Chapter Text
“Come on, Arthur! We can’t stop now!”
Arthur let out a strangled sob of agony, sending an icy wave of worry through John. He could feel Arthur’s entire body shiver violently, feel the thick, warm blood run down from his forehead into his own eyes, and no matter how hard he blinked, everything around him was tainted crimson. He knew Arthur was in atrocious pain – and it made him want to tear at his own soul – but he could hear the creature behind them, coming closer and closer, the thundering of its massive paws shaking the ground beneath them.
“I c- I can’t!” Arthur coughed and John felt his tears burn, salt mixing with the blood.
“We can’t stop,” he repeated desperately. He could see glimpses of the beast in the corner of his vision, a mass of darkness and rolling muscles, a drooling maw wide open to reveal sharp teeth, a dozen – no, a thousand! – eyes burning with rage and a multitude of sickly colors, every single pupil fixed on them.
“I-I can’t go on,” Arthur sobbed, gasping for air.
And still he went on, pushing on his legs to keep treading in the heavy snow, biting his tongue so he could focus on that shot of pain and not the torturous electricity humming in the rest of his body. Nausea rolled through him in oily waves, dizziness so strong he felt like his soul flickered in and out of his bones.
“There, on your right, hide behind that rock!” John suddenly cried, and Arthur didn’t think twice. He lurched forward, his burning hands soaked in blood feeling their way around the stone before he collapsed in a curled heap of shivers.
“Don’t move!” John urged, and the panic in his voice sent another ripple along Arthur’s skin. He held his breath, making his body as small as he could. He could feel the hard snow vibrate beneath his face, shake and whine with every pounding step from the beast that was coming ever closer – and he felt like crying when it let out a bloodcurdling howl, like a thousand screams of wrath and fury woven together. All his limbs, all his nerves, were alight with burning pain and cold seeped through his skin, making his teeth chatter. The beast roared again and he started, the sudden movement ripping a whimper out of his throat. Immediately, John put his hand on his mouth, shaking fingers pressed against his dry lips.
“Don’t move, Arthur, I’m begging you. Don’t make a sound.”
Arthur could feel the tears pouring down his face now, their warmth scalding on his frozen skin. The pain in his arms and legs and chest was slowly being replaced by a wide numbness, an icy and haughty ocean spreading through his blood. He felt his grip on reality slowly give away, his only anchor John’s touch on his trembling mouth.
The beast was coming closer and closer and the ground rumbled as though it might break open beneath them, and Arthur felt each of its step like a bite into his skin, ripping, tearing, devouring him whole until there was nothing left. He could hear John trying to reassure him, his low voice sounding more and more distant, flowing out of him into the ether and-
Something leapt through the snow, only a few feet away from them, and the thundering of its race dimmed and dimmed, and then it was gone.
Both of them had stopped moving altogether, holding their breath. It couldn’t be so easy. It just couldn’t.
John slowly removed his hand from Arthur’s mouth. “I think… I think it’s gone.”
Arthur swallowed, the words jumbled in his fogged mind. “A-are you s-sure?”
John narrowed his eyes, scanning their surroundings. It was getting dark, but the bare trees made it easier to see – and there was nothing there. Nothing but endless plains of white.
“I think so.”
“Thank God,” Arthur breathed out. He felt relief flood through him but like the rest, it felt distant, as if he was lying right beside his body somehow. A moment before, he had wanted nothing more than to run for safety, get out of the hellish grasp of winter, but now he found he had no desire left to move. He only lied there, curled on the snow, his breathing slowing and slowing and slowing.
“Arthur? Why are we not moving?”
“J-just. G-give me a s-second.”
John felt himself stiffen. Something was wrong; Arthur’s voice was slow and slurred, and he didn’t move.
“Arthur we have to move or we’ll die here.”
“I know,” Arthur replied, and still, he didn’t stir.
“Arthur, please we-”
Sound burst all around them, a roar ripping through the winter wind like an arrow – but Arthur only felt its vibration. His head felt so, so impossibly heavy, his body too, as if he was being pulled underwater. He could no longer hear what John was saying, only perceive the utter panic and despair in his voice. His voice… Arthur could no longer remember a time when it wasn’t there, rumbling in his skull, in turns angry and exasperated and fond. When it didn’t make the entire world in John’s image.
