The painting that has taken up his whole day -- or the best part of it, anyway -- is of a ship. Not just any ship, in Barney's opinion, because he can look at it and imagine a man standing there in shining armour, a benevolent smile on his face -- for a flash he sees another figure beside that, pale-skinned and golden-eyed, embracing him, and then he blinks and it's gone. The man, of course, is King Arthur, right out of his childhood daydreams. He sits down by the painting again, picking up his brush and taking a deep breath, like a diver before the plunge. That's how it feels. Sometimes he can close his eyes and keep painting, as if he's taking some scene from his memory and letting it flow out onto the page. But he's sure he's never seen a ship like this, a man like that. Well... No, he's sure.
He's painting the sun on the water when he closes his eyes and sees something else in his mind's eye -- something bright and shining like the sun, but the wrong colours -- sick greens and blues swirling together with a lurid red -- and a young man there in front of it, frozen, glaring; his straight, brown hair hanging down in his eyes. Barney feels a moment of recognition, as if he knows the young man --
And then he opens his eyes, and for a moment it's like coming up through water, and he's breathing quickly as if he was under too long. He pauses, staring at the painting, thankfully unspoilt by his carelessness in falling asleep. He's painted a small group of children into the picture, standing in a small huddle on the shore. There's one with brown hair that hangs down into his eyes. Staring at it, Barney feels stupidly sure that this is that boy he saw in his dream. Younger, but the same person.
Glancing at the clock, Barney finds that it's not even really that late. But -- and he sighs at the thought -- it's probably time to pack up and go to bed if he's falling asleep at his easel. He looks at it for one long moment, leaning in to correct a tiny smudge. Then he forces himself to pull away, carrying his paintbrushes and pallet away to clean. He has a class tomorrow, after all. An early one. All his classes are, in fact, depressingly early, at least to someone who ends up staying up all night because inspiration bit.
He keeps thinking of the man he saw, though. Thinking that there was something terribly familiar about him. Like a friend you haven't seen in years who's grown up a bit but you still sort of recognise.
As he snuggles into bed, he realises that maybe that's exactly the case. From what he saw of the young man... he looked very much like one Will Stanton, who he'd spent a holiday with. Just a few weeks, it was, in a sleepy Cornish town and then -- by some strange coincidence, and no design of theirs -- in the Welsh hills, near a town called Tywyn. He hasn't heard from Will in a while, actually -- odd, that... He closes his eyes and tries to drift off, tugging his covers more securely round himself.
Barney must've slept, though he doesn't feel like it, because when he sits up bolt upright in bed, he's been dreaming -- enough for fifty nights, let alone the few hours it's taken. He gets out of bed immediately -- hell with that early lecture -- and finds his slippers from under the bed, grabbing his dressing gown and going back to look at the painting.
He knows now what's missing. He's there, in his own picture, he's painted himself in without even realising it -- his hair just a shade too light, and so he finds paint and his brushes and changes that. And then there's Simon, at his side, and Jane on his other side, and there -- Will, and their friend, Bran. It'll be tricky to lighten the skin of that last boy, because he's an albino in reality, but it's somehow terribly important.
And then there's Gumerry -- his great-uncle, Merriman Lyon. It seems strange to think of him in that way, after so long of not really thinking of him at all. Strange, too, that somehow, subconsciously, he's there perfectly, the expression on his face exactly as Barney now remembers.
After a moment, Barney returns to Will and Bran. They're stood close together in the picture, and Barney remembers that moment. The moment of decision for Bran, as he held Eirias -- a crystal sword, and Barney remembers now how beautiful it was, and the way Bran wielded it, as if he'd been born to -- for the last time. The way Bran stood next to Will, suddenly somehow ordinary and not so otherworldly, just because he was consciously making the decision to stay with them rather than go away. The way that Bran's place at Will's side seemed to be where he always belonged -- though Barney hadn't known how to voice that then, even in his own thoughts.
He wonders how Bran is doing. They, at least, have kept in touch. Jane broke off contact with him and Simon was never overly taken with him in the first place, though. Every now and then he gets thick envelopes in the post from Wales, containing a couple of pages of close writing and often pictures and photographs; things Bran thinks he'd like -- landscapes, people, moments in time.
He likes Bran. He's a good sort, even if he does persist in calling him sais bach whenever they meet.
Dawn is starting to come, in the dark world outside his window. Barney looks at the ship he's painted and smiles to himself, remembering its name, and where it went. He goes to the window, pushing back the curtains and opening it to look out. He's always loved the stars. Tonight, he salutes the Corona Borealis, and wonders if Gumerry knows.
The post arrives while he's still looking out of the window, watching the dawn. The letters come through the letterbox and land with a heavy decisive thump on the mat that wakes him up from his thoughtful reverie. It's a familiar kind of thump, and it makes him grin in recognition and wonder exactly what made him think of Bran like he did on the morning that a letter arrived from him.
