"I figured it out. Why it has to be me. Why I have to be the one to stop him."

Penny grunted. He was probably scowling. Quentin didn't turn his head to check. The ceiling was slipping out of focus again, demanding his attention. Quentin blinked until it slid back into HD, hairline fissures and mold and all.

"It's because we're the same. Him and I."

Penny didn't respond. Quentin lifted his head as much as the collar around his neck would allow. Penny was still in the chair by the door. His head was bowed. Quentin let his head drop back down.

"Sorry. Should I shut up?"

The chair creaked. Penny's footsteps echoed against the stone walls. Quentin stiffened. He tugged at the restraints binding his legs and feet to the bed in reflexive need to move. The bed frame rattled a bit. The cuffs, naturally, held.

Penny stopped at the side of the bed, well beyond the circle of ash. His jaw was clenched tight. Quentin's eyes skittered over the man's face before returning to the ceiling.

"You believe that shit?" Penny bit out.

Quentin shrugged.

Penny stepped over the ash line and flicked him in the middle of the forehead, hard. Quentin yelped.

"Jesus! What the fuck's wrong with you?"

"Yeah, I see it now. You and the Beast - peas in a fucking pod." Penny snorted and stomped back to his chair.

Quentin chewed at his lip. "Not - not the Beast. Martin Chatwin." A strange, lonely boy so unhappy with the world he tried to fit himself into another. It'd be ironic, if it wasn't so fucking sad.

The ceiling blurred again. Quentin twisted his hands. The cuffs scraped over his abused wrists. Iron, unpadded and heavy. The pain anchored him.

"That's bullshit."

Quentin made an inquisitive sound. He'd almost forgotten they were talking.

"You Physical kids don't know shit about anything worth a damn. People don't change. Not on the inside, not where they tick. Martin Chatwin is the Beast. He always was. You're just a nerd with a complex."

"Thanks."

"It ain't a compliment."

"Haters gonna hate, hate-"

"I'll fucking gag you, man."

Quentin grinned. He shifted on the bed. They were several floors underground, in an old storage room that hadn't been used since the reign of the last High King. They'd spent several hours just cleaning the damn thing. Warding had taken a full day, mostly because Alice had insisted they triple-check every sigil the binding ritual required.

Quentin's own preparations had lasted a total of ten minutes. Strip, get shackled, clench his eyes shut tight and try not to scream as Eliot carved the final sigil into his chest with a scalpel he'd swiped from God-knows where. Piece of cake.

Eliot hadn't agreed. He'd been pale and dead-eyed by the end. Margo and Alice had to practically carry him out of the room.

"I'm glad it's you here," Quentin told the ceiling.

"I'm not."

"Sorry."

"Are ya? Then come up with a better plan."

"There isn't one."

"How 'bout we stick with the original, then? You know, the one everyone else thinks we're fucking following?"

"This one's better. You know it is."

Penny grunted. It sounded like he was kicking the floor, possibly the wall. "Shit. Why the fuck am I stuck doing your dirty work?"

Quentin didn't respond. They both knew why. "Thank you," he said instead.

"Shut up."

"Penny-"

"Shut up. Don't fucking-" Penny snarled under his breath, a frustrated, stifled sound.

"Okay."

The silence lasted a few minutes, this time. Quentin drifted on and off. He twisted his hands once or twice more. The pain wasn't working as well. His body was growing numb.

"How do you even know he'll show?"

Quentin forced his eyes open. He'd almost fallen asleep. His chest was cold and stiff with dry blood. "He'll come."

"It's an obvious trap."

"High stakes. Best kind of game."

My thoughts exactly.

Quentin stiffened. "Penny."

Something clattered. The chair, falling over as Penny pushed to his feet. "Goddamn it-"

My, my, a present? How thoughtful. I was due for a new suit.

"Don't let them in," Quentin begged.

A little worse for wear, but nothing that cannot be fixed.

"I know my part, Coldwater! Fucking focus on yours!"

Let's try it on, see how it fits.

The temperature dropped from cold to freezing. Quentin arched up. His arms strained against the cuffs, muscles cording to bulge under the skin of his neck and shoulders. The air was heavy with magic. He couldn't breathe.

The wards glowed blue. The sigil in Quentin's chest reopened. Blood soaked into the mattress. More spilled down his chin as Quentin bit through his lip to stifle a scream.

The Beast was in his head.

"Now? Quentin, now?"

Quentin shook his head against the pillow. Not yet.

The Beast was making himself at home, burrowing into the many dark wells of Quentin's mind in search for amusement. Childhood miseries and adult fumblings, the horrors of his first year at Brakebills. His father's death. There was no escaping this kind of pain. He'd go insane with it, he knew, he was certain, and the Beast was no closer to settling. No nearer to being trapped.

The air lightened. Quentin took a deep breath, grateful for the respite. He realized what it meant too late.

Penny had broken the ash barrier.

Quentin's eyes snapped open. Penny stood above him. His cheeks were wet.

In his right hand was a dagger.

The Beast's surprise felt darkly satisfying.

"Go," Quentin forced out.

Penny screwed his eyes shut. The dagger came down.

The wards burned red. The Beast was trying to leave. Quentin held onto him with all his strength.

There was no point in dying alone.

The room shuddered. Quentin's mind went white.

Somewhere, someone screamed.

***

Quentin blinked. The ceiling was gone. In its stead was Julia's face, wet-eyed and splotchy from crying.

"Oh my God, he's awake. Are you alright? Quentin, say something!"

Quentin did. No one heard him.

"Move over. Don't give me that look, you know we have to."

Julia moved away with obvious reluctance. Eliot came into view. He gave Quentin a brief smile. "Hi. Need to run a quick test, make sure it's you in there."

Eliot disappeared from view. Quentin watched the ceiling, outwardly calm. Something prickled his thumb. Eliot made a pleased noise.

"It's indeed Q. You may proceed with the hugging."

Julia promptly wrapped her arms around Quentin. She allowed herself several seconds of sobbing and sappy endearments before pulling back.

"Penny?" Quentin croaked.

Eliot and Julia shared a quick look.

"Penny's..." Julia passed her hand over her eyes.

"He knew the risks. We all did." Eliot said curtly.

The sound he had heard just before he had lost consciousness. Quentin knew with sudden certainty that had been Penny's neck breaking.

"We had the b-body moved. Alice and Margo are waiting upstairs. Alice is...distraught. Understandably." Eliot took a deep breath. "Come on. Up you go."

Eliot tapped the cuffs. They fell off with a clang. Julia and Eliot helped Quentin off the bed and across the wrecked room. The sigils still burned in the walls - a dull, burnished gold.

"The Beast's in the wards, huh."

"I still can't believe it worked," Julia murmured.

Eliot hummed. "What do we do with the room now? Seal it off? What do you think, Q?"

"I...don't know. Perhaps Jane can help?"

"Good point. I vote for saddling her with clean-up." Eliot steered them toward the stairs. Quentin felt sick.

"I look forward to seeing her again."

Julia chuckled, the sound soft and reedy with grief but still there. "I'm sure she'd love to see you too, Quentin."

Quentin smiled.

How long do you think it will take for them to notice?

Bound inside a body that no longer belonged to him, Quentin Coldwater screamed.

-----

Word count: 1319