or, the missing scene between robin and moth where she seeks him out that no-one asked for but you get anyway, complete with allusions to the author’s headcanons
He recognises her calling card as soon as he sees it.
It hasn’t changed since they were kids; a single, thin branch taped to the inside of his locker, a pink flower just beginning to bloom on the end of it. He actually smiles a little, in spite of himself, when he first finds it. It’s kind of nice, in a way, to see this hasn’t changed since he saw her last. And even better to imagine how she did this; slipped in unnoticed and blended in amongst the Baxter High students long enough to get that note into his locker. It can’t have been hard, not for her, but he’s impressed nevertheless. She was always good like that.
Soon after the nostalgia, however, comes the dread, especially when he sees the note stuck under the branch. He steps closer to the locker and straightens his shoulders, trying to block as much as possible despite the hallway being empty. School is finished now, the bell long since silenced, the only bodies still here either in classrooms or in the gym for basketball practice-where his boyfriend is now. There’s no-one around who could see it, and if they did they likely wouldn’t care, but that doesn’t stop him from taking precautions. The day he doesn’t might just be the day he should have.
Besides, this is beyond private.
His hands shake slightly as he lifts the note down from the door, his chest tightening. There’s no seal on it, he notes with faint surprise but also relief. At least it’s not an official request. When he opens it, he finds the message carefully written inside, if a little on the blunt side.
You. Me. Oak tree. ASAP. I’m waiting.
-Moth.
She’s nothing if not direct.
He lets out a long exhale and closes his locker, not before pocketing both the note and the branch. Amazing, how such tiny words can shake him so much. Make him feel like he’s been pushed down the stairs and had the air knocked out of his lungs. He leans his head against the locker door, eyes shut tight as he tries to think past the ringing in his ears.
He shouldn’t go. If his life with the Pagans is over, his life with them is left in the dust and it’s better staying that way. He wants it that way, he tells himself. He’s put so much energy into building a new life now and it’s good, better than good. As close to perfect as he’s ever known, and he’ll be damned if he does anything to risk that.
And after all, the last time he was there he was told to never come back. So by staying away, he’s merely following orders.
And yet… he reads the note again and try as he might, he can’t be completely okay with the idea of ignoring it. Maybe it’s because of who he is, some deeply-buried hobgoblin instinct pulling him, or a sense of twisted loyalty. His parents told him when he was a kid that no matter where he went, he’d always be tied to the forest, and this must be what they meant. It must be, because he can’t think of any other explanation as to why he might actually do this when every other cell in his body is digging their heels in. Telling him-or rather, begging him-to just toss her note in the trash and move on with his life.
His mind is made up when he looks down at the note again, his finger tracing the faintly-familiar writing. If he’s fast, and he is, he’ll be here and back before Theo’s finished basketball practice. He’s not planning on staying longer than he needs to anyway. Theo wondering where he’s been is actually the one thing he doesn’t need to worry about here.
He half-jogs through the silent corridors and down the front stairs, before heading out the front door. The air outside is cool enough, a welcome contrast to the prickling warmth overtaking his body. The parking lot is almost empty, save for a few cars and some trash blowing around in the wind. Even so, he can’t be too careful here, and he takes one last look around him before he takes off, leaving only the scattering leaves behind him.
His landing is far less graceful than he’d have liked it to be; skidding to a halt and just about managing to not trip over himself. He pushes his hair out of his face, turning slowly to survey the area. This should be the place, unless there’s another tree he was meant to meet her by. He doubts it, but takes the note out again anyway. They were never ones for hidden clues or anything, but he can at least pretend he’s doing something.
“You’ve gotten sloppy,” a voice comes from behind him, and he jumps out of his skin, a curse escaping his mouth and the note falling to the ground. But even with the frantically beating heart, a grin spreads across his face as he turns around, finding nothing at first, but then he lifts his chin, his eyes straining until he finds a flash of turquoise amongst the green leaves. The branches shift and rustle, and the flash of blue moves along until the branches part and he sees her smirking down at him, leaning up against a branch like it’s a lightpost. “Once upon a time you’d have stuck that landing.”
“I was in a rush. This was kind of last-minute,” he replies. “So are you coming down or am I coming up?” Moth purses her lips, but she jumps down onto a lower branch, then lower again, as quick and agile as any creature that would live in the tree. When she lands on the floor without a sound, he’s almost impressed.