John had known fear. Of course he had, especially through Arthur. But it now seemed like nothing compared to what he felt now. He kept trying to make Arthur move, touching his face and arm, pushing on his hand to make him stand up – but he lied there, his breathing so slow John ached to hear it.
And the beast was there, immense and impossible, burning like embers, monstrous snouts pulled back over teeth like weapons, the snow sizzling where the creature’s bloodied spit hit the ground. And its eyes – God, its eyes! They were set on them, on Arthur’s body, and John felt vertigo wash over him, tear him apart as he looked into them and only saw one thing: hunger.
That… thing, it was going to tear through Arthur’s body, mutilate it beyond recognition, gorge itself on his pale flesh and blood, eat him whole until he was just a scarlet spray on the dirty snow, a cry of agony lodged in John’s essence.
The being made a step, and John could swear its black, wet lips pulled back in a horrific, frenzied smile.
“Arthur,” he said again, though he knew it was in vain.
“John,” Arthur murmured in return, his voice whisked away by the howling wind. His entire body was heavy and still – and yet he shifted his hand until he found John’s, pressing it weakly. “’m sorry.”
The beast made another step, a low, hungry growl rumbling in its hideous throat – and it almost sounded like laughter.
No.
“Arthur, please,” John pleaded but Arthur wasn’t responding anymore. He could barely see through Arthur’s heavy lids, the shape of the monster growing closer and closer, its mouth opening and twisting so it split into many voids, rows and rows of teeth swirling, sharp, black tongue flicking the air, curling towards Arthur, its shadow falling upon them, all-enveloping, all-devouring, carrying the stench of a life-ending, world-destroying malevolence.
No, John thought again. Not now. Not yet.
He pressed Arthur’s hand in his, tight, and somewhere in the swirl of his being he thought something akin to a heart was racing.
“Kayne,” he said, calm at first, before the beast roared and leapt at them, and he screamed his spirit-lungs raw. “KAYNE!”
The world stood still.
The wind no longer whipped the trees and snowflakes hung in the air. The beast was frozen like a monstrous statue, teeth bared and claws glinting under the last lights of the day, all aimed at them.
And there he was.
Kayne.
“Well, well, well,” he said, and John gritted his teeth when the entity grinned. “If it isn’t my favorite little fragment of our dearest King.”
“I need your help.”
Kayne widened his eyes, falsely shocked. “Well, straight to business I see! What can I do for you?” He looked down at Arthur’s still form. “Or maybe for our poor Arty here, hmm?”
“Yes,” John said urgently. “I need your help to save him!”
The being hummed, giving the frozen beast next to him a bored glance. “Yes, it seems you both are in a, uh, delicate situation.” He looked back in John’s direction, casually crossing his arms over his chest. “Why do you need my help?”
John stilled, confused. “What?”
“Why do you want to save him? So badly that you call me?”
John was at loss for words, painfully aware of the beast’s thousand eyes on them, of Arthur’s terrifying stillness. “I-I can’t let him die.”
“But why?”
Frustration rose inside him. “Why do you need to know why? I just can’t let him die like this!” He felt dizzy with a whirlwind of emotions, his fingers curled desperately around Arthur’s. “I can’t let him die at all,” he finally breathed, his voice low and shaky. “Take whatever you need from me but save him. Just… save him.”
Kayne stared at him, his eyes glinting with curiosity.
“Interesting…” he murmured to himself, before he clapped his hands, making John start. “Alright, I have an idea then!” The being trotted up to Arthur’s limp form, crouching in front of him so he could look into his half-open eyes. “I’ll give you a body.”
John felt his shadow of a heart miss a beat. “A body?”
Kayne smiled – a smile that was just a little wide to be human. “Yes, my dear John, a body. So you’ll be able to save your precious Arthur from the claws of this oh so terrible beast!”
“What’s the catch?” John asked warily. He remembered Arthur’s own deal with the entity too well.
Kayne’s smile only continued to stretch. “Oh, you’ll see. Nothing too bothersome, I assure you.”
“Then do it,” John snapped before despair and terror shot through him once more. “Please.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll save him,” Kayne said as he stood up again. “If you manage to get rid of the beast first, of course.”
“What?”
Kayne simply winked at him and snapped his fingers – and the world moved again.
