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Percival finds his way back to his study on muscle memory alone. He has just enough presence of mind to be glad he sent Gwen away. He doesn’t know what he would do with her trailing after him as she is wont to do, doesn’t know how he’d keep the rising panic away long enough to keep from startling her. It’s all he can do to keep it down until the angry one leaves, the one that reminds him so much of himself, in his early days with Vox Machina. Only years of training to be a de Rolo —poised, stoic, sure—rather than a boy —frightened, clumsy, uncertain—keep his back straight, his face blank, his gait steady (or as steady as it ever is these days, with the rhythmic clack of the cane on stone, wood, carpet).
Only once the door is locked will he allow himself to break.
Delilah. Delilah is back. He’d thought she was truly gone this time. No, that’s not true. He’d wanted her to be truly gone. But he’d always been afraid she wasn’t. How many times had she clung to life? How many times had she clawed her way back to cause him more pain, more terror? There’s always been a part of him, a small boy curled up in the dungeon of his mind, that knew she’d never let him escape. Vex’ahlia has woken him from enough nightmares to vouch for that.
He’d been having such a pleasant morning.
Vex had taken the twins out hunting, waking him early with a kiss—or, rather, it started as a kiss, and then turned to several kisses, and then resulted in her not getting out of bed quite as early as she had likely intended. Percival had spent a few hours working on some Council business, since his sister is still away and it needed doing. He’d been about to sketch out some adjustments to the clocktower; a few pieces here and there, to help it cycle through its story more smoothly.
And then Keyleth had arrived. Ordinarily he would have been thrilled to see her; they’re all so busy these days that even with her knack for globe-hopping, it’s difficult to find time to spend together. He worries about that. Even after thirty years, he still thinks about his promise to Vax every time he sees Keyleth. She needs a friend, and Percival worries he’s not a particularly good one.
But this wasn’t a social call. No, she’d brought that group with her—what had they called themselves? Bell’s Hells? Gods, he can’t believe Bertrand Bell put together his own band of misfits. They’d reminded Percy of the early days of Vox Machina, back when they’d called themselves the SHITS. Of course they had. Put together as they all act now, they’d been that clumsy group of disasters once.
And the dead woman they carried with them brought more of the past to mind, this time not fond memories but horrible ones.
It’s funny. His return to Whitestone is an odd contradiction in his memory; both clouded in thick black smoke, and seared into his mind like a hot brand. Of course he’d recognized her from the Sun Tree. Of course he saw his wife’s face when he looked at her. How could he not?
It calls to mind that time in Draconia, when he alone had spotted Tiberius’ body, locked in ice, at the site of his last battle with Vorugal, and he’d had to freeze his own heart solid to keep them all safe. The others had thought him cold then, he’s sure. They likely think the same of him now. But much as Keyleth trusts this Orym, much as Pike wants to help, much as Vex may consider them friends and feel a sense of responsibility to allow a new tree to sprout out of the destruction of their past, Percival doesn’t know these people. He doesn’t trust them. And he’s terrified of the danger they’ve brought into his home.
Delilah , in Whitestone again. Percy locks his study door with shaking hands and slumps into his chair. Just hearing her name has the power to turn at least a part of him into that terrified little boy who’d fled this castle all those years ago. He can hear the hounds chasing him in the pounding of his heartbeat, can see Cassandra fall, arrows piercing her skin, can feel the cold embrace of the river that nearly killed him, and set him free.
No. It’s not happening again. Delilah is dead, and she will remain that way.
His trembling hands have produced a sketch. He focuses on it, looking for something to take the darker images out of his mind. But he should have known better. His drawing is a blueprint of the improvements to Bad News he’d been pretending not to think about for the past few months. A new mechanism here, a few adjustments there, and the weapon would be even deadlier than it already is.
He thinks of Retort, holstered at his side, and how he’d still reached for it when the genasi followed after him.
He looks up at the mask hanging over his desk; a necessary reminder, no matter how many times Vex has tried to convince him to be rid of it.
Never make another weapon.
It’s what he’d promised himself, after everything. He’d been doing so well. He won’t let Delilah destroy his family. Not again. He knows how she’d do it, how he’d do it, if he were her. He can see her coming in, taking over that poor girl’s body and wiping out all her friends like they’re nothing. They have no idea what they’re dealing with, no idea the ruthless power they want to risk setting loose on the world. Then she’d find her way into the castle. She’d replay it all, the dinner, the death. Except this time Percy would play the role of his father, Vex would play the role of his mother. Delilah would make them watch her kill their children. Or she’d make their children watch her kill them. Percy can’t decide which would be worse. Much as he does not want to see his children die, he’s also watched the horror play out standing in their shoes, and he does not want the fear he still feels deep in his heart to be mirrored in his children’s eyes.