Opening the envelope, a thought hits him, so that he drops the rest of the letters, a letter from Simon and a postcard from Jane among them, and goes to sit down and think it over. Bran might remember everything, as he has. Somehow, he doesn't want to talk to Simon and Jane, afraid that they won't remember, or worse, that they'll remember it simply as a game they played with Gumerry. But Bran... Bran was always strange. Bran will probably laugh at him, but at the same time, Bran laughing at him would be easier than Simon laughing at him. And -- maybe -- Bran would be nicer because he's different too, even if all of this is just a figment of his imagination.
Which it isn't. He tells himself that fiercely as he leafs through the photographs, sketches and letters Bran has sent him this time. Reading Bran's letters always fills him with a kind of pity, though he'd never admit that to Bran himself. Bran talks about all the time he spends alone, exploring the hills he already knows like the back of his hand, and sometimes, very rarely, a trip down to Tywyn or the visit of a friend.
He decides it then and there. He'll write to Bran, that strange, lonely boy, and see if he remembers too.
The last letter he got from Bran was short -- barely a line in a neat scrawl that still somehow captured agitation and excitement. "I have a feeling about all this," it read. "That date's fine. I'll see you then."
Barney reads it again, just to make sure, and glances at his watch (a handy thing that beeps every hour to help him keep track of time, something he isn't very good at -- and also displays the date, an even more handy thing for someone who goes through the days as if he's floating) and the calendar to make sure that it is the date, it is the time. There was a brief flurry of letters between himself and Bran before they got to this point, and Barney still isn't sure Bran knows what he's talking about, and he's not completely sure he quite gets some of what Bran's talking about. But he's excited about it all, excited to see Bran, excited to find out how he's grown up in real life rather than a photograph.
He has seen photographs, of course. Not very many, because Bran seems to scorn cameras somewhat, but one or two. He's grown up, taller and broader, of course, and he's made of fewer angles now than he was before. His face is still the same as ever -- touched with arrogance and loneliness, and yet somehow the noblest face Barney's ever seen except, maybe, one. And that face was King Arthur's face, and King Arthur was Bran's father -- fantastical and strange as it sounds to even Barney, who is by now sure he hasn't simply been dreaming.
There's a knock on the door and Barney springs out of his seat before he's even thought about it. It could, he realises, be his girlfriend and therefore not worth the excitement, to this level at least -- but then he's started to suspect that she's probably his ex-girlfriend anyway, judging from the lack of contact between them. And, of course, he's not too bothered by it. He might've been, before he painted Pridwen, though he's not sure about even that. It's always felt to him like he should be waiting for someone, but he has no idea who.
It is, as expected, Bran, and without even thinking Barney is embracing him, tight and quick, grinning at him -- pleased to find they're about the same height now, though Bran has maybe an inch on him. "Bran! It's good to see you. I thought you weren't going to come."
"I did keep telling myself it was all crazy," Bran says, pushing him away with a smile that Barney guesses might be affectionate. For a moment, he holds him at arms length, and then smirks. "You've grown up, sais bach."
"Will you stop calling me that?" Barney asks, huffing and punching Bran's shoulder gently. "I'm not little."
Bran's smile has that familiar old mocking edge and he makes a face at him, dragging him inside and shutting the door firmly behind him, almost as if to prevent escape. It's strange to have Bran here, somehow makes his tiny ordinary rooms seem too full, too, well, ordinary. He cleaned up as best as he can, but there're still splotches of paint where they shouldn't be and his paints and brushes seem to be everywhere he looks, despite him going around and collecting all paints together, putting all brushes and pencils and pens into three pots -- old jam jars that've done service as waterpots before, to be truthful -- that're all crammed full.
"So," Bran says, before Barney can open his mouth to offer tea. He sits down on the sofa, dislodging one of the numerous puffy pillows, and smiles at Barney more naturally. "Let's not dance around this. We've both been having very strange dreams. The same kind of dreams."
Barney nods, opens his mouth to offer tea, and then closes it again, sitting down next to Bran and taking a deep breath. "I had another dream last night."
"Ah?"
"Yeah. It was... it was Will, and it sounded like his voice. He was asking me for help. Asking us, actually."
The oddest look passes over Bran's face, and a strange intensity comes into his voice -- though not, Barney has to point out to himself, exactly strange compared to all the rest of what's going on -- as he turns to look at Barney fully. "Will was asking for help? You're sure it was Will?"
"Of course I am," he says, a little stung. "It was Will. And he was... he was in a strange place. There was darkness all around him, but he was standing in a kind of pool of light. Or he might've been the light, you know, himself, considering what he is... you remember that, right?"
"I could never forget," Bran says, and then looks startled and perhaps a little annoyed. "Of course, I did forget. We all did, except him. But... come on, what else is there?"