John felt a sudden searing pain, so great and so vicious it blinded him – but it didn’t matter. The beast’s roar of hunger was now laced with rage, perhaps feeling it had been tricked by something greater than itself, and it lunged at them with all its maws open.
It surprised him, how easily it came to him. It was instinct, really.
The creature leapt into the air, teeth ready to tear at Arthur’s flesh, and John simply… burst. He didn’t glide out of his new form as much as he expanded it, turning into a wall, a wave of nothingness, oily black and terrible, rising and rising, roaring with the force of a thousand tides. He snapped and swirled and flared, tendrils reaching and grabbing and pulling and ripping, and the beast howled, oh it howled, in pure agony as it was un-made from the inside, torn apart by that darkness that burned and sizzled and longed. When it retreated, there was nothing left of the creature, not even blood.
All had been consumed.
John slowly came back down to an understandable form, panting. He felt sickness lapping in his throat, a wide feeling of uneasiness coursing through his veins. This didn’t feel right, he had to-
Oh, God.
He rushed to Arthur’s side, half-flickering, falling down on his knees in the icy ground. Oh – he felt it all, all of a sudden. The glacial wind lashing at his… face? The snow sinking into his skin, drenching his whole being as he started to shudder. It was like a tidal wave of sensation, each like a dagger jabbed into his flesh – cold and pain and tiredness and exhaustion and fear, acid fear he could taste on his tongue, in the tears burning in his eyes.
Arthur was still, too still. He was curled on himself, fingers turned blue, white flakes touching his dark lashes and hair.
“Fuck,” John muttered and he felt it for the first time, the jolt in his chest of a real, physical heart, beating and beating and beating, so hard and so fast he thought it might burst. He reached for Arthur, ignoring the glimpse of long, pitch-black fingers, ignoring the electric jolt that shot through him when he touched Arthur, not with the hand he had taken from him, but with his own.
“Arthur,” he whispered, shaking his shoulder lightly. He repeated his name but still, he didn’t stir. His skin was frozen cold when John touched his cheek and when he leaned close to his face, his breathing was so dim he could barely hear it. He swore again, his voice strangled, before he looked around, soon realizing there was nothing, and no one, there to help them.
Throat tight, he took a shuddering breath that burned cold down his lungs. Slowly, he passed his hands beneath Arthur, ignoring the howling of pain in his muscles and bones as he took him up in his arms, ignoring the other warm feelings that spread inside him to be able to hold him like this.
He knew what he had to do. If his annihilation of the beast had proven anything, it was that this body was not so different than what he used to be. Ignoring the bitter disgust that realization provoked, he focused on the way he used to be able to move, shifting particles and moving shadows, slipping between places in a whisper. He thought of the little cabin he and Arthur had occupied recently, its wooden walls and warm fireplace and creaking floors, and he breathed and focused on the self-destruction of his form, except this time he thought of wrapping protective tendrils around Arthur and suddenly-
He was there.
He exhaled in a relieved gasp, before remembering Arthur was not yet safe. He focused on one task at a time: gently put him down on the bed, get him out of his shoes and heavy coat, before pulling several blankets over him. He half-ran, half-flickered to the fireplace, starting a fire as quickly as he could, before he hurried back to Arthur’s side, kneeling beside the bed.
God, he was looking awful. His face was deathly white, his lips blue and dry, and there was blood all over him. Rage boiled inside him: he could finally see Arthur from his own eyes, pull a blood-soaked strand of hair away from his face with his own fingers, and yet he was just as helpless as before. Perhaps he should find a doctor, or anyone that could help, for Arthur was still, so still, his breathing hard and wheezing, his brow pulled in pain.
But how could he do that? He turned to the small mirror on the nightstand – and looked away almost instantly. There was no way he could go into town like this.
He could only stay by Arthur’s side, watching his breathing go up and down and up and down again, fearing that every wave of his chest would be the last. He heated some water and passed a warm rag on Arthur’s face, cleaning the dried blood as best as he could, picking the last spare blanket from the closet when he saw him shudder violently.
And still it wasn’t enough. Hours passed and Arthur was still white and blue, each breath a pained shiver, and he didn’t wake. John found himself down on his knees beside the bed, utterly helpless, praying that Arthur would be alright – praying! what a foreign concept to him, especially when he was the one begging unseen forces to spare him.
