Archive of Our Own

Danny has become adept at sneaking away in the night. His second visit to Covent Garden wasn’t the first time he’d slipped away unawares, nor had it been the last. His parents, Tim, Nikola - none of them could catch him if he was fast and silent enough. Even if he did get caught, he could just look them in the eyes and say he was going downstairs for a glass of water, or out into the night to cool down a little. 

Nobody ever expects a liar to make eye contact, and no one stops him leaving Tim’s flat. It’s been almost two weeks since Danny arrived at the Archives with Jon, a little less than a week and a half that he’s been staying at Tim’s. He’s been trying to stay quiet, to neither interrupt nor contribute to the Archives employees’ plans to stop the Unknowing. All the while, the Circus has been calling him home. 

So here he is, sneaking off in the night to avoid a confrontation with Tim. He tells himself he’ll be back by morning, that Tim will never know. It’s a lie, of course. Even though he honestly plans to return, he doubts Nikola will let him. He doubts even more that he’ll truly want to come back, once he’s home again.

He’s no more than half a block from Tim’s when a yellow door opens in the ground in front of him. Danny falls through, and lands, somehow, in a right-side-up hallway. Michael peers down at him from an approximation of a ceiling beam, one eyebrow raised.

“Did you plan to walk to Great Yarmouth?”

Danny shrugs. “Honestly? I kind of figured something like this would happen.”

Michael sighs. “Do not make a habit of this, Danny. My corridors are not a transportation system.” 

It tries to look judgmental, but its tone is light and amused. Danny grins, pulls himself to his feet, and starts walking. The hallway seems endless, but with Michael leading, it doesn’t take long to arrive. Outside the open door, Danny sees an alleyway, and, beyond, the side door to the wax museum. He can hear the calliope, faint and soothing, but he’s not sure if it’s real or in his head.

“Return here when you want to leave,” Michael says. “I will be waiting.”

Before Danny can protest, he’s through the door, alone in the alley. There’s no chance to explain that his return is not a when, but a very tentative if, on many counts. 

Now there are two people expecting him back at Tim’s by morning. (Well, Tim doesn’t know he’s here in the first place, but if he did, Danny’s sure he’d insist on a speedy return.) No pressure at all.

He wants to pause, sit down and rethink everything. He knows if he does, he’ll stay there, frozen by indecision, until the sun rises. 

He breathes deeply and presses forward. The wax museum is quiet, darker than usual, and he wonders if something’s wrong. He doesn’t see anyone, though he hears rustling somewhere beyond his vision. It bothers him a bit, but no one stops him, so he keeps walking. He can hear Nikola singing, almost impossibly high, and he follows the song to her, ducking through curtains and around wax figures until he finds her, somewhere near the center. She’s seated on an overturned box, staring up at the lights one of the acrobats strung overhead.

The song stops when Danny is within her line of sight, but she doesn’t move her head. Danny’s actually not sure how Nikola sees. Probably through the same strange power that grants him sight. This is definitely not the time to ask.

He waits for her to say something, until the silence stretches too far. Then, when he can’t bear it anymore, he clears his throat and says guiltily, “Hi, Nikola. Sorry for disappearing.”

Then she does move, a tilt of the head that somehow manages to be judgmental, though her sewn-on smile doesn’t change. 

“Are you truly sorry? Or are you just saying what you think I want to hear?”

Danny freezes, trying to figure out how to tell her he doesn’t know if he’s sorry or not, that he just knew he had to come back. Nikola laughs and scoots to one side of her seat, patting the spot next to her.

“Sit down, won’t you? You look frightfully tired.”

Danny refrains from commenting that of course he’s tired, given he hasn’t really slept in a few years. It’s nothing she doesn’t know already. 

He sits next to Nikola, and she pats his shoulder, the way she does when she wants to give him an encouraging smile but can’t, because, well. She’s constantly giving out a smile anyways. 

“Did you enjoy seeing your brother?” Nikola asks. Danny starts, blinking at her in something close to terror. Nikola’s laugh is more of a chortle this time, and she rocks back and forth gently with mirth. 

“You should see your face! Oh, Danny dear, I’m not angry you went to see Tim. A little disappointed, perhaps, but, well, I expected something like this would happen. I’m just surprised you’re still alive; I quite expected you’d cut yourself off from the Stranger by now.”

Danny gapes at her, thoroughly speechless. He’d thought that after four years he’d be used to the things Nikola says. Clearly, he was mistaken. 

“Your eyes, dear, and your headaches.” Nikola’s voice is soft. “When you ran off, I thought that was it for you. That you’d chosen death over a change of costume. Perfectly understandable, really! You know-” Her voice wavers. “You know I wouldn’t deny you that choice. Don’t you?”

Danny reaches for her hand, squeezing it gently. Plastic she may be, but it’s the thought that counts.

“I know.”

---

They talk for a few hours, Danny and Nikola, illuminated by circus lights. Nikola catches Danny up on the Unknowing progress and shrugs off Jon’s rescue with far more grace than Danny expected.