"I could see this strange thing close to him, like a ball of light, but all the wrong colours and it ate light, his light, rather than giving it out. I felt like he looked at me, and didn't see me at first, and then did, all of a sudden. He looked horribly serious. He said..." Barney closes his eyes, remembering. Bran, watching, feels an almost-chill, a shiver of anticipation, as Barney's expression goes far away. When he speaks again, it's in a quite different voice, a baritone that can't be Barney's own light tenor, and yet is, at the same time. "I'm calling you because I need you, both of you. Come to me, if you can. Things will be arranged."
"I guess it's all true, then," Bran says, after a moment of silence.
Barney opens his eyes and nods, silently. For a while they just look at each other, lost in their own thoughts -- Barney thinking, irrelevantly, that he'd like to reach up and brush a certain lock of hair away from Bran's face where it brushes his cheekbone. And that he'd like to paint Bran, in an attempt to capture all the nobleness, all the arrogance and distance and yet all the humanity as well. Bran's thoughts are a mystery to him -- but he guesses they're more deep and relevant than his thoughts, at least.
"Well," Bran says, breaking the silence again. Barney blinks, focusing his eyes on the whole again instead of that lock of hair, instead of the set of his eyes or chin, instead of the shadows and angles he'd paint, and he smiles at Bran.
"Well?"
"Will needs us. Do we go?"
"I don't know. I've -- I've been thinking for days about this. We have lives, you know, and it seems, well, rude, for him to call us out of them to help him. At the same time... the Dark has had me before, you know. I didn't have half the defences he has, but it's still cruel to leave him there. They can... they can take you away from yourself. I -- "
"Barney," he says, reaching out and putting his hand over Barney's, "calm down."
Barney looks down at Bran's hand, feeling like Bran's touch is electric, like it wakes something up in him that was sleeping. He looks up again and meets Bran's eyes -- such strange eyes, beautiful eyes, tawny gold. "We have to help him, Bran. But... can we just leave like this?"
Bran raises an eyebrow. "Can we stand not to?"
"But we don't even know where to go!"
"No, but we trust Will, right?" Bran shrugs, when Barney nods reluctantly. "He said 'things will be arranged', didn't he? He must be saying that we'll be able to find him. It seems simple enough to me. If he needs us, I don't know why we're still sitting around here."
There's another pause, and then Barney's grinning at Bran. He twists his hand over to catch Bran's and give it a quick squeeze, grateful that Bran's ready to just rush out now, grateful that Bran's pretty set on taking him along too. "Some things -- admittedly not many -- are more important than earning a degree in a subject everyone already knows I'm brilliant in. And I was never fond of my early lectures."
Bran grins back, a rare kind of grin that lights his whole face into that of an almost ordinary young man. "That's better, sais bach."
"You can stop calling me that while we're on a quest together."
"We'll see. But... speaking of being on a quest together, I know Will said he'll arrange things for us, but where do we go to start? That place you kids all went for that thing... the Greenwitch? Or Wales, maybe? The hill where we last saw Merriman? Or maybe..."
Barney looks thoughtful again, not quite himself, and Bran waits, letting him think. After a moment, he looks up, frowning in puzzlement so that his eyebrows are drawn together. "I have this feeling we should start by going to the place he lives. In Buckinghamshire, you know? I just have a feeling that's where he was when all this began, and maybe there's some, I don't know, gate..."
Bran thinks of the doors opening on Craig yr Aderyn where there are no doors, and reluctantly, he nods. "It's possible, I guess. I've got my car, that's how I got here, I had an idea I might need it... Besides, we should probably be listening to those feelings of yours. There's something... I can't quite remember, but Will and I had to watch you carefully because we were afraid of the Dark attacking you. Maybe it was because you were so young, though... I can't remember."
"Well," Barney says, looking at the time. "We're not leaving today. You arrived kind of late. We should have something to eat, and I can pack anything I need -- you know, a change of clothes, or something... maps and all. And then we should try and get a good night's sleep."
Bran nods, looking at Barney solemnly in a way that makes Barney's palms itch for some reason. He raises an eyebrow, but Bran doesn't stop looking at him. Finally, he looks away himself.
"What?"
"Why are you so eager to go after Will?"
He hasn't even considered that, of course. Will is his friend, but is that really enough to lay aside his life for him? There's no guarantee he can even come back here, to his overly ordinary little home with his paints and his brushes and his easel. But Will's more than just an ordinary friend -- he's different, special, and Barney always did look up to him, even when he didn't really realise there was much to look up to. Simon and Jane did, much sooner than he did, and he has a feeling if they remembered then they'd both be scrambling to join Will. He -- back then, anyway -- he was too young to really comprehend, so he never...
"He's special," is all he can say, spreading his hands. He remembers how ordinary Will seemed, and the serious snap to his voice now and then that said he was different, set above in some way. "He's important."
