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Ethan feels it, when she enters the outermost stratum. He shoots up to his feet from the couch, where he’d been sitting since… well… he’s not quite sure. Time doesn’t mean shit when you’re dead, even if some insane fungus has kept your consciousness intact.
He can’t tell if he’s sick to his stomach with terror or anticipation. She shouldn’t be here, she doesn’t belong here — he knows she’s not dead, just visiting, but why — ? It’s too dangerous, he needs to get her out of here now.
It’s been a while (or has it?) since he’s traversed the stratums — it had grown dangerous in a way it hadn’t been when he first manifested his own, and he’d seen what Miranda was capable of doing to Duke even now. Fuck — is that why Rose?
He would’ve been frozen stiff, heart stopped in his chest, seeing her—and he knows it’s her like he knows his own heart—in this fucked up imitation of Dimitrescu’s castle, if he wasn’t already dead and had held her in dismembered pieces.
Instead, he creates a door and curses himself when she immediately falls through it with a help. He doesn’t have to time berate himself for his shitty work as he chases after and out paces her, clearing a path and cursing at every piece of shit that grabs at her.
His words appear to her in a golden shimmer and coherent handwriting that completely did not represent how insane he currently felt. Good. Good, he’s got to be strong for her now, he has to—
And then she’s huddled on the ground, tears in her eyes and staring at her hands like that were scarier than anything else she’d seen yet.
You ok?
He didn’t think he could feel even more like shit after everything that’d ever happened to him — in life and death, but then she flinches away from his words and scrambles backwards and—
Not enemy.
She’s asking questions but he’s got no answers to give her: Leave, now. Go while you can.
“There’s a crystal here that can remove the mold—“
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How desperate is she? How much shit has she gone through because of him? God—
“I’m not leaving till I find it.”
Too dangerous. Is his knee jerk response, taken aback by the grit of her teeth and the way she practically snarls at him. Fuck. She took after him. She really took after him.
“Who are you? My guardian angel?”
The words are said derisively, but he can hear the tinge of doubt in her voice and he can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry. So he just says Sure instead. She blinks.
“Do you have a name?”
Gabriel’s a stupid name, so he rolls with Michael. There’s no way he’s telling her who he really is and they don’t have time for this, it’s not safe here, she needs to—
Move.
He has no fucking idea what’s going on here, but he knows it’s Miranda’s doing. Everywhere he turns there are corpses that look like his little girl all grown up. It’s driving him insane so he keeps his eyes on his Rose, the real Rose, and pushes forward.
“These poor things.” Something burns inside of him at those words—worry about yourself—he wants to frantically write before her eyes, but her empathy. She’s kind. His daughter is kind.
And she’s too curious for her own damn good. That fucked up version of Duke now knows she’s here and now and everything is so much fucking worse in a matter of seconds. The creatures, the weird white no face molded bastards, are relentless.
In danger—
A thousand times he feared returning to these halls, running, always running—but he never could have imagined how much fucking worse the world could be, watching his daughter run through them instead. But she can’t run forever, and he can barely do shit in this stratum. But he can do something.
—need weapon—
He hesitates only for a moment, torn between praying his daughter has the ability to protect herself while horrified by the thought that she’d ever have to. But she does have to, and he had asked Chris—
Gun.
“Seriously?!”
Fuck.
“Where am I going to get a gun.”
Oh.
Touch my words.
She’s got this.
Point and shoot.
She’s got this, but these things take way too many fucking bullets to die.
“I guess I need to find these masks to unlock it.”
You’ve got to fucking kidding him. What kind of sick twisted joke is this? Making his daughter do this, putting her through the same bullshit he had to go through? He watches miserably as she races around the castle.
She’s a good shot, thankfully, but her stance is weak and it’s clear she’s scared shitless. At least when she was a baby she had no fucking idea what was going on and he could take care of everything, but now—
At least, he thinks, this means her childhood was safe. She’s clearly a teenager now, and her fear is real and new and—it’s a shitty consolation prize, but at least she hasn’t been hunted like this before.
He’s able to manifest some ammo for her, and is tracking her practiced movements reloading the Lemi when she speaks again
“If you really wanna help, you could back me up against those things.”
The words are on the wall as soon as they come out of his mouth. I can’t.
“What? So I’m on my own? Great.”
It feels like Miranda has ripped his heart out of his chest again. Watching the irritation and resignation on his daughter’s face—the disappointment—he’s watching his heart get crushed again. But he survived that. At least long enough to save Rose. He just has to do that again. It’s easy, when he thinks of it like that, and chases after her into the courtyard.
Ethan’s spent enough time poking and prodding at Miranda’s stratum and watching her interference in others to know how this has to play out. He already knows Rose’s reaction.
Use your powers.
Only way.
She’s pragmatic. That’ll keep her alive.
It’s all very uncanny valley, leading her to the amplifier. The structure of the castle is the same—thank God, otherwise he could’ve been even more useless to Rose—but the interiors of the some of the rooms have been altered. The Library is suffocating.
Rose struggles to coordinate lining up her shot, moving through her environment, and dodging attacks. Of course she’s fucking struggling. She’s fifteen!