“His skin was in terrible condition,” she says. “I will literally accept anything else at this point. That is how I am feeling, Danny! I am done with living people and intend to deal with them no longer!” 

“Okay, but how are you going to feed without dealing with people?” Danny laughs. 

“Oh, spoilsport!” There’s a pout in Nikola’s voice. “I’ll think of something, just you wait!” 

“I’ll look forward to it,” Danny murmurs.

“You’re staying, then?” There’s hope in Nikola’s voice. “You’re not going back to your brother?”

“No, I think...I think I am,” Danny says slowly. “But we can still be friends. I’ll come visit a lot. Tim will just have to deal with it.”

“You’ll die,” Nikola blurts. “You don’t feed on your own; you never have. That’s why the Stranger hurts you, you know. Because you won’t feed it.”

“I haven’t felt any worse since I left,” Danny protests feebly. His headaches... have been a little sharper, the past couple of weeks. He assumed it was the natural progression of his symptoms, whatever they are, whatever they mean, but Nikola’s probably right. Without being around the rest of the troupe, without feeding off the fear they create, of course he’s in more pain.

“You’ll go blind, then,” Nikola says. “ If it doesn’t kill you, you’ll go blind. We- we already talked about this, Danny. You can’t play human and Stranger at the same time, not forever. You have to pick one, or you’ll die. If not now, then sooner than the average human - all because you messed around with things you weren’t fully willing to embrace.”

“Jane embraced the Corruption, and she still died,” Danny says. Nikola snaps to her feet, hand raised, halfway toward striking him before he can draw a breath. 

“Don’t bring her into this,” she snarls. “It’s different. The Eye’s followers - your new friends - murdered her.”

Danny dodges the slap, which is barely aimed at him, with ease. Nikola shrinks back into her seat, head tilted toward the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just don’t want- I don’t want to fight about Jane, Danny. Not now. I don’t want to think about her...I mean, I think about her all the time as it is. I think I miss her. Why do I miss her?”

After Jane’s attack on the Archives went wrong, Nikola threw herself into bringing about the Unknowing. She never called it revenge, but Danny always sort of knew it was, at least as much as it was a fulfilment of her nature as a being of the Stranger. 

“I mean, you loved her, right? Of course you miss her.”

Nikola buries her head in her hands, and though it shouldn’t be, her voice is muffled. “ Did I love her? Is that what it is?”

Danny shrugs. “Honestly? No clue. You know I don’t do that romance stuff.”

Nikola doesn’t answer, and he casts about for something more, something that resembles proof of life, of love. What he comes up with is more than a little morbid, but it will do.

“You let her do the worm thing to me that one time,” he says, suppressing a shiver. “You took care of her and laughed with her and she’s been dead for a long time, but you’re still mourning her. Sounds like you loved her to me.”

Nikola, being a mannequin, doesn’t breathe. Her sigh sounds like a shuddering gasp for air nonetheless.

“Go back to your brother for now. I can’t stop you. And...I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He hugs her awkwardly around the shoulders, and then leaves without a word. By some miracle, it’s still dark outside, and Michael’s door appears the instant Danny steps into the alley.

“You took long enough,” Michael says. “Was it fun?”

Danny steps inside the hallway and flops face down on the carpet. It’s pink tonight, and plush as ever.

“I will take that as a no,” says Michael. “Do you require head pats? I have seen that you like them from your friends.”

 “You’re kind of like an old man,” Danny says. “Also, your hands are knives. I don’t want your hands in my brain, thanks.”

“I am not an old man,” Michael protests. “I am the throat of delusion, and I do not have age or gender!” 

Danny buries his face in the carpet and laughs himself silly. It doesn’t cure his headache, but it helps. 

---

Tim has never really slept well. As a kid, he had too much to think about and no one to calm him down; as an adult, he takes sleeping pills. If he’s lucky, he’ll sleep through the night. 

He hasn’t been taking them, though, since Danny showed up in the Archives. He’s afraid - afraid of sleeping through an attack, of losing Danny because of something as trivial as sleep. So he tends to wake up in the middle of the night, and he’s taken to making himself tea when he can’t fall back asleep. Maybe Martin’s just rubbing off on him, but it seems to help.

He’s halfway to the kitchen before he realizes something is wrong, that there’s no light under the door of the spare bedroom - Danny’s bedroom, now. Danny always keeps the light on in there, asleep or not, a choice Tim can’t pretend to understand. He’s voiced a bit of annoyance about what this will mean for his electric bill, but now that the light’s off-

He pounds on the door, and when there’s no answer, he throws the door open, gropes for the light switch, still trying to reassure himself that-

Danny’s room is empty, and so is the rest of the flat. Tim checks corners and hiding places, just in case Danny’s playing a trick, but- No, he’s definitely gone. Not that Tim’s called out for him to make sure.

If he yells, will the spotlights turn on? Will they illuminate a grotesque scene? Will calliope music play, and what will happen when it stops? 

