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Arthur rouses and rolls over, keeping his eyes closed as he burrows into soft sheets and luxurious pillows. The bed is so warm, it might as well be heaven itself. Arthur certainly wouldn"t object to staying here forever, New York be damned.
He"s almost fallen asleep again when he realizes that John has been uncharacteristically silent. Usually, John starts speaking the moment Arthur shows any sign of wakefulness, whining about how it"s morning, and it"s time to get moving, and I"m so bored of sitting alone in the dark, and you"re being extremely inconsiderate of my feelings.
(Arthur understands. He does. But it"s been so long since he"s gotten to wake up in a bed every morning and not be terrified or bleeding or starving to death. Would it kill John to let him bask in it for a few minutes?)
This morning, though, John hasn’t said a word.
Arthur opens one eye, suspicious. He wouldn"t put it past John to lull him into a false sense of security, then jolt him out of bed all at once with a sudden, "Arthur!"
"John?" he says, resigning himself to being awake and opening both eyes. He sits up. "I know you said the room was sparse, but the bed is lovely. Far better than I expected, honestly."
John still doesn"t answer, even as Arthur swings his legs over the side of the bed. He doesn"t technically need John"s directions to get himself ready, but it"s utterly unlike him not to offer the help. "John?" He prompts again. He reaches for John"s hand, and feels a moment of relief at the lack of sensation, which promptly disappears when the hand simply hangs limp in his grasp. It"s lifeless.
The silence stretches on, feeling far bigger now as panic starts to bloom in Arthur"s chest. How could this have possibly happened? They weren"t in danger, they weren"t being actively pursued. There"s no reason Arthur can think of for John to have disappeared.
Arthur takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. "... Yellow?" he says, finally.
He thinks he"s dreading to hear a response, but it"s nothing compared to the emptiness he feels when even that query is met with silence. Yellow isn"t here, either. Arthur is just... alone.
"Okay," Arthur exhales, reaching toward the nightstand, trying to orientate himself in the room. He isn"t helpless, just because John isn"t here. He"ll check out of the hotel, and then he"ll get started on—
The nightstand isn"t there.
Arthur grits his teeth. Of course the nightstand is there. It didn"t just walk away, unless John decided to take it with him wherever he went. Arthur slides his hand along the mattress, beneath the pillows, reaching for the wall. The nightstand rests at the corner made by the bed and the wall. Find the wall, find the nightstand.
Arthur finds the end of the bed, but beyond it, there is just empty air. No wall.
But that doesn"t make any sense! Arthur knows what this room looks like. John had described it in vivid detail the night before. Arthur had sat with his back to that wall!
Could he have gotten turned around in his sleep? Arthur sways with sudden disorientation, no longer sure which side of the room he"s even facing. He closes his eyes, takes a deep, steadying breath. It"s a small hotel room. If he fumbles around for a moment or two, he"s bound to find some kind of touchstone.
He gets to his feet, feeling more than a little annoyed with himself, and takes a step forward, waving his arms around slowly. The floor is freezing beneath his feet, and he doesn"t find a wall, even after he"s walked far enough that it seems mathematically impossible.
What the hell?
Something slithers past his ear, something warm and alive, and Arthur finches violently away. "Jesus Christ!"
However, instead of landing on solid ground, Arthur"s foot finds open air. It"s too late for him to stop, to regain his balance. He"s going to fall.
At the last moment, a pair of hands come down on his shoulders, pulling him back. "Careful there, Arthur!"
Oh, Jesus Christ. Arthur feels all of his panic leave in a rush, replaced by annoyance. It"s Kayne. Of fucking course it is.
Arthur wheels to face him, slapping his hands away. "Where the hell is John?"
***
John realizes that something is wrong long before Arthur does. He may not be able to see while Arthur sleeps, but he can still hear. When the dull roar of city traffic is replaced by utter silence, it"s a rather stark contrast. Hard to miss.
Arthur! John says, loud enough to wake him. Arthur doesn"t so much as stir, utterly oblivious to whatever horror is befalling them. Jesus Christ. Arthur!
Nothing.
Arthur, you need to wake up! Something is wrong! John goes to pinch Arthur, and then he finds out that something is very wrong, indeed.
He can"t move his hand.
