#utterson would die for his friends and henry is like ''damn you're amazing you're the greatest''

[nik-the-bik]

Henriel Week Day 7: Alternate Ending

"The Fate of Your Soul"

Summary: A "What if Hyde didn't end up dead and Utterson spoke to him after finding everything out?" scenario

Last entry of Henriel week and I am once again thanking @corvidayyy for putting this together because I had too much fun planning these

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Utterson squeezed the bridge of his nose as he fought off the pain and exhaustion of everything that had happened tonight.

Poole’s arrival, listening into Jekyll’s cabinet, breaking down the door, and the awful, terror infused screaming of Hyde pleading for mercy as the two charged in, pinning him to the ground as a vial of some substance clattered to the floor, the man writhing beneath them.

He didn’t think he would ever be able to escape the echoing shouts of “Not you! Not like this—please not you!” that had made his blood run cold as he called out to Bradshaw to summon the nearest policemen.

By the time the police arrived, Hyde had entered full hysteria, gasping sobs melting into unhinged laughter in a way that was overwhelmingly pitiful, if Utterson only but listened. To see the man struggle only tinged these feelings of pity with disgust. He did his best to keep his gaze averted.

And while his search of the cabinet hadn’t found Henry Jekyll, he did find the letters.

God, the letters. The information within them was all too much for his mind to process, and his head was hurting him worse than it had in years. When he had first finished Henry’s confessional, he had found himself sobbing—something that he probably hadn’t done in three decades. Too many conflicted feelings existed within him to make any sense of them, but as he composed himself with a hot cup of tea (with a healthy dose of bourbon mixed in), he brought himself to reading them a second and third time, desperate to understand.

After pouring through these pages, eyes burning from the strain of reading in the dim study, Utterson could understand nothing but a deep, deep ache in his very soul for the fate of poor old Harry Jekyll.

He pried himself out of his chair, desperate to do something—anything, but sit here for another moment with his thoughts. He turned to his coat and hat, still laying in a heap where he had tossed them after coming home, and prepared himself to step out into the brisk, dark air.

It was not long ‘til dawn when Utterson arrived at the precinct where they were holding Mr. Hyde.

After pacing the outside block a few times, Utterson finally steeled himself enough to enter the building where he almost immediately ran into a gentleman he recognized – the Newcomen who he had assisted during the Carew case. Thinking back to that time made his stomach turn anew.

“Ah, Mr. Utterson, good morning,” said Newcomen, looking tired himself. “I regret to inform you that there is no news yet of the whereabouts of Dr. Jekyll, but we have a full team dedicated to finding your man as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” Gabriel muttered, peering around nervously. “But that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

“Oh?” Newcomen shifted, doing his best to hide his sudden burst of curiosity.

“I would like to meet with Edward Hyde.”

Newcomen laughed. “No need for that! We have everything under control with him, and before long his time before the gallows will be scheduled—”

“I insist, Inspector.”

Newcomen froze.

“I’d like to speak with him alone, sir,” Gabriel continued.

“-er---alone?”

“Why yes, of course. I’m acting as his legal counsel.”

“You—you—I'm -- sorry, what?” Newcomen was standing there, mouth agape, no longer showing any signs of fatigue. Gabriel, however, felt the exhaustion run deeper than it had before. He sighed, handed the officer his card, and asked to be shown into a private interrogation room.

As he sat in the small, cold, gray room, head in his hands, Utterson couldn’t decide whether he had made the correct choice in coming here or not. The endless ways this encounter could go were daunting, the wait unbearably long, and he suddenly found that he'd much rather be back home in front of the fire. Or in bed.

Utterson’s stomach sunk low at the sound of the door opening. Hyde was escorted in by a pair of officers, who forced him into a chair and chained his hands together and ankle to the leg of his chair. Utterson couldn't bear to watch—the whole proceeding making him nauseous. He kept his gaze on the floor as he waited for the policemen to finish. He gave a curt nod as they departed while they reminded him that they would be in the hall and at his full disposal if anything were needed.

When they were alone, Utterson finally let himself look directly at Hyde.

