Part XI. Arthur
Arthur flinched the moment before the hard metal of a gun slammed into his cheekbone and jaw, fracturing bone and cutting into skin. "What the hell was that?" Louis screamed in his ear, wiping Arthur's blood from the gun on his pant leg in agitation. "I told you not to say anything that would let the Forger know I was here!" The gun struck again, harder this time with the enemy dream worker's rage and panic at a plan gone wrong. "I told you to say just enough to get him here!"
Arthur remained silent for a moment, moving his tongue, wincing, and spitting out a broken tooth to the carpeted floor. Blood pooled in his mouth and under his tongue until it overflowed and tricked down his chin and neck lazily. The Point Man's headache, which had already been painful, had now been struck into a vicious migraine that had the corners of his eyes burning with tears. "It's not the first time we've said that," he lied through his remaining, blood-stained teeth. "If anything it will make him get here faster."
Silently, Arthur was hoping for the exact opposite to occur. He hoped that Eames knew him well enough to recognize the difference in his speaking in order to take his words as a warning to stay away. He knew the Forger would want to play the hero, but Arthur just wanted the man to get to safety so that he could escape when the Point Man's barriers inevitably dropped. Things had all gone terribly wrong and Arthur knew he was far past the point where he had a chance of being saved, of getting the chance to return to reality. He refused to drag Eames down with him.
When he had spun and drawn his gun, he had been lucky enough to catch the other dream worker off guard – if only for a split second. He had landed two bullets, jostled from the original fatal mark, but still close enough to dig into delicate skin, muscle, and nerves. Arthur's satisfaction had not lasted long though, when the gun Louis had been aiming at the back of his head fired as the enemy stumbled back. The hit only grazed his knee – a wound Arthur would brush off on a normal job – but in his weakened state it caused him to stumble before he could lunge forward to take Louis to the ground. Despite the fact that Louis had been cursing as though never experiencing pain before, the other man managed to dislodge Arthur's grasp of his gun, sending it toppling over the balcony.
Arthur was halfway to standing again after his leg had buckled, dragging himself up with the unyielding railing, when Louis had aimed his gun back up to Arthur's head. He had been expecting it to be the end. He had thought about all the things he wished he could have said to Eames. But then the other man had smacked him with the barrel of the gun on his temple, just enough force used to stun him. Arthur had thrown up with the pain as Louis dragged him into the room and chained him up before leaving him there to hang while tending to the two wounds on his arm. The Point Man had honestly wanted to cry in defeat when his enemy – properly tended to – finally turned back towards him with a vicious grin and Arthur's mobile phone.
Those words were still on his cut, swollen lips though – I love you - and Arthur couldn't help but wish he had gotten the opportunity to say them to Eames outside of this disaster. He regretted that he ran away from the Forger, from a relationship he could have begun nearly a year ago. Arthur had not spoken those three words to anyone since he had lived with his parents, and although they were only words, they left a bittersweet taste on his lips. How sweet would it have been for him to whisper it in Eames's ear one night when they were together, rather than across a phone connection, the words paired with affectionate looks and touches rather than tinged with panic and pain.
Nonetheless, Arthur mentally shrugged his regret away, knowing there was nothing else to be done. After all, at least he had gotten the chance to say it before he died, right? If you didn't say it when you were about to get tortured and brutally murdered, when would you say it?
Louis's voice drew his attention back to the dream worker. "I suppose it doesn't really matter either way if he guesses I'm here. He'll come racing to your side no matter what, and that's all I need." He knew Louis was trying to force him to answer his questions using the threat to Eames, but Arthur had to hope that the Forger would steer clear and remain safe. Arthur knew Eames was well versed in withstanding torture, but Arthur honestly wasn't sure if he would be able to remain silent if he was being forced to watch Eames suffer.
The enemy dream worker, never silent for long, continued. "I'll admit that I'm surprised by your ability to withstand physical pain," the man sighed, as if mildly disappointed. Then he turned, stepped closer to Arthur and kicked his left shin – hard. His foot, chained to the floor, could not accommodate the movement and the Point Man cried out before he could stop himself at the sensation of bone splintering. As his ability to stand on his left leg fell away, he felt the cuffs around his wrists dig into his skin painfully. "I'm not sure why you're being so persistent. All I want is to know about how you managed Inception and the details of who you worked with so that I may...contact and approach them as I see fit," he smirked. "Is that information really worth all this pain?"
"Absolutely," Arthur hissed, spitting out more blood as he forced himself back up onto his feet. It was excruciating, forcing his body's weight on his splintered bone, but he had no other option. Louis had manifested some chains and chained Arthur in place in the middle of the top floor of the building. The two cuffs around his ankles were attached to only a few short links of metal, giving him no leeway to move and shake the pain and cramps from his legs. The Point Man favoured his left leg, holding more weight on his right one as he straightened his body and took some of the pressure off his wrists.
The other two cuffs were linked to the ceiling, giving him a wider freedom of movement. The metal of the cuffs were narrow though, biting into the skin, veins and tendons of his wrists when his weight had fallen forward with no other support to keep himself up. Arthur wiggled his fingers, trying to bring feeling back to his digits as his blood circulation was momentarily cut off. He swayed on his feet, trying and failing to find some position that didn't send hot bolts of pain up his leg, through his spine and into the base of his skull. It felt as though the slivers of the bone in his left leg were travelling up his body to embed themselves in his nerve endings, even though he knew that wasn't the case.
"How noble." Arthur jerked away when Louis stepped closer and gripped his chin roughly, tilting his face up to meet the dream worker's gaze. "Suffering to protect the one you love. I think I might just cry," Louis sneered and allowed Arthur to pull his face away, but remained in the Point Man's personal space. "However, I think it is about time you realize that Eames will suffer a lot less if you just give me what I want."