Tim is standing in his kitchen, tile cold under his bare feet, and- No, that’s not it. He’s back in Covent Garden Theatre, and Danny is gone. 

Tim rocks back and forth, one hand clasped over his mouth. He’s not going to scream or vomit or cry. That won’t help. He needs to call someone. Martin, maybe? No, not Martin; Martin won’t help him, because he’s not Jon. He doesn’t have anybody else. 

He needs to find Danny, somehow. Find what took him, and make sure it can’t ever take him away again. He has to protect Danny, and he’s probably already too late-

And now he’s on the floor, crying. He doesn’t know what to do; he can’t even breathe, let alone think. All he knows is that Danny is gone, and he’s terrified. 

He doesn’t hear the front door open; doesn’t hear footsteps in the hall. But suddenly Danny’s there, in the kitchen. He asks if Tim is okay, crouches in front of him with an expression of concern, and Tim-

Well, Tim throws his arms around his little brother and sobs like a lost kid who’s found their way home. Danny rubs his back with hands so cold Tim can feel it through his nightshirt. 

“Goddamn it, Danny,” he hiccups once he can actually breathe well enough to talk. “You gave me a fucking heart attack, you little bastard, don’t ever disappear like that again. Where did you even go?”

Danny goes still, which is about as good as a verbal answer. Still, Tim doesn’t- he doesn’t believe that-

“Where did you go?” he repeats, pulling back so he can see Danny’s gaze drop guiltily to the floor. 

“I just went for a walk,” Danny says, as if Tim can’t tell it’s a lie. “I’m sorry I scared you. Let me make you some tea?”

Tim wants to yell at him, to say that he knows Danny’s lying and he wants answers right now. But the words stick in his throat as Danny puts the kettle on, guides him to the sofa, makes sure he has a blanket. No sooner is Tim comfortable enough to open his mouth than Danny’s off to the kitchen again to mind the kettle. 

Tim opens his phone and scrolls through his contacts, trying to find one person he could bring himself to text. He thinks again about texting Martin, but no. Martin’s made it very clear he only cares about what Jon’s going through. And for all that Jon is trying to fix things, Tim doubts they’ll ever trust each other again. 

The only other person he trusted is dead, and as Danny comes back with tea, Tim makes himself put his phone away. He can scroll back through his conversations with Sasha - the real one, not the monster that killed her - later. Heaven knows he’s done that enough lately as it is. 

He takes the tea - chai, sweet and milky - from Danny, and sips it, trying to wash away the lump in his throat. Danny doesn’t drink, just stares down at his mug with a blank expression. 

“Why did you go back to the Circus?” Tim asks. Danny gives Tim a wide-eyed, “can’t-believe-you-think-I-lied” look, but Tim isn’t fooled. “Danny, come on, I’m not stupid. Was it- Did they do something to you, to make it so you had to go back? Cause we can find a way to fix it, I promise, but you have to talk to me-”

“I went back because I wanted to,” Danny says. “I wanted to see Nikola, so I went to see her. And then I came back here.”

“That’s what I’m talking about! You think you wanted to go back, but if we can just figure out what they did to make you believe that, I know we can-”

Danny shakes his head, tilting his mug so the tea swirls around. 

“Nikola didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t ask her to, Tim. She never has and I don’t think she ever will. I- I chose to join the Circus. I chose to make you think I was dead.”

He looks right at Tim when he says it, looks at him with those awful, blank doll’s eyes. He doesn’t sound regretful or ashamed or even sad. Just says it like it’s a fact, like something Tim just has to accept. 

Tim laughs, harsh and loud. 

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t have to worry, though, okay? I’ll find a way to fix it.”

He glances out the window, and finds that it’s getting light outside. 

“Better get ready to head to the Institute. I’ll do some research once we’re there.”

Tim sets down his mug and stands up. Danny watches him, and now he does look sad.

“Tim, please,” he says. “I knew what I was doing. I still do.”

Tim shakes his head, ruffles Danny’s hair as he passes, and pretends not to see Danny’s frown. He doesn’t want his little brother to be sad, but it’s only temporary. Once he finds out how to reverse whatever brainwashing the Circus put him through, Danny will be back to normal. He has to be. 

---

Danny tries to talk to Tim over breakfast, and again on the train to work. Each time, Tim shrugs him off with empty reassurances that things will be better soon. When they reach the Institute, Tim disappears into the library, leaving Danny to head to the Archives alone. 

He makes it about halfway down the basement stairs before Michael pokes its head out of a door halfway up the wall. The carpet is purple now, and Danny suspects it will be blue by the end of the day. 

“You know, your brother is fascinatingly adept at lying to himself. I actually think my interference would improve his sanity rather than deconstruct it.” 

“Let’s not test that theory,” Danny says, sighing. “I’d rather not have him accusing you of brainwashing me too.”

“I never brainwash people,” Michael says cheerfully. “Gaslight them, oh yes, but no brainwashing. Madness is only fun if you know you’re going mad.”

