Chapter Text
He was fine.
Or so Riddle told himself. Over and over.
Two simple words, and they couldn’t ring more hollow.
However, he found himself in no position to be anything but fine.
Admitting that he wasn’t would show how weak he was.
How unstable.
So close to the edge of despair.
And he didn’t want that. Weakness meant danger.
If he showed only the tiniest sign of it, he would be surrounded by hungry predators hoping to make easy prey.
He had always tried to be perfect.
A perfect son, a perfect student, a perfect magician, and for almost two years now, a perfect housewarden, executing the will of the Queen of Hearts.
His Overblot incident only a month ago had shown him, with brutal force, that he was far from perfect. That he didn’t possess a wisp of the control he had thought he had, which he craved and needed. Because being in control meant you were right, and being right meant safety.
You couldn’t misstep.
This mindset had been hammered into him since he could remember. It was a part of himself, too deeply ingrained to be something different than that.
It was a part of being Riddle Rosehearts.
That’s not true, a voice whispered in his ear, suspiciously sounding like Trey.
And Riddle knew –had been hit hard by the revelation when he had come to Night Raven College– that following the rules, any rules, and having every minute of your life dictated by someone or having mastered your unique magic as a young child, was not normal. He was not normal.
Normal children had friends, could eat sweets, celebrated their birthdays with their family… And it was okay when they struggled with school, when their grades were only acceptable at best!
All of it had knocked him from his isolated pedestal, smashing his world view in the process and tearing down everything he had thought about himself with destructive violence.
It was hell.
Every student laughing at a friend’s joke or failing an exam burned like acid forced down his throat. Ravaging through his body like the realization that he could have been one of them.
Could have had everything everyone else had.
Could have been careless.
Free.
Happy.
Someone bumped into him and snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts.
Riddle looked up and into the wide eyes of a Heartslabyul student.
“I-I am so sorry, d-dorm leader,“ the boy stammered.
Riddle straightened his jacket, smoothing out the crumples, but before he could reply something, the other boy had fled down the corridor, almost tripping over his feet.
Riddle just stood there, mind blank, blinking at the place the student, his dorm member, had only occupied moments ago.
He had fled.
He is afraid of me.
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
Other students passing him were beginning to stare, and he forced his legs to continue walking. (He was surprised they actually complied.)
For a moment, he had forgotten where he had been heading to, and why. His mind went into overdrive again, his collision with the student adding fuel to the fire of his musings. It was an unhealthy habit of his, he had been told (as if he didn’t know that himself). He was overthinking things.
Like now.
He knew some students (and from the other dorms too) feared him after his Overblot.
Or feared him more than usual.
It made him sick.
There was no denying it. He was strict in making sure no one got out of line. He was equally, if not more, strict with making sure no rules were broken. But strict was different from frightening, especially if his only desire was his dorm member’s personal growth.
In his first year at Night Raven, he had needed to demonstrate that he was a force to be reckoned with. He was one of the strongest magicians at home, and the name Rosehearts was widely known, and not only in the Queendom of Roses. Only because he was so short of height and didn’t look powerful, everyone had happened to forget that he was.
Challenging the former dorm leader in the first week after his enrolment and beating him in no time, had ensured him respect.
He had never intended to inspire fear, and he hadn’t consciously noticed when the respect had turned into it.
On the other hand, why shouldn’t they be afraid? He had almost killed Ace.
He had almost killed someone.
“He’s like some kinda monster!“
Riddle dug his fingernails into his palms until they drew blood.
He didn’t want to think about that now. Not ever.
His feet had walked him to his destination, the dorm’s lounge.
He was about to open the doors as he heard a loud crash from inside, and his head shot up in surprise.
The noise rendered him motionless for a second.
Then, he heard footsteps, silent at first, and then growing louder the nearer they came in his direction.
Without a second thought, he jumped behind one of the columns framing the lounge doors.
Why did he do that?!
This… behaviour was so unlike him.
Before, he would have blazed through the doors, heels clicking on the floor tiles, head held high, demanding answers.
And now he was hiding.
Coward.
But he didn’t leave his hiding spot, and the doors opened, revealing three students. They hurried out and looked up and down the corridor as if to check if they were alone.
Riddle pressed himself harder against the column.
One of the boys suddenly burst out into laughter. It didn’t sound amused to Riddle’s ears.
“The little brat will get a stroke when he sees that,“ another snorted.
The third nodded his head, a nasty smile on his lips.
“Suits him right for all that he pulled us through, not to forget these stupid collars.“
“Yeah. It’s just a shame we don’t get to see the dorm leader’s face.“
“How can anyone like him, really? Trey and Cater only stay with him out of pity.“
More laughter, and they went out of earshot.
It was only as he let out a shuddering breath, that Riddle noticed he had held it in the whole time.
