Notes: Don't be mad, please? Peach x
All the thoughts you never see,
You are always thinking.
Brain is wide, brain is deep.
Oh, are you sinking?
Feel the path of every day
Which road you taking?
Breathing hard, making hay
Yeah, this is living
Look for love in evidence
That you're worth keeping
Swallowed whole in negatives
It's so sad and sickening
Unthought Known- Peal Jam
Chapter Twenty-One - Sinking...
Arthur scrambled his way back to reality, wincing at the knock on the door; he so wasn't up for having another visitor, not after already making Merlin and Morgana cry. "Who is it?" he asked, not sure if there was any answer he wouldn't hate, but if he was lucky it'd be one of the ones he'd hate least.
"Percival?" Percival's voice answered, sounding uncertain enough that if he hadn't felt quite so much like dying, Arthur would have asked him if he was sure. "Can I come in?"
"Sure," Arthur said, because who the hell told you I was here and what did they say happened was perhaps a little rude, and no wasn't a whole lot better.
Percival opened the door slowly, entering with a level of tentativeness that was probably difficult for a bloke his size. "Hey," he said, settling gingerly on the same chair Morgana had been sat in when Arthur woke up the last time, where Merlin had been the time before that. "How are you?"
"I'm in hospital, Percival," Arthur said, because even if he'd managed to keep back the offensive response to Percival announcing his presence, the sarcasm wasn't going to be denied. "How do you think I am?"
To his credit, Percival just nodded. "Right," he said slowly, sounding far more considered than a single-syllable word required. "It's the end of visiting hours, and the nurses have asked me to leave."
"Right," Arthur echoed. "And how long have you been here?"
"Merlin called me when security threw him out," Percival said, just as slow, just as considered, but this time accompanied with a slight air of stating the obvious. "And then Morgana asked me to stay, once you told her to leave."
Arthur wasn't entirely sure what to say that, but then there was a pretty obvious place to start. "Security threw Merlin out? Why?"
"He didn't tell me," Percival said, "but, judging by his face, I'd say he had a disagreement with the same person you did."
"Fuck," Arthur said, figuring it was about the most reasonable response he could give. "Fuck."
"Quite," Percival agreed. "Look, Merlin'll have gone to Gwaine, and they'll be securing the ward as soon as I've gone, but if you want me to come back tomorrow and wait until the police get here, I can."
"Thank you," Arthur said, "but I'll be fine. Sorry Merlin had you waste so much of your day."
Percival looked at him with what was probably the closest thing to a frown he could manage. "I'll see you tomorrow," Percival said, far too deliberately. "Sleep well, Pendragon."
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.
.
"Tell Arthur how I feel about what?" Merlin asked, a level of bewilderment to it that was sort of sweet and mostly just the kind of intelligent stupidity Gwaine was used to from him.
"Merlin," Gwaine said, shuffling to the other end of the sofa; sitting considerably inside his best-mate-slash-fuck-buddy's personal space as he told him to tell a friend that he was in love with him probably wasn't the way to go. "You know what."
"Does it really look like I'm in the mood for stupid guessing games, Gwaine?"
"Look, Merlin," Gwaine said. "I don't know what that bastard did to Arthur, and that isn't me asking you to tell me because I get why you aren't, but if I was him, the one thing that would make sure I never went back to that c-" he cut himself off, remembering Merlin's distaste for that word and the lecture he got the last time he used it in front of him, though even Merlin would have a hard time denying it was seriously fucking merited on this occasion. "Merlin, the one thing that would make sure I left and stayed gone would be knowing someone loved me as much as you love him."
To his horror, Merlin didn't answer, not even to argue with Gwaine's impeccable logic. Instead, he sunk down even further into himself and made a noise that was far too close to a sob for Gwaine's liking. "Merlin, what is it?" he asked, hoping to God that asking wasn't going to make anything any worse.
"He already knows," Merlin answered, seeming to think that was enough of an answer.
Gwaine shook his head, just a little unbelieving. "He what?"
"He knows, Gwaine," Merlin repeated. "It's not like it's some fucking secret, is it? I'm obvious enough that the whole bloody world knows it."
"The world, maybe, but Arthur?" Gwaine pointed out. "He can be pretty damn oblivious about anything even close to involving feelings."
The look Merlin gave him was terrifying in its emptiness, its defeat, and Gwaine had no idea whether reaching out to him was going to make matters better or worse, didn't think it was a risk he could take.
