You may think this is heaven -- it’s not that at all...
On the midway, tucked between two tents - or rather, rearing up between them - there is a building that looks like a wooden palace. It's almost four stories tall and exploding with color. Across the front run depictions of heroes of the Wood, fae and humans, fighting monsters and mostly winning. Statues, perfect in likeness to the things they
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There's a flash of blonde hair near that massive wooden building, a silhouette he recognizes, and Harry hurries toward her, shouldering roughly past anyone who gets in his way. "Murphy!"
She disappears into the funhouse before he can catch up, and Harry pulls up short of the entrance, clenching his jaw and trying to think clearly through the blaring carnival music and the worry for Murphy's sake. Something's wrong here, he knows that, and maybe the smart thing to do would be to circle around the back and wait for her to come out... But if something's wrong, he can't help but see that as all the more reason to go in after her. Especially considering what might be in that building.
He growls a little under his breath, still wavering. He is really getting sick of fae jerking him around like this. Which... hasn't actually stopped him from charging headlong into every trap they set for him, but he would still like to register his annoyance with the whole thing.
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"Too slow, mate. She's inside already!"
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He stalks up the ramp toward the entrance, knowing as he does that he's going to regret this. "What's inside," he demands flatly as he reaches the attendant. What drew Murphy inside is probably the better question, but he doesn't expect an answer for that one, if this girl even has an answer...
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"You."
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The car is spinning off into the building before he can attempt to wrestle the bar back up - though that doesn't stop him from trying to wrestle it off him, even once the ride's in motion. The bar doesn't budge, but the effort keeps him distracted until he's some distance into the ride.
It's a familiar sound that makes his head jerk up - a deep, thundering heartbeat from somewhere nearby but out of sight - and he has just enough time to recognize his surroundings as some vague approximation of the Erlking's Court, cardboard cut-outs of goblins leering at him.
They're gone almost immediately, the sound of the Ick's heartbeat fading... which isn't really as comforting as it could be, because the sound that rises to take its place is screaming. Wild, animal howls. The crash and roar of pitched battle. He's not surprised when the scenery changes, the car whipping around hard enough to knock the breath out of him against the bar, but he can still feel the blood draining from his face as the pyramids of Chichen Itza rise around him. The Red Court. The Lords of Outer Night. The Red King.
The car takes another hard turn and brings a sketchy representation of an altar into view, and- Harry closes his eyes before he can see what - who - is on that altar. He can't breathe. He can't think, just clench his jaw so hard it aches and clench his hands into fists, and closing his eyes really doesn't help, because even if he can't see the ride's version of events, he can see it in his own memory all too clearly. Maggie. Susan. The knife, and...
He's not consciously aware of crying. He does notice the damp and cool on his cheeks as the car leaves the images of Chichen Itza behind, and wherever he is now, it's quiet. Harry doesn't open his eyes just yet, taking a moment to swallow back the guilt and anger and all the rest of it. All of that is over and done with, nothing he can change now, and far, far away. There are problems here he needs to deal with. Here is... Murphy.
He opens his eyes again, finally, as the bar lifts off him, and the car slows to a walking pace. Harry doesn't need to be invited twice - he hops lightly out of the car as quickly as he can, scrubbing the tears off his face in a brief, irritated gesture as he does. He's finding Murphy or a way out, whichever comes first. And if Murphy isn't the first thing he finds, he's going to start smashing things until he does.
Harry stalks along the obvious trail without paying much attention at first to the cut-outs of the Arch, those massive white-barked trees, the merchant fae, the cornfield demons. They don't matter, and they certainly don't scare him. But as he staggers along the path, the sense of something watching him begins to grate on his nerves. He swings around, a few times, hoping to catch whatever it is by surprise, catch just a glimpse of it - but there's never anything there, nothing to hear even when he goes perfectly still and Listens. So he speeds his steps instead, hurrying through the imitation Wood as quickly as he can without falling flat on his face on the shifting floor. As much as he tries to ignore the prickling feeling at the back of his neck, there's still a snarled spell almost on his lips with every step. He almost wishes something would attack him, just so he'd have something that would deserve him taking his frustrations out on it - but no such luck.
And then not only does the floor seem to tip out from under him, the entire damn world does. Shapes and colors blur into a dizzy, disorienting whirl, and Harry throws up a shield around himself almost without thinking, too unsettled and paranoid from the trip so far not to expect an attack just now. But nothing hits his shield, no attack comes, and his feet find solid ground just as his vision resolves to a thousand images of himself, reflected and distorted and reflected back in endless repetitions all around him. He stumbles forward, still off-balance, and-
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That seems weird for some reason.