"Trey and Cater only stay with him out of pity."
Riddle’s chest constricted violently at that.
And he couldn’t help but wonder.
Was it the truth?
Cater was literally friends with everyone, so Riddle couldn’t mean that much to him in comparison to all the others, could he?
He couldn’t even fault Cater for it.
He knew he wasn’t likeable or easy to approach, unlike most other students. (The only exception being Idia.) He was quick to anger, and he also knew that Cater was sometimes uncomfortable dealing out his orders when someone broke the rules, he only never said something. Furthermore, he didn’t have a Magicam account and Cater was so fond of his Magicam.
Being not likeable had always been true for Riddle, even when he had been little.
He considered Trey his friend, alongside Chenya, (And how it pained him to remember the look of fear-tinged shock on Trey's face, before liquid rage had filled his veins and fire had clouded his vision, raw power spreading through every fibre of his being.) but why should Trey have considered him the same?
Which child wanted to play with a child that had never done so before? That only knew how to study. Couldn’t invite someone to its home. Didn’t even know how to play Hide and Seek. Would start to cry so often.
Why would little Trey have wanted that?
Him?
Ace’s words from a month ago at the Unbirthday party came to his mind.
“You’ve been here a year and haven’t even made a friend who will tell you you’re outta line. And that’s on you.“
Riddle could feel tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, and brought his attention and focus onto another question before his thoughts could stray any further. A question he could get an answer to.
What did the boys mean? And more importantly:
What did they do?! And why?
But deep down, he already knew why.
They want revenge for the tyrant’s deeds.
Anger started to boil in Riddle’s chest.
How could they dare to want to punish him for always having only their well-being in mind?!
How could they think to know better than him?!
They knew nothing!
How could they be so ungrateful?!
Trey’s voice whispered into his ear again. Don’t let your anger overwhelm you.
For a shocking moment, Riddle considered ignoring his inner voice.
He caught himself though, and with great effort and a few deep breaths, he held tight reign over his temper. Suppressing the urge to behead someone.
Then, he entered the lounge.
And froze.
The room was in complete disarray.
The old curtains, having framed the windows for generations now… Torn.
Several vases with roses –Roses that were the wrong colour!– knocked over, their soil spilled everywhere.
The wrong tea service… Broken on the table, tea dripping from its shards.
The mirrors with the framed cards had crashed upside down to the floor, shards of glass glittering.
Ash from the fireplace left big smudges on the carpet.
Books from the shelves and what looked like the contents of a few school bags strewn all over the floor.
And there, in the centre of it all: The bust of the Queen of Hearts.
Shattered.
Only tiny pieces of porcelain at his feet.
Broken rules broken rules broken rules everything was broken broken rules broken rules broken rules
Blind panic crashed against him like waves against a cliffside.
H-how did they… ? Why?
"The little brat will get a stroke when he sees that."
"It’s just a shame we don’t get to see the dorm leader’s face."
The lounge laid in ruins.
Rule 107: The dorm lounge has to look its most splendid at all times.
Rose petals bleeding on the floor.
Rule 153: From Monday to Friday, roses in vases have to be of red colour.
The glass reflected the sun with cruel intensity.
Rule 499: You are not to look into a mirror before you have spent 10 minutes in the room it hangs in.
Porcelain crunched under his boots.
Rule 62: The bust of the Queen of Hearts has to always stand exactly in the middle of a table or shelf.
It was all too much.
TOO MANY BROKEN RULES!!!
Riddle’s breathing hitched, he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.
"They only stay with him out of pity. How can anyone like him, really?"
"You’ve been here a year and haven’t even made a friend who will tell you you’re outta line. And that’s on you."
Riddle gasped, clutching, clawing at his chest, fingering for his ribbon. It was choking him. He needed to get it off!
He was cracking and couldn’t stop the ink from slithering its way into each and every crack there was. He felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen, but desperately tried to hold himself together. He couldn’t allow the blot to reach his core.
The agony of his first Overblot still fresh in mind, he panicked even more. As if it had been only yesterday, he remembered the excruciating pain that had surged through his body. The dark, enraged voice that had pulled at his insides, gripping his heart in an iron grip and squeezed. The scream which had torn its way out of his throat could have dragged his lungs out with it. The impact of all the ink slamming into his body had stood in stark contrast with the ink that had pooled out of his mouth and eyes and ears, leaving a horrible aftertaste on his tongue. If it hadn’t been for the dark voice channelling his rage into heights impossible to grasp, he would have sunken into mindless terror, while trying to keep his mouth shut and not let anything flood out. His painful howling had lost its meaning, as the fire of wrath had numbed the agony.
But now, all he could think of was that same agony. There was no rage to tune it out. He didn’t want to feel that pain a second time.