Arthur felt his right leg involuntarily jerk and collapse under him when Louis shoved a short but brutally effective knife into his upper thigh. He groaned loudly at the momentary flash of hot numbness before his leg was searing. Things were made worse when his body automatically shifted his weight to his other leg to save himself some pain, only to collapse again as his shin bone shifted and cut into muscle. His right leg twitched violently as the blade was slowly removed, purposefully dragged along new skin on its retreat. It was not deep enough to do any serious damage right away, only the severed nerves causing him pain, but Arthur knew that if it wasn't allowed the time to clot, he could eventually bleed out from the wound.
He groaned again as he forced his eyes open, refusing to show any more suffering and weakness than his body showed instinctively as it protected itself. A few rivulets of hot blood skirted down his forearms from where the cuffs had dug in again, though he forced himself to ignore it. He was also forced to ignore the distinct pain of makeshift stitches from his previous bullet wound on his arm tearing. "You'll have to kill me," he spat, anger and determination fuelled by his pain. He might be exhausted, starving and dehydrated, his body littered with cuts of varying depth and ferocity, but he was far from finished.
"Believe me when I say that I would take great pleasure in killing you, Arthur," Louis whispered, wiping his blade clean and slipping it out of sight for later use. Arthur believed him. "I have heard about you for years, in the field," the man began, almost conversationally except for the dangerously calculative edge to his words. "Impressive legacy you have," Louis praised, "You have been a challenge in the back of my mind since I met you."
"I'm flattered," Arthur deadpanned, sarcastic. He watched the other man with suspicion as Louis began trailing around him until he was standing behind the Point Man, still talking while out of view.
"As you should be," came the man's suddenly soft voice, right by his ear. Arthur forced himself to remain still, not wanting to give his enemy any more satisfaction at seeing him fight his bonds uselessly. "I underestimated you. I'll readily admit that. You far exceeded my expectations down here on your own. I was somewhat disappointed when you brought reinforcements, though. Too scared to fight your own battles, Arthur? Had to put Eames at risk?"
Louis gave a 'tsk tsk' against his ear, hot breath ruffling his hair, and then took a step back. Arthur's whole body was rigid, both legs on the verge of collapse, entire body aching and stretched, arms and wrists burning. His back was straight when it stiffened as he heard Louis slip his knife back out from its hiding place – the cuts from the man's previous enjoyment with a whip were far from healed. He hated not being able to see his enemy, to gauge what was coming next in order to brace himself for the oncoming blow.
Arthur didn't respond to Louis's bait and the man sighed again, a condescending, eager sigh. "Do you really think that remaining silent will save Eames, Arthur?" He flinched when he felt the cold edge of the blade rest against the back of his neck. He arched away but it did little good, except to jostle everything that already hurt. "If you withstand me, you will eventually be faced with a choice. You will either have to drop your pesky barriers to let your lover return to safety, which means I can escape safely as well. Or you can push me until you die by my hands – and trust me, I won't let you fade away on your own – and take me and Eames with you."
The Point Man clenched his eyes closed at that word – lover – and felt his motivation refocus. All he had to do was make sure Louis didn't get any information out of him. He trusted Eames to be watchful of the barriers in order to determine when he should get himself back to reality. If Arthur failed to get the barriers back up at the last minute to drag Louis down with him after Eames had slipped out, as long as the man didn't get the information he wanted, they could hunt the man down at their leisure in reality.
"You know, Arthur," Louis began again, dragging his blade down the centre of Arthur's back at his spine with agonizing slowness. "Just because you are skilled at withstanding physical pain doesn't mean you can withstand psychological pain." The blade tip inched down his back, deep enough to cut and make it sting while not making it fatal; Louis was very skilled at causing pain without death. Arthur thought he might be able to get through it relatively unharmed, busy focusing on the dream worker's warning of other types of attacks. But then his bit his lip, groaned, and finally screamed when Louis dug the blade in a little deeper and slashed it down the rest of his back. It dipped into each groove of torn flesh streaked across the Point Man's back from a whip that his enemy had initiated this encounter with.
Arthur was whimpering by the end of it, when Louis had pulled his knife away, only to choose one strip of skin on each side of his initial cut and slide the blade down again. It caught the same gouges. It caught new ones. It dug in, dislodged skin that had barely been hanging on and disturbed the solidifying blood clots. Soon Arthur's back felt hot and wet as new blood trickled down and stained his pale back, soaking into the waistband of his pants. He wanted to say something defiant, or at least stop the pitiful sounds escaping from his lips as tears streamed down his cheeks. He couldn't though, using every inch of his will to keep himself from begging.
The sound of the knife being slid back into a sheath came from behind him but the Point Man could not bring himself to be pleased. That just meant that his enemy had grown bored of his failures at getting a rise out of Arthur and was ready to move on to a new tactic. Sure enough, the dream worker's voice had taken on a new hint of challenge when he spoke again. "Amelina might not have dug out the information I wanted before your previous teammate finished her, but you'd be astounded at the memories she did manage to steal and pass onto me."
Arthur narrowed his eyes in anger at the new challenge despite the fact that his enemy was not in front of him to notice. At the same time, he felt his stomach drop with fear. How much had the Extractor managed to learn about him before Eames had silenced her? Had all of her findings been passed on to Louis? Arthur had spent years suppressing and ignoring all of the memories and guilt of his past; hell, that was what had driven him towards dream work as much as the freedom had. He needed an escape to remain sane.
But now his escape had become his prison, his chains. He was locked away in his own subconscious where no one could help him and Arthur couldn't run. Even though he was in a dream, he was far too weak now to break the chains that held him in place. The Point Man had been fighting these memories off for years and succeeded. But how would he hold up now that his body had been so severely weakened and abused? Already his eyelids felt a little heavy each time he blinked, pain fogging his mind and blood loss stealing the last drops of his energy.