Arthur"s eyelids flicker, but he doesn"t open them enough for John to get a good look at their surroundings. Arthur rolls over, encasing John once again in total darkness. Arthur, for the love of— John cuts off with a frustrated growl. Clearly, Arthur can"t hear him. Somehow, for some reason, John has been cut off from communicating with him.
Arthur opens one eye, revealing a room that would shatter his mind if he were still in possession of his own vision. It"s a pocket dimension, clearly, a small one. The hotel bed is present, floating in a refractive void, every inch of which reflects every other inch. It"s like a house of mirrors except infinitely more intimate.
"John?" Arthur says, sitting up. He hasn"t noticed yet that something is wrong.
Hold on, Arthur, let me get a sense of this place, John replies, even though he knows it"s pointless, Arthur"s voice overlapping with his as he tries to make conversation. The bed isn"t actually floating, John notices. It"s positioned atop a pedestal of dark rock, extending only a few feet from the bed before falling off into darkness.
Arthur turns his head, and John sees Kayne sitting primly on the edge of the bed, watching them with a pleased little smile on his face. John feels a rush of dread as Arthur finally catches on that something is wrong, that he can"t hear John. Kayne waggles his fingers at John, then puts a finger to his lips.
What the fuck are you doing here? There"s still a few days before they make it to New York, a few days where Jon had been counting on everything being lovely, for once.
Kayne shrugs. He doesn"t speak, exactly, at least not in a way that Arthur can hear. I"m bored.
John doesn"t reply. He knows well enough that Kayne"s boredom is dangerous. It doesn"t fare well for either of them to find themselves at the center of one of Kayne"s amusements.
The silence is broken by Arthur saying, "... Yellow?"
Kayne smirks, raising his eyebrows meaningfully at John.
Go away, John tries, even though he knows it"s hopeless.
Kayne just shakes his head. There"s nothing good on! Usually, I can at least count on the two of you to be running in terror or at each other"s throats, but here lately it"s been trains and dinners and hotel rooms and blah blah boring. Sorry for interrupting your honeymoon, but, really, it couldn"t be helped.
What do you want?
Kayne shrugs, his eyes tracking Arthur as he gets to his feet and begins groping around, looking for walls that no longer exist. He takes small steps, but they still take him dangerously close to the edge of the plateau. What do you think will happen if he falls?
Arthur! Get back! John yells, but speaking more loudly doesn"t make any difference in Arthur"s ability to hear him. John forces himself to take a breath. Arthur is being careful, taking slow, controlled steps. He isn"t going to step off a ledge into nothingness.
At least, he wouldn"t if Kayne didn"t reach out with one of his damnable tendrils, startling Arthur right off the edge.
Kayne! John shouts, certain that they"re about to find themselves in some kind of hellworld below. Before they fall, though, Kayne reaches out and grabs Arthur by the shoulders, pulling them back from the brink.
"Careful there, Arthur!"
Arthur goes very stiff, then wheels around, slapping Kayne"s hands away. "Where the hell is John?"
I"m right here! John roars.
"He"s... elsewhere," Kayne says airily, still studying Arthur, tracing every line of his body. He smiles and meets John"s eyes with an expression of unconcealed malevolence. With a sick feeling in his stomach, John starts to think he knows exactly why Kayne has brought them here. "I wanted to get you alone. Just the two of us!" Kayne"s tendrils are twining themselves around Arthur"s feet. Arthur kicks them harshly away.
"Where am I? Where is this?"
"Well, I don"t have anything approaching John"s flair for description, but suffice to say it"s a lovely little room I created just for this."
A room containing only a bed and mind-breaking mirrors. John"s heart is ice, but the significance hasn"t occurred to Arthur yet. If you touch him, I"ll kill you.
Oh, you"ll kill me? You"ll use all your incredible, awe-inspiring power to smite me where I stand? Kayne ducks his head, cowering away. Well, if I"d only known that, I never would have overstepped like this. Please, great one! Spare me!
John growls, low and long. Arthur, don"t do anything he says. Don"t give him what he wants.
Arthur immediately says, "What do you want?"
No, Arthur!
