Highly Disturbing.

Mordred kept down low as he followed the sound of their voices. Will's last text, Wish me luck Leir x, was enough for him to realise and he'd left immediately. Morgana had disappeared the night before, the make-shift bed on his sofa folded up and empty when he woke up.

He gripped the key tightly in his hand as he crouched down behind an industrial metal conveyor belt. The air was cold, chemical, and the long fluorescent tube lighting high above had broken years before. It had led him to an abandoned building in Whitechapel, a warehouse of some kind, with rusted towering vats and belts and discarded boxes. Cliché barely covered the choice of location. Graffiti scarred the chipped and dirty brick walls and a strong wind whistled in through broken glass, gaps in the walls, and the closed metal sheet of an entrance which quivered and rattled.

'I don't see why you bother. Any of you.'

Mordred crept along, the key burning hot with his magic as he reached the voices and movement. Divination magic was new but Morgana had taught him a locate spell she'd used herself to follow Arthur and Merlin before leaving. The key to Will's flat, the key he'd given him two weeks earlier, anchored the magic as it hunted down its owner.

'You're outnumbered and underfunded. You can't control everything, William,' Katja said as she watched over four other masked people as they loaded a van. It had been parked with its back facing the open space, machinery and mess cleared out of the way for what must have been a packing and storage facility for their weapons. A stop-over point. A cloth tied roughly between Will's teeth to the back of his head kept him quiet. They'd tied him down to a metal chair with dull heavy chains, several more hanging in various areas of the warehouse space, or resting on the ground, still attached to machines or pulley systems.

'It was fun, don't get me wrong. Watching cops try and fail to infiltrate is a highlight of my job.'

One of the others laughed through the strange deep blue ski mask pulled over their head. Mordred stuffed the key into his jean pocket and shuffled closer to the side of one of the vats, peeking out the side as quietly as he could. They were maybe six metres from him and the van and the load, probably weapons, nine metres away. He didn't have a weapon of his own, he didn't have any Kevlar, he hadn't told anyone where he was going. He hadn't thought any of it through.

She pulled out a handgun. 'Anyway, we've got to go. Nice try but you lot have to learn to do better.'

Mordred wiggled his fingers a little and felt the warm tickle respond. He lifted his hand up in front of his face, fingers spread, and concentrated on the gun in her hand. There were several things he could do, but Will was there. Anything big could hurt him. Anything big could reveal him.

Will tried saying something, a low muffled sound soaked up by the cloth, before Katja raised the gun and stepped up to him. He struggled against the chains, tried to knock himself to the side or back, but a masked man came up and held him in place.

Mordred felt the heat, the sweat run down his temple, the way his heart thumped, and closed his fingers. They crunched into something hard, broke through it, and met his palm sharply, nails digging into the flesh.

'Do it already,' the man said.

'I'm waiting for the train,' she snapped. It came, a rumble that shook dust and metal shavings on the ground, and then it roared. Metal wheels screeched against tracks above them and Mordred saw the white-hot flash a second before he heard the bang. She screamed, hand jerked back as the gun hit the ground, cradling it bloody against her chest. Will struggled harder than before and Mordred angled his hand towards the man holding him down. The impact of the body against his palm shook down his arm and Mordred watched him crash backwards into a pile of the empty boxes.

'Over there!' someone shouted and Mordred heart thumped hard in his chest. As two of them rushed towards him. Will fell backwards in the chair and chains. Mordred ducked around the other side of the vat and imagined the crack and snap, the glow of metal, and waved his hand down across his sight of Will, clenched his fist, and yanked it back. Chains broke and flew out from under and around him like wild, burning snakes.

Katja bent down and snatched the gun, tried firing it again, failed, and barked back to the last masked worker. 'Pack it up and go!'

Will scrambled to his feet and tackled the one she'd given the orders to, avoiding the chains which still whipped through the air. Before Mordred could help something cold stabbed his arm and he spun around in time to duck away from the knife that slashed out towards him. A woman, shorter, lither, faster, she kept swiping until he stumbled back into the open area. Mordred kicked out her legs to see the other one pull up another gun.