Louis circled around his side and caught his chin again, this time fighting him when Arthur weakly tried to pull his face away from the grasp of the man in front of him. And, to his horror, it was not Louis standing in front of him. Instead, the hard eyes meeting his own, judging him, were Tyson's. Arthur groaned despite himself at the realization that Louis, the leading enemy dream worker who had snuck into his subconscious to steal everything from him, was another forger. Even worse was the obvious proof that Amelina had managed to steal at least some of Arthur's childhood memories if Tyson was standing in front of him, tilting his face one way and then another as though he were considering a purchase. The Point Man silently prayed that his enemies had not managed to dig up everything from his past.
"Hello, Arthur," Tyson whispered delightedly, still looking around the same age he had been that day Arthur had gone down into the dream with him. The same age as the day Arthur had run away, leaving the teenager alone in the hospital to fend for himself in a cruel world that would not understand his problem.
"Louis," Arthur hissed in a low, deadly tone.
"No, no, you must have me confused with someone else," Tyson's eyes widened slightly, a little glazed as they continued looking over Arthur's face. "It's me, Tyson. Don't tell me you forgot about me, Arthur," the teen pouted, using his free hand that was not gripping the Point Man's chin to skim his thumb over Arthur's bottom lip. When he pulled it away, Arthur could see blood on that pale skin. "That would be incredibly rude of you," Tyson chided him, retracting his hand and sucking Arthur's blood off his thumb curiously. Arthur grimaced. "Considering the fact that you were the one to ruin my life."
"I didn't ruin his life," Arthur argued, trying to keep it straight in his mind that this was not actually Tyson standing in front of him, treating him like this. It was difficult though, his brain hazing over as his body slumped in its bindings. Tyson would be older now and would certainly not remember Arthur if their paths ever crossed again, but Arthur wondered silently if the man would ever resort to something like this if he knew Arthur, what the Point Man had done.
"You didn't ruin my life?" Tyson retorted, digging his fingers into shaggy hair in performed agitation as he let go of Arthur's face. His jaw ached but Arthur didn't take the time to give it a second thought – it was the least of his concerns. "Is that what you tell yourself at night when the guilt starts creeping in?"
"He has a good life now," he refuted, verbalizing every argument he had ever told himself when he thought back to Tyson as he ran away from the hospital.
"Who are you to decide which life is good for me?" Tyson spat, pushing him backwards harshly with two well placed palms on his chest, nails digging into the few cuts across the skin there. Arthur winced as he rocked back on his injured legs and yanked himself back up into a standing position with his abused wrists, breath coming in short bursts through the pain. "You betrayed me! Left me for dead! You think you gave me a better life?" Tyson hummed like a hive of angry bees. "What makes you so sure that my life is everything that the papers proclaimed?"
Arthur didn't know how Louis was hitting every mark, every one of his fears. Whether his thoughts had been imprinted upon his memories when Amelina had extracted them, or if Louis really was as skilled at reading him as most forgers became, he didn't know. The Point Man's head had lolled down between his shoulders as he caught his breath, but now he dragged it up again to meet the teen's eyes. "Tyson is fine."
"Oh yes?" Tyson nodded, as if considering Arthur's argument. "Do you have any idea about how people looked at me when I tried to relearn everything you had stolen from me? No one can look at a teenager without judgement when he barely has the coherency of an infant. I never fit in Arthur, never. And you know what I did, once I had finally caught up? I turned back to drugs and alcohol. It was worse this time though," Tyson shook his head this time, sad and disappointed. Every inch of Arthur's body was pulsing, trying to keep itself together in one piece, but he followed the forger desperately with his gaze. "This time I was legal age so it was much easier to get what I wanted."
"No, he had a good family," he whispered, grappling to the last argument he had always relied on when his brain had attacked him with these thoughts before. "Support. He wouldn't need to turn to substance abuse again."
"You didn't rewire my genes, Arthur," Tyson hissed against his ear, stepping close again. "And you'd be amazed how quickly a caring, loving, supportive," he spat the words, "family will grow tired of being the centre of attention due to their failure, dud of an adopted son. People like success stories though," the teen shrugged, patting him on the shoulder in a would-be innocent matter. Except for the fact that Louis knew there were cuts located there, still sluggishly bleeding. Arthur wrenched away awkwardly with his minimal amount of moving room, eyes dropping to the floor. He tried to remind himself that this wasn't real, that Louis did not know Tyson and would not know how the man was doing. He only had Arthur's buried fears to lead him and his own skills at lying to try to persuade the Point Man. But before he could retaliate, to show Louis that he hadn't succeeded at beating him with Tyson's persona, a new voice assaulted his ear. One far more familiar. "Of course, you know all about disappointing people, don't you, Arthur?"
"Dom," Arthur choked out desperately before he regained control of his mind and instincts. When he glanced up quickly, the Extractor that he once called teammate, friend, brother, was staring down at him with a look of contempt. The voice and accent were off slightly, but the image of Cobb was completed to perfection in front of him. It took Arthur a few drowsy blinks before he had focused his mind enough to remember that this wasn't Dom here to help him. But by that point, he had already betrayed himself to his enemy with his reaction.
Cobb's eyes narrowed in disgust before the Extractor backhanded him across the cheek, snapping his neck painfully to one side. "Don't look at me like that, like I should be here to help you. You have done nothing to earn my aid."
"Enough of this, Louis," Arthur forced a drawl in order to hide the plea behind his words. "You are wasting your energy." He tongued one of the teeth further back in his mouth quickly, feeling that it was loose but not yet dislodged. The last thing the Point Man needed was to choke on one of his teeth.
"I knew I made the right choice when I stopped dream working with you," Dom snarled, not responding to Arthur's retort. "You can't be trusted to do anything right, can you? Can't be trusted a moment lest you betray everyone and flee to save your own sorry ass."
"Me, flee?" he huffed in disbelief, inexplicable anger making him speak before he reminded himself that this was not his teammate. "You are the one who left me alone."
