Whether or not Dirk had been joking about the crocodile tongues back in the treehouse, it can't be helped, because Jake is fresh out of them, and stealing them from his seemingly omniscient grandmother was never an easy task. But despite this, having this mysterious future person to work with him by the orange light in the perennially burning lanterns serves as a catalyst for Jake.

His tendons ache in almost every muscle on his back and along his arms with unhealthy febrility, not that he ever complains because over time, this will all pay off. But cripes, he thinks he could really use some crocodile tongues right about now...

"Jake," begins his new companion, planting the blade of his shovel in the pulpy soil of the pumpkin patch, "your method of disemboweling this vegetable is rather reckless."

"Really?" calls Jake from inside the pumpkin. Every night he must shimmy through a small hole he has bored through the outside (now made even more conspicuous, since he had to widen it slightly to accommodate Dirk) and clear out the goop from the bottom. "How so?"

"Taking it from the bottom could trigger a veritable mudslide. You would be buried alive in stringy, foul smelling pumpkin flesh."

"Then suppose I'll just eat my way out," Jake muses in response, never one to take advice, especially advice advising against foolhardiness. Because that's what an adventurer does, or rather what he does not do.

He crawls back out to where Dirk is, sitting by his feet as he is still regarding the pumpkin. He's brilliant, really. Jake couldn't have wished on a star for a better last-of-the-human-race type man to fall out of the sky in a time capsule thingamajig or whatever the dickens happened. The moment of inactivity is a welcome break for his sore body, but Dirk has somehow scaled the pumpkin while he's not looking. "Strider, what are you doing up there?" he demands, watching in disbelief as Dirk produces his sword and does the unthinkable.

And here Jake had thought the fancy katana was just for show...

In seconds flat, Dirk has scalped the pumpkin in a very impressive movement and heaved the top off, some of the fibrous innards still attached to the cap. Jake nearly screams in dismay, running to the side of the gourd and pushing it slightly, rocking it, not that Dirk will ever lose his balance. "What have you done, Strider?! She's going to notice that right away!"

"O, ye of little faith," he responds, dangling the pumpkin scalp like a trophy, one foot knee-deep in goop, the other propped up on the sturdy rim like Captain Morgan. With that, he discards the rind off to the side, shattering a few ambient pumpkins in the process. Jake is not sure whether to be angry or overcome with nervousness, because Grandma is not going to tolerate this.

He just stands beside it, stunned and slack-jawed, projectile pumpkin flesh whizzing by his head, at a loss for words. Finally, Dirk's head appears, peeking over the immense orange wall and asking, "Are you gonna help me, or just stand there?"

Indecisively, Jake falters between climbing up the smooth side of the vegetable or just running back to his room. Dirk has committed to helping him after all, and abandoning him would be nigh treasonous, but somehow, Jake just doesn't get the feeling that he understands what true magic is all about just yet. He doesn't believe hard enough, or maybe even at all. Still, he grabs his shovel and clambers to the top, joining Dirk in the unstable mass of flesh.

Pumpkins are rather hollow vegetables to begin with, so Jake has never estimated this endeavor of taking more than a month. However, now with Dirk so ambitiously innovating his new methods for digging out the inside of the pumpkin, it could take a week. Maybe only a few nights. But still, time is not on their side, and they would probably need more crocodile tongues than Grandma had ever boiled to get this done in a night. "So Dirk," he begins, nearly losing his footing and sliding down to the bottom of the pumpkin. "What did you have in mind for covering this shebang up?"

"You are familiar with the term jack-o-lantern, right?"

"You're mental if you don't think she'll notice that right away!"

"Just calm your ass down, dude. I really need you to trust me on this."

Behind the impenetrable surface of black mirrored glass, it's impossible to discern what he's thinking. Jake begins to wonder if his trusting disposition had really gotten him into trouble this time, if Dirk was mad or evil or had some ulterior motives.

"I... I'm afraid I can't let you do that," he says seriously, stopping the digging to stare at where Dirk's eyes would be without the glasses. "You must stop!"

"Stop?" he repeats, watching carefully as Jake tentatively drops his shovel. "Well, ok."

"R-really?"

"No. Sorry about this, Jake."

"About wh—"

A peculiar throbbing and the sound of swing music greets Jake as he opens his eyes. He finds himself lying in the recovery position in a familiar pile of pillows, daylight streaming through the windows despite the fact that the string of butterflies is still glowing, like no one told them the sun came up. He sits up, his head painful and his cheek lubricated with saliva, and straightens his glasses as his eyes lazily locate his new friend, who may be a traitor by now, Dirk Strider, sitting in the corner with the old radio.

"What... What the devil happened?"

"Oh," he begins nonchalantly, his nimble fingers on the dials. "I knocked you out with a shovel last night after you threatened me."