"He threw it at me," Merlin said, the heartache in his voice enough to do some pretty serious damage to Gwaine's own. "Months ago, before my birthday, I tried to talk to him about Valiant, and he told me I was just jealous. He said I was with you because I knew I couldn't do any better, and that I put up with you because whatever stories I created to explain him being with that- that man, Arthur still wasn't going to want me."
"Oh, Merlin," Gwaine said. "Merlin, I am so sorry. You have to know he was only trying to push you away to protect you, though."
Merlin shook his head, his expression so terribly straight, so terribly, horribly matter-of-fact. "I know," he said. "I know he was only trying to piss me off, but I let him, and now Arthur's in the hospital because I didn't try harder. What exactly is telling him I love him supposed to do?"
"Oh, Merlin," Gwaine said again, hauling Merlin into the tightest hug he could manage. "It's not your fault, Merlin," he said, knowing that it wasn't anything close to enough, and however much he wanted to promise him that it would be okay, the words wouldn't find their way to his tongue.
.
.
.
Police, Arthur thought, along with statement and court.
Trial, he thought, and with that came the tabloid headlines. Pendragon's Son Cries Rape emblazoned across the cover of The Sun, all the personal details of his relationship and his life shared with the world, his name dragged through the mud, reputation ripped to shreds, and yes, he knew he was an idiot, but he didn't need everyone else on earth to know it as well.
No, Arthur told himself. No, Arthur wasn't going to be seeing the police, wasn't going to press charges, and he definitely wasn't going to let the whole damn planet know about his personal life. He reached for his phone, scrolling through the address book for someone who wouldn't argue when he asked them to collect him.
Failing that, he went for the only person who didn't care enough about his well-being to worry too much.
"Merlin's told you where I am?" He asked, not waiting for a response, mostly because he wasn't sure Gwaine was human enough not to tell him I told you so. "Will you come and get me?"
"That depends," Gwaine told him, leaving it at that, the bastard.
"On what?"
Gwaine laughed, condescension and compassion, a bullshit combination only he was capable of. "Where you want me to take you."
Lance's, Arthur thought. Merlin's, Morgana's, Leon's, Percival's, Elyan's, his father's. Anywhere he could stay in peace, anywhere not where he was now or where he'd been for far too long. "Yours?"
"Mine?" Gwaine answered, audibly surprised. He paused, a long moment of silence, then Arthur heard him sigh. "You can stay with me, yeah. But only if you're not going to go back to him this time."
"I won't," Arthur managed, his voice sounding small and insignificant and not his. "I won't go back to him," he tried again, as emphatic as he could possibly sound.
"You even think about it, and I'll set Merlin on you," Gwaine threatened, with more sincerity than Arthur knew he was capable of.
"I won't," Arthur repeated a final time; as a threat, that would usually have been a pathetic one, but not in this case. If anyone could make sure he kicked Val out of his life absolutely and completely with no chance of return, it would be him. Maybe Merlin had the right to know where he was, maybe it should be Merlin's house he was going to right now, but then Merlin's was the first place anyone looking for him would think of and Merlin wouldn't be okay with him refusing to press charges. "Believe me, Gwaine, I'm done."
He could picture Gwaine's face, sceptical and cool, not Arthur's friend but Merlin's and willing to fake it most of the time. "St Mary's, right? I'll see you in ten."
"Thank you," Arthur murmured, but he was talking to nothing.
.
.
.
Leaving the hospital was surprisingly easy, given the time; however secure the ward apparently was, various emergency procedures meant the doors still had to open from the inside. All Arthur had to do was force his legs into filthy jeans and swap his ridiculous hospital gown for the same t-shirt and jacket he'd been wearing when the ambulance picked him up, and then he was able to leave, walking slowly, painfully, down the corridor from his room and towards the bank of lifts outside the ward.
Then all he had to do was wait outside the hospital, wishing he could have brought his morphine drip with him, until a car he recognised showed up.
Thing was, it wasn't Gwaine's.
The beat-up green Toyota Merlin swore he'd never let anyone else behind the wheel of pulled up beside Arthur, and he prepared himself to be yelled at and to yell back, because whilst he hadn't told Gwaine not to tell anyone, Arthur had pretty much thought it was implicit, and if he'd wanted Merlin to come and get him, he would have called Merlin.
The window rolled down with agonising slowness, pre-electric and squeaky-unpleasant, and Arthur pulled his hand back from the door handle, wary. Finally, wary.
"I'm not unlocking these doors unless you've cleared leaving with a doctor," a voice drawled, Gwaine's voice, no sign of Merlin at all. "You're not dying of a punctured lung in my house."
