Author's Note: And here we have another chapter! I'm really enjoying some of the reviews and messages for this story. All the guesses as to what's next and what you all think each dream means! Love it. This chapter is... well. I have no idea how it came about. It's definitely not what I originally had mapped out, but I think this chapter is stronger than my original anyhow. It could be a bit disturbing to some, but it's not overtly graphic.

In writing this chapter, I felt compelled to write fluff, which is my new story The Two Times Arthur Tried to Kiss Ariadne. Once you finish this chapter, you'll see why. Now please enjoy and leave a review! I am really really really interested in what all of you think of this chapter.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own plot.

Arthur was not sitting in the hotel room an hour after the two had gone under before he began feeling restless. He had plenty of work to busy himself, he wasn't sure if it was at least seven hours worth. And he would keep his promise to Ariadne and not leave.

He was a man of his word.

To distract himself from spiraling further down a void of restless boredom, he threw himself in his notes regarding their nightmares.

He'd had them all give him the specifics. This was something that only Cobb had been wary about. His dreams had become his weakness tangible. While the dreams themselves were not touchable nor real, it made them come close to being personified and given substance.

Reality.

Eames had no qualms about offering up his dream. It was actually something that would have been obvious for someone living in his skill. Arthur hadn't been surprised at all when his dream had been detailed and he'd finished explaining. A man like Eames wouldn't be shaken by much and something this generic with a twist was expected.

Ariadne had proven to be the most open, not holding back. As far as he knew. She hadn't wavered on her tale and it was the exact same thing, fleshed out, that Cobb had paraphrased to him when they'd met. Dreams were not unheard of for someone as new to the game as Ariadne. She'd only done one job. But the damage to her psyche going three levels deep and into raw limbo had to have had a subtle effect on her. And it was showing in her dreams.

It was a shame that the last of her dreams had to be tainted with these numbing nightmares.

When Arthur had several pages of detailed notes on the three separate dreams, he started compiling a list of similarities between the three. As he felt like his list was complete, the gears in his head started to click together in all the right ways.

And a feeling of dread lodged in his throat.

He glanced at the two on the bed, breathing even and looking undisturbed. He checked their pulses and looked up, startled when there was a knock at the door. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was half past two. Right on time.

Room service brought in his lunch and left quickly when Arthur nearly tossed his tip with an unfriendly glance. The food looked amazing, as it always did in this hotel. But he wasn't sure he could eat with the sense of quiet panic hanging over him like a guillotine blade. He forced himself to eat anyway, knowing he had a long way to go.

– –

He was a good swimmer.

It was his favorite sport.

But right now, he was drowning. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see, and his ears echoed with the thick sounds of his flailing body.

As he thrashed to get to the surface, his mind registered something wasn't quite right.

He tried to open his eyes, but all he could see was a tinged blackness.

Something wasn't right. The water was thick, much too thick and so hard to move in.

His hand reached up and he met the surface and he pushed up eagerly. His gasps for breath were deep and raspy, the water flowing down his face and choking him as it gushed into his mouth. Opening his eyes again, he tried to wipe away the water, but his eyesight was impaired.

By a red stickiness coating his lashes.

He looked around for the first time, finally catching himself in a strong kick to stay afloat and a strangled scream left him breathlessly.

A pool of blood.

He was wading in a swimming pool of blood.

Thick, sticky, a deep, burgundy red. A red so deep and near black, it seemed to suck the life and light from the room, trying to grasp at any life around it. To gain back what had been stolen from it.

Arthur tried to swim to the edge of the pool, but the thickness surrounding him made it difficult. By the time he'd reached the safety of the edge, he was completely out of breath and wheezing. He was able to semi-gracefully lift himself out of the pool and he shivered as he laid on the edge, naked. He wished for the warmth that he'd just left, but remembering that he'd have to climb into the pool of blood made his stomach clench.

Realizing he had to figure out where he was, he managed to lift his body into a sitting position and started looking around.

The room was empty except the large, seemingly fathomless pool and the pillars that supported the ceiling. The pillars themselves seem to cry their own tears, stains running down them. Some were old, dull and rusty red, and others were very much fresh, still running down to the stained tiles under him. Several of the pillars had taught chains wrapped around them, which peaked his curiosity and dread.

Standing on shaky legs, he stood and slowly made his way to the nearest pillar running with fresh blood. Several steps to wind around it and a sound, so unlike him left his body, like his soul leaving him and his dirty, now macabre being.

Cobb, beaten and cut to near shreds, hung there. Suspended by the sharpened chains, he looked waxy and lifeless. Blood still trickled from some wounds, but his entire being was largely still.

Arthur's stomach heaved, nothing came up but bile, hot and bitter.

The next pillar on his right had to smaller figures. Faces beaten beyond recognition and limbs hanging awkwardly, he heaved again, his stomach empty and aching. Cobb's children.