It fired, the bullet shot through his shoulder, pain, and then he set it off in their hand. Another flash, bang, and a bloody arm. The old machinery surrounding them began to grind and pump, mechanical arms rising and falling, spinning, scraping. The cacophony was painful as it cut through the still cold air. His shoulder throbbed as it bled and he rammed air against them with a push of his left arm.

They slammed into the metal vat with a low hollow thud and echo. The woman brought the knife at him again, and he blinked back tears at the pain in his shoulder, caught the blade with his hands, pushed back until he could slam his elbow into her jaw, turn the blade around their hands and shove it into her stomach. He held it there for a second, twisted and tugged it back. She clutched at the wound, eyes wet behind the mask.

'Mordred?' Will said through quick breaths behind him. He dropped the knife and it clattered against the concrete a second before the woman slumped down. Mordred caught his own breath and turned to see Will, the masked man still on the ground, and Katja, with a bloody hand and nose, bring another knife up from the ground and lunge at him.

'Stop!' he yelled and threw his arms out. Warm skin, bone, a beating heart, pressed and cut into his hands as the magic took his cry, twisted and amplified it above the scraping metal. Katja's chest caved in with a wet crunch, a choked off gasp, and a silent fall. Will's eyes were wide and he looked back down. Mordred's heart thumped heavily and he felt the burn in his shoulder, over his chest, in his eyes.

'Holy fuck,' Will huffed, stepping back away from her, hands up to his head. 'What the fuck. What the fuck. Mordred, what— She— Fuck.'

Mordred's hands were hot and his body shook, the pain distant as his heel bumped against the woman he'd stabbed with Katja's broken body resting four metres away.

'I—' he breathed, paused, and clenched his teeth as another shudder ran through him. 'Stop— I told— She was going to kill you, she— They were—'

He pressed his hand against his chest, skin burning underneath his shirt, and turned around aimlessly to see the bodies. Just like the boys at the railway tracks.

'Hey, Leir. Look at me.'

Mordred ignored him. He'd done it again. Killer. Monster.

'Mordred!' Will shouted and grabbed him by the shoulders. 'Hey, you're going into shock. Shit, man, you got shot, just— Do you have your phone on you?'

Heartbeat. He'd felt her heartbeat under the bone and flesh in his hands. It had been warm and he'd broken it. He'd torn it apart.

Will sighed. 'Oh for fuck's sake—'

Mordred watched him rummage through his pockets as the magic tingled in his hands and up the back of his neck. The contact was brief, a little rough, then Will had the phone and held it against his ear, one hand still on his unharmed shoulder. He nudged Mordred gently and led him over to another metal chair rested back against the brick wall and sat him down.

'Marten,' he said into the phone, voice raised over the screeching mechanics which whirred and pumped painfully around them. His gaze was fixed on Mordred. 'Track this phone and send over an ambulance, forensics, and Kestrel officers. We've got a shipment here and four suspects down, including Katja. I'm fine. It's Leir. Don't ask me why he's here just be grateful. He saved my arse and got himself shot in the process. Will do. Right. Yeah, I've got it. I'll report in after this is under control.'

Mordred swallowed thickly. He kept shivering, hands trembling, and stared blankly into Will's chest. Dark fabric, red stains, smudged with the brownish dust and dirt spread across the concrete ground. Will's large brown eyes came into focus, his chest out of view, and a warm hand pressed against his neck.

'I've got to get pressure on that, Leir. Help is coming so don't bleed out just yet, yeah?'

He watched Will strip off a hoodie, let him lift his arm, teared up at the pain, and felt the cloth wrap around and push against the heat in his shoulder. Then the pressure built, pressed into him as Will bit his bottom lip and stared at the shoulder, hands locked around it.

'Talk to me, Leir,' Will said above him. 'How'd you find me?'

