Merlin was expecting darkness, nothingness, and finally, finally, the ability to stop feeling.
He should have known better.
It wasn't dark, it wasn't black; it was pure white light that encased him fully, breathing heavily into him. It wasn't life, it wasn't death, it was somewhere in between.
It was a rush of noise and color and there was feeling. There was most definitely feeling. It was every emotion on the range, screaming and crying and everything else that Merlin had ever felt before all in one split second. Or maybe an hour. Or maybe an eternity. He had no idea.
But when the light began to fade, the feeling rushing back down inside of him, Merlin had no idea where he was. Was there even a where to be? Did he have a body? He had a mind, obviously, for it was whirring a mile a minute. But he couldn't feel his limbs or heart or lungs.
Was this death, then? Forever trapped inside of his head, surrounded by a steadily pulsing white light, forced to replay his life on earth on an endless repeat?
Well. Whoever came up with that concept for an afterlife was obviously an idiot. Merlin would like to have a strong word with them.
He hadn't been expecting an afterlife at all.
An undisclosed amount of time passed, Merlin absolutely clueless as to the actual amount. It seemed as if this would be a regular occurrence in whatever kind of hell this was.
Huh. Hell. Was it hell? Was it purgatory? It definitely wasn't heaven, he was sure of that.
Merlin.
What the hell? Merlin thought wildly, wishing he could crane his neck around to see where the deep, rumbling voice like an overhead thunderstorm was coming from.
Merlin.
The voice repeated his name, and Merlin cursed every god or deity he'd ever heard of, hoping that this echoing rumble was one of them and heard his blatant disrespect. Maybe then it would leave him alone.
Merlin, you should not be here yet.
So? Merlin responded, glad for this lovely outlet to pour all of his frustration into. I'm here anyway.
We can see that.
Great, the royal 'we'. If Merlin had eyes, he would have rolled them. Well, we aren't in the best mood either right now. You know, dying does that to you.
You're being purposefully difficult.
Gee, you noticed? Merlin probably shouldn't be pissing off whatever the fuck this was, as it probably had quite a bit of control over what would happen to him next, but he couldn't help himself.
You weren't supposed to arrive for many more years, and we are not ready for your arrival yet.
Am I a guest of honor? Merlin's mockery was really getting out of hand.
Of course, the voice managed to surprise him with its instantaneous answer. Everyone is. But we can accept you yet. It is not your time.
Am I stuck in a cheesy movie? Merlin mused. That would probably be some form of hell.
We can accept you until you learn what you could have been. You ended your life before your destiny could be accomplished.
It was my choice, Merlin was sullen, but he felt a twinge of regret, remembering how many pills he had forced down his throat the night before. He wondered who had been the one to find his body. His mother? Gaius? Lancelot?
But it was one that was made far too lightly.
You can shut up now. Merlin was beginning to hate this entire process. It almost wasn't worth the whole death thing.
We must send you back.
Hell no! Alarm shook him to the core. I am not going back to my life. No way. No fucking way.
We said nothing about your life. It's too late for that. But you must return to earth, look after a soul in need, just as yours was. You must insure that they do not make your mistakes.
You want me to be a guardian angel? Merlin read between the lines of what the entity was spieling off. Not a chance.
You must protect him from himself and all other kinds of harm that he may encounter. And then, when it is time, you will join us at last.
Join who? God? The devil? Merlin pressed for more information, but wasn't granted any, just more frustrating philosophy.
That's a question that will be answered for you upon your return. Good luck, young friend.
You're useless, aren't you? was Merlin's last coherent thought before the pulsing white light swallowed him up whole, overtaking every one of his senses, lighting him on fire.
When his eyes forced themselves open, Merlin was shocked to find that he had eyes. He blinked them a few times out of shock.
He had a body, too, a functional one. His arms and legs moved about, his head tilted from side to side. It was quite a change from the disembodied light he had somehow grown accustomed to. He was dressed in the same clothes he had died in, dark jeans with holes in the knees, a gray t-shirt, and wool socks. He laughed out loud and could hear the sound ringing out about him.
It was actually kind of amazing.
The problem was that he was in a place he didn't recognize. Someone's bedroom, apparently, as in the center of the large, scarlet and gold furnished room was a huge king-sized bed. Merlin, reveling for the first time in the fact that he could walk, stepped, foot by foot, to peer and see if someone was sleeping in it.