"Threatened you?" he repeats. "I beg your pardon!"

"Whatever. Does this radio get any stations or what?"

"No. Just that one, so it'll do no good to sit there mucking about with it..." The comment was made a bit fiercely, but how friendly was a guy to be when he had been bludgeoned with a gardening tool? His fingers find the pain in his forehead and rub at it, despite feeling a gash. "Ow..."

Dirk is alert, smoothly traversing the treehouse to kneel in front of him. "Don't touch it, Jake," he says calmly, leaning in to look at it. "I still need to treat it."

"That would be rather ace of you," he mumbles in response.

"Yeah, but I need some medical supplies. 'You know where we could get any?"

"Grandma has some," Jake answers automatically. "Oh, Grandma! Great Caesar's Ghost, the pumpkin! Oh, fuck!"

"Calm down," Dirk scolds. "She's totally cool with it."

Gawping, Jake runs to the window. There out in the pumpkin patch is his grandmother and her faithful wolf dog Bec, admitting tourists to see the giant pumpkin, or what is now a giant Jack-o-lantern. "Why... How could... Isn't she..."

"Some advice: try to form the sentence in your head before vocalizing it. You sound like a moron." The blond has come to stand next to him, arms on either side of the makeshift window sill (and successfully pinning Jake in) to lean his head out slightly.

"Well, stone the crows and pickle the lizards!" he exclaims, ducking out from under Dirk's outstretched arm.

"You know what? Forget my advice. It doesn't seem to help you... Where are you going?"

"I have to get down there!" he responds, nearly slipping on the first rung as he fumbles to get on the ladder.

He slides down several of them and jumps off the last ten, a considerable distance that he has grown used to falling from anyway. He impacts heavily with the ground and scrambles up to run across the garden to where Grandma stands, collecting money from tourists as usual. He sidles up to her, and she doesn't acknowledge him, although she knows he's there. It would be impossible for her not to know he's there, she is a witch after all. Jake peers around to examine the pumpkin's new face, crisp, precise triangles and a three-toothed grin. Hundreds of candle sticks already littered the floor with wax drippings, giving the face a luminous glow.

"It's pretty marvelous, isn't it?" she asks without even looking at him. "And it's all thanks to Dirk! I'm thinking about making him my protégé..."

"Marvelous indeed..." Jake responds. Despite the fact that he is leaving the island, he still can't help but be put off by his replacement. He had never been the most innovative, but it was sort of his birth right to take care of things after Grandma was gone. Not that he wants to.

She suddenly turns to him, grinning. "I'm just kidding, Jake! You seem a bit on edge today. And what happened to your forehead?"

"Er..." begins Jake awkwardly, laying a finger to it.

"He got a little too rough last night at our sleepover."

Jake spins around, his heart pounding. Dirk has managed to sneak up on them and stands, slouching nonchalantly, his face unflappable. "Well, Jake, why don't you show Dirk to the lab? You know where the first aid kits are."

"Yes, Grandma."

"And after that, you two can tend the dahlias."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Deadly nightshade, balm of Gilead, dragon's blood, frog's breath... Just sitting on the counter, reading the names on the bottles in Grandma's spell cabinets makes Jake's head throb more. Dirk is perusing the shelves, suspiciously, as usual. "You know, labs are usually more scientifically equipped. In fact, there's nothing scientific about this place."

"You certainly are presumptuous, Mr. Strider. I'll give you that," he mutters as a response, sliding back the door on the hutch a bit more to reveal a jar between the stardust and the general plasma. Its contents are aglow in the shaded cabinet, and Jake strains his arm to reach them. He rolls his fingertips over the top until the jar is dislodged and catches it shakily, quickly stowing it behind his back. Crocodile tongues. Traditionally, they would be sealed in a parcel of some sort, because they eschew daylight. The little buggers get all shaken up and will scurry anywhere they can to be away from it. But the cabinet was dark anyway, and glass jars are more sanitary.

"What's that, Jake?" Dirk turns his discerning gaze on him.

"What's what?" he gets out, pressing his head awkwardly against the wall behind him.

"What did you say?"

"Oh, I've already forgotten."

Jake smiles disarmingly, and Dirk approaches him with the first aid kit in hand. Jake can feel the jar rattling behind him and drapes his shirt over them to calm them down. It wouldn't do much good for Dirk to catch him stealing, after all, even though he is the one he is conspiring with.

"So, about this pumpkin of yours," he begins, moving in close to apply the antiseptic with a cotton ball. "How do you propose that it will become airborne?"

"Strider, have you learned nothing?" He hisses slightly with the sting of the medicine.

"No, don't say magic. What spell do you know of that's going to lift a giant vegetable off the ground?"

"There's another way."

"Please tell me it has nothing to do with seagulls or gargantuan talking insects."

"Close, but no. Come on, I'll show you."