His shoulder throbbed as blood pulsed around it, out of it, down inside his tingling arm. The buzz of warmth in his hands travelled up and stitched it up, the heat amplified and burning underneath the hoodie, Will's hands, and he inhaled sharply. With the next breath the heat was gone, the magic cold and tired, and he tried to focus.

'Your key,' he said and moved a hand up to Will's. It was warm, and resisted when he tried to pull it away, but with a second attempt he yielded. Will tugged the hoodie down his upper arm and pulled Mordred's torn and bloodied white shirt down to reveal the skin. Blood, dirt from the fight, but no open wound. Just a pale circle-shaped scar.

'My key?'

Mordred studied the way Will's grey eyes gazed at the closed wound. 'Yeah.'

'I got hit in the head, didn't I? Or did you?' he asked and looked at him, searching his face for an answer.

'We're not crazy,' he said.

'Sure about that?'

Mordred wet his lips and stood up, his body trembling despite the healing magic.

'Watch,' he said and took Will's hand, the one with broken fingers and bruised skin, and concentrated. Bones clicked back into place while a soft yellow glow coiled under, around, and through the skin. It lit up the discolouration and bleeding beneath until it faded entirely. 'Magic exists. I have it. I used it to— I wanted to tell you, but—'

Will frowned and let out a broken, breathy laugh. 'No way. Now way is this real.'

'Don't hate me,' Mordred said and held onto the fixed hand. 'Plea—'

'Why would I hate you?' he cut in. 'You just rescued me like some fucking damsel in distress, man. I was about to get my brains blown out and you stopped it. Holy fuck, Leir.'

He pulled him up onto his feet into a bone crushing hug which softened a second later. Will's hand held the back of his head with the other around his waist to press him closer. It was warm, safe, made his stomach flutter and heart beat a little faster. Mordred settled into it. His vision blurred. Her heart, her pulse, was still in his hands. The crunch, god the way the bones had just cracked and crumbled so easily.

'I killed them, I—'

'Did what you had to.'

The white noise of the machinery scraped to a stop. An eerie silence filled the warehouse and Mordred listened to Will's breathing, felt his chest move against his own, and hugged him tighter. A train passed overhead near by, the wheels screeched, the air shook with the noise, then it was gone and a phone rang. Will pulled back and Mordred forced himself to let him answer. Nothing lasted forever and hugs were no exception.

'Mordred,' Will said, the frown back, voice low. 'I thought Morgana Pendragon was dead.'

He showed him the caller I.D. on the phone.

Morgana La Fey is calling. . .

Heat washed through him and his stomach bottomed out.

.

.

.

The bathroom floor was wet and cold beneath his bare feet. The rush of the water spilling over the tub's curved porcelain rim dragged his attention up to see the girl smiling at him. Her eyes were dull gold, lips faded pink, and her hair soaking wet. Alexander Denton's girlfriend and one and only murder victim. Amanda Matthews.

'Are you going to stand there all night?' she asked and lifted a bare leg out of the spilled-over bath, dipped her big toe back in at the opposite end and gave him a wolfish grin. Arthur knew he was naked, that she was dead, that the one of her arms resting on the flowing edge of the tub ended in a jagged stump at her elbow, and knew he wasn't going to stand at all.

His steps sloshed as he moved toward the tub, stepped up and lowered one leg into the warm water, and rose to lower the second. She scooted further away, knees drawn up, to make room and he sank into it. The water was soothing and came up to his collar bones once he'd settled in. Looking into the deep water he noticed its pinkish hue, and glancing at the taps saw it there too. Odd.

'Scared?'

He glanced back to Amanda- Morgana. Hot embarrassment crashed through his body and he crossed his legs. She smirked, her forearm missing, dark hair heavy with the water, clothes soaked through and clinging too close to her body.

'Of what?' he asked, blinked, the heat gone. His clothes were floating a little in the water, suit trousers and white collard shirt. No tie. Where had he put it?