There was. A man, probably about Merlin's own age, in his early twenties – well, did Merlin have an age anymore? He should find a mirror to make sure that his face was the same – blond and muscular, sprawled out across the bed haphazardly, wearing pajama bottoms but with a distinct lack of a shirt. There was also a spot of drool on the pillow.
If the voice, whatever the fuck that was, had told him the truth, this was who Merlin was supposed to protect from himself. What that would entail, he had no idea.
Could no one see him, then? Or hear him? Was he like a ghost, transparent and without companionship, or would this sleeping figure, upon waking up, start yelling about an intruder at his house?
Well, there was really no way to find out other than waiting.
"Hello," Merlin said because he had never been patient, and he wanted to see if his voice was still functional. It was. "I don't know who you are, but it seems I'm stuck with you until the useless voice lets me into heaven. Or hell. Or wherever the fuck you go when you die when you don't come here."
The man continued on sleeping; only breaking up the silence with a grunt or two. Merlin sighed. A ghost it was, then.
Merlin threw himself into a plushy armchair in the room's corner, delighted to find that he could sit, and curled his feet up to his chest. A few moments later, the grunts from the bed became more pronounced, and the man sat up, blinking blearily, but definitely not in Merlin's direction.
"Hi," Merlin said again, just in case, but the man didn't even blink. His theory was confirmed. It was almost a relief; he felt much more without life in this way, which was the way he had wanted it to begin with.
The man pushed himself up from the bed, yawning loudly, mouth wide as he stumbled slightly over to a closet on the left side of the room, pulling on a t-shirt as he strode across the room to the door immediately to Merlin's right. Merlin stood up, not knowing exactly what happened next. Did he follow him? This seemed like a rather shitty afterlife, following someone around for the rest of eternity, but it was better than being stuck in his own head.
No fate would be worse than that.
He fell into place behind the man and they exited the room together. Merlin, as he followed him down a short hallway and to a staircase, vaguely wondered if he could walk through walls. Experimenting, he stuck his hand through the staircase railing.
It passed through immediately. Merlin chuckled and wiggled his fingers around inside the wooden fixture for a moment, enjoying the effect.
After the momentary distraction, he doubled his pace to catch up to the man, who had just reached the bottom of the stairs, a living room with two white plush couches and a large flat screen television on one side and on the other, a small kitchenette.
There was a woman there, with dark, curly hair and a protruding belly, quite obviously pregnant. Was she the man's wife? Girlfriend? Was Merlin supposed to watch him as he started a family? Was that his purpose here?
"Arthur, you lazy sod, it's nearly half past ten," the woman shook a hand threateningly in his direction as she sat down on one of the chairs around a small, rickety table. "Make me breakfast."
"Bossy," the man, Arthur, good to know a name, replied. His voice was nice, very English, very posh accent. At least Merlin wasn't too far from familiarity. Was he still in the same time era? It looked like it. How long had it been since he died? A day, a week, a month, a year?
He pushed the thoughts out of his mind as the woman spoke again. "You moved in here to help me with the baby; it'd be nice if you actually did your job."
So maybe it wasn't Arthur's child. Merlin listened more intently to try and pick up any of clues they dropped.
Arthur had walked into the kitchen now, and Merlin dropped into the chair next to the woman, who was just as oblivious to his presence as Arthur. Merlin considered what would happen if the other man decided to sit here; would he go through Merlin? Speaking of which, why wasn't he falling through the chair?
The moment the thought crossed his mind, he felt himself begin to fall wildly to the ground, the surface dropping out from underneath him, leaving him flailing – he quickly chased the idea out of his betraying mind as he stood up again. Okay, he definitely was going to studiously avoid thinking about that.
He had missed a word or two of conversation during his experience, and he tuned his ears back into the Arthur's words. "….has our father called yet?"
They were siblings, apparently. Their teasing, biting exchange made more sense now.
The woman spoke. "Not yet. I don't expect him to until tonight."
"Alright then, I'm going to go play footie with Leon," Arthur said as he strode back over to the table, two pieces of toast in his hands. Merlin moved hurriedly as Arthur fell into his departed seat. "Will you be able to survive without my presence for an afternoon, Morgana?"