Bran nods. "I can't exactly say why I think it's so important. But Will -- Will's special, to both of us."
Barney can't help but think that what Bran means isn't quite what he means. But when he thinks about it, it works all ways, really. Just like he's more eager to write letters to and arrange meetings with Bran than call his girlfriend, he's more eager to go off and save Will than to ever come back to his comfortable little home and face her righteous wrath.
After that, there's getting ready to be done -- things stuffed in bags and then taken out again, discarded because they don't matter. It's hard to know what will matter, so that in the end there're the bare necessities: shorts and a t-shirt for sleeping in, jeans and t-shirts for wearing during the day, toothbrush, toothpaste, a hairbrush -- and a single sketchpad and set of pencils, because he can't fathom the idea of going anywhere without any art supplies. Bran laughs at him for that, but he shoves the sketchpad in last all the same, fighting a valiant battle with the stuck zipper.
Then, of course, there's dinner, which in his tiny not-really-a-kitchen is a bit of a circus act of balancing things. Bran helps, with a kind of amused and superior look on his face that makes Barney want to kick him, just a little. And since it's there, Barney gets out two bottles of red wine, just so that his landlord won't have them if he's gone so long it doesn't look like he's coming back.
The evening flies away pleasantly, and to Barney, sometimes, it feels like one last patch of normality before the upheaval. Not that having Bran on his couch, flushed from drinking wine and smiling in that arrogantly beautiful way of his, is exactly normal. After a few glasses of wine, though, Barney decides that it definitely could stand to be. He revises his decision that he wants to paint Bran -- he wants to capture him in every medium, and guesses that when he's done, he still won't be satisfied that he's captured him.
"You should've visited me like this before," he declares, holding his glass of wine up to the light and squinting at it, trying to remember where he's seen someone do that before. "Without the need for this great quest... thing."
"You should've invited me," Bran says, without much sting, and finishes his wine in one gulp, getting up with a half-smile. "We should probably get to bed now. The wine's all finished after that glass, anyway."
Despite the wine, suddenly Barney feels a bit more sober just at the thought that the happy normal time is nearly over. He finishes his wine, sitting still to mull over the taste -- he's still never sure whether he actually likes the stuff or not. It just seems a suitably artsy thing to have in his cupboards ready for times like these. Bran takes his glass and goes to add them to the pile of washing up by the sink -- something they've decided to leave as a present for whoever comes looking for Barney.
"Where do you want to sleep? The sofa's not terribly comfortable, so -- "
"Are you trying to get me into bed with you, Barney Drew?" Bran asks, with a teasing smile. Barney's half-tempted, in his slightly intoxicated state, to go along with the teasing -- and something in him is saying that it's not quite just teasing, and that he'd be not quite just teasing back -- but he just shrugs.
"You can sleep where you want."
Bran thinks it over for a moment and then shrugs. "I'll sleep in your bed with you, I guess. I don't fancy driving tomorrow with a done-in back."
Barney nods and heads for his bed, picking up his long-discarded shoes on the way to throw under it. It's a big bed -- big enough for him and his girlfriend to curl up in comfort, back when any such cuddling happened. Bran whistles at the sight of it.
"Not bad off, for a student, are you?"
"Some kooky old relative is awfully fond of me," Barney says, flushing a little in embarrassment. "She's given me a lot of money now, for this --" he waves a hand around at the place in general -- "and there's more in the bank for later."
"Might come in useful, all that money," Bran says, softly. And then shakes his head. "But you don't have to -- "
"I want to," Barney says, because the wine has unlocked this little part of him that says he'd rather die than leave Will just standing there alone, facing the Dark, because Will is special to the world and more specifically to him. It's more than some childish infatuation, more than friendship, but Barney still can't say quite what it is.
Bran looks at him with some approval. "Thank you, Barney-bach."
"Nothing to be thanking me for, yet," he says, to avoid blushing at the grateful look on Bran's face. Somehow, he doesn't mind the petname so much. He gestures to the bed. "Sleep top and tail, or...?"
"It'll be easier just to sleep side by side." Bran shrugs. "I won't be worried about kicking you in the face, then, like."
Barney nods and grabs the t-shirt and boxers he sleeps in, going into the tiny bathroom to change and brush his teeth -- getting out a spare toothbrush for Bran -- and then coming back out to let Bran have his turn. He slips into bed and cuddles down, hoping he doesn't have another of his dreams. He's nervous enough about all this without something like that happening -- something unnerving like that.
He's asleep before Bran joins him in bed, and so doesn't see the look Bran gives him, thoughtful and appraising. He doesn't see Bran's little shrug, and he doesn't feel -- except distantly -- that Bran has cuddled up close to him, wrapping an arm around him in a kind of reassurance-comfort for both of them.
He'd be grateful, though.