Kayne gives John a wink, then steps toward them, putting his hand on the back of Arthur"s neck. Arthur immediately knocks his hand off and steps away. Silently, Kayne once again closes the distance between them. "I thought it might be—diverting, let"s say, to play a little game. Your beloved John is absent, but I solemnly swear, cross my heart and hope to die, that I"ll bring him back. IF! You do exactly what I ask of you. No complaints. No backtalk. Deal?"
"What do you want me to do?" Arthur says slowly.
"Does it matter?" Kayne responds. "Think of your precious John, your best friend, your prince charming. Where could he be? Is he in trouble? Does he miss you? Is he hurting? I could have sent him anywhere! Is there anything I could possibly ask that you wouldn"t pay happily in exchange for his well-being?"
Arthur, I"m right here, John says miserably.
"Fine," Arthur says through gritted teeth.
"Deeeeeeal?" Kayne says, his voice a teasing lilt.
Arthur holds out his hands to his sides. "Do I have a choice? Deal."
Kayne meets John"s eyes with a triumphant grin. Watch.
In this room made of nothing but mirrors, John doesn’t exactly have a choice.
***
Arthur doesn"t know what to expect from Kayne. Nothing good, obviously. Blood, knives, psychological torture. Maybe murder, some kind of sick trolley problem thrown at Arthur"s feet.
Never would he have expected the way Kayne"s arms come around him, bracketing him in before he knows what"s happening. One hand rests flat against Arthur"s back, pulling him close. The other snakes into his hair. Kayne kisses him, and for a moment Arthur is too shocked to move, or breathe, or think.
Then reality reasserts itself, and Arthur starts struggling, planting his hands on Kayne"s shoulders, trying to push him away. Kayne holds him fast for a few seconds, apparently unbothered by his struggling, before releasing him. Arthur springs back, only seconds later remembering the all-too-real danger of falling.
"What?" That"s all Arthur can think to say in the burnt-out fringes of his mind. His scalp faintly aches from Kayne tugging on his hair, and his lips are sore, and Kayne just kissed him.
Kayne clicks his tongue. "Arthur, did you already forget our terms?"
Arthur pants for air. This is what Kayne wants from him? His mind goes to the bed, which had seemed such an innocuous presence before, a convenient tool for moving Arthur"s sleeping body. Now it seems sinister, a practical addition to Kayne"s "special" room.
"Do you want John back, or do you want to fight me?" Kayne says.
Arthur"s mouth is dry, and his pulse is racing. How did he get here? How is this happening?
He forces himself to take a breath, to think in practical terms. He needs to get John back. If he has to whore himself out to do it, then... so be it. He"s been through worse.
"I won"t fight you," he says through gritted teeth.
"Good!" Kayne says, and then his hands are on him again, pulling him into another kiss.
Immediately, Arthur"s mind goes to the worst-case scenario. Kayne is a monster, an entity that Arthur"s mind can"t even fully comprehend. Kayne could rip him apart easily with barely a twitch of his finger. What kind of sexual gratification could Kayne want from him, if not blood and pain?
Kayne pushes Arthur to his knees and comes with his dick sheathed in Arthur"s throat, and Arthur thinks, Really? Is that it?
Obviously not, but it"s still a relief when Kayne doesn"t demand of Arthur anything that his human body can"t give. Kayne isn"t gentle, but he isn"t overtly sadistic. He"s got a thing for humiliation, a thing for worship, a thing for making comments about John while he fucks into Arthur.
It"s not a pleasant experience, but it isn"t the prison pits. It isn"t Larson"s mines. It isn"t the funeral of yet another person he loves.
He"s been through worse.
He can handle this.
***
Enough, John rumbles, putting as much authority in his voice as he can muster. Kayne is curled around Arthur, playing with his hair, letting him rest between rounds. Arthur is hiding his face in his arm, but in the reflective surfaces that make up the room, John can see the slack, utterly indifferent expression on his face.
That worries John more than the trembling. He hasn"t seen Arthur look like that since... the prison pits, maybe.
I wasn"t expecting him to last this long, Kayne says, brushing Arthur"s hair back from his forehead in a bastardization of tenderness. He could be a Dancer.
John growls at the mere thought.
Just a suggestion! Something to keep in mind if Big Yellow ever catches up with you.
You got what you came here for.
