For this chapter:
Character(s), Pairing(s): USUK, Japan. Mentioned; PruCan, China, and Team GB.
Rating: K+
Warnings: Angst. Language. Slash: Do I need to keep putting this one here? Possible OOCness from Britain (AGAIN GOD.)
Chapter Summary: Angels sing their hymns and there is a message waiting.
A/N: So I'm in a foul mood today. I'm taking it out on the guys. I'm so mean. ONWARDS. Notes at the end! Enjoy my lovelies!
Chapter Five: God is Wearing Black (System of a Down, Soldier Side)
"Arthur, where are you going?"
"To the port."
"And then what?"
"I'm going to the mainland, and I'm getting a flight to England."
"Why? What'll it accomplish? Nothing! It won't do anything for you – it'll make things worse!"
Arthur finally stopped and wheeled round, eyes like fire as his glare levelled itself against Alfred's cobalt own, and he exhaled angrily. "Dammit, Alfred!" he spat, raking a hand through his hair. "Don't you understand? There's no one here that can help. No family, no other psychics. Nothing. Just me. Just me and you and the silence in my head. But it's not silence any more, Al, that's the problem! Christ, I was wandering around out there for thirty-six hours! Thirty-six! Do you realise what that means? Dammit, Al! I'm more Ghost than man! And all it took was one piece of paper! If the Church isn't safe for me anymore, nothing on this island is."
Eyes locked, breaths held, they stared at each other, silently willing the other to back down.
"You can't go," Alfred whispered after a moment, stepping closer with a hand extended. Arthur's shift was subtle, but definitely away from Alfred's fingers. "You can't just leave."
"I can email you the story sheets, Alfred," Arthur assured him. "It's not like I physically need to be here. I can do my side of the comic from anywhere in the world."
"That's not – I don't – I just…" Stricken, Alfred dropped his hand, turned his eyes to the side, swallowed thickly. "I don't want you to go."
Arthur stepped closer still, reaching up to touch Alfred's cheek with the hand not holding the holdall. "Al, listen to me. I have to leave, if either of us are going to survive. My sister knows a lot more about these things than I do, and if we can convince Daragh and William to help, I might be able to come back. But I can't stay, not with the danger I put you in on a day-to-day basis. Christ, Al, there are people out there who want to kill me. There are dead people out there who want me dead. If I don't go now, we might not survive another week. You saw the note, you saw the date. I was with you the whole time we went to the fields – even when I went to the Church, I didn't write a note, you'd have seen it. So I wrote it later, whilst you were working, but I don't remember writing something like that. I knew – I had to have already known about the alchemists, I had to have – who else would be a threat to us? But when did I write it, Al? When did I get it to the Church? How did I manage to disappear for thirty-six hours?"
When it became obvious Alfred wasn't going to reply, Arthur exhaled a laugh, bitter and disappointed, even a little angry – at himself, not at Alfred, never at Alfred – and turned away.
"I'll call you when I hit English soil," he said, and stepped through the door.
The town was, of course, white, and Arthur laughed a little, shook his head and stood on the doorstep for a minute, looking out over the world that lingered behind, a world with no paths and no destinies, no life and death getting in the way of the endless routines.
A little girl stood next to him for a moment, her hand curled insubstantially around his own, a soft smile on her face. He smiled back, just as soft, if a little morose. As if sensing his mood – and she probably did, Ghosts were nothing if not astute – her smile became a grin and her fingers slipped from his, but remained loosely curled as if still holding. Beckoning.
"Where are you leading me?" he asked her, but obligingly stepped closer and followed her through the throng of Ghostly beings, some recognising him and waving a hello, others cursing him and his mother's grave, and yet more still ignoring him, unaware they were even dead. "I hope it's not somewhere dangerous."
Don't be silly! What would I do that for?
Arthur laughed. "Because I know you, you're a little trickster."
She turned back, and grinned at him, a devilish little smile.