Morgana snorted derisively, Merlin laughing along with her a bit. "It will be a blessing."
"See you later!"
Arthur, mouth full of toast, began to start toward the door. Merlin, with a loud sigh and a wish that he was able to have a slice of toast, followed him. He had a feeling that he was going to get sick of this whole process within the next ten minutes.
It only took five.
Arthur was extremely annoying, Merlin decided. He was rude to strangers that he bumped into, he flirted with a girl on the subway in a decidedly not welcome way, and he greeted his tall, curly-haired friend with a punch on the shoulder.
Merlin had always hated people that punched other people for fun.
The only interesting part of the process was that Merlin learned he was still in London. He hadn't decided if that was a good or bad thing yet.
Sitting on a bench at the park and watching Arthur interact with his friend, Leon, who seemed nice – could he follow Leon around instead? – Merlin cursed his existence. Not his life, as he clearly didn't have that anymore, but he still existed.
That was a depressing notion. The whole reason that he decided to die was because he wanted to stop existing.
He didn't know what to do. Was he just supposed to follow Arthur around for the rest of his life and wait for the stupid goddamn voice thing to come fetch him again when it was 'his time'?
That wasn't a happy option.
But what else could he do? If he left Arthur, would the afterlife, whatever it was, still accept him? And where would he go? Would he go home, see how long it had been since he had died? Wander the earth in desolation?
There was nothing that sounded even halfway appealing.
Could he even leave Arthur? Was there some kind of magical force tying him to the man, keeping Merlin rooted there? He looked out across the busy park, where Arthur was laughing at something Leon had said, his hair shining in the midday sun and face scrunched up in an entirely undignified, yet so very, very beautiful way.
Well. He was still a bastard, no matter how gorgeous he was.
Merlin stood up hesitantly, and tearing his eyes away from Arthur, began to walk in the opposite direction, through the crowds of the park that he could pass through without even diverting from his path – and then, when he was about fifty feet away, he stopped.
He didn't know why he stopped, but he did. He knew, somehow, in the back of his mind, that he could go no further unless Arthur was next to him, that he could go nowhere without the man, that he was inexplicably roped to him in every possible way.
Merlin cursed loudly. No one turned and glared at him. A small blessing of this new form of torture the universe had found for him.
Reluctantly, he spun his heel back to where he could see, in the distance, Arthur kicking a football with precise aim. He cursed again as he trudged back.
"I hate you," Merlin informed Arthur upon his return, while the blond man chugged down a bottle of water in one gulp. "I really hate you."
That may have been unfair, seeing as Arthur wasn't even aware of Merlin's presence, but Merlin needed someone to take his anger out on, and Arthur was the closest available target.
"Don't forget about the match this weekend," Leon came up behind Arthur, clapping him on the shoulder. "Will Morgana come along?"
"Maybe," Arthur said with a noncommittal shrug. "If she's feeling up to it, and most of the time she's not. She's even bossier than usual. It's almost scary."
"Poor Arthur, left to Morgana's torture methods," Leon chuckled. "You do realize that you chose to move in with her, right? It's entirely your fault that you're going through this."
"Yeah, well if her shit for brains boyfriend was going to leave her, I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" Arthur rolled his eyes, obviously disgusted with the situation. Merlin, surprisingly, found a new respect for him with those words. He obviously cared for his family quite a bit. "I'll see you next Saturday."
Merlin followed Arthur home with only slightly less trepidation than before.
Arthur's life, Merlin reflected, was quite boring.
Or perhaps it was only Merlin who was bored, seeing as how Arthur could, you know, talk and interact with whomever he chose to, go where he liked, and everything that a living, breathing person had the ability to do.
Merlin couldn't even sleep anymore, he just sat in one of the chairs in Arthur's room and watched the other man snore lightly as he tossed and turned. It was just plain unfair.
And entirely Merlin's own fault, but he was decidedly not thinking about that.
The only interesting part had been when Arthur returned from the park and had a shower. He was just as attractive without clothes as he was with them. But a ghost, or an angel, apparently, could not get an erection. Merlin hadn't decided if this was a good or a bad thing yet.
The next week passed in a blur, as Merlin adjusted to being whatever the fuck he was – ghost, angel, being, spirit – and what exactly he could do. Which wasn't much. He found he could touch something if he tried hard enough, but he couldn't move it and that if he thought about sinking through chairs or the floor for too long, it would happen.