Oh, John, John, John. Kayne says, pulling a hair from Arthur"s head and putting it in his mouth. This is just the first act.
What?
You"re right though. It"s time we moved on. He lifts up his head. "Arthur?"
Arthur is running his thumb up and down the palm of John"s hand, something he"s been doing throughout this ordeal. It makes John"s heart twist, wishing he could give Arthur some tiny speck of reassurance. "Sir?" Arthur says, in a voice that doesn"t sound much like Arthur at all.
"Oh, we can dispense with the formalities, don"t you think?" Kayne lays his head on Arthur"s chest. "Game over. You win! Congratulations, it was truly a stunning performance."
It takes a moment, but then Arthur is himself again. The light comes back to his eyes, and he sits up, shifting away from Kayne. "Where"s John?"
"Hmm. Hum. Uhh. Ohh. Mmm." Kayne hums, as if thinking. This goes on for about twenty seconds, and then he says, "Would you be angry if I said I didn"t know?"
"What?"
Kayne! John roars, and Kayne winks at him in response.
"Oh, you"d be just murderous, wouldn"t you?" Kayne puts his arms around Arthur, who has gone very, very still. "And who could blame you? Here I am, coming across a poor little defenseless human in distress, and instead of helping you, I took advantage. For shame!"
Arthur, he"s lying to you! John says. Kayne, stop this!
But it"s just getting good!
Arthur practically hurls himself from the bed. "Take me back. Now." His voice is shaky. The trembling has gotten worse.
The atmosphere in the room shifts, the temperature dropping by several degrees as Kayne"s eyes gleam. "An interesting suggestion. And made so forcefully! But it seems kind of uninspired, don"t you think?"
Arthur shakes his head and crouches down, patting the floor for his discarded clothes. He"s muttering to himself, words too low for even John to hear, but it"s clear he"s furious. His eyes keep blurring with tears.
Arthur, it"s alright, John says quietly, knowing that it wouldn"t help anything, even if Arthur could hear him.
Kayne leans over, deftly swooping Arthur"s clothes out of reach just before Arthur can find them. He moves silently, but after a few rounds of this, Arthur must realize what"s happening because he stops and glares. He takes a deep breath, and says, "Fine. I"m leaving."
He feels his way to the edge of the plateau and lowers one foot down, searching for a nonexistent step. When that fails, he sits down at the edge and feels the texture of the plateau wall. It"s smooth. There"s nothing at all to hold onto while climbing down.
John feels Arthur sit back, can practically hear him turning the thought over in his head. Arthur, do not jump. John doesn"t know what will happen to them if Arthur falls out of a pocket dimension. Nothing good, he"s sure.
Kayne"s tendrils wrap around Arthur"s midsection before he can try, pulling him back to the bed. "Now, Arthur, why would you assume I"m just going to let you leave?" He wraps his arms around Arthur"s bare chest, fingers stroking over his skin. His tendrils don"t recede—they writhe around Arthur"s abdomen, twining around his wrists and arms. "Maybe I"ve gotten attached," Kayne whispers, his voice low and sweet. "Maybe I"ve decided to keep you."
"Don"t touch me!" Arthur says, flailing against Kayne"s embrace. Whatever strength Arthur has is nothing compared to Kayne"s power. Kayne uses the momentum to roll Arthur over onto his back, his hands firmly pinning Arthur"s wrists. His tendrils take care of the rest, twining around Arthur"s legs and abdomen, keeping his struggling to a minimum.
"What did I say about fighting back, Arthur?" Kayne purrs. Arthur"s heartbeat is fast and terrified as he strains to break free of Kayne"s hold. John meets Kayne"s eyes and feels much the same. There is heat in his eyes, naked desire that only increases as Arthur"s struggling gets more desperate, and John knows that everything that came before was only a warm-up.
This is the main course.
Kayne, stop, John says because he"s powerless to do anything else, even to look away.
No.
***
It hurts.
***
It"ll be okay, Arthur, John says in a low voice, imagining himself curled around Arthur"s heart, warming him, comforting him. I"m right here.
Kayne moves off of Arthur, leaving his tendrils to continue fucking him, and curls up at his side. "It"ll be okay, Arthur," he whispers, tracing his fingers up and down Arthur"s chest. He traces a little heart over Arthur"s. "I"m right here."