“Makes sense to me,” Danny says. “Seriously, though, don’t mess with Tim. I can’t deal with that today.”

“I had no intention of doing so,” Michael says. It frowns, peering up the stairs behind Danny. “And now, I must go. Farewell for now, Danny.”

“Bye,” Danny says to what is now a blank section of wall. Someone shuffles their feet behind him, and he turns to see Melanie staring at him, one eyebrow raised.

“If you’re gonna talk to the air, can you do it in a wider hallway?” she asks. 

“Oh, yeah, for sure.” He moves closer to the wall, so Melanie can pass him if she wants. “Sorry.”

Both of Melanie’s eyebrows are raised now. “What did you do, get lost? You’d better go find Tim before he tears this place down looking for you.”

“Pretty sure he’s too busy researching how to reverse brainwashing to care,” Danny mumbles. Melanie looks baffled, so he decides to elaborate. “He thinks the Circus brainwashed me and if he can fix it it will break my ties to them or something like that.”

“And he’s...wrong?” Melanie is clearly skeptical, but, well, that’s understandable, given she’s Tim’s coworker and she and Danny have barely talked. Still, she doesn’t seem like she’ll dismiss him right away like Tim did, and Danny is pretty desperate for someone to listen to him.

“He’s wrong,” he tells Melanie, as he remembers his first meeting with Nikola. “I chose to join the Circus, because- because I wanted to.”

He sort of wants to elaborate, but he knows better. Melanie doesn’t need to hear him talk about the longing to be remade, to have a body that reflected how he felt rather than something as trite as genetic code. He thinks maybe it would be nice to be friends with her, and, if he remembers correctly, explaining your internal emptiness isn’t the way to start a friendship. (Unless it’s with Nikola, in which case, it was the perfect thing to do.)

“I don’t need him to understand,” he says, “but it would be nice if he believed that I wanted this, you know?”

He doesn’t expect Melanie’s eyes to light up with understanding. He definitely doesn’t expect her to reach out to him, to give his arm an encouraging squeeze.

“Yeah,” she says, “I think I know what you mean.”

She doesn’t elaborate as they walk side-by-side down to the Archives, but when she heads off in Basira’s direction, she gives Danny a tiny wave goodbye. And he thinks maybe, just maybe, he actually managed to make a human friend. 

---

Reversing the effects of brainwashing, Tim concludes a week later, is hard . 

It might be less so, he reflects, if Danny would keep from disappearing long enough for Tim to do any actual research without panicking. 

At least this time, Danny’s left a note, although it simply says “back soon, don’t worry.” Which is actually very worrying, because Tim didn’t hear him leave, despite the fact that he was literally sitting next to the front door. 

So when he hears a noise in Danny’s room, he jumps up and stalks down the hall, determined to find out if Danny is really climbing in and out his bedroom window - in a third-story flat, no less - rather than just using the goddamn door. 

There’s a rather impressive crash as he nears Danny’s room, and Tim sighs as he pushes the door open. 

“Danny, I know you’re all about the strange and unusual now, but can you please-”

Then he stops talking, because the person in Danny’s room is...decidedly not Danny. Sure, her hair is the same red that Danny’s is now, and she’s tall - a good four, five inches taller than Tim, who’s pushing six feet - but that’s where the resemblance ends. Where Danny’s hair is straight, hers is a mess of curls. Her neck is- is too long, and her skin doesn’t quite seem to fit, sagging in weird places. 

She’s wearing a ringmaster outfit, and when she notices Tim, she turns her stretched-out smile towards him. That’s when he realizes.

“ You ,” Tim snarls, and goes for his pocket knife. The creature - Grimaldi, Nikola, whatever - holds up its hands in surrender, which Tim promptly ignores in favor of going for the throat. 

His knife tears through skin to embed itself in plastic, and the mannequin sighs. 

“That was rude , Timothy,” she says, in a voice that makes it sound like she’s pouting. “I liked this skin.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tim spits, trying to pull his knife back out of her neck. “Well, I liked my brother not kidnapped, so thanks. Guess we both don’t like the other’s work.” 

“I didn’t kidnap your brother,” the mannequin says. Her eyes...look real, for all that they’re jewel-toned and two different colors. Somehow that makes them a lot freakier than Danny’s, which are obviously fake. “Nor was I about to. I was...worried about him, so I came to check on him. I’m sure you can relate to-”

“Check on him?” Tim hisses. “What, check that your brainwashing hasn’t worn off? Well, it hasn’t, so thanks for that! You did a great job tricking my little brother into becoming a monster! Five stars for you, Grimaldi! Or do you prefer Nikola when you’re not actively kidnapping people?” 

The mannequin jolts, shivering like someone’s struck her hard enough that she’s in danger of falling apart. She doesn’t say anything, just shudders to her feet and shoves her way past Tim, further into his flat. She doesn’t seem to hear his taunts, and a few seconds later, he hears the front door open and shut. 

