AN: Gift for a friend, please enjoy.

Murmurs and whispers. Soft, creeping voices, all around him, surrounding him in the dark, dark room.

"Lucky to be alive…"

They were leaning over him, manic smiles, grotesque faces, peering down. Examining him. They were monsters, hiding the dark.

"Such a great impact…"

Red eyes, glowing, illuminating a clawed hand reaching for him. He struggled to pull away, but he was frozen. He could feel sweat on his neck, stinging pricks, the pricks of their claws, tearing at him in the dark of a nightmare.

"Let him rest…"

How, how, how could he rest with the footsteps? Step, step, step. Deliberate, constant. They were coming for him, to drag him away in this world of black walls and red eyes.

"He'll wake soon enough…"

Would it end? Would the whispering ever end? The murmurs and mumbles that pressed down on him and burrowed under his skin, filling his mind with images of monsters slipping unnoticed through the dark. He wanted to scream, to cry for help, to turn on the light so the vague shapes hovering over him would disappear. But his mouth was sealed shut with a clawed hand; and no matter how hard he tried his eyes would not open. So he hid, tucked under the covers, quivering.

"Poor man…"

Was he a man? He felt like a hunted creature, in a world of dark walls and red eyes. No light or color, just shapes, and whispering, and the steps of killers.

"I'm just so glad he's alive…"

A familiar voice, soft, clipped, formal and British. This voice didn't summon images of red eyes and clawed hands, but a soft smile and warm arms. He remembered laughing, listening to wind chimes. Orange juice and the stars in the sky. The smell of clean clothes and the feel of soft lips. He remembered a warm, golden afternoon, biking and smiling along a dusty road next to rickety old fences and yellow-green fields.

He remembered someone else, just flashes. Green eyes, ruffled straw hair, a hand to hold. He remembered reaching out to him, grinning, in world of color and light and laughter.

And then… He recalled a honk, a silver shape hurtling at him, a scream, swerving violently, and a force slamming into him. Flying through the air, twisting, seeing the rock, screaming, screaming, screaming.

He thrashed and grabbed at the air, doing anything avoid the impact, but nothing worked. The moment before he collided, the was swept into a tunnel, black and suffocating and suddenly he could feel bed sheets over him, something cool and comforting on his cheek and life, blood coursing through his veins. His mouth finally opened; he was able to scream for real, and, surging upward into a sitting position, his eyes snapped open.

Nothing.

Just black, black, black.

He could feel the red eyes peering down at him and the clawed hands reaching for him.

"No…" He whispered. NO!" He screamed again.

There was a sharp pain in his head and torso, the whispers were swirling around his ears, the monsters plunging in on him, consuming him, tearing him-

Soft lips were pressed to his forehead, and a hand brushed his hair from his face. The gestures were warm and caring, spreading light through his mind, driving away the nightmares.

"You're all right." The hand continued to run through his hair, while another pressed him back onto the bed.

"All… right?" He realized how weak and raspy his voice was.

"It's just Matt, the doctor, and me," It was the same, achingly familiar voice, now soft and soothing.

Someone squeezed his right hand.

"It's good to see you awake, bro," This voice was also one he knew, very quiet, understated.

"M-Mattie?" His memories were jumbled and fragmented, so it was a struggle to put names to voices.

"Yeah, it's me."

He squeezed his brother's hand in return. "And, the doctor?"

"Yes, Mr. Jones. It is truly wonderful to see you awake. There have been plenty of frightening moments over the past few days."

But he was hardly listening, as his breath came short and his heart sped up. Him! He had been one of the whisperers, one of the monsters reaching for him.

"No… Don't let him hurt me..."

"Whatever are you talking about?" Arthur's – yes; that was his name, Arthur – voice broke through, and he became aware of the other's hand rubbing his left shoulder.

Alfred shuddered, and began to speak. "I was in this dark world, lying on a bed, and I could hear monsters whispering in the dark. They had red eyes and clawed hands, and I could hear their footsteps. They were coming for me," He took a deep, shivery breath. "I couldn't hide or scream or anything. Just listen and wait. That voice as some of the whispers. Is he really a monster?" Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, not that it made a difference.

"Of course not, love," Arthur moved his hand to brush some hair behind Alfred's ear. "Probably just a nightmare."

"Actually," Dr. Thomas spoke again and Alfred had to remind himself that he was just a doctor, not a demon, "severe head trauma can cause hallucinations, or at least, a twisted image of reality."

While the others murmured agreement, Alfred wondered, 'Severe head trauma…?'

"E-excuse me, but, just what happened?" He broke in.

"We were biking on an old dusty road," Arthur began, "and we were both being stupid and not wearing helmets. You turned to say something, and got hit by a car," he took a shuddery breath. "You flew through the air and your head hit a rock. The people in the car stopped, of course. They were quite mortified and apologetic, and called 911, and here we are."

"Oh," Just the same as his dream. Small wonder, that.

"Mr. Jones, I'm sure you've guessed this, but, the blow to your head gave you a severe concussion, as well as causing permanent blindness," Dr. Thomas exposited, "In addition the impact cracked several ribs and broke your left arm."

Alfred sighed, finally registering the cast on his arm, and the searing pain in his torso. (How had he even sat up anyway? Adrenaline, perhaps.) His life was on the cusp of a major turning point (or rather, the turning had already happened, he just needed to catch up with it), but all he wanted was sleep.