For a while, Arthur followed her; she seemed to be leading to the port, so he didn't see the harm in it. She was ignoring him for the best part, stopping occasionally, to make sure he was following, but otherwise blanking his existence. It would be very easy to slip away, but what was the point? His phone rang in his pocket, but he ignored it, ignored what it meant.
"I'm doing what's best," he told it, and who, really, was he trying to convince? "I'm saving both our lives."
The song ended, and silence reigned for a second, and of course it was silence that reigned, because Arthur was the only living being in the Otherworld; he was the only being making noise that the Ghosts then echoed. The song started again, a soft you'll remember me, when the west wind moves, among the fields of barley curling around him, echoed across his brain in Alfred's voice as he hummed it, subconsciously perhaps, not realising what it had become to Arthur, too wrapped up in his work to notice the smile on the older man's face, the silence in his head.
After the third time, he conceded and pulled it from his pocket, gathering breath to fight his case.
The name stunned him.
"Kiku?"
"Arthur, hello. Alfred called."
"Figures. Go on, berate me for leaving like this."
"Why would I do that? No, I was going to suggest that you come to my house in Osaka. At least then there will be someone to keep an eye on you that Alfred knows personally. It is nothing against your family, but from what I gather they are not the – ah – most co-operative sort."
Arthur scoffed. "That's a little bit of an understatement, Kiku." He laughed a little, stood still in the middle of the Otherworld, and it didn't once cross his mind that Kiku shouldn't have been able to contact him here. This world was a dead zone, there were no signals except for those already in there. Alfred was a loophole, Arthur figured. Though not a physical presence in the Otherworld himself, as long as Arthur was there, Alfred had access.
It was a miracle, he thought, that Alfred hadn't been pulled into the Otherworld himself yet. The transitions were always so awkward – he had the triggers, certainly, he'd expected that walking out on Alfred, again, would set the Otherworld off – but they were never explained, never justified.
They just were.
They always just were.
"What am I supposed to do, Kiku?" he asked. "What can I do? Alfred's – he's not safe. I have to do something."
"Well, personally, I believe you're utterly insane, but I agree with you. You must do something. But we should discuss it face-to-face and not over the phone. When can I expect you?"
"When did you get to be so forward?" Arthur smiled. "Last I heard you were this meek little thing."
"Some things happen," Kiku explained with an audible shrug in his voice. "That we cannot control or avoid. We must merely allow their currents to take us to where we need to be, and when we wash ashore once more, we must pick up the pieces and carry on." He paused. "I got into – I had a – I had to start my life again."
"Yao?" Arthur queried, because there was little else that could upset Kiku quite as much.
"If you wish." Arthur took it for a yes.
Arthur sighed. "I… I'll call you when I get to the mainland. I'll see what the earliest flight to Osaka is and see if I can get on it."
"I expect to hear from you soon."
And he hung up. For a minute or so, Arthur hovered, his thumb on the keys, and then decided that he might as well.
You called Kiku?
A moment passed and then Alfred replied with, Well who else was I meant to call?
He thought about it, and eventually said, You could have called me.
Alfred sent a grinning face and, /sarcasm. Would you talk about it? No. So why bother? You never talk to me. Even though that's what I'm here for. We're meant to be in a RELATIONSHIP.
Arthur thought about it, and mused idly that his phone was silver and black again, the screen lit up in blue. I need time to get it straight in my head.
You've had twenty-two years to get it straight in your head.
Ouch.
We have talked about it.
No, you told me that you couldn't stay because it wasn't safe. You didn't ask my opinion on it.
What's your opinion on it? Two could play at being sarcastic.
I think you should stay, and let me help you.
I wish I could.
Alfred didn't reply so Arthur stowed his phone back in his pocket and stood still some more. His guide had either carried on without him, or just returned to her routine, but either way, she wasn't with him now. He stared into the woods for a while, frowned at the shadows stretching out towards him and laughed a dark little laugh. Alfred's internet history was full of such asininity; didn't he know that that tall fellow in the black suit didn't really exist? It felt like eyes were staring back at him, and he decided it was a rabbit.