Tim’s flat is deafeningly silent, and he realizes that, for some reason, he’s shaking. 

It occurs to him sometime later that the mannequin had walked off with his pocket knife still stuck in her throat. 

---

Danny has been spending a lot of time with Michael, since Tim started talking about trying to fix him. He knows Tim means well, that he only wants to help, but it’s hard to believe that when Tim refuses to even hear Danny’s side of the story. 

At least Michael doesn’t try to argue with Danny, though it still doesn’t really get where Danny’s coming from. From what little Danny’s gathered, Michael’s choice came from necessity, not free will. It doesn’t like to go into detail, but it has...mentioned things. Being trapped, and doing what it - what he, back then - had needed to to survive. It reminds Danny of someone else he knows. 

He’s tried to tell Michael its story won’t bother him, that he’s happy to listen. It’s always shrugged him off, though, saying it doesn’t matter enough to dwell on. (Danny, being a born liar himself, knows this is a conscious lie on Michael’s part.)

Today, though, is...different. Danny has been talking, but Michael’s been distracted, staring into a mirror like it’s watching a scene play out, a scene Danny can’t see.

“You know you can, I don’t know, share if something’s bothering you, right?” Danny asks at last. Michael doesn’t look away from the mirror, and when Danny starts to repeat himself, it holds up its hand, palm out, shaking its head minutely. 

The mirror is empty, to Danny’s eyes, of anything but their reflections, so he watches Michael. He watches as its frown deepens, then as its eyes - green, nearly free of static - go wide and its eyebrows shoot up. For a moment, it seems frozen. 

Then...it looks away from the mirror, not like it’s lost interest, but almost like it’s cowering. Hiding. Its laughter is breathy and fragile, and Danny thinks he sees cracks dance across a few of the mirrors before silence falls. 

“Michael?” 

Michael looks up at him, the static in its eyes blurring its whole face. 

“And what about you, Danny?” it asks. “Do you enjoy tearing at hearts like a meal? Does it fill your own heart in some way?”

Danny doesn’t understand, but he shakes his head.

“Good,” Michael says. “If you did, I think I would have to kill you, for Michael Shelley’s sake.” 

Danny opens his mouth, but he never finds out what he would have said, because the next moment he’s standing in the wax museum.

There’s no calliope, no sound at all, and all the lights are out. But Danny’s ridiculous eyes can see in the dark, and even if he couldn’t see, he could follow the sound of breaking glass just fine. 

 By the looks of it, Nikola has reduced two mirrors to piles of shattered glass, and is starting on a third. Danny knows she can’t get tired, not physically, but the way she sways when he grabs her arm could have fooled him. She’s horribly unsteady, and despite her height Danny’s pretty sure he could knock her over without any problem right now. Still, she tries to push him off, her voice a strained snarl. 

“Leave me alone , Danny! You’re the second to last person I want to see right now, do you know that? Go away! This isn’t your home anymore!” 

He dodges the words like they’re knives she’s thrown at him and asks, “Who’s the last person you want to see, then? Who are you actually mad at?” 

Four years has taught him a lot about how to deal with Nikola. They’re best friends, after all. He’s not surprised when she collapses onto the floor. He lets himself go down with her, and he doesn’t take his hand off her arm. 

“Just go back to your brother,” Nikola says. “He’s...well, I don’t know what good you see in him, frankly. But he’s waiting for you to come home.” 

She hands Danny a pocket knife - the one Tim pulled on him, when he showed up in the Archives. He blinks at it, and then at Nikola.

“You met Tim?” 

She pulls her knees up to her chest, and as she does, Danny notices that the skin she’s wearing is torn around the throat. 

“He had some words for me,” Nikola says, in a voice that screams the need for a face, for tears, for any other way to express emotion. “I’m sure he felt they were justified.”

“What did he say to you?” Danny breathes. The knife slides from his fingers. 

“Just go,” Nikola says. “Please just go. I don’t want to be known right now.”

Danny goes. 

---

Tim doesn’t move when he hears Danny coming down the hall. He’s feeling solidly rattled, but also pretty good about himself, so he’s thought of a few one-liners to open the “hey, a mannequin broke into my flat looking for you” conversation. He’s honestly kind of excited to tell Danny what happened. 

Then he sees Danny’s face, and comes to the immediate conclusion that not only does Danny already know about the visitor, but he is very, very upset.

“Hey, Dan-”

“What did you say to Nikola?” Danny asks. His voice is calm, and his expression isn’t particularly angry. But he’s clearly rattled and looking for a confrontation. Well, Tim can give him that.

“Nothing she didn’t deserve to hear,” Tim says, struggling to keep his own voice level. “If she’s going to break into my flat and scare the shit out of me, pretending to care about you, pretending she didn’t trick you into- into this, then she can damn well-”

“Tim,” Danny whispers. “Tell me you didn’t say that to her.”