It's not like it's a small step they're taking, or an easy one.
"Are you sure this is the place?"
"Well, yes and no. I am sure that we're about a mile away from Will's own house, no thanks to your map reading skills, but we're not exactly there. I've been here before, so we won't need the map any more. Anyway, I thought a boy like you would've been in the Scouts or something. Especially with a brother like Simon."
"What's that supposed to mean? And I only got it wrong once."
Bran pulls the car into a lay-by, parking next to a lamp post and glancing around the rather deserted road to check it's the best spot. He looks over at Barney as he pulls up the handbrake, grinning a little. "You should see the look on your face."
He huffs softly. "Whatever. So what're we going to do now? Why are we stopping here?"
Bran shrugs. "We can't do anything right now, since it's night. We could drive around a bit, but I don't fancy getting into anything involving the Dark right now. And I don't know about you, but I'm tired. It hasn't exactly been a short drive for me and we went to bed late, and got up at some ridiculous time."
"Oh."
"Yes oh. We're going to have to sleep in the car. I really hope you remembered blankets."
"'Course," Barney says, giving Bran a scornful look. He opens the car door with a shiver, slamming it behind him to keep the warmth in the car. The blankets are in the boot, neatly bundled, so he drags them out and unties the straps holding them together. He opens the back door and crawls in onto the back seat, as quickly as he can, shivering again. "How're we going to do this?"
"You can sleep across the back seat if you like. I'll sleep sitting up."
"It's kind of cold," he says, doubtfully. That morning, he'd woken up with Bran wrapped all round him, cosy and warm and -- well, it didn't mean anything, of course, and doing the same now wouldn't mean anything either. He grins a little once he's come to that conclusion. "C'mon, there's more room in the back and we can keep each other warm. That way we'll both have to sleep sitting up, but..."
"Okay," Bran says. Barney is almost surprised that he doesn't tease about it, but just gets out of the front door, gets in at the back, locks the car doors and takes his share of the blankets, taking his sunglasses off and tucking them away before wrapping himself up. There's a silence for a moment.
Silence has its dangers, really. They've listened to the radio most of the journey, and whenever they switched the radio off they'd fill the gaps with talking. And when they were taking a break, there was always something to keep Barney's attention: posters around the cafés or people so strange they had to be true. Now, though, there's nothing, except the wind blowing past the car and Bran's soft, even breathing. And of course there's nothing else to distract him from the fact that the low whine of the wind is awfully sinister, and the way that Will -- if it was Will after all -- said things will be arranged. It's not like he gave them a timetable to work to. They could be snatched up right now, and --
"Barney," Bran says, quietly. "You're shivering. Cold?"
"No," he says, and then flushes as he realises that that right there pretty much betrays exactly what he's thinking. Bran makes a soft noise, almost sleepy, and slides an arm around behind him, pulling him closer. Barney sits there, stiff and surprised, and doesn't know what to say.
"Don't worry about it. I'm scared too."
"You're scared?"
"I might be the son of King Arthur, but that doesn't mean I'm special in any other way," he says, quietly. "All I have is his blood, that doesn't mean anything. A Welsh farmer who was always afraid of the wrath of God for sins he never committed raised me, not a king."
"Was he really afraid?"
Bran sighs, and Barney finds it's easy to nestle closer, rest his cheek against Bran's shoulder. They fit quite well together, for all the awkwardness of bumps and dips in the old seats and the inevitable seatbelts digging into their backs. "He was guilty, and that's almost the same thing. He felt he had to raise me in a certain way... or lose me."
"Has he lost you?"
"I don't know."
"Anyway," Barney says, more brightly. "You're not ordinary at all. When we met, we knew you were special -- me and Jane and Simon, I mean. And not because you're an albino, it was nothing to do with that. I wanted to -- I felt like I should kneel or something. You're the Pendragon, aren't you?"
Bran snorts softly. "I gave all that up, remember?"
"If Will wants you there, you can bet he still thinks you're the Pendragon. Or he thinks you're special in some way, anyway. He wouldn't call for you if there was nothing you could do, you know? I mean, I thought he was stuck there, because of that weird not-light. So he wouldn't ask for anybody who's useless, right?"
Bran pulls away just a little bit to look at Barney, his tawny eyes startling for a moment in the half-dark of the car. "Thank you," he says, quietly, after a moment's pause, and then he punches Barney gently on the shoulder. "The same goes for you, you know. Will wouldn't ask for you if you weren't useful."
"Maybe I was just a good way to get the message to you," Barney says, doubtfully.
Bran shakes his head. "Will wouldn't drag along dead weight, you're right. If he's asking for both of us, he needs both of us."
"I don't know, Will's nice -- "
"Will's one of the Old Ones, as well. His duty comes before our feelings, always."