It hits Ethan then, every time he said the words “she’s just a baby” back then. But the pity party can wait. She’s holding her own and dashing through the corridors of the castle, careful to avoid the evil fucking goo everywhere.
“Maybe I can find a way across.”
He’s just about to say something about using the ladder as she shoves it forward and carefully jumps down to cross it.
She’s a problem-solver. God, his kid is perfect. And he had nothing to do with it.
As she clambers up the ladder—the same one and yet not the one he had years ago—he finally looks at her, really looks at her.
He noticed right away that she’d kept his jacket — but it’s only hitting him now that she’s wearing it. It’s too big for her, she seems still so tiny compared to him for all she’d grown, but she wears it well. This random jacket he’d thrown on for a walk that night and had never taken off. He doesn’t want to make assumptions, but he has a feeling she’s worn it more than he ever did. Its condition is still good, definitely better than when he’d last worn it, but it’s now faded in places and patched up in others.
Looking at her is like fitting pieces of a puzzle together: his mother’s height (shorter than Mia and himself) and hair (so much lighter than his own), his nose (not as delicate as Mia’s), chin and jaw (rounded but strong), but Mia’s high delicate cheek bones, dark eyes, and thin brows…
She did get his eyelashes though, thick and dark, which Mia had always used to tease him about. Her ears stick out a little bit, just as they had when she was a baby, and he and Mia argued about who was at fault for that (they both were). But more than any of that she’s pale and thin in a way that of course makes him worry, and he can’t tell if the darkness around her eyes is make up or stress.
He reminds himself to focus on getting her through this just as he tells her to focus on the amplifier.
When she does, it’s the first time he’s seen her smile and it’s the most beautiful thing he couldn’t even imagine. She’s got a lot more teeth now but cheeks still have some of her baby fat and her eyes—well her eyes literally light up.
He’s seen way more than his fair share of freaks and is counted among them, and he sees the silver spiderwebbing on her hands, the white film of sweat that builds up on her palms. And sure, he’s biased, but who the fuck could argue that she looks anything but holy when she glows?
That’s his angel. He’s never been a religious man, but he knows faith, he knows she’s gonna get through this.
Try on core.
She turns them into ash, just like he knew she would, but it’s amazing to watch all the same. The furrow of her brow, her mouth more pout than frown, and then how it transformed so quickly into awe and delight.
See! See! He wants to yell, to grab her and lift her up and shake her with joy. There’s nothing wrong with you! You’re perfect.
But she’s already moving on, eager to test her new powers. He’s relieved that she seems excited by them more than anything. It only last a couple of minutes before those fuckers show up again. They’re just like the Molded at the Baker’s, popping up like daises.
And then there’s the new guy. Ethan doesn’t know how this hell managed to concoct something up more downright disgusting than Moreau or Marguerite, but this asshole with a dozen faces definitely is.
Thankfully it’s gone as soon as it came, but Ethan—and Rose, it seems—know it’s only a matter of time until they’ll face it. Fuck.
He can tell she’s flagging, even if getting the first mask drags a small smile out of her.
Rest.
But her expression shows no relief and she crosses her arms. It’s defensive, it’s so defensive and natural to her it breaks his heart. He knows it’s a stupid question, but also knows she won’t tell him if he doesn’t ask.
What’s wrong?
“Everything! None of this was supposed to happen!”
It churns his gut but he jumps on the opening.
Why not leave?
“I need that crystal.”
He should tell her it doesn’t matter, that it’s better she leave and give up—but he can’t.
Mia would always tease him about Rose having Ethan wrapped around her pinky. And it’s true, he’d do anything for her, gave up everything for her. But that’s not why he doesn’t push it. He doesn’t push it because he knows the real world is just as dangerous as this one, and this is her choice. He remembers what it was like to be 15. To just desperately want someone to listen and take what you said seriously and support you—
Here.
“Thank you.” He knows it’s not for the first aid. He wants to pull her to him and reassure her a thousand times that he’ll always have her back. But he can’t, and he won’t.
Seeing the salon where Duke had once set up shop now empty just added insult to injury. Duke had saved his life, and in doing so, saved Rose. Now they’re both damned to this purgatory.
Duke’s note confirmed that Ethan was right about him being some kind of puppet for Miranda—even more sickening when he used to be the most independent of them all—and that the multiface freak is in their future.
Rose is simply disgusted by the note and moves briskly through the room. More keys. Why are are there always so many fucking keys.
He was right earlier about her being smart, she figures out the painting puzzle right away, even though she gave a shudder at the size of the spider. He gets it. Mia was the one that used to kill them all.
The hallway to the dressing room is a complete shitshow, but the adrenaline—metaphorical or not, who the fuck knows—gives him the boost he needs to drop down a gate between Rose and the world.
It takes him a moment before he’s able to really speak again, only able to push away boxes and point out the amplifier. For some reason, her absorption of it revives him.
Stronger now.
He can give her a controlled test run, then.
Focus on enemy.
She’s a natural of course, and gives a cheer when the creature crumbles to dust: “I did that!”