“Say what, that she tricked you? It’s fucking true , Danny, and-”

“Would you just listen to me?” Danny shouts. “Would you just listen to me for one damn minute, like you used to? Fucking hell, Tim, you’re the one person who listened to me when I was human, so shut up and listen to this me too, if you’re going to say you still care about me!” He takes a deep breath. “Please, listen to me. Listen, ‘cause I’m going to tell you the truth for once in my life.”

And Tim shuts up and listens, because he has never, never seen Danny this truly, passionately angry. He listens, and Danny tells him a story - though it’s more of a statement, really.

It’s the statement of a boy who was pressured by his parents to be the best, to excel academically, athletically, socially. This pressure to be perfect wasn’t just pushed onto him, but onto his older brother - and his older brother rejected it, by skipping school, befriending outcasts, painting his nails, and growing out his hair. The older brother got kicked out - for coming out as bisexual, or being angry, or just existing, depending on which version of the story the parents were telling that day - when the younger brother was thirteen. 

And the pressure intensified, now that he was the only son. As time passed, it wasn’t just pressure from his parents, either - it came from teachers, coaches, even from friends. The only person who didn’t hold him to an impossible standard was his brother. For his entire life, Tim was the only one who didn’t treat Danny like a doll, like something that existed only to look and act perfect. 

“It was almost too fitting,” Danny says with a laugh, “me doing modelling stuff. Just more acting perfect for the audience.”

Tim wants to protest, to say it wasn’t like that, but he knows it was. He knows, and he has this horrible feeling that he knew way back then too. He thinks he knew, and maybe if he’d tried harder, he could have stopped this. 

“My whole life was empty,” Danny says, “no matter how much I tried to fill it with random hobbies, with friends who didn’t know me, with work I didn’t care about. And then- And then I met Nikola.”

He fills in the bits Tim doesn’t know - how he met Nikola on his first visit to Covent Garden, how she intended to make a meal of him, but instead, when she saw his lack of fear, his reckless curiosity about her, she made him an offer. 

“She told me I could leave everything behind,” Danny says, “and be whoever I wanted to be. If I didn’t know who I’d like to be, that was fine too. We could figure it out. Oh, she warned me it would hurt, more than anything I could imagine, but after thinking it over, I...I didn’t care. I just wanted to go away. I’d actually already been thinking about it. I’d planned to make it look like I died exploring somewhere, but just disappearing, not actually having to die...that seemed a lot better.”

“So you went back the next night,” Tim guesses, “thinking you’d just disappear with her, and everything would be just peachy.”

He can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. It’s not fair , and he hates it, hates the idea that he spent the last four years fucked up beyond belief because Danny essentially committed suicide. 

Only Danny isn’t dead. He’s standing right in front of Tim, and he looks so guilty Tim can’t stand it. 

“I wanted to tell you,” Danny says. “But I just thought- I thought if I just disappeared, you would be able to convince yourself I’d run off somewhere to have an adventure. When you showed up at Covent Garden, I just, I just panicked, and-”

“And made me believe you got skinned by a Victorian clown,” Tim deadpans. “Real classy, that. It was pretty creative, at least.”

“It was Nikola’s idea,” Danny says. Then his eyebrows scrunch together, and Tim knows he’s in for it. “Tim, you have to apologize to her. She didn’t trick me, and even if she had, you can’t say that to her. She wouldn’t trick someone into joining the Stranger to save her own life.”

“What makes you so sure?” Tim asks. “I mean, giving you a cryptic offer of monstrous rebirth isn’t exactly an honest recruitment-”

“It wasn’t cryptic, so shut it,” Danny retorts. “I know because...that’s what happened to her, Tim. Nikola was tricked into becoming an avatar, a long, long time ago.”

---

Once upon a time, someone had wandered into the Circus of the Other. That person had been tricked, caution thrown to the winds in favor of fulfilling their wish for a different life, a different body. 

That person had been ripped apart and remade, but that person-

That person was not Nikola. She did not know who that person was, she did not care . She had never known that person, never seen them. She had always been Nikola, always the ringmistress, never, never anyone else...

With such an aptitude for lies, perhaps she should have considered serving the Spiral. It was far too late for that, of course. It had been too late for almost two hundred years.

It’s far too dark tonight in the wax museum. Everyone else has made themselves scarce, as they do when she’s in a mood, but now Nikola wishes they’d come back. She wants the lights to turn on, the music to play, and the dance to carry her away until she forgets everything that’s ever hurt her. 

As it turns out, Nikola rarely gets what she wants. At best, she’ll get a twisted mockery of her desire, and she’ll have no recourse but to laugh, laugh, laugh until the cosmic joke of her ‘life’ aches a little less. 

Tonight’s mockery is kind, though, because it comes in the form of a companion. Nikola hears the leaden footsteps from the twisting door, but doesn’t have the energy to chase away the intruder.

“There’s not much here to feed on,” she tells the Distortion. “Not tonight, at least.”

Michael shakes its head, stepping over the broken glass towards her.

“Like you, I do not only take an interest in food,” it says. “I have...brought a gift.”

