Yes, yes, I know I still have the other Merlin fic to finish, but this has been sitting on my computer for so long now and I finally finished the 2% that needed to be edited. Please don't hate me.

Through Thick and Thin

"YOU'RE THE VOICE TRY AND UNDERSTAND IT MAKE A NOISE AND MAKE IT CLEAR"

Arthur groaned. Who the fuck was calling him at—he checked the digital clock by his bedside—three in the morning? It wasn't even a school night for Christ's sake. Let a man sleep! The words MERLIN THE IDIOT lit up his screen. He groaned again. Merlin. Of course it was Merlin calling at three in the damn morning. Of course. Probably wanted to get food; that bloody wanker was always hungry. Arthur debated on not answering and just rolling over to fall back asleep, but ultimately, after much deliberation, he hit answer. They've had some fun adventures early in the morning getting food. What's one more adventure?

"Yeah, what's up?" Somehow, he sounded coherent.

Heavy panting filled the end of the receiver. It might have been a figment of an exhausted mind, but there seemed to be a trace of terror in the breath. At least it wasn't sex-panting. Arthur heard it one time—who the hell answers their phone in the middle of doing it with their girlfriend?! oh yes: Merlin—and he couldn't look his friend in the face for two weeks afterwards. (Of course, then Merlin, thankfully, dragged his drunk ass from getting too involved with Sophia, whilst the two were already in bed. Needless to say, neither could embarrass the other again. They'd even proven it with an 'I can embarrass you more than you can embarrass me' challenge last year.)

"Merlin, mate, I'm way too tired for this. What?"

"S-Sorry about t-this," Merlin whispered, practically whimpered. The sheer terror in his words shocked Arthur into complete awareness. He had never heard anyone that terrified. Not even on the shows he'd watch did anyone's voice ever hold that much fear. "But can I... Can I come over? N-Now?"

"Yes, of course," Arthur replied without a second's hesitation. "What's wrong?"

There was a pause and Arthur could practically see the three dots as Merlin went registered his question. In the background, he could hear rain and thunder. Someone was shouting faintly, but there was no way to tell who it was or what they were saying.

Finally, Merlin spoke. "Nothing. I'll be there soon. Thanks."

"Merlin! Wait, Merlin!"

The phone went silent.

Arthur cursed. Leave it to Merlin to scare the shit out of him and ask for vague assistance (there was never a blatant, "I need help, help me, Arthur," to pass from Merlin's lips, even if it was only a maths problem), only to not explain what the fuck was going on. This wasn't the first time it happened; they'd been friends since the middle of year ten, and had gotten into loads of trouble, both together and individually, during their three-and-a-half year friendship. (Everyone in town had found it strange how quickly their friendship formed since the first half of the school year consisted of the two boys being quite hateful towards each other. It's funny how once someone saves your life, you become much more amicable. Especially since they also kept your secret and taught you how to swim.) Arthur rarely ever heard it, but that was Merlin's something-is-really-wrong-and-I'm-scared-and-I-think-I-might-start-crying voice. This had only been the third time Arthur had ever heard that voice. The first was when Merlin's mother had gone missing during eleventh year and the last time had been...

Last week. Right before the funeral. Arthur was an idiot. Mornings were really not his forte.

"What's wrong?" he had asked. What a stupid question! What was wrong? Everything was wrong! Poor Merlin—the weekend of his eighteenth birthday, about a month ago, was the memory of his mother's disappearance, and then, as if the universe was giving him one last kick in the nuts, two weeks ago had been the Accident. It was the most terrifying, and relieving, day Arthur had ever had in his life. He doesn't think there would ever be a day that could top the sheer terror that went right to his bones

In their small town, news travels fast. So when one of the biggest car accident occurred involving the town's own Love Birds, everyone was talking about it, especially when Merlin got out without so much of a scratch while Freya, his girlfriend, had died on impact. Then, of course, when Arthur arrived on scene everyone was talking about how the son of the top ten richest men in the country was comforting and riding an ambulance with one of the poorest boys in the town. Really, you'd think they'd gotten over it since it had been about three and a half years, but what can you expect from annoying journalists and gossiping small-town mothers and daughters? (And some fathers and sons.)

Arthur was thankful that his father and sister weren't in the house tonight. (Or "castle," as Merlin and most of Arthur's other friends called it.) Uther was off on yet another business trip and Morgana was having a girl's night with Gwen and Mithian and who knows who else. It's honestly better they're not here, because Arthur would rather not have to answer questions such as, "What is going on at three in the morning?" and "Why is he crying?" or even, "Why is he crying on your shoulder?" Morgana might only have asked the first, but Arthur knew his dad would've asked all three.