He’s so proud he could burst. But more than that, he’s so damn happy that she seems proud of herself. He only just manages to give her a spring of white sage before she’s on her way again.
Be careful.
The white glow of her powers and the shine of the particles afterwards become a quick comfort to Ethan. It’s dicey, grabbing the key and getting out of there, and she barely managed to use the white sage in time.
But she’s got a compensator for her bravery—a miracle, considering the way her hands shake—and is on her way to the next mask. She stumbles slightly as she catches sight of his Stay Safe on the dining room wall, but flashes a small smile in response.
And then there’s the gallery. He goes to yank Rose backwards, pull her out of the hall and far far away where no one can ever—
“That sick bastard.”
He’s so damn grateful for her empathy in that moment. That she looks at each of these girls—these pale imitations of herself—and sees them as their own people and is angry on their behalf instead of suffocated by looking at all of the different ways she could—
Pragmatic and level-headed. That’s how he survived the Bakers and saved Rose from Miranda. Focus.
He forces himself to distance himself from the scene, to let Rose work through whatever sick puzzle she has to deal with now. He can’t get overwhelmed by all of this bullshit. Thankfully, whatever it was she solves quickly, and the stupid hidden passageway opens.
It takes him a moment to realize what lay ahead, and he nearly scrawls out a warning before realizing the wine cellar is barren. The stone is still stained and scuffed with blood, but it’s not a goddamn pool. He doesn’t let himself think about it. That it was blood, and how many people it must of come from.
But it’s dry for Rose, and he’d drown in the blood first than have her go through that.
Instead, the multiface freak makes his debut. Ethan hopes the dim lighting is enough to hide his features from Rose, but considering barely muffled cry she gives out, it wasn’t. It pauses in its patrol and Ethan readies himself to intervene—and then it moves on. No brains, only brawn. Thank God.
He quickly becomes grateful for how short she is—it makes crawling around out of sight so much easier. It seems like she has to stand up to use her powers though, leaving her vulnerable.
She manages to grab the silver mask and scramble her way put of the dungeons, bobbing and weaving through monsters like it was her day job and his worst fucking nightmare. She wrestled with one monster before blasting it back, and she’s safe and he needs to focus.
Once she’s safely out, he begs: Don’t fight, run.
“No shit! I can’t fight something like that.”
He chokes on a laugh, the first since he woke up in this hell. God he loves his kid. He absolutely loves his kid. He must’ve sounded like such an asshole saying that to her, instead of desperate. Probably better for her sake that she stays angry, so he cobbles together some white sage and ammo for her to keep going.
“I’ll take all the help I can get.”
The words are grumble, probably still irritated by his advice, but she gratefully takes the items. She chugs down a first aid bottle as she bustles into Dimitrescu’s damn bathroom and finds a painting of a snake. At least that’s dealt with. He’s cheering himself with the thoughts of only one mask left and a puzzle nearly solved when she steps outside onto the balcony.
Despite herself, she darts forward to the stone railing and gasps at the view. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear it’s surprised her, maybe even in a good way. It’s a view that will always feel Ethan with dread, but maybe it’s just a magical winter wonderland to Rose. That’d be nice.
And then she’s moving on, heading back to the statue puzzle and then painting on after that. It’s insane. But she running quietly and without complaint, keeping her eyes off of the corpses at her feet. He fucking hates this so much.
She sprints through the courtyard, teeth gritted and fists clenched as Duke summoned his ghouls. But she’s got a head start and easily outpaces them,
“Did he make these puzzles to mess with me?”
Ethan is suddenly reminded of Lucas and is bizarrely grateful that it’s the Duke they’re dealing with instead. The Bakers are gone for good, even if Eveline is still around.
Then Rose has the stupid three-eyed key and they’re on their way—first stop, the shotgun.
“This should make things easier.”
You’d think it’s her birthday the way Rose grabs at the shotgun with excitement and is so confident in the way she handles it.
Huh. Right. He didn’t even live to see her first birthday. What happened to the gifts—
And then she’s off. The girl won’t give him one damn minute to wallow.
He’d thanked the inventor of the shotgun many times in his life, but never so profusely as when he watched Rose take out one of the creatures with a single shot. They took nearly a whole damn clip of the handgun, but with one shot—!
Rose shared his relief, gasping in the silence that followed her taking down four molded like it was nothing.
And then she says, “Easy peasy,” and Ethan just knows what going to happen next. He’s helpless to stop the bastard from dragging her off and throwing her in a cell but it’s fine, it’s going to be okay, because he can help with this. He’s frantic to tell her how to get free and keep her calm—Nice Work—and doesn’t bother containing his relief at her success.
You did it!
“I couldn’t have done it without you!”
Well. That’s the best damn thing he’s ever heard in his life and death even though the circumstances are shit. But of course he’s gotta get it in her head—
All you.
“I was hoping for a pony, but I guess this’ll do.”
He laughs at her humor and good cheer. The second time he’s laughed in whatever counts as 15 years in this place. She’s funny, his daughter is funny and clever and he’s been able to, in some small way, help her even after death. He was never there for her, but now—even if it’s just for now—he can be here with her.