He can’t stop seeing it; Delilah killing the children; slowly, one at a time. Vex’s horrified screams. Cries of pain. Small voices calling out his name, begging him to save them. His own voice, begging his father not to be dead. And Delilah, Delilah, Delilah , always at the center of it, smiling as she well and truly breaks him.
No. No no no no no.
“Darling? Darling . You’re alright.”
It’s Vex’s voice, but it doesn’t fit with the picture of her playing out in front of him; that Vex has tears in her eyes and she’s screaming their children’s names. This Vex is calm by comparison, if a bit worried. He wants this voice to be the real one. He tries to focus on it. “Vex?”
“Breathe, Percy. I’m here.”
Breathing , yes, that’s a thing he’s not doing. Or, rather, he’s doing too much of it. He tries to slow down, breathing deeply through his nose. He expects to smell blood, but instead there’s the familiar scent of Vex ; woods and leather and dainty, floral soap. He remembers buying that for her last Winter’s Crest; how thrilled she still gets at receiving fine things, even after all these years. He takes another deep breath, clinging to that memory, using it like a lever to pry himself out of the darker ones.
“That’s good, darling. Like that. Is it alright if I touch you?”
Percy blinks, and the bloody scene in front of him flickers, fades. It’s still heavy in the forefront of his mind, but it’s no longer unfolding before his eyes. Instead, there’s Vex, crouched on the floor of his study in front of him, eyes wide with worry and nimble hands hovering in the air between them, palms up, waiting for his approval. She’s done this often enough to know he needs a warning before she touches him. He needs help knowing it's her hands and not ones that want to hurt him.
He knows that now, though, so he nods. “Yes.” His voice trembles.
She still moves slowly, letting him see where her hands will fall before they actually touch him; one on his knee, the other cradling his cheek. He leans into the touches, letting them ground him more firmly in this moment. “There, darling.” Vex soothes, nodding approvingly. “Are you alright?”
“I…” His throat closes a little, the panic still tightening his breath. “Delilah, she was–”
Vex shakes her head. “She isn’t here, darling. She’s dead. She won’t come back. We won’t let her.” There’s fire burning in her eyes, and she sounds so sure. Percy wishes he could feel as secure in that hope.
“I want to believe that. But I also know her.” Something occurs to him, then, and he frowns. “Where are…Bell’s Hells?” Gods, it’s a ridiculous name. Is this how everyone had felt having to refer to their own group all those years. If he weren’t so stressed he’d be mortified. But Vex had been with the group, helping them and keeping an eye on them. If she’s here…well, it isn’t as though he doesn’t trust Pike. But she’s much more likely to go along with… shenanigans than Vex, and he’d seen the looks on all the newcomers' faces. He remembers being them, some thirty years ago. He thinks about what he would have done, what he has done when one of his friends fell. What his friends did for him. And it was never take no for an answer.
Vex hesitates, which makes Percy’s heart pound with fear. “They’re at Pike’s. She’s…showing them around. And…working on a potential solution.”
“Then we should be there.” Percy’s trembling hand reaches for his cane, to pry himself to his feet, even as his legs lock in place, begging him to stay as far away from Delilah as he can. That’s all he can see in that dead woman’s face; Delilah, reborn. Delilah, murdering his parents. Delilah repeating the cycle, but this time it’s his children crying in terror, and he won’t let that happen, he won’t let her break anyone the way she broke him.
“She won’t.” Vex’s voice is a balm. He lets it wrap around him. Apparently he’d been speaking aloud, without realizing. “And you’re not broken, darling. Not anymore.”
Percy smiles sadly at her. “I’ll always be broken. But I appreciate the sentiment.” He takes a shaky breath. “But it’s alright. There’s work to be done.” He starts to stand.
Vex presses more firmly on his knee. “ You’re not alright, dear.” He could shake off her hold if he wanted; physicality is the only area in which he’s ever been stronger than her. He doesn’t. He’s still half-trapped in the flashback, still choking on terror.
Percy laughs. Or, he intends to laugh. It comes out as a broken sob. “No, I suppose I’m not.” Another sob breaks free, and with it come words, unfiltered fears spilling from him like wine from a shattered goblet. “I’m… never going to be…free of her.” He folds over himself and Vex catches him, wraps her arms around him and holds him tight to her chest. “All these years…she’s just been… toying with me, letting me think I could…escape, but I’ve never…truly… left the dungeons . She’s…a nightmare that won’t stop… haunting me and I’m so tired of running. I’m terrified for the children. I want to grab them all and run. I want to…to take all of you and find Cassandra and disappear , all of us, but I know no matter where we go she’ll find me .” He buries his face in her neck and sobs.