'You know what. Don't play pretend with me,' she said, smiled to reveal her canine, the blood covering her teeth.

'You're hurt,' he pointed out. Blood always had an unhappy source. 'You need to go to A&E.'

But he didn't want to move. The water was very warm, the pink diluted blood, but it didn't bother him. Maybe that's what made it warmer, comfortable. Inside and outside of his body, that could hardly be a bad thing. Was there a bleeding heart somewhere in the plumbing? It would cost a lot to fix something like that.

'It's too late, Arthur. Why don't you just kill me? It'll be a lot less fuss, and I trust you. Here,' she said and pulled out a Glock 17 from the water with her complete left arm. She held it out to him by the trigger guard.

'It's wet, it won't work.'

'I really thought you could at least do that. Not much of a brother, are you?'

'Half,' he corrected, staring at how the black metal leaked water. 'Half brother.'

'Half king, half Detective Sergeant,' Morgana said, head tilting to the side. 'Half a person, really. I suppose you have to be. How else could you kill Phoebe.'

'What?' He focused back on her face, no longer smiling. 'I didn't—'

'Might as well have,' she cut off and shrugged and took hold of the gun by its grip, index finger wrapped around the trigger. She rested that armed hand on the edge of the bathtub. 'If you hadn't gotten yourself attacked Merlin wouldn't have hurt her. Magic's dangerous, remember. Merlin is dangerous.'

She stopped, the smile grew back like a sprouting autumn leaf.

'Set any fires in your youth?' she asked after the pause.

'Stop it,' he said, swallowed, 'no, I—'

Arthur blinked and took a sip of the glass of water at his desk on their floor of operations at Scotland Yard. His tie was secure under the collar of his dry shirt. No one else was there. The sky was overcast, and threw a hazy gray over the windows which infected the still air. He frowned. It was the middle of the day. Why was he alone?

Pushing back in the chair he stood up and noticed the obvious blood spatters over the glass wall of one of their main conference rooms. On the table behind the glass he saw a leg, knee bent over the wooden table edge, shoe and sock intact but no trousers, no owner. Giving the floor a once over he took stock of the body pieces, hands, torsos, hands, various internal organs strewn about like some kind of food-fight gone wrong. All unidentifiable without their heads. His vision glazed as the sickness surged, which he swallowed, coughed, squeezed his eyes shut. Taking eight deep, long, breaths he steeled himself and opened his eyes. With careful manoeuvring he walked to Kilgharrah's office, stepping over strands of intestines, various pieces of flesh, and knocked at the open door as protocol and manners dictated.

There weren't any body pieces or blood here. Trees instead cracked the walls, floor, and twisted out with mossed-over aged bark, with leafy motionless branches canvassing the ceiling. Roots covered the ground, dug under and over the carpet. Sunlight sliced through some green leaves, shining into the room from outside. The colours were wrong. The light, it wasn't white or gold, it was closer to purple. Then the leaves weren't green, like they should be in summer, they were dying too soon, slipping into suits of orange and red prematurely.

A soft gust of wind behind him forced him to turn around out of curiosity. Merlin was leaning against one of the desks, jeans and burgundy button-up shirt peppered a darker and blended red in some places, soaked through close to black in others. He wiped his hands on his jeans, but there was too much blood to clean them properly. He hadn't noticed him yet. He was too busy examining his hands, running his fingers along the blood caught between them.

'What happened?' Arthur asked him. 'What's going on here?'

Mordred stepped up beside Merlin, out of thin air, the chains of his armour shifting cooly with the motion. He leaned in to Merlin's neck and kissed it.

'You want to?' Mordred asked him. Merlin looked at him, then faced Arthur, expressionless. His eyes were bored, vacant, observant.

'Any preference, sire?' he asked, voice just as empty.

'What happened here?' Arthur repeated.

'Poor puppy, he doesn't realise,' Mordred said and gave him a shadowy smile. 'Would you rather, Highness.'

Arthur frowned. 'What?'