Barney looks up at Bran, seeing hurt in his eyes, and snuggles close against his side again. He has no idea why, but something about Bran's tone throbs with hurt, aches with it, and Barney guesses that Bran is realising how long Will's been doing without any help at all. As if he can't trust them. So much so that he only asks for two of them, only two of the four who were closest, when he's really in true need. Or maybe -- maybe Bran's been burned by the needs of the Light before. Barney isn't sure, and with Bran trembling-tense at his side, he's not going to.
"We should get some sleep," he says, and he finds his hand sliding down, his fingers tangling with Bran's. He didn't decide to do it, somehow he went ahead and did it without thinking, but it feels comfortable and Bran seems to relax a bit, so he's certainly not going to pull away. "It could be a really long day tomorrow."
"Yeah," Bran says, and he sighs.
Barney squeezes his hand, and after a moment he squeezes back. And a moment later, his breathing is soft and slow, and Barney thinks he's asleep, and he envies him the ability to sleep. Because though he said they should sleep, he isn't tired. His mind is racing. Racing and racing and racing, and if he's not careful he'll get all tense again and squeeze Bran's hand too hard or wake him up with the frantic beating of his heart or something ridiculous.
He doesn't let go of Bran's hand, though. There's that, and there's the whole quest before them, and the whole question of whether he's ever going home and whether he even wants to, and it's all too much to think about. There's the fact that he and Bran fit alarmingly well, and the stupid voice in his head that's saying it's because they'd be good together. And it is a stupid voice, because, well, it just is.
After all, before this, he didn't even consider the idea of being with a boy.
Well, he did, if he's honest, but never seriously. And yet all of a sudden he and Bran are fitting like this, like pieces of a puzzle, better than he and his girlfriend even fit. It's not that they're perfect or anything -- Bran snapped at him for just being too smiley earlier, after all -- but in some ways he likes to think they might be. And he does think Bran is good looking -- very good looking -- even, maybe, in that boyish-manly way, beautiful. In the artistic definition of beauty, of course, because there's nothing girly about Bran.
There's Will, too, though. The one other boy he's considered being with -- and that, like he said, not seriously. The boy -- or, well, young man -- they're going to be seeing shortly -- what's going to happen then? Barney has the awful feeling that he's going to look at Will and just get more of this same confusion.
"This is stupid," he says, aloud. "Bran doesn't even like you. Not that way, anyway."
He's half hoping for a confirmation -- or preferably a denial -- of that from Bran, but all he gets is a soft noise, almost a snore. He grins to himself and settles down more comfortably, thinking that Bran's got the right idea. All of a sudden, he is tired.
He has the feeling that, no matter what his mind thinks, his heart is busy doing something very stupid. Or maybe has been, without him noticing, for quite a while.
"I think I've just found whatever Will arranged," Barney says, when he gets out of the car the next morning. Bran is still half-asleep in the back seat, rubbing his eyes and groaning incoherently. Barney huffs softly and slams the car door, going to inspect the doorway that has appeared beside the road, essentially in the middle of nowhere. Doorway is a bit of a loose term for it, really -- it's roughly door shaped, but other than that, barely resembles a door at all. There's a space between glowing sides that shimmers, like air over a hot road. Barney reaches out to touch it curiously, and jumps back when his hand goes through and disappears.
"Be careful," Bran says, from behind him, and he actually flinches, surprised. He didn't hear Bran getting out of the car or coming up behind him, after all -- he counts being a bit surprised a perfectly legitimate reaction. Bran rolls his eyes and takes Barney by the shoulder, pulling him away from the strange portal. "I don't know what it is, but maybe we should eat first and have a plan of action."
"Maybe we're late..."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe we're too late to help Will, I mean."
Bran snorts softly, as if the thought doesn't even bother him. "If that's the case, then stopping to eat something won't harm our cause any. Come on. We've got a couple of sandwiches left from yesterday and there should be some biscuits or something."
Barney glances back at the portal one more time and then nods, following Bran to the car. He doesn't say anything during breakfast -- suddenly stupidly, terribly aware of every time his hand brushes Bran's. He wants to tell himself it's stupid, that he hardly knows Bran, and that his only concern right now should be Will, but he can't help it. It feels as if admitting to himself that he's so comfortable with Bran opened a floodgate somewhere.
"It'll be okay, Barney bach," Bran says, softly. His fingers brush the back of Barney's hand. "We just need to be careful. We don't know if the portal is from Will or from the Dark, but since he said he'd make arrangements, it's more likely to be him, right?"
"That's not what I'm worried about," Barney mutters, and quickly takes a big bite of his sandwich in an attempt to avoid having to explain that.
Bran frowns slightly, but doesn't say anything -- about that, at least. "Well... I've only ever done something like this once before, not counting the train... when Will and I went to the Lost Land. I can't remember... It'd be best if we held hands, I think, to try and make sure we're not separated." He glances sideways at Barney, smiling a little. "Me and Will held two sides of that horn of his, but I'm guessing you're okay with holding my hand, right?"