Night was a thick stretch of pure blackness when he realized he felt exhausted, his shadow of a body weary and stiff and numb at the same time. Arthur kept shivering and John thought his skin had gone a shade even paler. He didn’t know what to do anymore, a low, soul-breaking sob threatening to burst from his mouth. Arthur had kept them both alive all this time and now he was almost gone, because of him.
Shaking, John felt his conscience wither to a primal-like state, and he climbed-flickered onto the bed, crawling towards Arthur before he curled behind him like a wounded animal. He could barely see the room around him, tiredness and prickling tears making it a blur, and every time Arthur’s whole body was shaken by a wave of shivers, he felt like being torn from the inside. He was half delirious when he slipped his shadow beneath the covers, shifting closer until he fit against Arthur, leaning his forehead between his shoulder blades – slowly at first, before despair took over him and he pressed himself against him, curling an arm and tendrils around him to keep him close.
For the first time ever, he could touch and he was warm, and as he sunk into tormented slumber, he thought that perhaps, it would be enough.
***
Arthur awoke to warmth – which was odd because the last thing he remembered before sinking into silent darkness was the agonizing bite of cold.
Yes, he was warm, a pleasant numbness in all his limbs despite their light stiffness, as if his muscles had melted to a syrupy liquid, coursing through his body and making him feel alive again. Slowly, he became aware of other sensations: the weight of blankets on top of him, the dying fire crackling in his ear, the wind blowing outside the walls.
The embrace of an arm around his waist. The press of a body tight against him. The sound of sleep-slow breathing behind him.
He started shaking, violently, and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling. “John.”
No answer.
“J-John,” he repeated, gulping.
“Hmm”, John finally replied and the figure stirred behind him.
Arthur yelped, stiffening. “J-John, there-there’s something – o-or someone – behind me.”
“What?” John replied, and his voice sounded so odd, clearer somehow, more solid. It also bore the familiar drawl of someone who had just emerged from the sunken depths of sleep.
Arthur swallowed again, trying to calm the tremors in his body. “There’s s-something right behind me. In the bed. I-I can feel it moving,” he whispered, feeling his skin crawl when the shape moved again.
“Oh!” John exclaimed and the stranger disentangled themselves from Arthur in a hurry. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”
Arthur didn’t wait for more explanation and pushed the blankets aside, leaping from the bed like a mad devil. He crawled to the nearest wall, before flattening his back against the wood, chest heaving.
“W-what do you see?”
“I, uh…”
“John, what do you see?” Arthur asked, his voice a strangled cry.
You, thought John, a pang to his heart. I see you, curling in a corner, terrified, and I know you can’t see me but it feels like I’m your nightmare, the very horror you’re running from.
He slowly extracted himself from beneath the blankets, climbing down the bed with slow movements. “Listen to me, Arthur, I need you to calm down.”
“Calm down?” Arthur exclaimed, incredulous through the terror. “There was s-someone or something in my bed, right next to me, John! Just tell me what the fuck you’re seeing!”
“There’s no one else here, just us.”
“Why are you lying to me?” Arthur spat, features distorted, body shaking. “And why does your voice sound like that?”
John froze, petrified by the sight of Arthur’s anger. Silence stretched in the room, Arthur starting every time he heard John shifting or drawing in a heavy breath. Finally, John sighed and knelt in front of Arthur, but not too close.
“I wasn’t lying, Arthur. It’s just you and me here.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I’m here too.”
Arthur didn’t uncurl from his wary stance, only frowned in confusion. “What?”
“I have a body.”
Arthur’s eyes shot open in surprise. “What?” he repeated, visibly stunned.
John sighed, weariness washing over him. “We were in danger. The creature was going to attack us and you weren’t moving anymore. So I called for Kayne and I made a deal with him.” Arthur ticked at this, his expression darkening. “He gave me this body so I could save us.”
“What’s the catch?” Arthur asked flatly.
“Well, he left me to fight the creature, for a start. And then I suppose…”
“What?”
“No, it doesn’t matter,” John said, shaking his head. “What does is that we’re alive. You’re alive.”
Arthur kept quiet. John could practically see the cogs turning behind his eyes, in the way he was staring ahead, frowning, lips thinning in wariness. He realized it was the first time he could stare at Arthur properly, and not in a reflection – and he had been too terrified and preoccupied the night before to really pay attention. But now he could see it, him: his broad shoulders despite his thin frame, the shadows spread over his cheeks, over the sharp angle of his jaw, the dark brown eyes framed by even darker lashes and brows, the unruly waves of chestnut hair above them.