Chewing his lip, he'd pulled his phone out again and tapped out a quick message before sending it to Osaka.
Going to talk to Alfred. Don't wait up.
Half an hour later, Arthur sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, frowning at the fireplace. Alfred sat next to him, arm shifting as if he wanted to put it over Arthur's shoulders, but didn't dare. The younger man cracked his knuckles whilst his elder gnawed on a thumbnail.
"So," Alfred started, and then stopped.
"So," Arthur repeated quietly.
"Are we going to talk about this?"
"I suppose we ought to, now we're here."
"It might help."
"It won't."
"You never know."
Arthur sighed exasperatedly. "Alfred, stop it. I know my own fate, and merely talking about it – Al, it won't save my life. Hell, I think I'm already dead."
"You're not," Alfred assured him, and touched the sliver of skin just barely visible between his shirt hemline and the waistband of his jeans. His hand was warm, almost too warm, and it flooded him from where they connected, and it was nice to feel it again, when Arthur had been so cold for so long. "You're freezing."
"I'm always cold."
"I'll have to warm you up then, won't I?" And he curled his limbs up around Arthur, pulling the older man – making noise of protest and threatening violence all the way – into his lap, holding him close. "See?" he grinned into Arthur's temple, planting a kiss there for good measure. "We're making progress already."
"You're an idiot." But it was a fond insult, so Alfred paid it no heed. Arthur suspected, admittedly, that he hadn't even noticed it.
The Englishman shifted a little to better fit his limbs amongst Alfred's, and they almost toppled off the couch. Alfred slammed a foot against the coffee table and righted them again, shimmying back so they lay sprawled out over the cushions, and Alfred smiled up at him.
"Hey, there," he said, and brushed a hand through Arthur's hair.
"Not on the couch," was the older man's reply, and he settled himself against Alfred's warmth. "Where do I begin?"
"How about with why you keep leaving me?" Alfred asked, a hand slipping up under Arthur's shirt to rest on the small of his back, the other continuing to play with his hair. "And don't give me the same shit about safety that you usually do. It's nothing to do with safety."
"I'm scared," Arthur admitted after a moment's silence. "I'm scared I'm going to hurt you like I did before. I put you in a coma, and I know I should be past that, because I saved your life after wrecking it, and I know you've forgiven me for it – don't consider it my fault even – but it niggles, at the back of my head. If I'd kept you out of the loop when Matthew died, I could have kept you safe. Without me Opening your head to the Otherworld, you wouldn't have felt the shift in Matthew's aura, and you wouldn't have insisted on following me to the Asylum."
"I would have followed you anyway, after the last time. We were so worried when we found Gilbert, I mean, he was as out of it as anything, but then you just weren't here, and we had no idea where you were. I would have followed you to the Asylum anyway, just to try and keep you safe."
"You wouldn't have been able to."
"I love you," Alfred shrugged. "And I'd realised it by that point. It was the end of the week, wasn't it, so I had to have. But I would have kept you safe because that's what love means."
Arthur scoffed. "You're so idealistic. You'd have been killed. You were killed."
"My body only thinks it's dead. I'm still alive."
"With my heart, love, with my heart."
"And what a wonderful heart it is too."
This time, Arthur laughed outright, muffled by Alfred's T-shirt. "You're a fool. A delightful, wonderful fool, and one I wouldn't change, but you're a fool nonetheless."
"Arthur, stop changing the subject," Alfred chided, and had the audacity to wink when Arthur shot him a look.
With a shake of his head, Arthur sighed a little. "Next question."
"What are you scared of? I can't die without you, we've already established that. I don't remember the last time I sneezed, so it's not like you'll ever put me in another coma. So it's something else, something less about me, and more about you. I'm not a complete idiot, I know when you're stressing. I can feel it, remember?"