It holds up what Nikola might, on an extremely charitable day, call a flower crown. From the state of the poor roses that make it up, she suspects the Distortion acquired a bouquet and made the crown itself. If she had eyebrows, they would be fully raised. As it is, she does nothing, and the Distortion sets the crown on her head, around her hat brim. 

It then sits down and proceeds to eat the petals off of an entire bouquet of daylilies. Nikola, who is beginning to feel more like herself again, finds this rather engaging to watch.

“Humans tend to find it disturbing when someone eats flowers in front of them,” Michael explains, popping another petal into its mouth like candy. “They assume they’re losing their minds, which is quite nice for me.” It grins. “Little do they know, these are edible for humans too. Well...I think they are. I haven’t checked recently.”

It continues rambling about flowers, and though it’s rather a pathetic distraction, Nikola finds that it’s...rather nice, having someone show up out of the blue to talk to her when she’s having a bad day. It’s been a while since someone other than Danny cared enough to do that for her.

---

Tim is...struggling. Not that that’s anything new; he’s been struggling his whole damn life, all on his own against the world. 

It’s different right now, though, because he’s struggling against himself in a way he hasn’t since uni, when he showed up at counseling center walk-in hours looking for something, anything that would put a name to the things wrong with him, and a solution for them. 

He got those things, even if he doesn’t always take his medication like he should, even though he hasn’t gone to therapy since before Danny disappeared. But now there’s something else, something that he doesn’t think is really him.

Tim doesn’t have a name for the snarling impulse within him to pursue, to make his prey fear like he does before he ends their life, but it’s not him. Not yet. He thinks someday he might want it to be him, that someday - maybe even someday soon - his need to hunt down all the things that have hurt him and make them feel his pain will become irresistible.

But...not yet. Tonight he is still Tim Stoker, and he is going to apologize to Nikola. 

He doesn’t trust her. He doesn’t forgive her for not being someone different - for not being someone who could have helped Danny stay human, instead of giving him a way to lose himself. He doubts they’ll ever be friends. 

And he acknowledges that she didn’t choose this, not the way Danny did. Danny chose to leave his human life behind, a gamble to improve an existence he could no longer stand. Nikola’s choice was made for her, and she was forced to accept it to stay alive.

At least, that’s what he’s gathered from the little Danny said. Tim’s brother has only said what he had to to make Tim understand that he fucked up, and, frankly, Tim admires him for that.

So now they’re standing before a blank wall, Tim watching as Danny takes a deep breath and calls: “Michael? I need a favor.” 

For half a second, Tim lets himself think it can’t be that Michael. There’s just no way; Danny must have met another supernatural Michael. 

Then that thrice-accursed yellow door appears, and Michael peers out, eyes narrowed and one clawed hand curled in Tim’s direction.

“I have no business,” says Michael, “wherever that one is. He has done wrong, and furthermore, he broke me last time he visited.”

“You tried to eat me-” Tim starts to protest, but Danny cuts him off.

“I know, I know, but listen, he needs to apologize to Nikola and I can’t travel like you can. I need you to take us there.”

“Why should I do such a thing?” Michael demands. “How can I trust that he will not hurt her more? His words are sharp, Danny, sharp like wolves’ teeth. I do not trust him.”

“I do,” Danny says. “I trust him. Please, Michael.”

Michael narrows its eyes at Tim.

“If he hurts her, I will remove his non-vital organs with my fingers,” it promises. “Do not make me defile my fingers with your blood, Timothy Stoker.”

“Not planning on it, buddy,” Tim says. 

“I am not your buddy,” Michael informs him. “Now, enter and exit my house, before I decide to eat you.”

Tim takes a deep breath, hopes it isn’t his last, and steps through the door. He’s almost surprised at how soon he finds himself outside the hallway again, but then, with how long he and Martin were trapped last time, is it any wonder? 

It’s hard to make sense of where he is at first. The space is dimly lit and cavernous, but everything feels off, somehow. Internally, Tim laughs at himself. He’s in Nikola’s domain now. Of course it feels uncanny. 

“Um, Tim?” says Danny. “You’re kinda hurting my arm.”

Tim discovers that he has Danny’s wrist in a death grip, and decides not to think too hard about Danny’s doubtlessly lowered opinion of him. He doesn’t know how he acted inside the hallways. Better not to think about it. 

He lets go of Danny, and instantly gets so dizzy that he practically falls over. Well, he falls into Danny, which isn’t actually better. Great job, Tim, your baby brother has to literally keep you on your feet now. 

“Hey, you okay?” Danny sounds worried, but Tim can’t really focus on his face. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m sure going straight from the incomprehensible to the unknowable cannot be pleasant for one who has spent so much time in the service of the eye,” says Michael from behind them.  “Nikola should be that way, Timothy, if you can make it there before you die.”

“What’re you, my mum? Telling me what to do and calling me Timothy?” Tim shrugs Danny off and elects to ignore how the room spins, how the - what are they, wax figures? - seem to be getting closer. 