It felt… strange. Strange like a parasite suddenly moving inside him, writhing and twitching in his guts, his lungs, his throat. It made him uneasy.
“So you have a body now,” Arthur finally said, his voice calmer.
“Yes.”
“Can you still get inside my head?”
John considered this. He could feel it, the pull from inside Arthur, and he thought it would be as easy as opening a door and walking into another room. “I think so, yes.” He cocked his head. “Do you want me to go back there?”
Now it was Arthur’s turn to consider what John had said. “I don’t know. Maybe?” He shook his head lightly. “Maybe not just yet.”
“Alright, I will, later. But first let me put you back into bed. You look awful.”
Arthur scoffed, relaxing entirely. “Yeah, and I’m sure you’re looking much better.”
John didn’t reply and though Arthur’s words made him smile, something still hurt deep down his chest. “OK, I’m going to help you stand up. Don’t scream like you just did.”
“I didn’t scream.”
“You did.”
“Whatever,” Arthur muttered, rolling his eyes as he let John come closer.
John felt hesitant at first, now that Arthur was fully awake and conscious, and when he passed his arms around his waist to get him up, he felt as if fire was running through his muscles. Arthur groaned as he stood up on his feet, catching himself by grabbing John’s arms. John heard him breathe in sharply, his expression unreadable – and he thought, he knows, he’s touching me and he knows, and he’s going to scream again.
“What?” John asked lightly, though his throat felt tight.
Arthur blinked and John could feel each of his fingertips on him like scalding pinpricks. “Nothing. It’s just that… I haven’t, well, touched anyone in a long time, I suppose.”
“… Oh.”
“Yeah, I just…” His hands crawled higher John’s arms, fingers tapping lightly like small spiders on his skin and John wasn’t sure if Arthur was even aware he was moving. He kept searching for something on his face, but Arthur’s expression was a mystery, his eyes blinking quickly, his lips slightly parted. Arthur suddenly cleared his throat, laughing the silence away. “God, how tall are you?” he said, patting John’s shoulders.
John sighed in relief. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”
Arthur didn’t resist as he walked him to the bed, his body too heavy to even think about doing anything else. He lied back down with a sigh of ease, shifting comfortably on the mattress as John pulled the many blankets over him, making sure he was fully covered with a worry Arthur found almost endearing. His eyelids were already fluttering when he heard John walk away, further into the cabin.
“You’re not coming back?”
John stopped in his tracks. “What?”
“I mean, aside from the fright you gave me… you were very warm.”
“Oh,” John could only say, and he didn’t know why it made him feel so light-headed all of a sudden. He had voluntarily curled up next to Arthur to give him warmth, so why did it feel… different, now? “Well, I suppose I could, if you wanted to.”
“Alright,” Arthur said softly.
Neither of them spoke as John climbed back into the bed, slipped under the heavy covers. Both of them were acutely aware of the other’s presence, and God, why did it feel so odd? They had shared a body before, yet this felt like something else, like an invisible barrier was burning and simmering between them.
Arthur cleared his throat again, shifting stiffly on the mattress. “Well, it really is cold, uh?”
“Yes,” John replied and he realized it was true. Being in this physical form clearly had its disadvantages, one of them being the sharp bite of the winter gloom nipping at his skin. He doubted it was as strong as for Arthur’s, but it was still there.
“Well, good night, I suppose.”
“It’s not night yet, Arthur.”
Arthur groaned and when he moved, his shoulder touched John’s, making both of them freeze. John was just about to find an excuse to jump out of this stupid bed when Arthur was shaken by a violent shiver, and his instincts decided for him.
“Alright,” he groaned and shuffled until Arthur was pressed against him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to keep him close. Arthur let out a surprised gasp and stiffened for a moment, before he slowly melt back into the bed, his fingers a soft ghost touch on John’s side.
John found himself controlling his form, keeping tendrils of smoke from wrapping around Arthur’s arms, from pushing his unruly hair from his eyes, from touching his forehead to make sure he was alright. He focused on being there, on being solid, on giving Arthur what he needed, and nothing else, and slowly, he sunk back into slumber, too.