Arthur sighed again. "I'm going insane," he said. "We all know it – hell, Kiku said it outright that he thinks I'm already nuts, and you know what he's like for giving his opinion. God, Al, I'm scared I'm going to go off the deep end and go so far I don't even know who you are. It's happened."
"I know. I read the blog about it. I remain convinced it was an ARG for my own sanity." The American stared off into the space above Arthur's head for a little while. "But I don't think you'll end up like she did. You haven't abused your clairvoyance, hell, you've fought against it. She abused it, and she had karma bite her in the ass for it. Bad things happen to bad people, and you aren't a bad person."
Arthur gave him a droll look. "Please," he said, "Don't insult me by trying to insinuate that I'm a saint."
Alfred kissed the corner of his mouth. "Love you really."
"It was always you."
"You won't go insane, Artie, I promise you," Alfred told him, and it was such a sincere promise, Arthur wondered if Alfred had matured these last seven years, or whether the death of his body had killed his mind as well, froze it as the nineteen-year-old lying in a coma with spine and brain trauma severe enough to ruin him that he had been. "It's my job to keep you on the straight and narrow."
"And what a wonderful job of it you're doing," Arthur hummed. "I'm about as straight and narrow as a curly straw."
"You stole that line."
"So?" He exhaled heavily. "I can't help but think it might happen. I have to be prepared for all eventualities, right? So here I am, preparing for all eventualities."
"Well pushing me away won't help, since, unfortunately for you and your stupid plans, I need you to survive. It's the only great thing about being tied to you like this, I can say sappy shit and you can't punch me for it, 'cause it's true."
"You wish." And he punched him anyway.
After getting whined at for a few moments, Arthur kissed the not-hurt better and waved a hand. "Let's keep going."
"So you're scared you're going to go insane and forget who I am and consequently hurt me. Okay, I can deal with that. I'll get a shotgun and keep it under the pillow – joking, joking, God – I'll take it seriously, and start practicing those alchemy circles you gave me so I can keep you contained if you do start climbing the walls. Which you won't. But anyway, the letter to yourself. You wrote that the day after your birthday, and it's been what, three, four days since then? The ink was still wet, and you don't remember writing it. I sure as hell don't remember seeing you write it whilst we were up there. What the hell?"
"I don't know," Arthur admitted. "I really don't have a clue. I suppose I could have spaced out and written it whilst I was in the Church the day before last. But, why would I lie about the date? The entire purpose of putting dates on the letters was to keep track of my own timeline. If I can't trust my own warnings now... And the reaction, too. I mean, I went to the Otherworld for thirty-six hours, and I don't remember a single one of them. That's never happened before. My time-keeping's a little off when I'm in the Otherworld, sure, if I'm separated from you, and minutes feel like hours and hours feel like minutes, but I've never lost track of an entire Trip before."
"And the thing in the woods?"
"Not a clue. It feels like Matthew's demon, but there's something wrong with it. Something that isn't quite the same. It feels almost human. Like I'm being stalked. Have you felt anything?"
Alfred shook his head. "Nothing. But, I'm not really Open anymore, am I? I don't feel anything you don't feel."
A hum of thought filled the air between them, and Arthur stopped after a moment to say, "I'm worried about it. I was in those woods for so long without being found. Like I wasn't there at all. What if the thing in there got to me before you? What if it's the reason you couldn't find me? What if it's still in me now, and I haven't realised? What if I'm not me, what if I'm the thing, and I'm tricking you into believing I'm me?"
"Arthur," Alfred chided, putting both hands on his boyfriend's face to hold him still, force their eyes to meet and hold. Arthur stared at him with a little dose of fear, and Alfred's stare back radiated something close to comfort. "Don't start on that. You're you, you've always been you. Nothing stays in you for long; it can't, you reject it if you haven't invited it in, and even when you do, you're too alive for them to stay. I can feel you," he whispered, and let go with one hand to touch his chest, press his palm to his heart. "In here, I can feel you and it's you, just you. There's nothing else in there with you. Trust me. Please."