The doorbell rang, reminding Arthur that he was still in bed. He jumped out, suddenly alive with energy, and dashed into the hallway... Only to come running back into his room to put on a shirt. Taking the steps two, sometimes three, at a time, Arthur arrived to the front door, threw it open and—

"Mr. Cenerd?"

Rather than a tall, gangly eighteen-year-old with black hair and blue, tear-filled eyes, there stood a pudgy forty-something-year-old with greasy hair and brown, enraged eyes.

Merlin's step-father.

He pushed through the door, forcefully shoving Arthur out of the way.

"Where is he?" he screamed. "Where is he?"

"Where is who?" Arthur asked, glaring at his wet and mud stained shirt and floor. He tried to find a reason as to why Mr. Cenred would be at his door at this hellish hour, but his semi-sleepy mind was blank.

"Don't be such a fool," he spit out, knocking over a glass vase. "You know who! That bastard!"

The glass shattered and Arthur's mind clicked.

"...Merlin!?"

Mr. Cenred opened the nearest door, the one where all the shoes were, with so much force, Arthur heard the plaster chipping as it hit the wall.

"Where the fuck is he!?"

"Not here," Arthur snapped, clenching his fists. "Get out of my house."

"I know he's here!" Mr. Cenred turned around. "Don't you dare protect that cretin, boy. Show him to me now!"

Arthur drew himself up. All the sports he's played—football, rugby, wrestling, fencing—they've all taught him and his opponents he's not to be trifled with when he's in the zone. Arthur's in the zone, and Mr. Cenred shrunk back a step.

"Get out. Of my house. Now."

Nothing moved for a moment. Then, Merlin's stepfather shook his head.

"You're an idiot, protecting that cretin. He's not human, I tell ya. He's the devil child. One day you'll believe me. You'll thank me for what I did. To him and his bitch mother." He rose a finger. "Don't say I didn't warn you boy."

He left before Arthur could punch his face in.

The fuck was he talking about...? he wondered, watching the man storm off into the rain. He went to close the door, good reduce on the bastard, when a sneeze caught his ear.

Cautiously, Arthur peered around the door, where his mother's flower garden resided. There, in the alcove, was a silhouette. Had it not been trembling, it would've been invisible in the shadows.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, wondering if it was his friend or if he'd imagined the sneeze. "He's gone, Merlin. You can come out. He's gone, I promise."

For a moment, nothing happened, and Arthur started to believe he had been talking to a figment of his imagination. But then, a figure emerged.

"H-he won't c-come back-k?" Merlin's teeth chattered as violently as his body trembled.

Arthur could only stared in horror at the picture before him. His friend's left eye was swollen shut, the skin beneath his nose was crusted with blood, and his lip was split badly. That was only his face. The skin under Merlin's thin, silver bracelet was raw, red, and bleeding. For once, Merlin was wearing something that showed a lot of skin, a white tank top and boxer shorts, and Arthur could see everything all the jeans and long sleeves had hidden too well. Bruises, cuts, cigarette burns. Some were old—yellow, healed, barely there—some were recent, and some were very, very new.

"I'm going to kill that bastard," Arthur gritted. "I'm going to kill him."

Merlin looked down and said nothing, which only fueled Arthur's anger. Merlin always had a comment to say, positive or negative—and with Merlin, it was usually positively cheeky. Arthur's statements were usually followed by Merlin's words of disapproval, support, or found insults. There were few times when his friend was silent, but whenever he was, Arthur knew it only meant bad news.

"Let's get you inside," he said more gently, and stretched out a hand to put around Merlin's shoulders.

"Thanks," he whispered, immediately leaning into Arthur's warmth. He was clutching himself tightly; his steps were small and shaky.

"God, I hope you don't get sick," Arthur muttered, leading Merlin to the laundry room.

"Don't want to catch my cold?" Merlin joked. His teeth chattered too much for Arthur to even want to make a jest of his own.

"Here," he handed out a red hoodie, black sweatpants, and his favorite (and only) blue, fuzzy socks. "Go shower and change. I'll make tea."

Merlin took the clothes, but he didn't move just yet. "Are you… Are you going to call the police?"

The question startled him. "Do you not want me to?"

Merlin looked down. "I'd rather you," he licked his lips, stalling for time, "Didn't. Please."

"Why?"