Barney nods slightly. "That's okay. What do you think it'll do?"
"Hopefully, just transport us to wherever Will is. That's assuming it's something of the Light, and not something from the Dark."
"It's not dark looking..."
Bran laughs softly, finishing off his sandwich. "That doesn't mean anything. There was a White Rider as well as a Black one, after all. Still, I agree with you, I don't get any sense of evil from it... just power. It's a pity you haven't seen any such thing in your visions."
For a moment, Barney mentally scrambles after scraps of last night's dreams, half-remembered images of doors, doors that led --
"I don't know, I might have seen something like it... but not that, I think."
Bran nods and gets out of the car again. He waits until Barney gets out, and then grabs the blankets, bundling them into the boot and looking the car over critically. "I don't think there's anything in there people will want to steal. Not that it's always a solution, like, but... I'll lock it up anyway, in case we can come back."
"Do you think we will?"
He shrugs slightly, suddenly looking far away and sad. "I don't think Will wants to get us involved in the first place. If we were meant to be getting involved, the Light wouldn't have gone to the trouble of taking our memories away. This is a fluke. We might end up back home afterwards thinking we've just been on a nice road trip for no real reason."
"I hope not," Barney says, because he's enjoyed being with Bran, beside Bran, on a quest, with a great sense of purpose.
"Same here," Bran says, and his expression is still distant and hardly hopeful. "I wish Will wouldn't go off alone so much, now I know why he goes and why he's alone."
"We should persuade him to take us with him," Barney says, without thinking, and he reaches out to slip his hand into Bran's -- also without thinking, though the moment he's done it, he panics, wondering if he's being hopelessly obvious. He looks away and flinches again when a cool, pale hand touches his face, turning it so he's looking at Bran. For a moment he looks into Bran's eyes, intent and beautiful, and wonders. And then his eyes fly wide open as Bran leans closer and kisses him, as if it's easy, as if it's nothing, and then he's gaping at him when he draws back.
"For luck," Bran says, his eyes dancing a little in amusement at Barney's look. He hesitates for a moment -- and Barney thinks kiss me again, kiss me again -- but then shakes his head, pulling Barney along to stand in front of the portal. "I guess it's now or never."
"I'd rather never," Barney says, looking at it. Bran makes a face at him and jerks him forward -- so that before he has chance to really think about it he's stumbling through, feeling the nothingness swallow him and close around him. He closes his eyes tight and tries not to make any stupid panicked noises to betray exactly how scared he is to Bran. He feels Bran's hand tighten in his -- and then nothing, no sensation, nothing at all for a very, very long moment.
And then he can feel Bran's hand in his again and he takes a deep breath, feeling as if he would very much like to be sick. When he looks up, he can see Bran is rapt, his eyes fixed on a small spot of light.
"That's Will, isn't it?" he says, softly.
"I think it probably is..."
"Come on," Bran says, and lets go of his hand, running towards the light. The look on his face is desperately eager, and Barney fights back a wave of nervousness and tries to convince his legs that yes, running is a good plan. He stumbles after Bran, feeling slow, sluggish, feeling like something bad is very, very close. Bran stops, just a few meters ahead, and waits until he's standing beside him. "What is that?"
Barney watches the ball of not-light turning, sucking up the radience that surrounds the short, stocky figure that's unmistakably Will. He takes a deep breath. "I don't actually know. It just seems to be holding Will still... keeping him there."
Bran nods slightly. He looks at Will for a long moment, and then speaks softly, sounding very Welsh and somehow shy. "I've always loved him, you know."
Before Barney can say anything he's striding forward again, and when he reaches the light -- Barney opens his mouth to shout a warning, tell him not to be so hasty -- he just steps through into it and reaches out, putting his hand on Will's shoulder and shaking him hard as if he's just sleeping. Barney closes his eyes, too horrified to look. It's not just that Bran's doing that, it's what Bran said -- that he loves Will, and just when Barney was starting to realise that he -- that he --
When he opens his eyes again, the sphere, the light, the darkness all around -- it's all gone, and all three of them are standing outside, in the bright sunshine, next to a car. It seems later in the day than it was -- there are more cars, and more people, and someone has written 'clean me' on the muck on the back of the car. Barney isn't even sure if it's the same day. Bran is touching his shoulder, looking into his face.
"Barney bach? Are you alright?"
"No," he says, feeling as if he wants to cry -- and he wants to tell Bran to stop calling him that, because he isn't ten anymore and he doesn't need anyone looking down on him. But before he can open his mouth, Will is hugging him -- Will, who never used to be overly emotional, who always used to be plain, stoical, normal Will.
"Thank you for coming, Barney."