"I have more important things to deal with than taking care of you, Arthur," Cobb bit off the name, looking triumphant. Arthur hated that he had allowed himself to slip and make the mistake into believing Louis's forgery. "I found someone to love me and start a family with, in case you forgot. Someone who you could never compare to, no matter how much you tried. Following me around like the lost puppy you were; it was pathetic."
Arthur winced both at the noise when the man in front of him suddenly yelled, and at the words themselves. It had been many years since he had held those feelings for Dom – the first person he allowed himself to trust after running away from his past life – but it still stung to hear such mocking, hateful words slipping from his friend's lips. Even though...Even though it was Louis and not Dom speaking. The Point Man felt his mind try to sharpen again, to withstand this onslaught and remember that it was just a good forgery, but he was struggling to keep himself standing at this point.
"I have children to take care of, to love," Louis continued, pacing back and forth in front of him in a very Cobb-esque manner. "I can't afford to have someone as dangerous and irresponsible as you in my life – in their lives. How could I ever trust you with them? I need to keep them safe somehow and if that involves cutting you out of my life, all the better for me." Dom paused and stood in front of him again, considering him for a moment. "It's no wonder Eames ran away from you. Rejecting him was probably the only selfless thing you've ever done in your life. At least he realized how terrible it would be to start something with you, how it would drag him down. He got out while he could."
Arthur was shaking his head desperately, tears catching on his lashes as his heart clenched. "No, he's down here because he-"
"He what?" Dom whispered in amusement by his ear, causing Arthur to shudder. "Loves you?" The Extractor sneered and walked behind him again, out of Arthur's view. "How naive. He came because you selfishly dragged him into this, called him back. How terrible are you, to shatter someone's hopes and then lead them on just so that they'll help you live? Even if it means sacrificing their own life."
"I'm not leading him on," Arthur defended, voice catching in his throat as he tried to breathe normally. He had been unsure of his feelings before this – or was at least too terrified of them to readily admit what they were – but now it was crystal clear in his head. There was nothing Arthur wanted more than Eames's embrace in that moment, to whisper everything he never said in the Forger's ear.
"It doesn't really matter, Arthur," Dom reminded him harshly. "Once someone gets to know you, they could never love you. Why do you think I never indulged in you after Mallorie, despite your willingness? Why do you think I cut you out of my life the moment I had the chance?" The Point Man's breath sped up when he heard the knife being drawn again, body tense as it waited for new pain. The cuts that horizontally and vertically littered his back were still burning horribly. "Why do you think Eames never made another attempt to contact you after the job? Because we realized that you were poison, Arthur." The blade's tip rested against his right shoulder warningly. "No one could ever love you after what you've done."
Tears fell again, rolling down his bloodstained face slowly, though he could lie to himself and say it was from the pain when Cobb – Louis – used his knife again. Two jagged lines were cut across his back in quick succession, from his right shoulder to left hip, and then from his left shoulder to his right hip. The new X across his back hurt so badly that Arthur's vision blurred – or maybe that was from the tears – and the Point Man wondered if there was any skin left for Louis to manipulate.
"Enough suffering, Arthur," came a softer, warmer voice from behind him. Arthur swallowed hard, barely able to contain himself when he felt a smaller, dainty hand brush along the untouched skin of his neck. "Just tell Louis what he wants and all of this can stop. The pain and guilt will finally be gone."
The Point Man allowed his eyes to drop closed as that comforting voice wrapped around him. He felt a little lightheaded as he swayed on his feet, feeling as though the world was shifting below his feet even when his eyes were closed. "I can't," he spoke brokenly, wanting so badly to lean back into the touch and for it to be real.
"Of course you can, sweetie," the woman encouraged him, petting his hair until he sobbed and tilted his head back, desperate for the touch. He just wanted to go back to a time when everything was simple, before Diane, before he had run away from home. He wanted the woman brushing his hair kindly, calmingly, to really be his mother, rather than Louis managing yet another effective forgery. "All you have to do is answer his questions and you will never have to suffer again."
The words were so tempting; such a simple solution to solve his pain. Every inch of the Point Man's body was screaming for mercy, aching with a pain he was unfamiliar with. He had been injured and killed many times in his line of work, but that pain never dragged on – it faded away once he was back in reality. But this was all encompassing and inescapable until he reached reality or, more likely, died. Arthur thought he might have managed to remove himself from the physical pain considering how weak and detached his body already was, but the pain in his mind and heart kept him focused and rooted in the moment. It was incredibly hard to remember why he couldn't just answer the questions and have this end. But he found himself shaking his head anyway even though he couldn't recall why he was being so stubborn, especially when it meant everything would stop hurting.
The hand that had been petting his hair suddenly snatched up a chunk of hair and yanked backwards violently. Arthur's head snapped back painfully and he sobbed – just once – when the movement rippled through his body. His scalp felt pinched as hairs were ripped away in small numbers and Arthur was forced to shift his weight on his legs lest he fall. He came face to face with his father's upside down face as his back bowed so much he worried the bones might just snap. "You always were a disappointment," the man stated blandly before releasing his hair and shoving him forward.
Arthur stumbled, attempting to catch his balance but getting tripped up by the short leads on his floor chains. His ankles caught and he rocked back on his heels, gripping onto the cuffs around his hands in an attempt to steady himself. This time he was sure he felt the bone in his left leg shift and dig into new nerves and muscle, causing new damage. His left leg hung uselessly while Arthur maintained his standing position on his right leg as he continued to clutch at the metal above him. It wasn't ideal – he swung slightly with the extra metal links between him and the ceiling, but it was the best he could manage.
By the time he got himself standing again, forcing his roiling stomach into submission before he vomited on the carpet, his father had come to stand in front of him. The man watched him somewhat sadly, though there was also a look of satisfaction – as if he had been waiting for some sort of vengeance. "You are not my father," Arthur hissed vehemently. "My father would never treat me like this." And his convictions were true; before Diane he had had a normal, if not perfect childhood. His parents had been strict, certainly, but they would have never hit him.