John feels a flash of incandescent rage. Fuck off, Kayne.
"Fuck off," Arthur gasps out, and John would do anything to comfort him, even a little.
I won"t let him hurt you, John says. A nonsense thing to say, considering the circumstances, but he"s reasonably certain Kayne won"t be able to twist it around.
Kayne doesn"t twist it around. Instead, he laughs, wildly and uncontrollably, causing Arthur to flinch. You won"t let me? What is it you"re doing right now? Or does this not count? His tendrils shift, thrusting into Arthur at a new and brutal angle, drawing out a tight noise of pain.
The tendril around Arthur"s neck constricts until black spots start to appear in John"s vision. When it releases its hold, Arthur coughs, gasping for breath, the fight momentarily taken out of him. Kayne lays down beside him, tapping a finger against Arthur"s collarbone and making a little clicking sound in his cheek. Pick your poison, John. I could bring out the knives. Gut him, sew him up, gut him again.
No.
You"re right. Very last season. Let"s see, there"s always flaying, of course. I could rip out his fingernails, but I always thought that seemed kind of overrated. Oh, now that I"m thinking about it, I haven"t seen a good quartering in ages! What do you think, John? Quartering?
Don"t hurt him.
Don"t hurt him, Kayne mimicks in high-pitched mockery. I thought you weren"t going to let me?
Please.
Kayne makes a pleased little noise. Apologize.
... I"m sorry.
"I"ll let you do whatever you want to Arthur."
Kayne waves a hand for John to repeat. I"ll let you do whatever you want to Arthur, John says, feeling like he"s speaking a betrayal, even though it"s clearly the truth.
Yes, you will, Kayne says. Case in point. He gets on top of Arthur again and twines his fingers through Arthur"s, letting his tendrils go still so that he has Arthur"s full attention. "Arthur, I have something for you."
Arthur doesn"t respond.
He twists one of his tendrils into a needle and shoves it into a patch of exposed skin on Arthur"s leg. Arthur lets out a little whimper of pain. "Just a little surprise for you. Unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll like it very much. It can be.. nasty."
"What is it?" Arthur asks, his breath short and fast, trying to kick his leg away from where the tendril is still pressing inside. Kayne holds him fast.
Nothing, Arthur, John says. It wasn"t anything. He"s tricking you.
Once again, Kayne winks at John. "Nothing you need to worry about," Kayne says, pressing a kiss to Arthur"s temple. That"s all the reprieve Arthur gets before Kayne is fucking him again.
***
Eventually, Arthur leaves.
It was something he"d learned to do when he was young, right after his parents" deaths, when it felt like he would die from how much he hurt. He could take a break from it. Leave his body to hurt, while the rest of him just drifted. An escape door, an exit hatch.
He"s tried not to do it much, especially after Faroe. Too much of a reprieve that he doesn"t deserve. Too much of a temptation to never come back.
He"s going to come back, this time. Once it"s over. If it ever ends. (It has to end eventually, doesn"t it?)
He has work to do, when Kayne leaves. He needs to think, he needs to plan, he needs to figure out where the hell he is and how to escape and how to find John.
He"d escaped the prison pits. He"d escaped Larson"s mines. He can escape wherever this is, too.
(Except he"d had John, before.)
(He really, really wishes John were here.)
***
It"s hard, watching Arthur slowly give up. His struggles give way to lax acceptance. His face goes from anger and fear to distant indifference. It"s like Arthur is barely there at all.
It doesn"t take long for Kayne to pull away, once Arthur has stopped fighting. When he"s alone, Arthur curls up on his side, pulling his knees to his chest. He cups John"s hand in his own, pressing both to his chest. He"s still distant.
Scene! Kayne says, and John would kill him if he had the power. Now for the prestige, the return of the king, the happy conclusion!
Slowly, the reflective walls fade, and John"s vision recedes to its normal limitations behind Arthur"s eyelids. The utter silence of the pocket dimension is replaced by the noise of traffic outside. They"re back in their hotel room, but Arthur doesn"t seem to notice.
Kayne is leaning against the door, still watching. He waves a hand at John. Go on.
Arthur? John tries cautiously.