"Because…" Merlin swallowed, looking away. His body trembled, but this time, it was not because of cold. "He was right… Cenred was—"

"So wrong he'd mistake a manatee for a mermaid," Arthur interrupted fiercely. He placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder, grounding him. "He's a liar, Merlin. You're not some inhuman cretin. You're my best friend and the best man I know, I mean, who else would willingly volunteer to help kids and the elderly and work at soup kitchens, all while finishing his last years of schooling? Seriously, don't listen to that jerk, you're human and practically perfect." There was a brief moment where their eyes locked, and Arthur could see the hope in Merlin's eyes…but his crushing doubt was greatly overshadowing it. "Now, you better get in that shower before this starts getting too mushy, alright?"

That did it. Merlin cracked a smile.

"Yeah, alright."

The boys laughed, grinning at each other, but as Merlin turned around to trudge up the stairs to the shower, Arthur's smile slipped off.

Right under his nose. Arthur should've known. Merlin never mentioned his home life besides what his mother cooked for him (when she was still there), never went swimming (save the time he saved Arthur and then taught him how to—but even then, he'd never taken off his shirt or trousers no matter how many times Arthur would jibe him), and never offered to take Arthur to his house. The one time he had—two years ago; they'd been caught in one of the biggest thunderstorms the town's ever seen—Merlin had been jumpy the entire duration. And Arthur had just dismissed everything like a fucking moron. He really was the oblivious prat Merlin often joked he was. He should've known. He should've known! If only he had seen it—he could've helped Merlin years ago.

And, he thought with a sinking feeling, Merlin's mother wouldn't be missing.

The cup in Arthur's hand shattered.

"Dammit," he cursed, glaring at his hand. That had been one of his mother's teacups. And Merlin's cup of tea.

Sighing, he carefully removed the glass shards from his hand and ran it under cold water.

A voice came from the stairs. "Arthur? What happened?"

Dammit, Arthur thought again. "Nothing," he replied. "The glass just slipped from my hand."

Of course, Merlin was suddenly standing right behind him before he even finished the sentence, reaching for his bleeding hand.

"Then why is your hand bleeding?" he asked, frowning in knowing disapproval. Arthur hated that frown. It made him feel like a five-year-old kid with a disappointed parent.

"I got a little angry," he admitted. "And I guess I just clenched my fist a little ah," he hissed when Merlin plucked out a small shard of glass with tweezers. "A little too hard," Arthur finished. He took a deep breathe, watching the concentration on his friend's face as he searched for more shards. "Merlin, I… I should've known. I'm so sorry."

Merlin frowned again, this time in confusion. Standing in an oversized, red Camelot sweatshirt and black sweatpants, he looked so young. The bruises on his face were made even more prominent. Arthur got angry all over again.

"Oh," Merlin whispered quietly in understanding. He looked down, as if ashamed, and drew his hands away from Arthur's. "It's not your fault."

"But if I hadn't been so blind—"

"You were blind because I wanted you to be," Merlin interrupted quietly. "I wanted a normal life. I wanted friends who didn't know about…everything."

"But that's no excuse for me," Arthur said, balling his hands into fists. He could feel blood run down his knuckles. "I should've seen that my mate was in trouble."

Merlin shook his head. "I told you. I didn't want you to know."

"I know you didn't, but I should've—"

"No, Arthur—"

"—I should've done something—"

"There was nothing you c—"

"—I mean, what kind of person am I that I didn't know that—"

"It doesn't matter, Arthur!" Merlin shouted, slashing his hand through the air. "If I didn't want you to know something, you wouldn't have known it no matter what!"

"That doesn't make any sense!" Arthur shouted right back. "Don't make excuses for me, Merlin. And don't make excuses for that lying bastard either!"

"When have I ever—?!"

"You said he was right, Merlin! You agreed with the freak about the things he said about you!"

Merlin was crying now, and Arthur had no idea why or when he had even stared and it just made him even angrier.

"But he was right! Arthur, he was right. You," he took a shaky breath, "You don't understand. Because he was… Was… I'm not… I'm…"

He couldn't finish.

Arthur wanted to murder the man who'd been telling Merlin such things. Who the hell would tell someone that they weren't human? And what did it say about Merlin that he believed the lies?

Arthur wished he could take that last thought back. It wasn't Merlin's fault. It couldn't be. It was probably PTSD or Stockholm Syndrome or something of the like. God, what had the world come to? Yesterday, Arthur would've laughed in someone face should they imply that Merlin would be standing in his kitchen, sobbing as one does when they're finally letting themselves feel what they've hidden for far too long. He would've punched them in the face if they had told him that Merlin was being abused right under his nose.