Danny doesn’t offer to come with him. He and Michael stand next to each other, framed by the yellow door, and Tim walks deeper into the Circus on his own. He doesn’t make it far before something comes spinning out of the dark, narrowly missing his head and impacting against a pillar instead. He picks it up. A ball-jointed arm, white plastic. Peering into the gloom, he can make out a bit of red, a flash of white, but the second he glimpses her, Nikola’s gone. He steps forward, holding the arm.

“You dropped this,” he calls, and gets a leg thrown at him for his trouble. “That’s not a very nice welcome, Ringmistress.”

“Get out,” Nikola tells him, “or I start throwing sharp things.”

“Yeah, sure.” He keeps walking. “Real threatening, considering you haven’t hit me-”

A very familiar pocket knife sails out of nowhere, nicking his cheek. Tim stops, takes a breath, and lets the blood run. It’s fine. He’ll be fine, and if he’s not, who besides Danny will care?

“I’m here to apologize,” he says. “I, uh… Danny told me what really happened to him...and, um, to you, kind of. I still don’t get you two and your creepy doll shtick, but...I was wrong to just assume you were the villain here. Sorry.”

His head clears a little, the distant music less dizzying now. 

“You’re not very good at apologies,” Nikola says. She’s sitting on a swing suspended from the ceiling, looking down at him - for a given value of looking - with clear displeasure. 

“Well, practice makes perfect?” He smiles wanly up at her. “I really am sorry. I promise I’m normally charming and well-adjusted.”

“I doubt that,” Nikola says. “Still, I suppose I’m willing to test out your claims, for Danny’s sake.”

She swings backwards, then dives off the swing, does a sort of flip in midair, and lands in front of Tim, one hand extended. 

“Why hello,” she says, “I’m Nikola Orsinov. And who might you be?”

He takes her hand and shakes firmly. It’s not as cold as he expected, and at least she’s not currently wearing skin. 

“Tim Stoker. You probably know my brother, Danny; I’ve heard he’s pretty popular around here.” 

He doesn’t know how, but he understands that Nikola is smiling. 

“Lovely to meet you, Tim,” she says. “Tread with care, and perhaps we’ll get along after all.”

---

There’s no way Tim will be able to handle another trip through Michael’s hallways, so Danny sends Michael on his way and drags Tim off to the seaside until they can catch the train back to London. It’s just a short walk to the beach, but Tim is quiet even once they get there. Danny, unsure if this is a good thing or not, elects to leave his brother alone for a bit.

He takes a little walk along the water’s edge, and when he makes his way back to Tim, he finds his brother sitting in the sand, staring out to sea. He’s clearly been crying, and doesn’t seem to notice when Danny sits down next to him.

“You doing okay?” Danny asks. Tim jumps. 

“Yeah, it’s just- Don’t worry about it.”

Danny frowns at him. Tim starts hollowing out a hole in the sand with his feet, not looking at Danny. 

“If I’d been there for you more,” he says slowly, “would you still have chosen this? Is it my fault?”

“Tim, that’s- Why would you say that?” 

Tim chuckles humorlessly. “I was just thinking what mum and dad would say, if you told them. I can hear them blaming me, saying if I’d been...if I hadn’t been such a fucked up kid, you would’ve turned out fine too.”

The very idea of it makes Danny want to punch their parents, mostly because he knows Tim’s right. Their parents would never accept responsibility for who Danny became, and Tim-

“You were the only person who was there for me then,” he tells Tim, “and you’re here for me now. You didn’t have to be, and I think… I don’t know, Tim.” He scoops up a handful of sand and watches it sift away through his fingers. “Yeah, I chose this because I needed a way out, and maybe for a different me, there would’ve been another option. But this me- this me wanted to join the Circus more than I wanted to stay human. I don’t think you could have changed that all on your own.”

Tim nods, gnawing on his bottom lip like he’s thinking something through. 

“What’re you gonna do now?” he asks at last. “I mean, I didn’t think you were going to stay with the Circus, but if that’s what you want-”

“I don’t know,” Danny interrupts. “I’m still figuring it out.”

He doesn’t tell Tim that as much as the Stranger sings to him, he doesn’t want to leave himself behind as much as he once did. Nor does he tell him what Nikola said, what he knows to be true: that if he does reject the Stranger, he’ll lose his sight, if not his life. 

It won’t be an easy choice, and it’s not one he’s ready to make yet. Whatever he chooses, it’ll put strain on Tim, and he’s not sure his brother can bear that right now. He suspects he doesn’t know nearly all that Tim’s been through in the past four years either. The worm scars - he can recognize those well enough; he has some of his own, after all - don’t begin to explain Tim’s razor-sharp anger and hollow sadness. 

Danny can toe the line between human and monster for a little while more. Whatever he chooses, it’ll be true to who he wants to be, not just to the empty doll he feels like. He just hopes Tim - and Nikola, and Michael, and all their friends - will end up as who they want to be too.