Before this night, Utterson had only ever seen Hyde on one other occasion. To see him now, it was almost difficult to say that it was the same man.

The Edward Hyde before him was a little taller, a little older, and much more pale and sickly than his previous self. There was also something much more feral about him, with the way that his eyes sharply dashed across the room, unnaturally tense and agitated. His body was tightly coiled inward, breathing shallow, like a snake preparing to strike. He could see his jaw working too, as though he was chewing his words before he allowed them to tumble out of his mouth.

“You, then?” was all that the creature before him managed to grunt out. His voice sounded much raspier too, raw from the screaming that had taken place earlier.

“Me.”

Another interlude of silence.

“Why are you here?”

“I would like some answers.”

“Answers to what?” Hyde asked, eyeing him suspiciously. The words were spit at Utterson like they were poison.

“I’ve read the letter. All of it. And Lanyon’s too.”

“You have?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you’re here?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know all. Henry Jekyll is gone. I can’t help you.”

“Are you sure, Harry?”

Hyde convulsed suddenly, looking as though he had been smacked. When he composed himself again, staring directly at Utterson, he seemed to soften, if only slightly. His eyes, darker than Henry’s, nonetheless held something in them that drew Utterson in.

“I’m quite sure. It’s a hopeless case. You’re pleading for a dead man,” Hyde answered, a little more gravity to his voice than the short, raspy whispers of before.

They stared at each other for another moment, Utterson desperate to find anything, anything at all that would connect the miserable creature before him to the man he used to regard as his dearest friend, his family, his—well—everything.

“Henry Jekyll was not one to abandon hope so quickly.”

Hyde laughed then, a sad, desperate cackle. “Really? Is that so? I guess you didn’t know him as well as you thought! You really think that after all this, after everything you’ve learned, that you even knew him at all? The Henry Jekyll you knew, the Henry Jekyll you WANT, is gone. In fact, he never existed. I’m all that’s left—the miserable, miserable testament to all his sin, his failure, and every twisted thing that he had always been all along. You’re wasting your time and mine, Utterson, and I have precious little of it left.”

Hyde shut his eyes then, turning his face away from Utterson, refusing to even look at him. Utterson was afraid that the pitiable hysteria of before—when they had found Hyde alone in Jekyll’s cabinet, would resurface. He could see that Hyde was restraining himself against some deep emotion.

Utterson brought his hand to his brow and groaned. It was too late, or early, and exhaustion was clutching him like a vice. He continued to watch Hyde, and that usual disgust that his presence typically inspired was beginning to wane, ever so slightly, the longer they sat with each other. Of course, he had to keep reminding himself who this man truly was in order to keep those feelings at bay.

Finally, “What are we going to do, Henry?”

Hyde sputtered. “We? I--”

“The eyewitness account doesn’t help us at all, and the fact that I had previously cooperated with the police to corroborate the testimony—”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“And it has been far too long since I’ve been involved in criminal law—”

“Utterson!” Hyde pleaded. Gabriel paused and brought his gaze back to Hyde. “You can’t, you can’t really be here to—”

“Have you forgotten my promise? I once promised Henry Jekyll that I would ensure Edward Hyde gets his rights, and that is exactly what I intend to do. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do anything to save you, but…”

Utterson trailed off. Hyde looked at him, dumbstruck. It was though he were finally considering the character of the man before him, and not instinctively assuming every man he faced was an enemy. Tears began to brim Hyde’s eyes again, and Utterson was on the verge of letting his own tears spill for the second time in over 30 years.

“Why are you doing this?” Hyde asked, voice trembling.

How to answer? There were so many things to say, lifetime's worth.

Utterson reached a hand across the table and grabbed hold of one of Hyde’s. The smaller man flinched and started to pull away but stopped himself. While it didn’t feel quite right to Utterson, it wasn’t the hand of Henry Jekyll, there was a bewildering comfort in it nonetheless.

“Because the fate of your soul is not sealed yet, but no matter where it goes, I refuse to let it go alone,” Utterson said.

The two sat there in silence, hands held tightly, as dawn broke in the cold London morning outside.