She holds him for a long time, fingers lacing through his hair, and lets him sob until he can’t anymore. It reminds him of the first time he’d cried for his parents; after Vecna, and the ordeal with Grog and Pandemonium, after months of Vex’s own grief. He still doesn’t know what made that the night; some threshold crossed, until it was more than he could bear. Or maybe it had been the peaceful air of their room, the fact that he had no present catastrophe to put his racing mind to as a distraction. Vex had held him through those tears as well, and through every tearful night since. He’s tried to do the same for her, though he never quite feels he measures up.
Finally, he calms enough to speak. “How did you know I needed you?” It’s not really an important question, but it’s the first one he feels he can put a voice to.
“Kynan fetched me. He was worried.”
Percy closes his eyes. “Of course.” The boy—no, man, though Percy will always think of him as the boy Vax had taken under his wing—is too perceptive for his own good. He’ll have to thank him later, he supposes.
“This is real, Percival. You and me, here. This isn’t a nightmare. You’re not in that dungeon. You’re home, and you’re safe, and you’re not alone. I promise.” He feels her press a kiss to his temple.
He relaxes into her. “Do you think I’m being cruel?”
Vex strokes his hair as she considers her answer. It feels nice. “No, darling. I don’t think you’ve ever truly chosen cruelty.” He would disagree with that sentiment, but he’s too exhausted to protest. “I think you’re afraid, and with good reason. And I think it’s very difficult for you to show strangers that fear.”
Gods, but she knows him well. “I know those people must hate me. I would hate me, if I were in their shoes. But I can’t risk Delilah’s return. Not when I know what she’d do to our children, if she had the chance.”
Vex’s arms around him tighten protectively. He’s not sure if the gesture is meant for their own little ones, or the young version of himself Delilah tormented. “She won’t get the chance.”
Percy sighs, and then winces. Vex scarcely looks different from the day he met her, but he has very much aged since their adventuring days. His back and hips are protesting their current position; bent double in his desk chair, half-twisted to face his wife. He supposes he isn’t that old, although he sometimes feels ancient . He’d never truly expected to live this long, truth be told. And the years of injuries have taken a toll that even the divine can’t mend. Not so all-powerful after all, it seems. He sits up, joints popping as he does. Vex releases him, studying the pained look on his face.
“Next time I decide to have a panic attack, would you remind me to do it in bed?” He attempts to joke; Vex smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Are you alright, dear?”
She sighs. “Honestly? No, I don’t think so. Seeing her…I’ve thought about those people on the Sun Tree throughout the years. Probably not as often as I should have, but…they were just people . Like my mother.” Her voice cracks. “Just ordinary people trying to live their ordinary lives, and Delilah killed them, because of us .” She shakes her head. “I know it’s a risk. But…that poor girl was picked because she looked like me . That’s…hard to shake.” She takes an unsteady breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone who looked so much like me. And the way all her friends are grieving…it reminds me of my brother.”
Tears well in her eyes. Her voice trembles. Percy’s heart aches . He wishes, not for the first time, that he could have changed things. He would have given his life for Vax’s in an instant, if only so Vex could have him here, still. He knows she’d protest, has protested, that she couldn’t lose him any easier than she had lost her brother. But he knows she’ll lose him some day anyway. What is his short human lifespan compared to the hundred more years she should have yet had with Vax?
He takes her hand, squeezing it gently. Vex seems to find her voice again. “If someone could have helped him, I would have wanted them to try, no matter the cost.” She wipes at her tears. “And I think about you. When Ripley took you away from us. From me . If we’d given up when Pike felt Orthax’s grip on your soul…” She shakes her head. “I see myself in this Imogen. I see the way she looks at…her. It’s the same way I looked at you . And I…I want to help. I need to help.”
Percy cradles her cheek, wiping her tears away with his thumb. It’s clumsy; his hands are still shaking. But he can’t deny her this, because he feels the same. Of course he’d been lying to himself when he said Delilah was all he could see in that young woman’s face. He saw Vex there, too. And what he wouldn’t give to bring her back, if he lost her again. Whatever it took.
“I sketched a gun today.” He murmurs, reaching for the rough designs he’d made. Vex frowns, studying his face with worry. “Or, pieces for a gun. I’d like to say I hadn’t been thinking about it before all of this came up, but it wouldn’t be true. That…darkness is always going to be a part of me, much as I wish I could stamp it out.” He sighs. “I promised myself I’d never make another weapon. But I’d break that promise in an instant if it would keep you or Cassandra or the children safe. So I…understand the desperation. I’m certainly in no place to judge it.”
“Pike can do this. I know she can.” Vex says. “And what’s to say Delilah won’t find another way back if we do nothing? This way, maybe we can sever all her ties. She could be gone, truly gone.”
Percy sighs. “I hate it when you’re right.”
Vex winks at him, tears still drying on her cheeks. “No you don’t, darling.”
He thinks of their wedding day, of watching her thrash and sink, wrapped in chains. He remembers how helpless he’d felt. How terrified.
Whatever it takes.