"There is no fear in love,
but perfect love casts out fear.
For fear has to do with punishment,
and whoever fears has not been perfected in love."
- 1 John 4:18
The sky is blue. It takes him days upon hours of tests to prove it, but he does. Then he shifts his attention to the ground. It appears to be covered in grass. He kneels to pluck a blade for inspection. Hmmm. His initial hypothesis should be correct, but he'll have to run tests to be completely reassured.
At a distance an impassive circle of shadowy figures watches his every move. He ignores them. They can't get to him here. Not while he's dead. Their voices only return when he's not dead, which luckily for him, he is.
He fixes the blade of grass beneath a microscope. A spark of electricity jumps from finger to finger. He freezes.
"No. Nnoo! I won't go back." He spins, quickly assessing his ghosts. They haven't moved but they look brighter, more solid.
"No! They can't make me! You here that morons?" He lifts his face to the sky and screams. "Stop trying to wake me up! I don't want to wake up. You don't really want me to wake up! It'll be better for all of us if I don't wake up! So. Stop. Trying."
He voice carries echoes of power that absorb harmlessly into the padded blue sky. The figures take a collective step forward in unison with a bolt of lightning that races across the clearing striking him dead center in the chest. He collapses instantly.
A lifetime later his heart begins to beat.
Three Days Later
Arthur has read everything in Merlin's file and he is furious. Name Unknown. Birthdate Unknown. Age estimate, fifteen years. First admittance, six years old. Stay, two weeks. Final admittance, thirteen. Stay, permeant resident. Included in his medical records were his child services records. Ten years ago John Smith had been picked up from the residence of one Uther Pendragon and taken to the Lady of Mercy Orphanage in Liverpool. It could be no coincidence. His father had owned property in Liverppol until Arthur was seven, ten years ago exactly. Merlin had been there. Somehow, before any of the rest of them had remembered anything more than vivid snatches of scenery, Merlin had remembered enough to try and find him… at five years old. He refuses to talk about it, but Arthur knows that his father remembers Camelot. He must have recognized the child. And he'd turned him away then made sure Merlin wouldn't be able to find them ever again. Sent him to an orphanage where he would spend the next ten years of his life in and out of the looney.
Arthur hisses in frustration. For his plan to work he can't let his father know that he'd found Merlin. He can't let the man who'd tried to have Guinevere transferred to a different school just for attending the same secondary as Arthur catch even of hint of the warlock Uther resents more than anyone besides perhaps the unknown sorceress who'd sparked the great purge all those centuries ago.
Standing in front of the hospital that evening, a mere three days since his clandestine visit to the Ashwood Mental Hospital, he draws his cover story around him like a shield and enters. Dodging through the lobby and up a set of stairs he coughs politely to attract the attention of a idle intern sucking determinedly at a large latte.
"Have you seen Nurse Joy? I was told she was with a patient," he peers at his notebook as if unable to recall the name, "John Smith?"
The intern shrugs. "John Smith is the guy they brought in a few days ago bleeding all over. He's on the third floor. Don't know anything about a Nurse Joy though. Sure you're looking for the right person?"
Arthur thanks them and hurries away. This plan involves getting Merlin out of the hospital unnoticed. Uther had already returned to London. Gwaine had driven down from Leeds to act as the getaway man. Now all they need was a bit of luck. Namely, Merlin really needs to be conscious.
Stepping out onto the third floor Arthur notices how much quieter it is up here. Suddenly he's glad for the blue scrubs he snatched from a closet on the way up. It doesn't look like this floor is open to visitors, ever.
A quarter of the way down the hall he finds the door labeled "John Smith" and his breath hitches in his throat. This is it. He turns the handle, steps in, closes the shade and locks the door.
Three Days Earlier
The world of the living swims into focus like a bad dream. The expected electro shock pads hover over his chest in the hands of a masked doctor. He blinks and then coughs violently as his lungs reject the oxygen rich air his very own mask is feeding him.
"He's awake. Blood pressure is on the rise."
"Looks like he's stable."
The clinical jabber fades into background noise as he slips back into the comfortable limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness. He doesn't wan't to be here. Arthur had promised. He had been waiting for him, right? Suddenly he can't remember.
OoO
"All right kiddo, these are only for your own safety." A painful tug at his wrists spurs him to open his eyes once more. An orderly is strapping him down to the bed. He watches dispassionately through slitted eyes and then drifts away again. What good would it do to escape? He couldn't get very far. Not far enough to die before they found him and brought him back. Escaping is pointless.