He had learned a bit more about Arthur, though, like that he had moved in with Morgana six months ago when she announced she was pregnant and the father wouldn't be giving her any support, that he was about to go into his last year of university, studying history, and that his relationship with his father was strained at best, at least from the way he gave short, clipped answers to everything he had said on the phone that first night and the way he tried to avoid the subject for as long as he could. He found out that Arthur loved Chinese takeaway and could quote extensively from Ghostbusters, and that he sang seventies rock music under his breath when no one else was around. Merlin found himself singing along to Billy Joel on more than one occasion.
Merlin was starting to like him a little more. This was a very good thing, seeing as how he was stuck with him for an unprecedented amount of time. But he was still a bit of brat.
It was still a mystery why the deities of the universe had decided to latch Merlin onto Arthur. The only clue that Merlin had was a few slash marks on Arthur's wrists, but they looked at least five or six years old. Merlin would know. They wouldn't have to be from self-harm; there were other occurrences that could cause them. Still, Merlin kept a close eye on that particular facet of Arthur's life.
He learned that he still looked the same and sounded the same, although no one could see or hear him. He also learned that almost no time had passed since his death – the dates were the same, increasing his chances of glimpses into his own life.
He was hoping to avoid that, though.
But he didn't.
Two Saturdays after Merlin had died, Arthur had his football match. Merlin went expecting slight boredom, for he had never liked football. His best friend Lancelot had been on a team, and Merlin always found excuses not to attend his games. Therefore, he had no idea that the team Lancelot was on was actually Arthur's.
Merlin's breath caught when he saw him standing in the noontime sun, dressed in shorts and trainers, holding the football loosely in his hand. A rush of emotion flooded up in Merlin as he stepped away from Arthur and to him. Lancelot's tan face was paler than usual, his eyes with dark circles from lack of sleep. Merlin reached out a hesitant hand as if to touch him.
If he was the reason that Lance looked like this…
He let his hand fall away as his question was answered for him.
"Hey, Lance, you look like shit," one of the other blokes on the team came up and clapped him on the back. He was taller even than Leon, who was over having a discussion with Arthur and another dark-skinned man. "What's the matter?"
Lance gave the man a tired smile. "My best mate just killed himself. It's been a rough couple of weeks."
Merlin had never felt like a more horrible person in his entire life. He stepped away from Lance, hoping to fall back onto Arthur. But apparently his charge had overheard the comment, as he immediately broke off from his conversation and turned to Lance. Fuck.
"That's shit, I'm sorry," Arthur said as the tall man looked at him concernedly. "Is there anything we can…?"
Okay, Merlin took back any angry thought he'd had about Arthur.
Lance just shook his head. "It's over and done. I just…just wish we could've stopped it. I wish he'd told me, you know?"
"Sometimes someone's so far gone that there's nothing we can say that can change anything," Arthur said, his voice quieter and more serious than Merlin had ever heard it. His heart was in his throat, and if he had been living, Merlin was certain that there would be many tears right now. Had he been too far gone? Could anyone have helped him?
It hit him that he would never have the chance to find out.
When, a few hours later, after a smashing victory from Arthur and Lancelot's team, when everyone was slowly dispersing, Merlin was able to concentrate hard enough to wrap his arms around Lance and squeeze tightly, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt and breathing in his scent.
He hoped that somehow, beyond all form of recognition, Lance could feel that he was there. But he didn't even blink.
Merlin was wrapped in self-pity for most of the rest of the day.
It probably wasn't his purpose here in Arthur's life to mope and feel bad for himself, but he wasn't seeing much of another purpose, either, seeing as he hadn't protected Arthur from any harm or helped him achieve his ultimate destiny or any crap like that.
Not for the first time, there was a nagging thought in Merlin's head. He shouldn't have downed those pills.
He did what he always did, though; he ignored the thought with every ounce of his being and pretended it did not exist.
However, he wasn't so self-absorbed that he missed the important events in Arthur's life that night.
It started when Arthur arrived home from the game. Merlin missed the door opening, so he had to cede himself to walk through it, an experience that he usually enjoyed. Today, he barely processed it.
What he did process, however, were Arthur's next words. "Father. What a…pleasant surprise."