'Fuck,' Merlin said, gently, pointedly, 'Marry. Kill.'

His face held no expression at all.

'I know what he'd do,' Mordred started. 'Kill me, marry Mithian, and fuck you. He's already done two out of three.'

'You?' Merlin countered.

'Fuck you, obviously. Kill him, again obviously, and marry—'

When Mordred paused to consider Merlin offered up, 'Morgana?'

'Sure,' he agreed. 'Bet there's great life insurance for the Pendragons.'

'Arthur?' Merlin turned his bored eyes back to him.

'I don't understand,' Arthur said.

'Merly,' Mordred cooed, 'it's your go first, then Pendragon's.'

Merlin rolled his eyes. 'Fuck Mordred, Marry Arthur, Kill Morgana.'

'She's already dead,' Mordred challenged. 'Try again.'

'Kill Guinevere, then?'

'Great,' Mordred grinned. 'How easy was that?'

'Stop this!' Arthur shouted. His heart rate had grown harder, violent, watching them, hearing them. 'Merlin—'

'Changed my mind,' Merlin said and gave him a dreamy smile. 'Fuck Arthur, marry him, and kill him too.'

'Cheating,' Mordred said with a glare.

'Who likes to play by the rules. I'm his and he's mine. Different rules, technically,' Merlin continued, the smile still in place, fixed with strange allure. 'Anyway the honeymoon sex was too great to pass on.'

'Was?' Arthur asked, reeling, then he felt the weight on his left hand. He looked down to see the gold wedding band on his ring finger, leaves etched across the surface. His heart stopped. 'But—'

'Tell me you love me one last time?' Merlin huffed into his ear. In his bed, he was covered by Merlin's naked body, skin burning up with the proximity, the ecstasy. Arthur was pressed into the mattress and pillows, Merlin over him, riding him. 'Tell me to stay with you.'

'I love you, Merlin,' he said through deep then shallow breaths, his head swimming, hands holding onto warm skin, pressing in to the hip bones beneath. 'St—Stay with me.'

'Forever,' Merlin whispered, lovingly, groaning into his ear. Arthur's next breath caught and his thoughts sharpened, screamed at him, with the white-hot pain in his gut. He looked down between his own chest and Merlin's as it rose away a foot or two. Merlin continued to move against him and exposed the guilty hand. It was holding a dagger, the hilt of which sat flush against Arthur's stomach. Merlin pulled it out, watched him watch the motion, revealed the blade smeared red. As Merlin rose, he pulled the dagger up, sharp edge catching on the skin of his stomach, and stabbed him again as he rocked their hips together and moaned. He saw then felt it push inside with fire, just under his ribcage. Arthur choked on his own breaths, already losing control, blood humming, and Merlin leaned back down, their chests together, and bit his earlobe. 'Forever.'

'Arthur!'

Pressure on his chest pulled his eyelids open and he drew in a sharp breath, but no air came in. His vision was blurred and then cleared into the light of his bedroom, Merlin's ruffled head blocking the direct light as he stared down with wide eyes. After he'd recovered from the instinctual flinch Arthur glanced down, saw Merlin's hand on his chest, saw it stop shaking him.

'You were crying in your sleep. I had to wake you up,' Merlin rambled, hand sliding up to his face. Arthur sucked in more air and pushed his hand away. 'Arthur?'

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, turned away from Merlin, wiped his wet face and concentrated on keeping his breathing calm. The world around felt small, shrinking, and it was now dark outside. His hands shook and he stood up, still naked. He grabbed a pair of clean boxers and slipped them on before leaving the room and padded over to the kitchen.

The microwave clock read 16:03. He turned on all the lights he could, kitchen, living room, dining room, splashed his face with cold tap water in the kitchen sink, poured a glass of filtered of water, downed it, and slammed his hand into the fridge door. His hand stung, but the release, the brief surge of adrenaline, cleansed his thoughts. Teeth clenched too tightly together he relaxed his jaw and licked his lips.