Merlin sleeps.
OoO
When he finally drifts into consciousness again the world is too bright. In his attempt to avoid the light something clatters lightly against a countertop. Seconds later the light lessons as a shadowy silhouette takes it's place.
"John? Can you hear me?"
Her voice comes as if from far away and for a long moment he seriously considers ignoring her. Surely if he does he'll be allowed to go back to sleep.
"I need you to wake up now John. Here Robert, help me lift him upright."
The shadow narrows as the person turns away. Light creeps back across his eyelids but before he can do anything about it two sets of hands grab him gently and pull him into a sitting position. Immediately his head begins spinning. The world blackens.
"John! Stay with us John."
There's something wrong with that statement and he allows his curiosity to pull him back from the brink of sleep once more.
"Open your eyes please John. I need to check your dilation."
John. That's what was wrong. Slowly he opens his mouth. "It's not John," he tries to say but his throat is as dry as the perilous lands and even his broken whisper sends him into a hacking rasp.
"Here. I have some water for you."
Eagerly he turns his head towards her voice and is rewarded by the touch of a thin rim of plastic against his lips.
"That's it. Take it slowly."
When his throat feels lubricated enough to speak he tries again. "It's not John."
"What's not luv?"
"My name."
The second pair of hands murmurs something at the edge of his hearing. The soft voice murmurs something back and then returns to him.
"Of course not. Can you tell us who you are?"
Her voice is soft and gentle with no undertones of malice or deceit but he still freezes at the familiar words. He can't tell them. If he tells them he's forced to take pills and potions until he can hardly remember Arthur much less his name.
"Just... Not John." That'll have to be enough. He's not a no-one. He's not.
The voice smiles at him. "Allright. Can you open your eyes for me?"
It takes a colossal effort but she's been so patient that he feels honor bound to at least make an effort. At first everything is simply too much light, so much that he cries out from the pain of it and shuts his eyes immediately. Slowly he cracks them open again. Finally a creamy blur surrounded by pale blue comes into focus. The woman smiles.
"Hello there. I'm Meredith. How are you feeling?"
He takes a moment to seriously ponder his answer. His entire body aches as if he'd trained all morning with the knights and then gone out to route a forest full of bandits for some light exercise. His arms in particular feel as heavy as lead and oddly numb. Oh. Right. He'd done that to himself and they, this must be the hospital on 6th Street, probably have him pumped full of medication for the pain. They needn't have bothered. He'd worked through worse when he was a servant and couldn't let on that he had been injured.
"Luv? You still with us?"
He focus' with a start. Meredith watches him with concern. His eyes flicker to the other side of his bed. A broad shouldered young man, that must be Robert, also watches him, but his eyes are filled with pity and disgust. He wonders why, remembers and turns back to Meredith. If this Robert had been lived through half of what he had he would look at him differently.
"Sore. Tired."
Meredith nods. "Can you feel this?" She squeezes his palms and then repeats the process with each finger individually checking for nerve damage he's sure. Not that he'd been that stupid. On the off chance that they did manage to bring him back he'd wanted no damage that would hinder his ability to serve Arthur; to try again.
Sometime later the world tilts as he's gently lowered back down into a horizontal position. Gentle hands run their way over his arms, carefully unwinding the bandages. He tries to force his eyes open once more; he wants to see for himself. But the effort is too much and he quickly flees into his dreams as the first stings of antiseptic register in his brain.
The Next Evening
The man, kid really, before him is so quintessentially Merlin and so painfully not that the twisted paradox roots Arthur in place for several long minutes before he digs up the will to move again. By inches he creeps forward. The high cheekbones, messy black hair, pale skin, everything that would have identified Merlin on a milk carton are exactly the same. Maybe his skin is a shade paler, it may be that his hair is a trifle shorter, it doesn't matter.
The things that do matter leap out like daggers to catch him. The heavily bandaged arms, from the wrist to past the elbow. What had he done to himself? Why? What had happened to Merlin in his sixteen or so years back on earth to warrant this? He'd kept a greater secret, after all, last time.
A low moan grabs his attention. Merlin. Arthur rushes the rest of the way to the bedside. Troubled blue eyes blink wearily at him, widen, and then squeeze shut again.
Arthur reaches out a hand, "Merlin…"
His eyes stay shut but that may be just as well for when he opens his mouth Arthur feels for the second time that night as if he's been punched in the gut.