"Not before you ran away," his father agreed in an accusatory tone. "But after what you did to Diane, after you fled your mistakes and left us to deal with the consequences, things changed."
"It was a mistake," Arthur pleaded, memories of that fateful, moonlit night playing behind his eyes in vivid colour. "I didn't mean for her to die."
His father raised a sceptical eyebrow, arms crossed tightly across his chest – looking unimpressed to say the least. "Then why did you run away, Arthur?"
"Because you blamed me," he whispered hoarsely. "Because you hated me. You couldn't look at me the same after Diane died."
He wasn't sure what he had been expecting in response, but what he got shattered his heart. "You're right." It was hard to focus now, some of his wounds clotting while others continued to allow his life force to seep away. It was harder to breathe now and his head ached with the lack of oxygen, less blood in his body to deposit oxygen in all the necessary locations. He felt dizzy as he slumped forward, wishing this could all just fade into blackness. "We did blame you for Diane's death and we hated you for it. We were glad when you ran away and became someone else's problem. Do you want to know why?"
"No," Arthur begged. He didn't want to hear any of this. It was one thing for him to tell himself all of this in those moments where he would crawl into bed but be unable to find sleep. But this was his father's voice confirming every fear he had ever possessed when he ran away from home – every fear that had kept him from returning home to his parents.
"Because if we had had a choice," his father began again, ignoring his plea. "We would have wanted you to take her place. She was a much better child than you ever were. She had potential, while you just scurry around trying to live up to what she could have been if she had gotten a chance to live her life. All you can do," the man in front of him reminded him coldly, "is run away and hide from her shadow."
"I'm sorry," Arthur sniffled, unable to wipe his dripping nose on a sleeve with his arms chained up. "I never wanted her to die. I would have traded places with her if I could have. I'm sorry."
"Saying it over and over isn't going to fix anything, Arthur. It's too late; it will never be alright." Arthur's father stepped into his personal space and tilted his face up, forcing him to make eye contact. "The only thing you did right was run away so that we wouldn't have to look at you and pretend to love you anymore. That doesn't fix things though," Arthur couldn't look away from his father's gaze, eyes nearly identical in shade to his own. "Do you want to know how you can redeem yourself?"
"Yes," he agreed immediately. He had been living with this fear and guilt for so long, it felt like a weight that had moved from his shoulders into his heart. Something he had grown accustomed to carrying around with him wherever he went, although he had always wished desperately for it to be gone.
"Tell Louis what he wants so that he'll finally end your miserable life," his father implored him darkly. "You don't deserve to live another moment longer, and each second that passes by is an insult to Diane. You took her life and yet cling to your own as though you deserve a choice in the matter."
"Louis?" the Point Man questioned in a daze, momentarily confused. And then, slowly, the realization returned to him that this wasn't reality. That Louis was attempting to steal information from him. That understanding was flighty though and he struggled valiantly to keep hold of the thought as it tried to fade away. "I...I can't," he grumbled, almost disappointed that he had to disagree. It wasn't his father standing in front of him – was it? – But he couldn't argue with the logic either way. He really didn't deserve to live any longer. Arthur couldn't give in though; he had to keep his team – keep Eames – safe. He hated himself for what he did to Diane and to his parents, but he would only hate himself more if he proved everyone right and betrayed Eames and his friends.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up just in time to watch his father step further into his personal space. And then all of the wind was knocked from his lungs as his father, still larger than Arthur's lithe form, elbowed him brutally in the solar plexus. The Point Man was forced to expel all of his breath with a loud, outward gasp as his father straightened to stand in front of him again. Arthur was wheezing quickly, struggling to bring enough oxygen back into his lungs even as his stomach and chest cramped up from the abuse. "You are no son of mine," his father whispered hatefully and then stepped out of Arthur's view, his eyes watering as they watched the bloodstained carpet below his feet.
Arthur wanted to apologize, to call his father back to him, but he couldn't find the breath to make a sound. His chest remained constricted as his stomach continued to spasm, leaving him gasping for breath while fighting the dark spots on his vision away. It took him a long time to recover, his whole body running on the last dregs of energy it had stored away. He was not entirely sure what had happened to his father – Louis – since he had not heard the door to the guard room open. But the room was eerily silent and he couldn't hear anything over his own desperate breathing. There was an energy in the air though, an expectant, anticipatory shock of electricity brushing across his exposed skin.
When the Point Man did finally manage to raise his head enough to look around, neck barely able to manage pulling the heavy weight of his skull up, he groaned. There, standing a few feet away from him and watching him, was Diane. She had her hands clasped behind her back, still in the dress she was wearing the day she had died, and watched him with a curiosity common for a ten year old. "Diane," he whispered brokenly.
"Hello, Arthur," she hummed thoughtfully as she skipped closer to him, unmindful of the blood she was stepping on while she moved. Her manner of speaking was more mature than someone her age could manage, but it was only a fleeting thought as Arthur watched her approach. He reached out to touch her, to gather her up in his arms, but his metal cuffs bit into his skin as a sharp reminder. He fell back, unable to get any closer, and clenched his eyes closed when he felt small childish hands touch him softly. "You're bleeding," she stated with mild concern when she dragged her hand away and found blood stained onto her palm.
"Don't worry," he spoke softly, terrified of scaring her away. "I'm fine."
She glanced up at him with a suspicious, disbelieving look, and then dropped her hand to his right thigh and dug her nails into the gouge there. Arthur hissed and tried to pull away, but there was nowhere for him to go. "Do you know what it feels like to drown, Arthur?" she asked him, curious again even as her malicious fingers continued to dig into his flesh with no qualms about the blood pooling and slipping over her fingers.
It was terrifying, seeing such violence and hatred from someone so young and innocent. "I'm sorry, Diane," he apologized, knowing there was no hope in forgiveness anymore. "I never meant for you to die."