Merlin jerked out of his stupor. He had been dying – well, not dying, per say – to learn more about Arthur and Morgana's parentage. And here was one of them right here. A middle-aged man with short graying hair, built like Arthur but his mouth was set in a thin line like Morgana's.
"Arthur."
As they shook hands, Merlin decided that he didn't like him.
Not in the way that he had decided he hadn't liked Arthur; he realized now that was just his anger at the situation, that Arthur was actually a pretty good guy, one he might have been friends with if life had turned out that way. This was a new form of dislike, a real one.
"You only just missed his arrival," Morgana said from behind Uther. Her belly had grown slightly since Merlin had first seen her, and she had a healthy looking glow about her. The baby was due in three months, October ninth to be exact, and she was eagerly anticipating it. Merlin enjoyed being around her, she had quick wit and a razor tongue, and was one of the only people who could put Arthur in his place.
"Well, I'm glad I got here in time to see you," Arthur said, not looking glad in the slightest
"Yes, well, I came by to check on your sister," his father replied. Merlin tried to remember a name; he knew it had been mentioned once by one of the siblings…Uther. That was it. Uther. "Make sure you've been taking care of her properly."
Merlin could have punched him at the condescending tone. It appeared Arthur was holding back his feeling to the same, for his smile became even more fixed. "Of course I have. As you can see, she's doing fine."
"She can also take care of herself," Morgana scoffed as she pulled a chair from the kitchen over to the entryway when it appeared neither Arthur nor Uther was going to move into the sitting room. "Arthur's been doing brilliantly, Father, no need to worry. I'm sure he'll be even more helpful when the baby comes along."
"I somehow find that hard to imagine," Uther said coolly. Merlin curled his fingers into a fist. He could concentrate hard enough so that his fist could touch Uther's face, but he knew that the effects it would have would be quite minimal. Perhaps he'd feel a slight breeze at most.
"Well, it was nice talking to you, Father," Arthur said, and Merlin punched the air in victory, for it appeared they would be getting out of the imperial man's presence sooner than anticipated. "But I really must go shower. I assume you'll be gone by the time I'm finished."
"Yes," Uther said. "I expect I shall be."
There were no words of parting, nothing of a friendly goodbye, only Arthur hurrying up the stairs faster than Merlin had ever seen him, and that included the time he'd tried to jump them all in one go once when he had been at home alone and Merlin had laughed at him for a good five minutes.
He followed Arthur's quick pace up to his bedroom as Uther and Morgana continued their conversation below. Arthur was upset, this much he knew – was Merlin going to see him crying all? He hadn't seen any tears on Arthur's face before, but he hadn't seen the man in an overly emotional situation before now either.
Whatever he was expecting to find, this was worse.
When Merlin rounded the corner into the bathroom that adjoined with Arthur's bedroom, he found the other man in front of the mirror, eyes wet and hands shaking, a razor clutched tightly in one of them.
"No," Merlin said suddenly, every sense of him pouring out into that one word. "No. Arthur, no."
Arthur, of course, couldn't hear him. Merlin stepped forward, his mind lit on fire as he tried to wretch the razor from Arthur's grasp.
He couldn't do it. He felt the hard, cool edges of the instrument but he couldn't pick it up, he couldn't wrench it away. It stayed firmly lodged in Arthur's fist.
"No," Merlin tried again, speaking louder, praying to the goddamn voice that sent him here to help him, to make Merlin less useless. "No, please. Please, Arthur. Please don't do this."
Arthur was trying to stifle his tears now, if the choked noises coming from his mouth meant anything. Merlin's heart broke for him, for this shining golden boy who was so calm and confident in everything he did, and how one encounter with his father could reduce him to this, to Merlin's former level.
He put an arm around Arthur's shoulder, but an arm that Arthur could not feel.
Arthur lifted the razor now, examined it for a moment as Merlin stood up straighter and began to yell, not at Arthur, but at the world. "How do I stop it? This is why I'm here right, to stop it? So how? You sent me here; you gave me this job, so you have to help me! Show me what to do! Show me what to do!"
The world didn't answer, and Merlin watched as Arthur drew a slice mark into his wrist.
It wasn't deep, but Merlin still choked on the air around him, anyway. He didn't need to breathe anymore, but he still choked.
The next one was deeper, but it was the only other one.