He stumbled past the mangled corpses, seeing his mother and little sister in similar states. Eames on a pillar close to the pool, face slashed apart, limbs chained above him awkwardly. Yusuf and others like Claudia, Ethan, and faces he'd worked with once upon a time were bound up. Some of their faces were left untouched except for their own splattered blood. Their eyes staring unseeing, accusing at him as he walked by them. Each time he found a new body, he cried on his knees for their lifeless shells.

One pillar loomed over him like a shadow in the night. He could feel the intense glare from its corpse. It was one he didn't want to see. The one that may or may not leave broken him.

His sense of respect overrode the sickening fear that washed over him and he crawled his way to the pillar. At this point, he could barely stand, weight down by all the implications and accusations the bodies unknowingly flung at him.

Or, maybe, in their last act of life, they knew exactly what they were doing.

Making sure his soul would carry the guilt, shame and unending knowing of what had happened to them.

When he came to this last pillar, he saw the blood still ran fresh, wet and bright red like fruit. Forbidden fruit.

He laid at her feet, looking at her helpless body splayed out like Christ.

Her skin was carved with words, oaths and promises from the dead. One chain held her up by her neck, the rest of her body nailed to the stone with railroad spikes. Wrists, ankles, thighs and chest. Her entire nude body drenched in blood so like his own. Only near her eyes was her skin clean. The beginning trails of white skin down her blood stained cheeks. Tears that continued to fall.

And then she blinked.

He choked on his own tears and reached a hand out to touch her. Before his fingers could graze her feet, a hiss left her lips. He stopped, shocked. Her eyes narrowed in contempt and they shifted down to her body as if to say You did this. You are why I have been sacrificed.

"I didn't... I would never hurt..." his voice was barely a whisper. His strength to do more than exist was nearly zapped from him.

Our blood was shed because of your sins, Arthur. You bathed in our blood, like Satan himself, Ariadne hissed. Her voice so quiet, so soft and full of menace that Arthur had to listen with every fiber within him, let the words resonate before they registered.

She threw her head back against the hard stone under her and let out a shriek of anguish.

It felt like it lasted a lifetime to Arthur.

Her wail sunk into every molecule of his body, setting him on fire.

And he screamed with her. And kept screaming when she stopped, her body limp and expired.

– –

And he woke up screaming, falling out of his seat to the floor, his tears wetting the carpet.

The bile rose and his throat and he stumbled to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet until he had nothing left in him. Until nothing but the tears would come.

Despite his aching muscles, he stood, flushed the toilet, and rinsed his mouth out. Cold water on his face helped, but it wasn't until he took out his loaded die and cast it five times that he felt any semblance of safety.

Unable to look at himself in the mirror, he cried.

Quiet sobs of fear and self-loathing escaped his chest as he gripped the counter. His knuckles were white, his fingers turning numb from the pain.

In the other room, he could hear the beeping of Ariadne's machine, counting down the last thirty seconds of her cycle. Quickly, he washed his face and straightened himself out. Heading back into the bedroom, he sat merely seconds before her eyes opened and breathed a sigh of relief.

Ariadne let out a breath and sat up, removing the needle and handing it to Arthur who'd stood and started tucking it into the case.

"How was your sleep, Ariadne?" he asked conversationally. She stretched as she answered.

"It was weird being in a dream that long. But I feel better here, now."

His hypothesis had been correct then. "Good, good."

She watched him as he sat back down and made notes.

His hands were shaking, minutely.

"What's the matter, Arthur? Did something happen?" Arthur stopped his writing for a moment, then said,

"Did you want food? We can order you some room service, like I did early. It is dinner time."

Ariadne stood and put her hands on her hips stubbornly. "Arthur." He looked at her, face blank. "If I order food, will you please tell me what's wrong? You're shaking like a leaf."

He was quiet a moment, then told her that the phone and menu were near the couch in the sitting room.

She sat, going over the menu a few moments before ordering something quickly. As she finished her order, Arthur came and sat by her on the couch. When she hung up, she looked to him expectantly. He was quiet, thinking.

"Did... Did you fall asleep and dream, too?" she asked, noting the haunted look on his face as he opened his mouth. He paused, nodded. "Tell me."

Returning the favor of trust that she'd given him in sharing her nightmare, he told her everything that had occurred. The look of horror on her face was evident, but she listened the whole time. At one point, she took his hand to calm him. His shakes seemed to get more pronounced as he relived it. She was sorry to have asked, to make him picture it all again.

He let go of her hand and let his head fall into his palms.

He was so, so afraid.

So when Ariadne hugged him, he let her. Looking for comfort and security in anything he could get.

A/N: What did you think? This chapter is... special. So leave a review and tell me what you really think!

Story recommendation: Efficient by Creativeone13