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Arthur woke up crying.
It was dark in their bedroom aside from the sliver of pale moonlight filtering in through the blinds. John had been busying himself remembering the stars visible from Carcosa and wondering about constellations visible from Earth before he noticed Arthur's breathing becoming ragged. John braced himself for when Arthur would wake up, frustrated and possibly shouting, and would need a distraction to fall back to sleep.
So when Arthur woke up shaking and curled into himself, John knew something was different. "Arthur?"
The man buried his face into a pillow.
"You don't have to tell me about it," John said. "Do you want to hear a story?"
A strangled sound came from Arthur's throat.
Grounding, then. Returning to the real world before escaping. "Arthur, do you remember where we are?"
There was a long pause before Arthur nodded.
Recently, Arthur had had moments of inhabiting a childlike mindset as a response to stress or fatigue. It seemed to help him relax, and John had nothing against a good coping mechanism. Perhaps this was one of those times.
"Could you find your bear for me?" John asked.
At this, Arthur moved the pillow that was hiding his face and felt around for his stuffed bear. He seemed to have run out of tears, but the tension had not left his body. Arthur found the bear and held it to his face.
"There we go," said John. "Watson is soft, isn't he?"
Arthur nodded shyly.
"I'm right here," John continued. "We're safe. The moon shining through the window bathes the room in a soft blue light."
Arthur relaxed slowly as John spoke. He kept talking, about the room and about plans for tomorrow, until Arthur drifted back to sleep.
.
That morning, John waited until Arthur had put the kettle on the stove to speak up. "Do you remember what happened last night?"
"Hm? Oh, yes. I'm fine now, don't worry about it."
"This seemed different from the other times."
Arthur laughed humorlessly. "Yes, I suppose my nightmares have taken on some variety lately. I appreciate your quick thinking, but don't feel like you have to help me. I can usually calm myself down."
"You shouldn't have to. I'm right there, and I want to help."
"If you say so."
John burned with curiosity. There was so much he didn't know about his partner, especially about his childhood. He couldn't just ask now, though. Arthur was putting a lot of trust in him, it would be a shame to ruin this moment. As John was considering what to say instead, the kettle whistled.
Arthur held the mug while John poured the water. "Can we pretend this didn't happen?" Arthur said. "Let's just try to have a normal day."
"Okay," John agreed. "What's on our schedule?"
.
A few nights later, it happened again. Arthur woke up unable to speak and John helped him ground himself, using the teddy bear as an anchor. Part of John was jealous of the bear and how it seemed to calm Arthur so well, but he reminded himself that Arthur was struggling, and a soft toy wasn't going to get between them.
"I wish mum and dad were here," Arthur said when his breath had evened out and he was almost asleep.
John was stunned for a moment. Arthur had never mentioned his parents before. "I'm sorry," John said, unsure exactly what for.
Arthur shook his head. "I know they're gone. I just..." he trailed off.
"I know," John said, even though he didn't. John had never had parents, not the way a human does.
"Sorry," Arthur muttered.
"Don't be," John said.
Arthur breathed deeply, held the bear and John's arm closely, and fell asleep.
.
The sun shone through the window. Arthur was awake, but he lay still and silent.
"Good morning, Arthur."
"Good morning, John." Arthur sounded tense.
"Do-"
"Yes, I remember. And no, I don't want to talk about it."
"Why not?"
"Why do you think? I don't want to talk about that part of my past, that's why I never- I just can't."
"You don't have to tell me what happened, but-"
"But nothing. I don't owe you shit."
"What am I supposed to do? Pretend nothing is happening?"
"Christ, John, it's bad enough having nightmares, but then you just have to use them as an excuse to pry into my past. I appreciate your help grounding me, but if you're only doing that so I'll answer your questions, don't fucking bother."
John paused. "I'm sorry."
Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry too. I know you really do want to help, and I understand why you're curious. I don't think you realize how exhausting nightmares are. The morning after just isn't when I want to have a heavy conversation."