"I'm sorry Arthur. I really tried. I did everything just like you told me too." he gestures with a minute sweep of his head to the bandages swaddling his arms. "You can check if you don't believe me. But I wasn't fast enough. They brought me back. I told you they might. They think they're helping."
Arthur gapes. His knuckles turn white where they clutch the sideboard. Does Merlin think he wants him dead? That somehow he'd ordered the warlock to go about slicing himself up for mincemeat?
When Arthur finally finds his voice the words drop out of him like rocks, undeniable and unavoidable in their immobility. "Dear God Merlin, you really are mad."
Merlin cocks his head and opens his eyes to gaze serenely at him. "Not really. I know your not real, not like before, but," here he pauses as if trying to make up his mind exactly which of his many thoughts to get out first, "isn't it better to follow a ghost of my King than lose him entirely?"
Arthur hisses in fear. "Not when he's telling you to off yourself!"
Merlin laughs, the chuckles escaping like sharp barks from his still aching throat. "That's funny coming from you." It takes a moment for Arthur to decipher the joke. Oh. Merlin thinks he's a figment of imagination. The same figment that had convinced Merlin to try-
"You've never been this solid before. I wonder if that means I've done something right or wrong?"
The idle question and the abrupt change in Merlin's composure convince Arthur to try again.
"Hey Merlin." He calls softly until Merlin's eyes are one again focused on his own. "You want me to tell you why I'm solid this time?"
Merlin shrugs as well as he's able. "Whatever you want Arthur."
Arthur grimaces. They'll have to do something about Merlin's blind obedience but for now he can use it to his advantage to get Merlin out of here without too much fuss, he hopes.
"It's because I'm real this time, Merlin. I'm back."
Merlin laughs softly as if at a joke and this time the laughter seems almost real. "You've never said that before."
"Then you should know it's true."
Arthur fumbles at the straps holding Merlin to the bed. "Listen Merlin. I'm going to get you out of here, but I need you to do exactly what I say."
Merlin goes rigid when Arthur touches his hand and for a moment Arthur is afraid he's upset the IV needle and his friend is going into shock, but no. Merlin merely twists his hand in order to latch onto Arthur's own. From then on he doesn't say another word, doesn't even open his eyes, but he refuses to let go of his liege so Arthur simply works around him and once in a while gives him a reassuring squeeze in return.
Finally his phone buzzes. Gwaine is in position. It's time. Merlin is still too weak from blood loss to actually do much of the walking himself, but with Arthur supporting him they manage to hobble down the hallway, down the stairs and out a side door, all without a single witness. By the time they reach the van, Merlin is asleep again.
Gwaine pokes his head out. "Is it really him?"
Arthur grunts. "Here, help me lift him. See for yourself."
The teen watches in satisfaction as his knight takes in their mutual friend with awe and delight.
"It's really you, Merlin." Gwaine's laughter rumbles inside his chest like a deep purr. "Man we have some catching up to do don't we?"
Arthur chuckles softly and some of weight in his chest lifts. It really is him, isn't it. Their Merlin. The one and only.
Hopping in the back, Arthur slides himself under Merlin's head and nods when he's ready. Gwaine nods back, all grin, and hits the gas.
By the time the night nurse realizes one of their patients is missing the trio is long gone.
OoO
Merlin is surprised to see Arthur so soon. Normally, this soon after they'd brought him back, he's still on drugs that stop the visions. Not the voices. They never leave him so easily. But the fact that Arthur is visibly standing at his bedside is definitely cause for surprise.
"I'm real this time, Merlin. I'm back."
He doesn't really believe it. Arthur would never lie to him but then real is relative. Who knows what Arthur really means by that.
He laughs at his rationalization of a hallucination but when Arthur actually touches him, it's suddenly no longer funny. Not once, not once in all the years since he'd given up had any of his ghosts been able to touch him. Not once.
He savors the realness of Arthur's skin against his own, nearly oblivious to when Arthur finally lifts him upright and half carries him out of the hospital and out of his latest life. All that matters is that Arthur is here, and for the first time since Camelot Merlin dares to believe that Arthur might really be back. Just maybe.
He doesn't know where Arthur is taking him but it doesn't matter. He'll follow. Eyes closed he leans into his King's sturdy frame, unable to stay awake any longer.
For the first time in ten years Merlin sleeps without nightmares and when he wakes, though he doesn't know it yet, Arthur will be there to greet him.
Comments, critiques, suggestions, all welcome!
