him, Pip stirred in his sleep, tiny hands twitching as he dreamed whatever dreams small flying monkeys have.
Boq thought of Ryn waiting at Kiamo Ko, of Elphaba and her careful plans, of the connection between worlds that needed healing. And closer, of his parents sleeping down the hall, stubbornly rearranging their lives to accommodate his return, tin body and all.
For the first time since his transformation, Boq felt a sense of wholeness that had nothing to do with flesh and blood, and everything to do with being known, being claimed, being loved despite everything.
Coming home hadn't been the hardest part after all.
It had been the missing piece.