Arthur jerks, but doesn"t reply. John glares at Kayne.
Arthur, it"s alright. I"m here.
Arthur closes his eyes, which is not particularly helpful. When he opens them again, John expects Kayne to have moved, to have turned his intentions back to torment. But he"s still just standing by the door. "... John?" Arthur says, very quietly.
Yes. I"m here.
"John," Arthur repeats, squeezing John"s hand tighter against his chest. John can feel his heartbeat, rocketing through him.
Arthur, you need to breathe.
"I"m trying, I—Jesus Christ, I thought—John." Arthur is still breathing fast enough to pass out, making noises that could be laughs or sobs. Then he jolts, sobering. "Is—is—is Kayne still here?"
Kayne raises his eyebrows at John and shrugs.
No, John says. No. He"s gone.
Kayne"s face contorts into an expression of utter delight. "Good," Arthur says, exhaling shakily. Then he starts to get to his feet. He doesn"t make any sounds of pain, but from the careful way he moves, it"s clear he"s hurting. "Where are my clothes? We need to get out of here."
John looks at the clock on the wall. It"s only seven. We have time to rest for a while.
Arthur doesn"t reply, just begins feeling his way to the wardrobe where they"d hung their brand-new shirt and pants and coat.
You"re hurt, John continues when it becomes clear that Arthur isn"t going to sit down.
"I"ve been hurt in some way or another since the day we met," Arthur says, his voice far too light, considering the circumstances. He"s turned his eyes to the ceiling, an awkward place to look while he pulls on their clothes. He doesn"t want John to see his body.
He thinks John was absent for the entirety of the ordeal.
Fuck.
Arthur—
"We"ll get the early train," Arthur interrupts. "We"ve been acting stupid, these past few days, letting our guard down. We know there are people and, and entities after us that wish us harm. We can"t just sit around waiting to be attacked. We need to move."
John wants to press the issue further, but... Well, Arthur isn"t exactly wrong, is he? Clearly, they aren"t safe here. Once they"re on the train, at least they"ll be moving. Arthur can rest when they"re on the train. And then maybe Kayne would at least give the appearance of leaving them alone.
"Where"s the bag?" Arthur asks when he"s finished buttoning his shirt. Before John can answer, Arthur has found it, has pulled it back to the bed and is rummaging through it. He pulls out the knife.
Arthur, what are you doing?
Arthur pulls up his pant leg, revealing deep purple bruises from Kayne"s tendrils. "Kayne put something in me. Can you see it? We need to cut it out."
Kayne is leaning over them, staring as intently at Arthur"s leg as Arthur"s is, his hand on his chin like a scholar trying to solve a puzzle. Arthur, there"s nothing there, John says.
"It must be invisible. That"s okay. I can still feel it." Before John can say anything else, Arthur has raised the knife to his leg, cutting deep into the flesh.
Arthur! John snaps, closing his hand over Arthur"s and jerking the knife away. Kayne is laughing. Their leg is oozing blood now, and John grabs a fistful of bedsheets and presses the fabric over the wound.
Arthur bats his hand away. "John, whatever this is, it needs to come out. I thought you of all people would understand that!"
Arthur, there"s nothing inside you! John says, still struggling with the knife. Kayne was lying.
"We don"t know that!"
Yes, we do. He didn"t put anything inside you. I watched him.
Arthur goes very still. "You watched him?"
Yikes, Kayne says.
... He didn"t send me away. He just prevented me from communicating with you.
"Oh," Arthur says, and then he goes silent.
***
It nearly shatters him.
Bad enough that it happened, that Arthur can still feel ghosts of Kayne"s touch on every part of his body, that he aches all over. Bad enough that Kayne had tricked him twice, that he"d let Kayne utterly humiliate him, twice! Bad enough without a third witness, without John knowing every fucking detail.
Arthur is holding on to his composure because he has to, because they have a train to catch and monsters chasing them, because he didn"t want John to have any inkling of what had happened while he was absent.
Not much point now, is there?
But he doesn"t want to break down. He holds onto his composure with bloody fingernails, but he holds on. "We don"t need to talk about it," he growls.