Merlin's hands followed Arthur's as he opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out bandages, and wished he could at least help in the recovery process, if he couldn't assist in stopping the deed itself.
Arthur only allowed one tear to fall during this entire process, but, shockingly, it didn't reach the edge of his paler and drawn face. Merlin, not expecting anything, had reached up, to wipe it away, and surprise and a sudden burst of happiness greeted him, for the tear fell onto his outstretched fingertip.
Merlin looked at the droplet of water on his skin and didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
When Arthur went back downstairs, Uther was gone, which relieved Merlin above all else. Arthur pretended to Morgana like nothing was wrong, but Merlin still kept a hand on Arthur's the entire time, because he knew better.
That night, when Arthur crawled into his bed and fell asleep, Merlin sat not in the chair next to the door, but on the edge of the mattress, watching Arthur sleeping, face vulnerable at last, and wished fervently that he was having a good dream.
Old habits die hard. Merlin knew that, of course, he had always known that. It was strange, when he thought about it, that the phrase had never realized how horrible that statement was during his life, when it affected him almost daily, but in his death, it was his one great hatred.
Arthur had cut his wrists five times in the next two weeks. One of the cuts went deep, too deep, in Merlin's opinion, for he screamed even louder at the other man during the course of it happening. He was alright, of course, Arthur was always alright around everyone else. Morgana, Leon, the rest of his friends; they had no idea.
Every time Arthur went out, to play footie, to have a drink with a mate, to have dinner with his sister, he pretended that this life was all in order, that there wasn't this huge, gaping problem hanging above each of their heads without their knowledge.
It had been the same in Merlin's own life; Lancelot hadn't known anything about his self-harm and suicidal thoughts, and his mother and Gaius had been clueless, too. Now Merlin could finally understand why it was Arthur he was watching, but not why he was there in the first place.
It wasn't like he could do anything to stop it – he had tried everything. He had yelled, screamed, tried to break things, shook Arthur as hard as he could, but all the concentration in the world couldn't bring Arthur to blink even once.
It was enough to drive Merlin off the edge.
He'd taken to talking to Arthur whenever he could, not to get a reaction, but if some form of Arthur's subconscious could hear him and could process his words, Merlin wanted to make absolutely certain that they were good ones.
"You're beautiful," he'd tell Arthur when he was brushing his teeth in the morning, leaning against the mirror.
"Awesome goal," Merlin held up a hand for a high five that would never happen at Arthur's footie practice with Leon.
"The way you take care of her when she tells you to go away is great. You're an amazing brother," he said as Arthur insisted on pulling up the coffee table to Morgana could kick her feet up on it as her stomach began to grow more and more unmanageable.
"It doesn't matter that he's a bastard, you have so many other people that love you," was during another phone conversation with Uther.
"Don't do this to yourself, you have so much to live for," Merlin traced a hand along one of Arthur's freshest scars.
Everything he said was true. The more time he spent with Arthur, the more beauty he saw, the more commendable and incredible qualities came out in him. He was a born leader, had a laugh that lit up the world, he was never afraid to say what he thought…How could someone like this be harboring such a great secret?
He himself had, Merlin reminded himself. He had and had for years. But that was different. He hadn't been like Arthur, a bright and shining beacon of light. He had been darkness and an endless black hole, spinning downward every second.
"I wish things had been different," Merlin said one night as Arthur tried to fall asleep, but ended up throwing himself around the bed more than anything, while Merlin laughed a bit and felt bad for him. "I wish…I wish we had met when I was alive. I wish I would have come to one of Lance's footie games. I would have seen you play, and I could've complimented you. Well, no, knowing me, it would be an insult. We would have probably traded insults every time we met until I finally decided I liked you. Maybe I would have asked you out. We could have been brilliant, Arthur. Maybe I would –"
Merlin's words caught in his throat and he had to clear it before he could continue. "Maybe I would still be alive. But I'm glad I died, if it was the only that I could have ever known you."
Merlin didn't stay on the edge of the bed that night, like he usually had since the first day he had seen Arthur slice himself. He curled himself around the other man, holding him tightly, knowing he wouldn't have to let go throughout the entire night. He had no idea whether or not the touch would be welcome or not; Arthur had no girlfriend, but he hadn't a boyfriend either, although he had flirted with both women and men when he was the pub with his friends, he hadn't actually slept with any of them. Merlin hoped that even if it wasn't welcome from a living, breathing person, he wouldn't say no to a guardian angel wanting to pass on just a piece of whatever comfort he could muster.