He couldn’t do it. No no no. He couldn’t bear it again.
He didn’t want to shatter like the Queen of Hearts, cutting into his legs. (And when had he fallen to his knees?)
He didn’t want to lose himself.
(He couldn’t allow it. What a housewarden would he be, if he was in danger of snapping at any moment?)
A dull throb resonated in his bones. It hurt, but not as much as he had feared.
What if it grew stronger?!
He couldn’t-
"That’s not good enough."
"You know what you get when you break the rules, Riddle."
"You will never play with them again and you will never see them again!"
"It’s for your own good."
A deafening wail echoed inside his head. It was so loud it drowned everything out.
It ripped at his sanity. It didn’t stop, and he thought it would make his ear-drums burst.
His vision slowly blackened, and as he brought his hands to his eyes they were claws. He scratched his nails over his face in an attempt to distract himself from that inhuman screeching.
He didn’t feel any pain.
It wasn’t supposed to not hurt.
He tried again and again, but the only thing he did feel was something wet trailing down his cheeks.
Liquid blackness filled his lungs and Riddle was drowning.
He couldn’t move or see.
"It’s for your own good."
At least it didn’t hurt.
xXx
“Do you really think the Headmaster was serious?“
Trey turned his head a little to look at him, and couldn’t hide an amused quirk of lips.
“You mean with letting Ace, Deuce and Grim clean all of Night Raven?“
“Yup,“ Cater chirped. “It should deter them for at least…“
He gesticulated with his phone in Trey’s direction, roughly calculating how long it would take the trio to cause or get into trouble. He didn’t have to think about it long.
“A day at most.“
Trey snorted, and hummed in agreement.
“And concerning your question... I’m to 80% sure he didn’t mean it.“
Cater only chuckled, attention on his phone again. He scrolled through Magicam, humming a song his sisters heard in endless loop recently and had infected him with.
As Trey stopped abruptly, Cater prevented himself from bumping into his friend just in time.
He shifted his eyes from his phone and followed Trey’s confused, alarmed gaze.
The door to the lounge stood open, but no light shone out of the room. Even with the heavy curtains shut, it was never that dark in the afternoon.
It kind of reminded Cater of how every light –the sun itself– had dimmed the day Riddle had overblotted. It had chilled him to the bones, and that same chill crawled up his spine now too.
“What is it, Trey? Sure, it’s a little dark, but-“
Trey stormed into the lounge, not answering, but Cater was right at his heels. A little dread settled in his stomach.
What did Trey think they would see?
Riddle sat hunched in the centre of the room, and Cater froze.
He was on his knees, and Cater saw tendrils of ink creeping up and down his friend’s whole body. Riddle’s uniform had transformed into the same twisted version of the Queen of Hearts dress which had appeared on him at the ruined Unbirthday Party. A delicate mosaic of inky threads of ink covered the left side of his face like spiderwebs. It was punctuated by black scratches.
Those hadn’t been there last time.
Riddle’s hands -his delicate, small fingers- were curled into claws and ripped at his hair.
He didn't make a sound.
The phone in Cater’s hands fell to the floor.
No no no no no.
This couldn’t happen again.
Images of Riddle howling in pain as the ink had slammed into his body flashed in front of his mind’s eye.
Fear numbed his body.
But not fear of Riddle. Fear for him.
Cater looked to the side and saw the same horror he felt mirrored on Trey’s face.
Dimly, he wondered if the other’s mind was chanting denial over and over as well.
We have to do something.
But Cater found himself unable to move or even form a clear thought.
xXx
“Riddle!“
Trey couldn’t hide the fear in his voice. It felt like an echo of his terrified outcry as his best friend had overblotted right in front of him.
This was a second Overblot now, and Riddle hadn’t even fully recovered from the first one. Not physically, and like it seemed, not mentally.
Trey didn’t know how long Riddle had sat between rose petals and shards of glass and porcelain like this, before he and Cater had stormed in, but it didn’t matter. If he wouldn’t snap out of it, he would-
No.
Trey shook his head.
He wouldn’t think about worst case scenarios now.
Taking one step after the other towards Riddle’s huddled form turned out to be… difficult. Making his way through the dark haze around his friend felt like walking through water or shouldering against some invisible wall pushing back.
He wouldn’t accept defeat, though. He simply had to push back harder.
At least there wasn't anything whipping around, in a whirlwind of dirt and rose bushes sharpened to spears, to be of further hindrance.
It was only dark. Dark and silent.
But Trey was so scared by it he almost wished back the screams and the gigantic creature looming behind Riddle, binding itself to him with skeletal claws.
Then, finally, after an eternity, he reached him.
He registered that Cater had followed him, stood right at his side, and he motioned for him to kneel down with him.