She still looks the same. She’s changed, of course, taller, the round face of childhood gone, her blue-tinged hair falling just past her chin instead of tumbling down her back. But she’s still her, still with that defiant, so-what look in her eyes and there’s something comforting about that.
That comfort is likely the only reason he’s able to get out a “hi” when she lands. She nods, her arms folded across her chest, and the air around them tightens as they regard each other. She keeps her distance, like he’s got some infectious disease, and he tries to pretend it doesn’t hurt. He shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks the ground, trying not to let the uneasiness he feels show on his face. For all he knows, she’s enjoying this.
“Been a while, Puck,” she says eventually.
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “Been busy. Travelling. You know how it is.”
“Yeah. I do.” There’s a bitter edge to her voice that he can’t say he doesn’t deserve. Even if it’s maybe not fair. After all, she saw what happened too. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“I’m wondering if I should be insulted by that.”
“Well, I haven’t heard from you in a while,” she reminds him. “Last we heard you were on your way to Greenedale and then that was that. Nothing.” Her jaw clenches and his stomach twists itself into knots. He won’t feel bad here, he won’t. “And we didn’t even hear that from you.”
There it is. He clenches his jaw tightly, deliberately looking at the ground although it does nothing to alleviate the weight of her eyes on him. A flash of indignant anger runs through him, enough to, at least temporarily, shake away that tight, uncomfortable feeling in his gut.
Like he said, she saw what happened, and she had almost been on his side back then. Times change, he guesses, and so he can skip the formalities.
“Moth, I take it you didn’t go through all this effort just to make a social call,” he says flatly. “So what do you want?”
Her hands curl into fists at her side and for a moment hurt flashes across her face, before she swallows it and puts the mask back up.
“You’re right,” she sighs. “It isn’t a social call.” She takes a step closer, slightly narrowing the gulf between them. She raises her chin and as seconds pass in silence, she seems to be psyching herself up; her breathing slow and deep, her eyes regarding him warily, like he’s a frightened animal, and that’s when the alarm goes off in his head. “Oberon sent me.”
Those three words flip a switch in him. Not even the three of them. Just the one. Just that name. He backs away slightly, his chest tightening as he tries to keep his knees from buckling. Frankly, he’s amazed by the fact he keeps breathing. So much comes flooding back, things he’d pushed so far down he thought he’d healed. He’d forgotten exactly how much anger there is there, how much resentment he’d had piled up until it sits in front of him now. All of his old wounds reopen without warning, invisible blood running over his skin, and it doesn’t help that Moth is standing over there as a physical reminder.
Of all the paths he thought she’d take, this was the last one.
“So you’re his lackey now?”
“Someone has to be.” There’s a sting of accusation in both their comments, and the unsaid implications are clear, for him anyway. ‘Someone has to be, since you left’. “And I’m not a lackey.”
“Whatever,” he sighs, shaking his head. He backs up, blinking away the hot tears in his eyes and he replies with more callousness than he thought he was capable of. “Tell Oberon I don’t care. If he wants me, he can come and talk to me himself. I’m not dealing with a go-between.”
“Gods, will you stop acting like a child?” she spits back. “This is bigger than you and Oberon’s little spat, Puck, and you know it.” He shakes his head and is ready to leave, would have if not for what she said in that critical split-second. “You can feel it too. I know you can.” And that turns him around, almost involuntarily, while Moth mutters, “You haven’t been gone that long.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, ignoring the implication.
“Don’t play stupid, Robin,” she says. She closes the distance between them even more and up close, he can see the desperation etched onto her face, the concern shining in her dark eyes. She grasps his arm tightly, her fingers buried in his jacket, and her touch feels more like a plea. “This realm is different now. It’s not safe anymore, is it? You can feel it, I know you can.” She stares up at him, eyes blazing, and whatever lie he had prepared dies on his tongue.
He has felt it; he’s just chosen to ignore it. Every time the hair on the back of his neck raises, he pretends it’s just the wind. When worry sits like a heavy stone in his stomach, he pushes through it and moves on with his day. And whenever he bolts awake in the dead of night, his nerves sparking like livewires, he tells himself it’s nothing important. He told himself that over and over until it got stale, and it’s only in the past few days it’s become impossible to ignore.
Maybe it’s fate that Moth came to him now.
“Maybe I can,” he mumbles. He pulls his arm out of her grasp, but there’s next to no strength in it. “So what?”
“Then you know this realm is doomed,” she tells him.