Arthur's stare turned to a slight frown of concern. "Are you sure?"
"Why would I lie? If you weren't you, I'd have sorted it out. You taught me how to exorcise if I had to. I'd have just exorcised you straight off."
A shaky exhale fanned across Alfred's face, and Arthur closed his eyes to the wheat blond's smile. "Damn you," he whispered, pressing their foreheads together. Something rattled outside their bubble, but Arthur thought he heard the tinkling of a bell, and assumed it was Salem. "Dam you to hell. Why do you have to be so bloody – you."
Alfred grinned against his mouth. "Who else would I be? You? Boring. Come on, Art, talk to me, keep going."
For a moment, utter silence reigned as Arthur thought about what to say. Eventually he said, "I think the Alchemists want my genetic code."
"You what?"
"My genetic code. Think about it. It's very rare that a true Clairvoyant is born. I mean, how hard did we have to dig before we found the what – seven – of them that are out there? Even my sister and brothers, even they aren't as powerful as I am. They didn't – I don't know whether it was a question of development, or if it's our blood, like carriers for recessive genes. I honestly don't know. But I'm the most – ah – paranormally inclined – of the four of us. Think of what the Alchemists could do with a sample of my DNA."
"You think they want to clone you?"
"I don't know what they want it for. But what else would it be when they're using the symbol for the Philosopher's Stone as their symbol – what the hell is that noise?"
Alfred hummed quietly. "I thought it was the cat."
Arthur straightened, nearly winded Alfred with an elbow, and looked. "She's not in here. Salem?" he called. "Where are you?"
The cat flap in the kitchen door rattled a little, and he frowned.
"Salem?"
She yowled as if in pain, and immediately, he was on his feet, heading for the door, only to be thrown back by some invisible force.
Alfred caught him, steadied him, and they stared at it.
"What the hell is that?" Alfred whispered.
"I don't know."
The unlit light bulb above them burst, showering the room with sparks, and the house fell into silence as the power abruptly cut out.
"Okay, seriously," Alfred demanded, going to the door himself. "What the hell is going on?"
He slipped through as though there was nothing there, but when Arthur tried to follow – tentatively, this time, skin still singing as though burnt – he was blocked. He stepped back, frowned.
"Al, go find Salem."
"Can you see something?"
"I'm not sure," Arthur replied, stepping back to get a better look. "Yes. Yes, I can. I don't know what it is – it might be your psychic residue, an imprint of you, maybe, like you walked through a bubble or something. But it's wrong, it's not entirely you. There's something else."
It was definitely the shape of a man, but the arms were too wide, too big. They were, undoubtedly, the shape of wings.
++End Chapter++
NOTES::
Arthur's sister is Wales, just SYK. Those familiar with Scar Material will be aware of that.
The little girl is the one Britain finds at Japan's house. I love that episode.
If you read LSN, you know Arthur's ringtone was Draw the Line by David Gray. It's now Eva Cassidy's Fields of Gold.
Slender man, lol. I keep mentioning him. Paranoia's a fun tool to play with.
Arthur's phone is old. Like, really old. It's my Nokia 6300. The poor thing is so battered.
I have been tricked by ARGs before. When done effectively, they mess with your head so bad.
I don't remember where I stole that line from.
OOOOOOOH. Only not really. So yeah, I got into Homestuck. It started as a 'WTF YOU ON ABOUT GURL' with Apollo, and then I decided I'd be trolltastic with it, because apparently, APH/HS have major fandom hate or something, I don't even know. But then I got into it. You have no idea how tempting it was to put random references in. I may yet. So eyes open there. In other news, not a lot to report other than a bad mood, but that's par for the course with me, really. So yeah. Hope you enjoyed, my lovelies~! ++Vince++