"You have an interesting way of taking care of your twin sister, Arthur," Diane admonished him, eyes – identical to Arthur's in every way – flashing up at him. "Why did you do it?" she questioned him, eyes big and lips curled downward sadly. "Were you jealous of me, Arthur? Did you think mommy and daddy loved me more?"
"I didn't kill you, Diane," he argued with horror at the accusation. The mere thought that he, as a ten year old boy, could be the type of person to kill his twin sister – his best friend – out of some petty jealousy. Diane had been gifted and had obviously gartered a lot of attention from their parents. She could have been anything she set her mind to if she had been given the chance to step out of childhood; a doctor, an astronaut, an engineer, a president. It didn't matter. She would be able to do it. Arthur had even spared a few rare moments when he first joined dream work to consider what it would have been like if Diane had not died and had joined him in the field. She probably would have had the skills to be any specific dream work profession that tickled her fancy; hell, she could probably switch from an extractor to an architect to a forger all in one day if it was necessary.
Arthur had never been jealous though. Never. Diane had the skills and the personality that required extra attention to develop them, while Arthur would develop just as effectively by his own devices. It hadn't bothered him that Diane was always the first priority, because Arthur was Diane's first priority. They had not simply been siblings, or twins. They had been best friends, confederates to one another's secrets, partners in crime and learning. There wasn't a day that went by after her death where Arthur didn't wish he had her back by his side so that they could continue to take on the world together. No one would stand in their way – no one would have a hope or prayer for being able to.
"I didn't kill you, Diane," he repeated, desperate when he saw that she looked unimpressed.
"You did," she disagreed, sounding bored as she pulled her nails from his skin and wiped his blood away blandly.
"I didn't!" he yelled, pain and heartbreak mixing together in an unbearable cocktail. "It wasn't the first time we had been to the pond. I just thought it would be fun for us to sneak out at night and go for a swim by ourselves. You weren't supposed to slip..."
The memory flashed in his mind then, the moon high in the sky as he snuck out of bed and shook Diane awake. What Arthur? She had asked him blurrily, swatting his pestering hand away. Sleepy.
Stop being sleepy, he had demanded, poking her in her side again until she sat up in bed angrily. Let's go out.
Out? She had asked curiously, nervously. We can't. It's night.
So? Arthur had whispered mischievously. We're ten now! Old! Their birthday had just been a few nights ago. We can go.
Where? Diane sat up more in bed, interested now.
The water, he suggested. He and Diane had never grown bored of the man-made pond built in the centre of the spacious suburban neighbourhood their parents had chosen for them to grow up in. They would wake up and demand they be taken, spend all day in the water, and then rave when it was time to go home in the evening. They had always proclaimed that someday they would go without their parents.
Diane's eyes flashed at the thought and she was out of bed in a flash. They both scrambled out of their sleeping clothes and into their bathing suits, placing clothes overtop in case they got caught; Arthur in shorts and a shirt, and Diane in her favourite sundress – a present for her tenth birthday. Then they snuck out of the house while imagining themselves as super secret spies. Once they were outside and the warm summer breeze brushed against their exposed skin, they were dashing the block and a half of open backyards to the edge of the pond. There was a bit of a dip in the landscape surrounding the pond, which usually dragged rainfall into the collection of water.
They had both stopped at the top of the slope of grass, looking at the pond in front of them. Arthur's heart was flying with nerves and excitement, disbelieving that they were doing this – that they had gotten away with it. The water was still, only a few ripples disturbing the image on the water's surface with the breeze. It looked as though the water was a mirror of onyx, dark except for the reflection of the moon overhead.
Arthur suddenly got cold feet, and not just from the blades of glass slipping between his bare toes. We should get the floaties, he proposed nervously. He was elated that they had snuck out together and come here just like they had promised. But now he was terrified of getting into that water at night where he couldn't see the bottom, where his parents were not a shout away.
No way, you baby, Diane had teased, smacking him on the arm playfully.
She took two hesitant steps towards the pond as Arthur took two determined steps back towards the house. Wait, Di, he had pleaded. I'll be back. He had turned and dashed back towards the house, which really wasn't that far of a distance to go. The neighbourhood was eerily silent as he stopped in his backyard and snatched the floaties his parents always sent them into the water with from the back porch. He rushed back as quickly as his legs could manage, feeling an unexplainable fear building in him while he was apart from Diane.
He skidded to a stop at the top of the slope leading down into the pond and looked around. Diane was nowhere to be seen. Di? He had called out hesitantly, scared of making too much noise and waking the neighbours up. Diane? He tried again, hearing no response. This isn't funny, Di! He hissed, feeling his stomach twisting into knots. Where are you? He called.
Arthur had shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting. But then his foot caught on the blades of grass on the slope, which were slippery from a rainfall he had forgotten about. With a yelp, the floaties fell to the ground and Arthur began tumbling down the hill towards the pond. It was nauseating, how dizzying he was becoming as the earth and sky spun around him, and it was all he could to do grip the grass and dig his nails into the wet earth below. Soil got under his nails as they caught on grass roots and earth, and Arthur slid to a stop.
He was breathing hard, surprised and scared as he dragged himself into a sitting position. His limbs were shaking and the majority of his body was covered in slimy, cool mud. Arthur was breathing quickly as he looked around frantically. Diane! This time he didn't try to calm or quiet his voice; he needed an adult here now. There was no response. He crawled onto the large rock they normally used for jumping off and leaned over as far as he dared, glancing over the still water frantically.
Arthur felt something wet under his palm and sat back on his legs to view his hand. With the moon bathing him in a silvery light, he could see that his palm had been smeared red with blood. Arthur had gasped and wailed as he recklessly leaned over the rock to dunk his hand underwater, panicked at the sight of blood. But as his fingers dipped below the surface, water cold against his skin in the middle of the night, frigid, stiff fingers brushed against his own. He yanked his hand back in horror and scampered away with a scream, back to the safety of the grass.