Barney wraps his arms around Will and clings for a moment, realising that, if nothing else, he is shockingly glad to see Will safe and sound. When Will pulls away and looks from one to the other, taking in what has to be pain lingering on Barney's face and hope on Bran's, he nods slightly.
"I'll probably need your help a little longer," he says, softly.
"I don't want to help," Barney says, thinking for a moment longingly of his girlfriend, and his home, and his art things, and of a time when he didn't realise he was going to be horribly, consumingly in love with both Will Stanton and Bran Davies. He can barely grasp the concept right now -- he barely knows them now, barely knew them in the first place.
"Barney -- "
Will puts a hand on his shoulder. "Barney? Why did you and Bran come in the first place?"
"Because we -- " Barney breaks off. He shakes his head, trying to tell Will, silently, not to ask. He doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to speak for either of them, let alone both.
"Tell me."
"Because we both love you. But," Barney looks away from Will, and especially away from Bran, "I'd be useless if I stayed anyway."
"Is that really what you think?" Will asks, raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head and tightens his grip on Barney's shoulder, as if urging him to look. Finally, Barney does look up, and finds himself looking straight into Will's eyes -- and then beyond, like the dreams he had, into another scene. He can see himself with the two of them, with Bran and with Will, standing in front of a huge pair of doors, beautifully carved. He sees Bran kiss him like he did before -- kiss him and then Will -- and sees the way he and Will exchange smiles, knowing little smiles. He shakes his head quickly, pulling away from Will as the vision fades into the reality again.
"No."
Will smiles at him, just a little. "I need you, Barney. I can travel into the future, but until I'm in it, I can't see it without help. I can't see beyond the moment, without you. The Light never used your talent before, because you were so young, and because the Dark had already used you, but..."
"Are the things I see the truth?"
"Possible truth. Nobody can predict the future exactly. What you see... it's not the truth, nor is it a lie. It's a possibility, that can only come to pass if a number of things happen in the right way. If you looked for long enough, you could trace it back and find all the steps for me."
Barney bites his lower lip. "Do you know what I saw just now...?"
Will smiles at him. "I've a fair idea."
Bran takes a deep breath, obviously not understanding a word of this. Barney turns to look at him -- forgetting for a moment that stupid good luck kiss and the way they held hands and cuddled together at night, or at least forgetting that it's Will that Bran really wants. Bran gives him a sincere look, stepping closer to him. "I know I said I love Will, Barney bach, and I'm sorry if you mistook me because..."
Barney takes a deep breath and then swallows hard, past a lump in his throat. "Because...?"
"Because I love you as well," Bran says, and the look on his face is hopeful and sincere and all kinds of things, and Barney feels like his heart might all of a sudden start beating out of his chest.
"Oh," he says, and then, in a rush, "I love you too."
Will is smiling at him. "So... will the two of you stay with me? On my quest? I need Barney's eyes and, well -- "
"I'm the one that's not that useful," Bran says, huffing softly. "I might've been once, when I was the Pendragon, but I'm not now. I don't have Eirias, or anything."
"That," Will says, "can be sorted."
"I don't -- Will!"
Will grins. To Barney, it looked as though Will pulled the blade out of sheer nothingness, although at a guess it was invisible at his side. After a moment, he hands it to Bran, an odd look of reverence on his face, and then he makes an unbuckling motion and a sword belt appears in his hands. He hands that to Bran, too, helps him put it on. Bran's eyes are shining with an odd look, the kind of look he used to have that made Barney want to sink to his knees in reverence. It still does, in a way. Will's grinning, as if all of this is very ordinary. "Your father gave me that, for you. I didn't know it was for you, at the time, but it's obvious now. He says 'use it well'. Now will you both come with me?"
There's a short pause. Bran and Barney look at each other, and both grin.
The Doors stand before them. Will looks up at them with a half-smile, running his hand over the smooth surface, not pushing it open yet. "Are the two of you sure? I don't even really know where or when we're going... we might never come back."
"I think," Bran says, glancing at Barney, "I can handle that."
Barney shrugs. "We drank all my wine, so my landlord won't have it, after all."
"You're really, really sure?"
Bran rolls his eyes. He takes a step towards Barney and grabs his wrist, makes him turn so he can lean in and kiss him quickly. "For luck," he says, and Barney grins, and then he turns to Will and kisses him too, and then he turns to face the Doors. "I'm not a wuss, even if you two are," he says, cheerfully, and gives the Doors a good shove so that they open, noiselessly, before them.
Barney steps up close to him and takes Will's right hand and Bran's left. "C'mon, Will," he says, grinning. "I think this is going to be fun."
"I'd rather you knew it was going to be fun," Will says, almost grumbling, but he can't help but smile as well.
Bran rolls his eyes. "I know it's going to be fun. Come on."
And he pulls them both forward, stumbling a little, through the Doors, and into a new time, a new life.