Merlin should have realized something was different that day.
He had been Arthur's unknown companion in everything for about two months now, seemingly useless and pointless in every way, and not once in all that time had Arthur spent the night somewhere other than his bedroom. His friends teased him about it sometimes, but his excuse was always that he needed to be there in case Morgana needed him, which she did, some nights.
But in the morning, he informed Morgana that he was going to their father's estate in Wales for the weekend, claiming that he needed to get away briefly before the baby arrived.
"Well, why this weekend?" Morgana asked.
Arthur shrugged. "I dunno. Nothing important happening, is there? I just need some time to myself, Morgana, relax. Didn't your doctor say stress was bad for you?"
Morgana brandished a finger threateningly at him, but relented. "Call me when you get there."
"Of course," Arthur rolled his eyes, but then, to both Morgana and Merlin's surprise, scooped her into a tight hug.
That should have been the first sign.
The second was when he called Leon on the way up.
"Yeah, mate, I'm gone for the weekend," Arthur was saying into the phone as he veered out of London, Merlin sitting in the passenger seat and wishing he could hear what Leon said back. Another power he did not have. "Tell everybody I'm sorry I won't be at…at practice. I'll see you later, yeah?"
Arthur stumbled over his words and Merlin felt another pinprick of worry. He voiced it. "Arthur, are you okay?" As he expected, there was no response, but it couldn't hurt to try.
Arthur drove for a couple hours until they came upon a large country manor, the type of house that deserved to have eight families living inside of it, not just be used for a vacation home. Merlin had known that Arthur's family was quite rich, but this was just pushing it over the top.
Arthur pulled into the driveway, and his he put the car into park, grabbed his keys out of the ignition and headed up to the front door. Merlin passed through his own door in order to follow. Arthur was looking almost furtively about the area, as if he was making sure he was alone.
He was. Except for Merlin, of course.
Third sign.
Arthur locked the door, letting himself inside, and Merlin was able to slip through before he closed it. The inside of the house was just as grand as the outside, with a huge, endless foyer with a chandelier dangling above their heads, bright and beaming, gigantic windows parallel to each other overlooking a tossing and turning river in the background with an ornate bridge built over it.
Well, that was just too much.
Arthur's movements for the next few hours were erratic at best. He had been antsy and jumpy as he paced about the four floors of the house, if it could be called that, and only sat still in front of the television for a good half hour before he gave up and started pacing again.
"Arthur, what are you doing?" Merlin asked five or six times. "C'mon, just let me know what you're doing."
Merlin should have recognized the signs immediately. But he didn't. It was only when, just before dusk, Arthur headed outside, jacketless, and toward the arch-like bridge that Merlin began to realize.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," Merlin begged continually as he followed a grimly determined Arthur to very top of the bridge. "No, Arthur, you are not going to do this to yourself. To me. No. You can't. Please, I'm begging you. No, Arthur. No, no, no."
They had reached the top of the bridge and Arthur hadn't heard a single word, just stared out at the water, not pensive, but in a nearly terrified way, as if he knew what he thought he was going to do but really, truly did not want to do it.
Merlin was going to reach that part of him if it was the last thing he did.
"Arthur!" Merlin snapped a finger in front of his face. "Arthur, do you want me to get on my hands and knees here? Because I will. Don't do this, Arthur, please. You've got to live your life. You've got to do what I didn't have the strength to. You're so much stronger than I was, Arthur, and you can do this. You have to live your life, Arthur. Please. If not for you, for me. I love you, Arthur, and I won't let you do this to yourself!"
Merlin was half-sobbing, so he didn't see Arthur's head turn toward him and his mouth fall open in utter surprise. But when Merlin cracked his eyes open through his tears, Arthur was staring at him Staring at him.
Merlin was so shocked that the tears stopped failing and he gazed at Arthur with unreserved wonder.
"W-Who are you?" Arthur's breath hitched. "Where did you come from, and what – what did you just say to me?"
"Arthur," Merlin breathed, and his hand touched Arthur's face. Arthur looked at the motion. Arthur could feel Merlin's skin on his cheek just as well as Merlin could feel his. Oh, God, the tears were coming back. "You can see me?"