He remembered looking around anxiously for an adult to come and fix things, to tell him that everything would be alright. But no one was coming, despite his loud cries. He had quieted himself, built up a false courage, and slipped back to the water's edge. Arthur peered over the rock's edge fearfully, took two deep breaths, and then reached his hand down to clasp around a cold hand. He hoisted the weight up, feeling his stomach revolt when a pale wrist with a charm bracelet he knew far too well appeared over the disturbed surface of the water.
The hand dropped back below the water immediately when he let go with another, choked off scream. He was already clamouring off the rock and into the water though, careful not to slip himself as he rushed to haul Diane's limp body out of the water and onto the shore. He was panting by the time he was done, and seeing his sister cold and limp on the grass finally had his stomach winning over his willpower. Arthur threw up in the reeds along the bank before he hurried to his twin's side.
Diane! He remembered screaming, so loudly that it echoed throughout the neighbourhood. A neighbour's dog began barking and howling nearby. Diane, please! Wake up! Arthur sobbed as he shook her unresponsive form. No more sleeping! In the distance he heard confused voices as the owner of the dog finally responded to the racket. When Arthur's shaking fingers brushed his sister's hair out of her face, he sobbed until his stomach hurt when more blood coated his fingers. I can't be without you! He pleaded. He begged. He prayed to everything he had comprehension of for Diane to open her eyes. But she didn't.
Hey, get away from her! An adult's voice finally sounded over the quiet neighbourhood, the owner chasing his dog down to the scene. The man – the one whose house always smelt odd when he babysat them – was forced to shove Arthur out of the way as he began trying to get Diane to respond. When that didn't work he pulled out a phone and called someone – Arthur hoped someone who could help.
That left them in the silence alone, him and his neighbour and his already-dead twin sister Diane, to wait for an ambulance. The last thing he remembered, before it had all skewed together into tears and yelling and blame, was his neighbour turning to him with hard eyes. What did you do?
"I trusted you, Arthur," Diane's voice brought him back to the moment. "I trusted you to save me like you always did. But you didn't. You failed me, Arthur."
Arthur was barely aware of where he was when he finally fell out of his memories. Every tilt of his head had his vision rolling. His body still hurt, but he was almost too tired and too far gone to notice it any longer. Each breath was a challenge – one he was quickly losing the motivation to meet. "I'm sorry," was all he could think to say; his tongue felt dry and swollen, caught in his throat as his eyes stung with new tears.
"You saying you're sorry doesn't solve anything," Diane reprimanded him. "Saying you're sorry didn't keep me from slipping and hitting my head on that rock. It hurt you know, more than this probably does," his little ten year old twin sister dug her nails into his thigh again, and this time he didn't fight her. He didn't have the energy to fight. Arthur also found it difficult to remember a reason why she didn't have every right to return some pain. "It felt like my skull had shattered, and then I was under the cold water in the dark. It didn't take me long before I couldn't hold my breath, especially in my panic. Do you know what it feels like to breathe water into your lungs?"
"No." Arthur was not positive whether he was answering her question or begging for her to stop.
"Every vein in your body burns and your lungs constrict," Diane explained as nonchalantly as if she were teaching a class in high school. "Your entire body panics as a pressure builds in your head without oxygen. You tell yourself that the next breath will be air, but it isn't. You tell yourself that your best friend brother will come to save you and pull you to safety, but he doesn't. The last thing I felt, Arthur," she hummed again, looking sad, "was my disappointment in having a brother like you."
"I would have saved you if I could, Diane," he promised with his whole heart. "You were never supposed to die. It was just supposed to be another fun story we could laugh about the next day."
"Who will believe you, do you think?" She asked him seriously. "Eames? Will your 'true love' believe you when you swear that you didn't mean to murder your twin sister?" Diane sneered, sounding bitter now. "Personally, I doubt it. After all, no one else believed you. Mommy and daddy didn't believe you."
"I'm different now," Arthur hedged, terrified by the thought that Eames would turn on him – blame him – just like everyone else. It had been the reason why the Point Man had never told anyone before. He couldn't bear the thought of one of the few people he cared about in this world – allowed himself to care about after everything – believing he had killed Diane. The thought of Eames, especially, tore at his heart. The man had been so understanding of everything else about Arthur – every quirk and oddity. But would the Forger ever be ready to hear this story? Would he ever be able to look at Arthur the same way again after he knew?
"Do you think locking away your mischievous side did anything? Becoming organized and responsible and distant and indifferent? You're no better now than you were then," she yelled angrily, as if baffled by Arthur's determination. "Except now you've moved onto a new target," Diane accused. "Dragging Eames, the one you say you love, down here to die, Arthur? Really?"
"I didn't-"
"Stop lying, Arthur!" Diane huffed. "Realize that the only good you can do for anyone is to hurry up and get the hell out of their lives before you ruin their futures as well." And then, suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Diane had aged almost twenty years to match his own age. Her dark, nearly black hair was down her back, brushed out but slightly curled at the ends. Her skin was pale but as gorgeous as porcelain, not a blemish on her face or painted red lips. There were a few lines etched into her face, but they were laughter lines rather than stress lines. Her frame was slight and lithe and her clothing was casual but uniquely chosen. Diane's eyes were still identical to his though as they narrowed, glaring at him and pinning him in place. "This is what I could have been if you hadn't stolen my future from me."
"Diane, I-" he didn't know what to say. He was flabbergasted upon seeing Diane all grown up, just as he knew she would turn out; so similar to him and yet so entirely different. Arthur could also feel his heart give a tiny twist of self-torture before it shattered to pieces. This is what his twin sister could have become if he had been a better brother. All this and more.
"Save it, Arthur," Diane snapped, spinning on her heel without another glance backwards as she headed for the door. She did look back at him once as she pulled the door open, regarding him hatefully. "You are no brother of mine," was all she finally said before slipping out of sight to leave him alone with his misery.