“No,” he responds firmly. “No, me and my friends, we have a plan. We’re going to fight these, and we’re going to win. We’ve already defeated some of them before.” A bitter grin cuts across Moth’s face, and when she laughs, the sound is cold and hollow.
“You weren’t always this naive, were you?” she mutters. “Maybe all your time in this realm has done more damage than I thought.” She tosses her head, her hair falling away from her eyes, and crosses her arms over her chest. “You and your friends can try to save this realm. We’re trying to work out what to do if you can’t. That’s why Oberon sent me here.”
“Well isn’t he sweet?” he sighs. “You give the guy too much credit. You always did.”
“He cares about you,” Moth says. Her voice verberates throughout the forest and what’s worse is the conviction in it-so much damn passion in it that it hurts him. “You might refuse to believe it, but he does.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe it,” he mutters. He backs away from her, his fingers fidgeting at his side. His instinct is to tear into her, to remind her of every single thing Oberon has said and done to him to disprove her argument, but he holds it back. He didn’t come here to rub salt into old wounds and she didn’t come here to do so. So he lets the silence linger and clear his head, his pent-up resentment fizzling and fading into background noise. And as he breathes in, slow and deep, he registers what Moth said fully.
“So this plan,” he begins. Her head twitches up when he speaks and what’s more, her mouth turns up into a small smile. He suppresses a sigh, unable to believe he’s actually doing this. “What is it?”
“We don’t know yet,” she confesses. “But there’s a meeting tonight that’ll explain everything. And we want you there.”
“Oh, you do?”
“It’s for all hobgoblins,” she tells him. “And no matter where you go, you’re still a hobgoblin, Robin.” He nods, biting the inside of his cheek, and she studies him carefully, her expression teetering on hopeful. “So… are you coming?”
That’s the question. And when he thinks of his answer, he isn’t thinking of himself, not really, but about Theo. More specifically, he thinks about Theo in Blackwood’s perverted reality. A side effect of getting his real memories back in the perverted world means he remembers everything that happened there too, and more than anything he remembers watching Theo await execution. How he saw the fear on his perfect face, and how he could only stand helplessly with Zelda holding him back lest he run up there himself. He thought he knew what fear felt like before, but watching his boyfriend’s life hang by a thread blew his past away, and there hasn’t been a day since where he hasn’t thought about how close he came to losing him. And with that comes dark things he doesn’t like dwelling on but has to; what if next time he’s not quick enough? What if next time they don’t have magic? What happens if and when Sabrina’s luck runs out? All it takes is one unlucky move, and Theo could pay the price for it.
Besides, a back-up plan can’t hurt, can it?
He closes his eyes, and the image of Theo chained to the church wall flashes in his mind.
“When and where?” he asks flatly, and he opens his eyes just in time to see Moth’s shoulders sag in relief.
“Still working out the finer details,” she tells him. “We know it’ll be late. After midnight, we just don’t have a specific time. Apparently some pixies are being very uncooperative. Why don’t I just come up and pick you up? I take it I just turn left somewhere, follow the faint carnival music and then knock on the scruffiest-looking caravan, right?” she jokes, oblivious to the ugly history she missed.
And unknowingly bringing up the elephant in the room.
He really should contact her more often, if only to avoid moments like this.
“I uh… I actually don’t travel with the Pagans anymore,” he says.
“Oh,” is all she can reply with. She stammers for a bit, confused and curious, until he dismissively waves her hand, his cheeks warming slightly. “Uh… I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, no you’re not.” She doesn’t deny it; she never liked them. Turns out she was right. “It didn’t work out, that’s what happened.” He neatly side-steps everything else. It’s for another time, preferably with alcohol involved. He scratches behind his ear, opting to go for something that might be easier to explain, but probably infinitely more embarrassing. “Yeah I uh… I live with my boyfriend now.”
And just like the word “Oberon” flipped a switch for him, the word “boyfriend” flips a switch for Moth, only in the other direction. Her mouth slowly and steadily falls open, her eyes doubling, tripling in size and a decidedly uncharacteristic squeal emits from her. He wouldn’t have been surprised if birds had started fleeing the area. He laughs though. It feels good, like old times.
“Boyfriend?” she echoes. He nods and she smacks his arm, her own way of congratulating him. He’s glad to see she’s not gotten any weaker. He feels the bruise forming already. “Well look at you,” she sings proudly. “Never thought I’d see the day. What’s he like? Tall, dark, handsome? Romantic hero type? Or did you fall for the bad boy, because if I remember correctly, you do like them rough.”