"My ribs are cracked, not broken," Arthur answered, knowing Gwaine would take it as agreement, even if it wasn't. Gwaine wouldn't know any different, anyway, and staying in hospital any longer wasn't going to do Arthur any good.
Gwaine looked doubtful and not particularly pleased, but since he unlocked the passenger side door and opened it for Arthur to climb in, Arthur wasn't really going to complain.
.
.
.
"Before you ask," Gwaine said, despite the fact that Arthur didn't know what he was apparently going to ask, "I didn't tell Merlin. He'd've been here if I had."
Arthur didn't say anything.
"I'm not asking what happened," Gwaine said, a couple of minutes later, downshifting as he approached a set of traffic lights, pulling to stop as they waited for absolutely nothing to cross in front of them. "I didn't ask Merlin, and I'm not asking you, but I would be a lot happier driving you both to the police station than I am taking you to my place."
"I don't need you to be happy about it," Arthur answered. "I just need somewhere to stay."
"As long as we're clear, Pendragon."
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.
.
Arthur had never actually been to Gwaine's place before, but when he got there it was to see almost exactly what he'd have expected; tiny, hideously decorated, and bearing a not-indistinct resemblance to ikea, if on a far smaller scale.
"Home sweet home," Gwaine said, closing the door behind him then pacing a careful circle around Arthur to get to the kitchen. "You want a drink?"
Arthur thought about it, possibly for longer than the question merited, but, sadly, the answer had to be no. "I think I still have morphine in my blood," he said, then added a slightly delayed, "thank you."
"I was thinking more along the lines of a cup of tea." Gwaine frowned, his teeth indenting his lower lip, more worried than Arthur was comfortable with, but he seemed to decide to let it go anyway. "Bathroom's that door," he said, pointing. "I'll find you something to sleep in, sort out some clean sheets, but then I need to get back to Merlin's. Unless you want me to stay, I mean. Because I can. If you want."
"No," Arthur said. "Thank you, no."
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.
.
"Is he okay?" Arthur asked, standing in Gwaine's living room in his too-small borrowed pyjama trousers, hair dripping down his back, his broken arm wrestled back into its sling.
Gwaine paused, resting the duffle bag of clothes he was carrying on the counter in the kitchen and digging a set of keys out of the pocket of his jeans. "Few bruises," he said, making intense eye contact, unyielding but not unkind. "His face doesn't look great, and there's an impressive bruise on his neck; I'm pretty sure your ex tried to strangle him, but he's tough. He'll be okay."
"He will?" Arthur asked, surprised by the shake to his voice. Not fear, but worry, and more of it than he was expecting. "You're sure?"
Gwaine smiled, unexpectedly bright. "You know, that's the first actual emotion you've shown since I picked you up," he said, then launched right in to another topic before Arthur could work that one out. "Door key," he said, twisting one key from the bunch in his hand. "Merls has the spare, but I'll get that from him when I get back there. And yes, he'll be okay, long as you are."
And how do you know I will be? Arthur thought, only barely managing to force an awkward twitch of a smile only his face.
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.
Shit, Gwaine thought, listening to the scrape of the key as Arthur locked the door behind him. Shit.
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.
Gwaine knew instantly that Merlin was awake when he got back, in part because all the lights in the flat were on, but mostly because Merlin was in the living room, pacing again.
"I tried calling you," he said instantly, turning on Gwaine with wide eyes, grabbing both of his hands and not letting go. "You left your phone behind."
"I'm sorry," Gwaine said, twisting his hands to grasp Merlin's as tightly as he was holding his, offering whatever small amount of reassurance the gesture could give him, particularly since he was just about to lie to him. "I went to get some clothes for tomorrow, didn't want to wake you up, but I should have left a note or something. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Merlin."
"No," Merlin said, sinking his head down to rest on Gwaine's shoulder, the concern not so much draining from him as shifting; Gwaine could almost hear his thoughts, and what he was hearing was exactly one word: Arthur. "Don't be sorry. It's just…with Arthur so hurt, and then you were gone, and I…panicked."
Gwaine wriggled his hands free, resting one of them on Merlin's head, curling his other arm around him and holding him close, tight. "I know, Merlin," he said, trying to keep the sickening guilt in his gut from tainting in his words. Merlin was going to kill him when he found out Arthur had left the hospital, that Gwaine was the one who collected him, but…Arthur called him, was trusting him not to tell Merlin, and right now he thought what Arthur wanted was more important.
"I know, Merlin," he said again. "I'm still sorry."