"Can I figure my life out in the morning?" He muttered, exhausted.

"Certainly," the doctor said, "rest is what you need now; there'll be plenty of time for you to adjust.

Already falling asleep, Alfred settled down into the bed, squeezing his brother's hand, receiving reassuring pressure back. Arthur leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, murmuring a good night.

Many days passed. Sleep, wake up, talk, sleep. His memories slowly sorted themselves out. At some point he recalled that he was actually a major league baseball player. He supposed that was over.

He did have a short interview with a reporter, only answering a few questions about what happened, and how he planned for the future. He tried to keep it upbeat, making positive statements about how he would learn to adjust, get a seeing-eye dog, maybe teach. He wasn't as sure as he sounded to the reporter, but he had hope.

The happiest moments were seeing his family and friend again; they gave him hope. They hugged him and told him it would be okay, that they would stand by him. He wouldn't be alone in adjusting to darkness.

In particular, the support of his husband and twin was unfailing. One of them was nearly always there, to hold his hand as he fell asleep or wake him with a soft word if the monsters came for him again in the dark. He knew it would be a long time before the nightmares left him, but with the support of others, maybe he could stop fearing the dark.

Alfred sighed, long and tired. He was alone in the room with Arthur, and wanted to release some of his doubt.

"Something wrong?" Arthur had been tracing slow, hypnotic circles, across his chest.

"I'm just… scared," Alfred sighed again, "it isn't going to be easy."

"Of course it isn't," Arthur's hand moved to stroke through his husband's hair, "but it won't be impossible."

"What will I do, though? Certainly not play baseball," He sighed again.

"You could write a book. I'm sure plenty of people would like to hear about the life of famous and controversially homosexual baseball player Alfred F. Jones, not to mention his sexy husband."

Alfred could see the smirk in his mind's eye. "Yeah," he grinned, "I have my degree in anthropology; maybe I could do something with that, like teach."

"Of course, and you'll- we'll both learn to deal with the blindness. You can learn braille, and we could get a seeing eye-dog. Besides that, there are multitudes of tricks that I'm sure we can use to make life easier. "

"Yeah, yeah. The cats might just have to learn to deal with a dog," Alfred smiled.

"I'm sure we can work around that, if it's to make your new life better," He blushed a bit. "I suppose that was somewhat cliché."

Alfred reached his good arm out to touch the bashful Brit's cheek. "Thank you so much. Thank you for just being here."

Swallowing his embarrassment, Arthur leaned down to kiss the other on the lips, long, soft, and tender. Coming back up, he murmured, "Forever and always."

BREAK HERE.

Alfred leaned on his husband for support and guidance as they finally made their way home, after several weeks in the hospital. He still felt tired and weak, (when he'd put his clothes on this morning, he's been a bit surprised at how they hung off of his once muscular frame) but he was thrilled to be home.

"Careful… Step here…" Arthur guided him to the door, and let them in. The familiar smell of tea still hung in the air, and he comforting scampering sound of cats coming to greet them all felt perfect. There was no hospital scent filling his nose, and he could the feel the confidence of being in a place he knew pretty well.

Home.

Alfred could here Arthur's light footsteps as he carried to mugs of tea over the couch where he sat. "You all right?" He asked.

"Mmhmm. It's good to be home," Alfred responded.

After setting down the tea, Arthur slipped back in under the blanket, and snuggled in next to his husband, leaning his head into the crook of his neck.

Their legs tangled together, and the cats leap up to curl up together on their feet.

Alfred kissed his cheek and awkwardly raised his good hand to smooth out the other's hair, and then settled in, relishing the warmth and comfort, the sensation and cozy heat that came from sharing a blanket, a feeling that had rarely been known to him in the hospital.

Finishing his tea, he yawned. "Thank you so much for everything. I love you."

After a moment of hesitation, the other responded. "I love you too. Forever and always."

-Epilogue-

No, it wasn't easy, but things worked out. While recovering, Alfred started working on his book: 'Forever and Always; the power of love in any form, and how it has saved me countless times'. He mostly dictated it to Arthur, as he was still learning braille.

They got a seeing-eye dog, a black lab, affectionately named Hero, whom the cats learned to tolerate. Arthur started wearing bells on his house slippers to alert Alfred to where he was at all times. Alfred was even able to play a bit of baseball – tossing the ball to himself and throwing it Arthur. They were still working on catching when someone else threw, though.

Once he had completely recovered and adjusted to his new world, Alfred started looking for a job. It did take a while, but he eventually landed a job teaching anthropology at a local community college. Arthur continued to run his tea store.

Life went on.

And through it all, there through the times of defeat, struggle, and despair, the times of joy, accomplishment and laughter, was Arthur.

One night after a particularly fulfilling day of teaching, lying in bed next to Arthur, Alfred felt he owed the Brit another thank you.

"I never could have done this without you," He gathered his husband into his arms, thank you so much for standing by me."

Arthur pressed a kiss to the other's forehead, snuggling closer. "Forever and always."

And in that moment, entwined with the man he loved most, Alfred realized he was no longer afraid of the dark.

AN: Phew, that both fun and frustrating to write.

Time: No idea, a few hours, at least, maybe 3-4ish?

Words: 2,149, not counting AN.

Length: Just over 6 pages in MS Word. (Calibri, size 12)

Prompt: Murmurs

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Don't sue me.

Thanks for reading!

p.s. formatting is a pain, forever and always.