“He’s not a bad boy,” he tells her. “He’s not. He’s…” He bites his lip. There aren’t enough words for him to describe Theo and certainly not in the time they have. “He’s sweet. And he’s funny.”
“Aw, you’re smitten, Puck,” she teases. “So what is he? Pixie? Sprite? Another hobgoblin? Where’d you even run into him?”
“Slow down, Moth,” he says. “First off, he’s mortal.”
That does put a damper on Moth’s mood. While it is rare, he’s not the first fae creature to love a mortal. He doubts he’ll be the last too. But that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable, at least in the fae folk’s eyes. In Moth’s.
He bites the inside of his cheek, watching her expression darken, and almost wishes he hadn’t said anything.
“Wow,” she breathes. “I take it he doesn’t know-”
“Oh, he does.” He smiles, feeling a sort of smug satisfaction. “He knows all about supernatural worlds. He knows what I am. He just doesn’t mind.”
“Well good for him,” Moth mutters. She stuffs her hands into her pockets and looks up briefly to check the sky, while Robin checks his watch. He still has time before Theo finishes, but he senses Moth might have places to be. “Okay, so I’ll pick you up at your boyfriend’s house, I guess?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “It’s that big farmhouse just outside town. You can’t miss it. I’d give you an address only-”
“Wise move,” she replies. “And what about the boyfriend?”
“You said it’ll be after midnight?” She nods. “Then he’ll be asleep. He won’t be a problem. Neither will his dad.” He shivers and pulls his jacket tiger around him. “He doesn’t need to know about this.”
“Glad to see you haven’t changed that much,” Moth tells him. He wants to ask what she means, but then realises he already knows. He’s not sure how he should take it, and so he lets it go entirely.
“I should go,” he says. “Theo-my boyfriend-he’ll be expecting me.”
“Ah, of course,” she says. “True love waits for no-one.”
“Speaking of true love, have you made a move on Merryweather yet?” he replies, and gets an enormous amount of satisfaction from watching the tips of her ears turn pink. “Well, keep working on it. Maybe I can ask her tonight.”
“Don’t you dare,” she whispers. She clears her throat steps back, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans. “I have to go too. Duty calls and all that. You know, being a ‘lackey’ as you put it is harder than it looks. But I’ll come pick you up tonight.”
“I’ll be there,” he replies.
“Cool.”
They stand there for a bit as the silence around them grows awkward and heavy, neither one sure if or when they should leave. There’s still so much unsaid between them, good and bad, but for now they’ve done all they can. When Moth eventually turns to leave, it’s with tiny little finger guns instead of a wave, because of course it is. She couldn’t take something seriously if she tried. She’s a lot like Theo in that way, he just realises. And in some more too. Maybe when it comes to the people he cares about, he has a type.
The sight of her turning away makes him realise, just now, how much he’s missed her. It’s yet another thing he tried to ignore, to forget, but it all comes back and hits him like an arrow shot to his heart. He missed her. For years, it was just her and him against the world, or at least in their minds, and whatever grudges he holds against the rest of the hobgoblins, Moth has always been the exception to that. They have their differences, but for so many years she was his better half. His best friend. It’s anyone’s guess how much of who he is now is owed to Moth. And in that critical moment, he realises that this time he is far less okay with letting her go.
Neither one of them can change what’s happened. They can’t go back to the way they were; they’re both too different now. But this is a second chance of sorts. Maybe they can change their future.
“Hey Moth?” he calls after her.
“Yeah?”
The sunlight catches her hair as she turns, and she looks so much younger then. Like they’re still the kids who chased each other through the forest. He smiles at her and pretends the lump in his throat doesn’t exist.
“It’s good to see you,” he tells her. It’s an understatement, truthfully, but it’s the best he can do for now. She gets it, of course. She huffs a laugh, but the disguise is short-lived and he sees right through it anyways. When she looks at him, it’s not quite a reconciliation, but it’s closer than they were before.
“You too, Puck,” she calls back. He goes to say something else but then she’s gone, the scattered leaves the only evidence that she was ever here in the first place.
AU where Robin is with the hobgoblins when he first meets Theo instead of with the Pagans and the whole beginning of their relationship is characterised by Moth rolling her eyes and making sarcastic comments.