"Okay," said John. "Thank you for telling me."
"Yeah. Let's get breakfast."
.
As John and Arthur worked and carried on with their days, John reflected on that conversation. John had never dreamed, not in the way a human does, and there was so much he didn't understand. He resolved not to keep asking about Arthur's past. He was curious, of course, but Arthur needed him, and helping his friend was more important than satisfying his own impulses.
What worried John was how ashamed Arthur seemed to be. John was happy to go with the flow and interact with whichever Arthur he had, but the "adult" Arthur minimized the existence of the "child" Arthur and seemed to think of that mindset as something to "get over."
One slow day in the office, John confronted Arthur about it. Arthur pushed back, but he took it well when John expressed that he genuinely wanted to support Arthur, regardless of mental circumstance.
After that conversation, things were easier. John knew when not to pry, and Arthur started to let go of his shame about "slipping," as he'd called it. There were still nightmares and hard days, but they were together through it all.
Over time, Arthur accumulated a small collection of toys, including some books for John to read to him and a set of wooden blocks. John knew Arthur's other senses were important to him since losing his sight, so he had helped Arthur find a set of blocks with carved letters and shapes, each distinguishable by touch alone. Arthur enjoyed stacking and sorting them in patterns John couldn't decipher.
Watson the Bear still held the place of honor as the softest toy. Even in his adult mindset, Arthur would keep the bear on the bed and at times find comfort in the worn fur and familiar shape.
Arthur's nightmares continued, but John found himself more equipped to help. He could ground Arthur with soothing descriptions, recount what he remembered of Arthur's storybooks, and, when needed, be a quiet presence, his hand over Arthur's.
One such night, Arthur had calmed significantly but had no luck getting back to sleep. Part of John was glad for the company, but he knew sleep was important, and Arthur was getting frustrated.
"Sometimes I don't know why you bother with all this." Arthur sighed. "You were an elder god. Play and human emotions and such must seem so silly to you."
John hummed, considering. "Have I ever told you about my nest?"
"Your what?"
"Nest. When I was the King, I would make a sort of pile to- well not exactly 'sleep' on, but it was a place of rest."
"What were they made of?"
"All sorts of things. Some fabric, a lot of metal. It was comfortable for that body, though I'm sure it wouldn't be for this one." John squeezed Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur held John's arm in return. "Do you miss it?"
"I do, sometimes. I never brought it up because- well, I thought it was silly."
Arthur considered for a moment. "Do you want to build a nest here?"
"Here?"
Arthur shifted to lying on his back, keeping Watson on his chest. "When I was a boy, I used to pile up pillows and blankets to make a fortress to hide away in. It felt... safe. Restful."
"And comfortable?"
"Very. I'd fall asleep in them sometimes."
"That sounds wonderful. Where should we build it?"
"Let's build it on the bed. We'll have a softer foundation."
John and Arthur rummaged through the closet. They didn't have enough extra blankets and pillows for a fort, but their stash would make for a decent nest. Together, they arranged the materials until they had a cozy pile to lie in, supported on all sides. Arthur lay on his left side again, and John took up his position on Arthur's chest with his hand over Arthur's heart.
"Is the sun up yet?" Arthur asked.
"Not yet. We should still have a few more hours."
"Good." Arthur yawned. "Thank you for telling me. About your nest. I could get used to this."
"So could I," John said. "Goodnight, Arthur."
"Goodnight, John."
As Arthur's body relaxed and his breathing evened, John found himself relaxing too. Life with Arthur would never be the ideal of "normal" that Arthur used to aspire to, but it would be life together. John's past self - the King and even who he was when he first met Arthur - would scoff at who he had become. John didn't care. He liked this new side of himself. He liked being someone who could give and receive comfort. He would never again be fully eldritch, nor could he ever be fully human, but he could be something better: John Doe.