"Diane!" He yelled, voice catching in his throat hoarsely. He cleared his throat, forced himself to swallow, and took a deep breath. "Diane!" The Point Man honestly wasn't sure how long he spent calling out his sister's name before his voice finally cracked and he fell silent. Seeing Diane again as she was the last time Arthur had seen her alive – never expecting to see her or hear her again – had both warmed and broken his heart. More than ever he wanted things to be different, for his past self to just stay in bed and behave. For Arthur to not leave Diane alone. For him to get back in time to save her. For Arthur to be the one who died instead.
However, seeing Diane grown up, matching Arthur's age and looking just as she would if she had not died that night, had ruined him. He knew without a doubt that the image and memory of her as an adult – so assured, confident and mature while also keeping a hidden flare of secretive mischievousness – would be burned into the forefront of his thoughts and vision until the day he died. Or, in this case, maybe the hour he died.
That thought brought him back to the realization that he was chained to the floor and ceiling, bones and skin broken, suffering severe blood loss as well as dehydration, starvation and exhaustion. New blood was trickling down his arms now, partially from when he had attempted to pull the metal free to follow Diane, and partially due to the fact that he couldn't keep his weight on his legs anymore. It was unnerving, being in the room alone for the first time in who knew how long. The silence was almost a physical form in the room, oppressively crowding in around him as he was left to his own destructive thoughts.
A part of the Point Man knew that Louis was not finished with him, that the enemy forger would be back for another round to get information out of him. He was also distantly aware of the fact that it had not been Tyson, Cobb, his parents or Diane standing in front of him, saying those terrible things to him. Arthur was so desperate to believe that there could be a Diane out there who was alive – a twin sister who hated him but had gotten a chance to live – that he was willing to let himself slip into denial.
His guilt and memories kept him company as his shoulders and wrists slowly dislocated, as his mind and body slowly faded further and further away from conscious awareness. He had no recollection or understanding of how long he hung there, held up only by the chains at this point, when a noise outside the door caught his attention. At first it was very distant and he thought it might be someone chatting quietly out in the staircase. Then he thought that maybe one of Louis's projections had dropped a gun by accident and was getting scolded for his mistake.
The sound grew though, the noise first drifting up the stairwell and then spilling into the hallway and guard room towards him. There were weapons clashing, gunshots being fired, sharp orders, muffled screams, bodies hitting the ground hard; it was every sound of a vicious, violent battle. Arthur raised his head slightly to regard the only door attached to the guard room curiously, feeling his stomach twist into knots. He desperately wished that it was not Eames, come here to be killed.
There was more noise, a few wet yells, and then silence. The Point Man craned his neck to one side and focused his hearing as much as he could, trying to determine what had happened. There was no indication of any life on the other side of the door at first, but then he heard hesitant steps head for the door. The doorknob creaked ominously when it was turned and then Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Eames."
The Forger was covered in blood, his shirt ruined, but the man did not seem to be terribly injured personally. The man's soft, vibrant eyes sought him immediately at his voice. Eames's eyes widened in horror and the next moment he was standing in front of Arthur, cupping his face tenderly as he carefully wiped away blood and tears with the pads of his thumb. "Oh darling, darling," Eames whispered in a string, tears beading at the corners of his eyes and sliding down his face when pushed away by the man's long lashes. "What did he-" his voice broke, "What did that bloody bastard do to you?"
Arthur leaned into the touch as much as he could, seeking a comfort he knew only Eames could give him in a moment like this. "It's okay, it's okay," he chanted, nuzzling that large, warm hand. "It doesn't matter. It's over now."
"Shh, darling," Eames hushed him, brushing fingers into his hair softly. "Calm down; you're hurting your wrists, love." It was only at his teammate's words that Arthur realized he had been straining against his cuffs, pulling the narrow metal against his cut and blistered skin again as he subconsciously reached to embrace Eames. The Point Man fell still, slumped against his bindings as the Forger continued to pet his hair softly. His eyes drifted closed and he sighed, never feeling such a mix of pain and pleasure before in his life. It was the best he could hope for though, after everything they had been through. "What is all this about?" Eames questioned quietly, making sure not to startle him. "What did Louis want?"
"He wanted to know about Inception," Arthur admitted, attempting to slow his breathing down to a more manageable pace. "He wanted to know about you."
"You suffered through all of this to keep me safe?" Eames whispered, sounding equally horrified, disapproving, and adoring. A grateful kiss landed on Arthur's forehead and the Point Man hummed his agreement. "Darling, you're so stupid." It sounded like the Forger was on the verge of tears, voice heavy and guilty. "You should have told him everything; nothing was worth this pain."
"It was that important," Arthur disagreed, shaking his head and raising it again with all the energy he had left. He felt each vertebrae stack in his spine slowly, skin raw and tight from the whippings as he straightened as much as he could. "He wanted me to tell him that-"
Arthur's voice cut out when he blinked his eyes open to steal another look at Eames. What he saw had all of the remaining blood in his body freeze in his veins and heart. All he managed was a choked off scream before Louis took his last step behind the Forger, brought his knife up, and slit his lover's throat. He didn't know how the enemy forger had managed to get into the room and close enough without making noise, but suddenly everything was over in the Point Man's mind.
Suddenly absolutely nothing in the world mattered.
Arthur was close enough that he saw Eames's eyes dim after they had widened in shock, pupils blown and irises still focused lovingly on Arthur. He was able to feel Eames's last, startled gasp of breath fan over his face, comforting and warm. He felt the Forger's hot blood spill onto his shirt as Eames buckled under himself and crumpled to the ground in a pile at Arthur's feet. The Point Man's thoughts and vision narrowed to that one image, of Eames, his love, in a heap on the ground, dead. A startled sob left his lips, and then another, and then he screamed Eames's name until his throat was raw.