"Of course I can see you!" Arthur batted his hand away; Merlin let it fall slowly, as if through molasses, to his side. "Why wouldn't I be able to see you?"
Merlin let out an incredulous, half-mad laugh. "Oh, thank God. Oh, thank God. Arthur, you have to listen to me. I know. I know how much it hurts. I know you're in a lot of pain, I know most of it comes from your father; I know about the razors in your bathroom, I know how you pretend that everything's okay when it's not. I know, alright? I know."
Arthur's jaw went slack as he gaped at Merlin, and Merlin could have jumped in the air in jubilation, because Arthur could see him. Arthur could see him. He could hear him, and feel him, and everything else, and now there was nothing on earth that would stop Merlin from making sure that Arthur didn't die today.
"How do you know that?"
"I-I died," Merlin admitted. "I died and they sent me back here. I'm something like…I thought I was supposed to be your guardian angel."
"Guardian angel?" Arthur breathed, a ghost of laughter echoing in his voice. "You're joking, right?"
"No," Merlin shook his head. "My name's Merlin. I'm Lancelot's friend. Lancelot's friend that killed himself."
"Lancelot's –?" Comprehension dawned on Arthur's face as he remembered and Merlin wished that there was some other feature of his that Arthur would recognize, something that didn't link back to suicide.
"I've been here ever since I died," Merlin said. "I've been watching, Arthur. I've tried everything to get you to see me, to hear me."
"You said – you said you loved me," Arthur sounded confused. "If you've been around me all this time, every second, seen everything, then that can't be true."
"Oh, Arthur," Merlin felt his heart shatter at the words. "You don't see it. You don't see how amazing you are, how everything you do is a gift. Please don't throw it away, Arthur. Letting someone like you go to waste…"
"Well, who are you to talk?" Arthur snapped angrily, but Merlin understood. "If you're telling the truth, you killed yourself."
"And ever since I met you I've wished I hadn't," Merlin grasped Arthur's shoulder tightly, bridging the tiny gap between them. "No, that's not true. I'm glad I did – but only because I got to know you."
Arthur's gaze was half incredulous, half awestruck.
"Don't you see?" Merlin continued. "I was supposed to be your angel – but you…you were mine. You're my angel, Arthur. You're what saved me. But it's too late for me now. It's not too late for you."
"I'm not – I can't –" Arthur grasped wildly, and Merlin reached out his other hand to clasp one of Arthur's.
"You can. You can do anything, Arthur. You're going to be amazing. And do you know what?" Merlin chuckled, barely believing that the words were coming out of his mouth. "I was pretty great, too. Maybe not during my life, but here, with you…I think that was my destiny. You. Please, Arthur, live. If you won't live for yourself, just live for me. I know everything, and I still love you. Every last piece of you."
"Merlin," Arthur breathed, and Merlin's heart cracked at the sound of his name issuing from those lips. "Merlin – Merlin, what are you doing?"
Merlin, confused, looked down. His body was beginning to fade away; he could no longer see his legs. He couldn't feel them either.
What he did feel was a warmth – slow and study, consuming him, like the light he had felt on that first day that felt so long ago. Merlin let in form inside of him, and he could feel it begin to swallow him.
"They're taking me back," Merlin, shocked, looked down into Arthur's pale blue eyes. "They're taking me back. They must – You must be…You're going to be okay without me."
"What? No, don't leave!" Arthur's voice was frantic. "Merlin, how am I – If you really are – If you really do – then how am I supposed to it without you?"
"You can do anything, Arthur," Merlin's voice was weak, and Arthur was fast fading from his vision. "You're going to have a brilliant life, and when you get to wherever we go next, you're going to tell me all about it, alright? You're going to find me and tell me about it."
"Please don't leave," Arthur's voice was a distant, pleading roar. "Please."
"I wish I didn't have to go," Merlin felt disembodied now. "But I do. I love you, Arthur. Go now. Go back home, go back to Morgana, to Leon. Go, Arthur. I know you can do it. I have faith in you. And if I can see you from the place I go, I'll find you again. You'll never be alone, Arthur. You'll always have someone that loves you."
The last thing saw was Arthur's beautiful, tearstained face, gazing at him with what Merlin wished was just the tiniest grain of hope.
He smiled before the light consumed him.