Arthur—
"I don"t want to talk about it," Arthur snaps, and he can feel hot tears in his eyes, blurring his vision. Letting John know that he"s not fine, no matter what he might claim about himself. Damn it.
He just wants to move on. He wants to get on the fucking train and get on their way to the next unpleasant encounter. He wants something to happen, he wants to be scored through with claws other than Kayne"s, scars to cover... this. He doesn"t want to sit. He doesn"t want to wait. He doesn"t want to rest.
We don"t have to talk about it, John says, horribly gently.
Arthur doesn"t say, "Shut the fuck up," even though the words are ready on his tongue. He says, "Help me dress this wound."
***
Kayne shadows them the entire way to the train station, and John is terrified that he"s going to interfere with them somehow. Reveal that this was merely another facet of his trap, that he isn’t done playing them yet. Or even just speak, say something to reveal to Arthur that he"s been here the entire time.
John doesn"t know why he"d lied about it. So that Arthur could relax. So that it could be over for him.
Kayne doesn"t announce his departure, but once they get seated on the train, John realizes that he"s gone.
Good riddance.
He and Arthur aren"t talking. What is there to talk about? Arthur is limping, and they don"t talk about it. He keeps shifting around in his seat, but they don"t talk about that, either. There is nothing John can say that will erase the single terrible fact that Arthur would rather he knew nothing about it. Anything John said would just be more salt in the wound.
John reaches for Arthur"s arm, hoping that touch could provide some comfort. Stupid idea, he realizes immediately when Arthur flinches violently away from him.
Sorry! John says, snatching his hand away like he"s touched a hot coal.
"I know," Arthur says. "It"s alright. Just... not right now."
Of course, John says, and keeps his hand well away from Arthur thereafter. Arthur leans against the window, finally finding a position that he doesn"t have to shift out of every thirty seconds. Or maybe just resigning himself to the pain.
Do you want to sleep? John asks. I can keep watch.
"I doubt I"ll be sleeping any time soon," Arthur says with a little laugh that makes John"s heart ache. He closes his eyes. "Might as well try, though. I"m..." He doesn"t finish the sentence. Instead, he just sighs.
John settles into the quiet and dark, listening to Arthur"s heartbeat, his breathing. His heart rate has slowed back to a nearly-normal pace, but his breathing is far too unsteady for him to be anywhere close to sleep.
John tries to think of some way to help, feeling more than ever like a useless parasite. He can comfort Arthur now! Kayne isn"t here to prevent it. He just... he doesn"t know how. Nothing he says will help. Touch won"t help. What else can he do?
A thought occurs to him, and he begins to speak:
Whether the living river
Began in bog or lake,
The world is what was given,
he world is what we make.
And we only can discover
Life in the life we make.
So let the water sizzle
Upon the gleaming slates,
here will be sunshine after
When the rain abates
And rain returning duly
When the sun abates.
Arthur takes a breath, and John is worried that he"s about to be told to lay off, that Arthur needs quiet to sleep, not John"s voice reciting poems that he barely understands.
"My wishes now come homeward,
Their gallopings in vain,
Logic and lust are quiet,
And again it starts to rain;
Falling asleep I listen
To the falling London rain."
"Thank you," Arthur says a beat later. "I"ve always liked that one."
John laughs quietly, not wanting to shatter the moment with too much force. I only know poems that you know by heart. It would be a bit of a feat for me to learn one that you didn"t like.
"I think you"d be surprised."
Really?
"Mhmm," Arthur says, and doesn"t explain further. A beat passes in silence, then: "Do you know the rest of "London Rain"?"
What?
"That poem. We recited the last three stanzas, but the full poem is fairly lengthy. I was just wondering if you"d... absorbed the rest?"
John tries to think of the words, tries to force his mind to turn to the beginning of the poem, but it"s like trying to hold on to sand. I don"t know. I can"t think of it.
Arthur hums. "It starts, "The rain of London pimples the ebony street with white, and the neon lamps of London...""
Stain the canals of night, John finishes, and finds that he knows the next line. And the park becomes a jungle in the alchemy of night.
He recites the whole poem like that, never certain that the next line will be there, but always finding that he knows what words to say. While he speaks, Arthur"s breathing becomes more even, his heartbeat settles down. By the time he finishes the poem for a second time, Arthur is asleep.