Trey knelt down, motioning for Cater to do the same.
Now that he was more or less on Riddle’s eye level, he dared to crouch even nearer.
The younger boy was tugging and ripping at his hair with full force, all the while letting out keening whimpers that tore at Trey’s heart. He badly wanted to grab those thin wrists and stop Riddle from hurting himself.
But he hesitated.
How would Riddle react to the contact?
His Overblot was so much quieter than last time, but would he lash out? Because he didn’t seem to be aware of Cater’s or his presence.
“Riddle,“ Trey croaked out and promptly cut himself off.
Calm. He needed to be calm.
An immovable anchor Riddle could latch onto.
He would do no one any good if he lost it.
Trey’s whole body was shaking, and it cost him a minute to try to prevent his voice from shaking as well.
He firmly ignored Riddle’s wet, hitching breaths and the lack of recognition or awareness in his eyes.
They had done it before, shaking Riddle out of his Overblot state. They could manage it again.
But this time is different.
“Riddle,“ he tried again, louder and clearer and with confidence he didn’t feel.
“It’s me. Trey. Cater is here too. We’re both here with you. You are in our dorm lounge. If you concentrate, you can smell the roses. It’s a little messy right now, but nothing that can’t be cleaned. It looks worse than it is.“
An edge of desperation crept into his voice as Riddle didn’t look up. Not so much as twitched.
“Can you hear me? Everything will be alright, okay? You’ll be fine. Cater and I will take care of the mess. You don’t have to worry about it. I can make you a calming tea. And bake some cupcakes if you like. And… And… “
Trey swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. Tears were slowly starting to form in his eyes, but he blinked them away.
Cater picked up on him murmuring reassurances and held up a constant stream of ‘You’ll be fine.’ and ‘We will see to everything.‘. And just like Trey, he wasn’t reaching Riddle.
Cater shot him a panicked look, and he racked his brain for something, anything, he could say.
Should he try using his unique magic again?
“Riddle, please look at me,“ Trey pleaded. “Look at me!“
And he did.
Trey’s relief got instantly replaced by shock as he recoiled.
There was not the tiniest trace of rage in Riddle’s blood-red eyes (It looked so wrong from their usual soft grey). Blown wide and boring into his very soul, but not burning with fury. No flames lightening up his irises. Nothing.
Riddle looked so lost, so utterly lost, and Trey felt as helpless as he had never felt before.
xXx
“Riddle, please look at me,“ Trey pleaded. “Look at me!“
Since he hadn't reacted to anything before, Cater was taken aback as Riddle did look up. His crimson eyes met Trey’s, and the latter flinched back, startling Cater with the violent intensity of it.
He didn’t know or couldn’t see what had caused Trey to react like that, but it had to be something bad. Trey wasn’t someone you could shock easily.
The darkening haze over the room subsided visibly, but Cater didn’t allow himself to feel relief yet. The ink was still all over Riddle’s body.
But he heaved a heavy sigh as Riddle finally stopped pulling at his hair and letting out these horrible noises.
Trey hesitantly reached out with one hand.
Riddle swayed, arms weakly and like on autopilot grasping for support he couldn’t find. And failing to support his weight as he fell to the side.
Cater shot up from his kneeling position, but Trey was faster and caught Riddle before his head could hit the floor.
Cater noted that the blotchy darkness had but almost cleared, not blocking out all the sun from the windows anymore.
Trey shook the frail body in his arms.
Had Riddle lost consciousness?
He did look disturbingly sick, with his ashen skin. The sticky black ink, reminding Cater of blood, formed a stark contrast to it. As Trey adjusted Riddle in his arms to move him into a more comfortable position, his head lolled to the side like a puppet with cut strings.
Murky grey eyes staring at nothing.
Cater’s heart missed a beat as his eyes met that unseeing gaze.
He stood up abruptly and took a few steps back, needing the distance with a sudden surge of desperation.
We have to bring him to the infirmary and...
“He isn’t breathing.“
Cater’s head whipped around to Trey, but the other just stared straight ahead in shock, as if not believing himself what he had just declared.
His eyes were visibly watering until the first tears spilled over.
Trey was crying.
Cater had never seen him cry since they had met.
They had made jokes about it, over dinner in the cafeteria. That Trey didn’t cry because his eyes lacked the ability to produce tears. They had behaved so stupidly silly that day.
Cater’s mind was feverishly spinning.
He couldn’t have said that. That’s not possible, not possible, not-
“Get help!“
Trey’s anguished cry shook Cater out of his stupor.
“You have to get help! Now!“
Trey was sobbing, pulling Riddle to his chest and trying to shake him awake.
And Cater ran, fighting to ignore the image of Riddle’s head lolling to the side and his empty eyes.
But it had already seared itself into his mind.