But it was true. It was all true.

"You're bleeding," Merlin hitched out, trying in vain to rub the tears out of his eyes.

Arthur looked down at his hand, feeling numb. "I'm fine."

"No, you need stitches." Neither of them moved to get the phone. Slowly, Merlin took a deep breath. "I'm…I'm going to p-prove it to you," and he took Arthur's hand.

"Prove I need stitches?" Arthur asked.

"No." Merlin looked up, sad determination in his eyes. "I'll prove I'm not human."

Then his eyes glowed gold. Arthur was too speechless about the glowing eyes that he didn't even notice his hand was no longer bleeding.

"See?" Merlin looked down, completely defeated. "No human can do that."

"That was…" Arthur tried to find the right word.

"Scary?" Merlin supplied quietly.

"Awesome."

For a moment, Merlin looked pleased, but it melted away a moment later.

"Will thought so too." Arthur knew of that name; Merlin occasionally brought it up, but there was never a face to go with the name. Whoever he was, Merlin sounded completely heartbroken about him. "He...he was my best friend in Ealdor. We grew up together, did everything together. He knew about my…my talents, and mum was okay with that. We trusted each other, but…one day… When Cenred found out that he knew…I never saw Will again. He went out hunting with his folks…but none of them were seen again. Not alive. They're bodies—" Merlin was crying again and clutching Arthur's hand tightly "—were found a few days later. Execution style."

"Oh, fuck," Arthur breathed out. He turned his hand to grip Merlin's; his thumb swiped across Merlin's hand in a, hopefully, soothing manner.

"The next day, we moved here."

Arthur couldn't understand something. "But why did you mum marry him? Why did she follow him here instead of call the police and stay in Ealdor?"

Merlin breathed out slowly, as if he'd been waiting for this. "He was supposed to just be a date. My mum had been on a lot of dates since my dad passed; they never lasted, and we both knew she did it only to have a chance to go out without her son and have a good time, but Cenred… He never stopped coming around. It was a blind date gone bad, and Cenred had no idea my mum wasn't interested whatsoever. No matter what she said, he'd always come 'round. Changing the locks didn't do shit. We couldn't go to the police about it 'cause he was the police. After the first time we went, we were literally laughed out. They didn't believe their chief was stalking my mum, and they called her horrid thing," Merlin was shaking again, anger shining brightly in his eyes. "At first he was obsessed with my mom. We tried to escape, but he…" He shuddered and didn't finish the sentence. "And then he found out about me. He became obsessed with trying to…to use my…"

"…Talents?"

Merlin huffed a half-laugh. "Yeah. Talents. He tried to use them for himself, but I wouldn't let him. Then he tried to take them. Nothing he tried worked." Unconsciously, Merlin fingered an almost-invisible line on the inner part of his forearm. "I don't know where he got any of his ideas. I've never met anyone else like me. Cenred became angry that he couldn't take it, so he started…making my life as miserable as possible.

"I liked when I met you. You had no idea who I was and were—"

"A complete jackass to you," Arthur finished, feeling himself heat up at the memory of how horrid he'd been.

"But I liked it," Merlin insisted, a grin on his face. "The grief you gave me wasn't for anything but just being me."

"Oh yes, that's very logical Merlin." Arthur rolled his eyes.

"But now we're friends."

Arthur couldn't help but small at that. "Yeah. Now we're friends."

The tension in Merlin's shoulders disappeared as he heard Arthur's words. He looked up, his lips also stretching into a small smile. "Even though I can do things no one else can?"

"Most definitely." Before he could stop himself, Arthur pulled Merlin into him, enveloping his friend into a huge bear hug that he knew his other friends would tease him for, if they knew. Arthur didn't give a rat's arse what his other friends thought at the moment. All that mattered was that Merlin was finally safe.

"You won't go to the police, right?" Merlin whispered, his voice muffled by Arthur's shirt. "I don't want to be taken away…"

Arthur tightened his grip. "I'm never letting you out of my sight, no one else will hurt you."

"Please promise," he begged quietly.

"I promise not to go to the police," Arthur said. But I'll go to my father.

x~X~x

A week later, Uther arrived back home.

A week after that, Mr. Cenred disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again. He wasn't missed.

Once they passed their A-Levels, Merlin and Arthur hit the road, traveling around Europe one last time before having to settle down at the university they were accepted to.

They had no idea the adventures and struggles that awaited them there, but they knew they would face each and every one of them together.