He groans, and jerks abruptly upright, blinking sleepily. All he can see at first is white, and it takes him a couple of alarmed seconds before he realizes that's because there's something stuck to his forehead. He bats it away in annoyance, and a piece of paper falls off his forehead and slides lazily back onto the desk. On top of a pile of other papers. In front of a typewriter.
Harry spins around in the desk chair he's found himself in, staring around the room in mild alarm. "What the..."
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Especially for a pregnant woman.
The bump beneath her ratty, over-sized overalls is unmistakable as anything but a pregnancy that's one third of the way along at least, possibly more. She smiles at him with warmth unburdened by years of nightmares and life-or-death battles. She looks younger. A lot younger, even though she's not. "You never came to bed last night. Charity already came by and got Maggie - she's going to the Carpenter's after school, so..."
She pauses, looking slightly dizzy for a moment. "Uh. Charity said she'd drop her off around dinner."
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"Mur...phy?" he says slowly. "I was..." He frowns a little. The funhouse, the Carnival, the Wood is still there, but distant, like a remarkably clear dream.
"Looking for you..." he goes on, like he's not entirely sure that's the right answer. He pushes himself to his feet, and ends up staring at her again.
"You're pregnant." Yes, he is going to be Captain Obvious right now. Some situations really require it.
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A flicker of amusement crosses her face. "That's supposed to be your question. Are you hungry? I can get some breakfast going."
She closes her eyes for another moment and eases herself down into his chair. "After I sit for a second."
Murphy glances from the papers on his desk back to him. "I don't suppose I get to read it yet."
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"Fucking fae," Harry growls under his breath, and stalks to the door of the office just to poke his head out. The hallway outside... is one he recognizes from Murphy's house. Not in the specifics, but generally, the layout does seem to match up with the one he remembers. That doesn't prove anything. He whirls back toward Murphy, all that frustration from wandering the funhouse coming back to him.
"I'm fine. All of this..." He waves his hand to encompass the office, the house, her. "This is wrong."
There's a long, awkward pause as her question sinks in. He frowns, still frustrated, but now all uncertain again too. "...read what?"
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She lets the end of that sentence trail off, like there was more she planned to say but now is thinking it might not be the best idea.
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"Bob?" I asked after a moment. "What kinds of flowers are these?"
"Primroses," the skull replied instantly.
I stopped in my tracks. "Oh. Crap."
The earth shook...
"This happened," he says softly. "I didn't write this, but this... happened..."
Of course it did, you idiot. White Eyes had to get in your head somehow to get the Erlking's Court and Chichen Itza and this house. Don't let it get to you.
Harry sets the page down, and takes a step back like it might bite him. His eyes fix on Murphy again. It could be her, somehow. The real Murphy, just... if White Eyes got to her the way he's trying to get to Harry...
"Do you remember Chichen Itza?" he asks, voice rasping a little as the memories hit him again, like a punch in the gut. He ignores it. "Or the Wood, or the cornfield...? Gabriel? Kitsune?" He watches her carefully, waiting for anything to spark a reaction, something that looks like the Murphy he recognizes.
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She presses the heels of her palms against her closed eyes until she's in control of herself before speaking. "Just. Let's call Michael, we'll call your doctor, it's going to be all right."
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He can't remember this place. He can't remember how he got here, who or what he should be, anything, all of which should tell him this is wrong... But this feels real. Murphy in front of him, Murphy looking tired and scared and small, that feels real.
And all of the things he just listed off are feeling more like a fairytale by the second.
He crouches down in front of the chair, looking up at her with a faint frown, and his voice is gentle as he asks, "Don't do what again?"
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Murphy kisses his forehead tentatively, though she has a hard time shifting around her baby-belly to do it. "I don't blame you. I really don't. You have to know that. But please, if you're... Having a hard time. Let's get it all sorted out."
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You have to admit, it makes a lot more sense as an explanation than 'fairies did it', some part of him whispers.
Shut up, he snarls back.
Talking to himself probably isn't helping.
Okay. Taking a deep breath and thinking about things logically, no matter what's going on, he doesn't want to go to a doctor either way. Harry and hospitals don't mix well.
He leans forward just a little to rest his forehead lightly against her stomach, closing his eyes for a second. "I'm fine." That's the third time he's said that, which actually doesn't make it more convincing, but it's the best he can do.
"Had a nightmare," he mutters softly by way of explanation. It certainly feels like a nightmare, if nothing else.
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