Leaning his head against it he focused on reality, chest no longer heaving. No stab wounds. Dreams, just the fucking dreams. Arthur stood up straight, stretched, noticed the musky smell which clung to his body, how it mixed with Merlin's scent, and groaned when his mobile rang out from the coffee table. Bloody timing.

He stepped down into the living room and swiped to answer, Kilgharrah's name across the screen.

'Sir?' he huffed.

'I need you to get your team together and head over to the address I texted you. Holiday's over,' Kilgharrah said. His voice had that dark tone again. The same tone as whenever he spoke about Arthur's fate.

'Murder by magic?'

'Not sure, but I want your team on it in case. It's a double homicide, male and female found in Bedford Square Park. I understand Gwaine can't join you, but—'

'Why can't he?'

'You haven't been told?'

'Told what?'

'He overdosed on something this morning. Percy got him to hospital in time, but he can't return to work until he's rested and cleared of an internal investigation—'

'Impossible,' Arthur cut in. 'That's not Gwaine, that's—'

'DS Pendragon, I need you to focus on the murder case for now. I know you've had a stressful Christmas and with Merlin missing again—'

'He's with me.'

'He is? Well then, get on it,' he said, only fazed for a flutter of a second. 'Call me with updates as the case progresses.'

'Will do, sir.'

Kilgharrah hung up and Arthur threw the phone onto the sofa. He walked back to his bedroom. His stomach did something too teenage-ish for his liking when he saw Merlin there. Sat up, duvet pulled up around his waist, with the old library copy of Dashiell Hammett's Maltese Falcon in his lap that he'd never given back. It's blank burgundy cover was frayed at the edges, aged pages turning at a impossibly fast speed.

'You can't read that quickly, can you?' he asked, the murder and dream and Gwaine forcefully forgotten for a moment. When Merlin looked up, eyebrows pinched together a little bit and eyes out of focus, his heart nearly stopped altogether.

'Hey,' Merlin said, closed the book between his palms and put it back to where Arthur had left it on the floor beside the bed. 'I heard you on the phone.'

'We've got to go. It's public again like King's Cross,' he supplied, skipping over any mention of Phoebe, or how that last case had ended and failed to actually close. Also avoiding the fact that he had no idea what had happened to Merlin in the three days he'd disappeared. He'd put together the Cailleach's involvement with the Dorocha, that 'Nix' had taken Merlin to his flat after the crime scene on Christmas day, but there were significant and essential gaps. They'd need to be filled quickly.

Merlin didn't even blink before he asked, 'Dumped there or scene of the murder?'

'Let's go find out,' Arthur said, and then the dream came back, and he realised Merlin hadn't pushed him for any explanation. Still naked when he climbed out of the bed Arthur moved towards and stopped him.

'Aren't we going?' Merlin asked, almost equal height with him, his hair still a dark curly mess. Arthur leaned in closer, closed his eyes, kissed him, and held him there against him until Merlin laughed into his mouth.

He pulled back. 'Okay, now we can go. We need to get you your own clothes so we'll already be running late. Can't show up at the scene in my spare jogging bottoms, can you?'

Merlin was still smiling, with questioning eyes, when he asked, 'Are you all right?'

'Let's go deal with this right now. We also need to keep,' he stopped, figuring out the words, 'us, you know, being, you know—'

'Uh huh,' Merlin said, grinning, 'I have a good idea.'

'Yeah, we need to keep it under wraps.'

Merlin laughed.

'Seriously, Merlin.'

'As if half of Scotland Yard's CID haven't guessed already,' he countered.

'Outside of our murder team they probably haven't,' Arthur said and Merlin's smile dipped noticeably, 'and we need to keep it that way. You know we wouldn't be able to work together if anyone besides them and Kilgharrah found out.'

'Oh.'

Arthur watched as Merlin's eyes lost their focus, working through it. 'Never thought about it?'

'No.'

'You really are something.'

Merlin's expression had grown into a pensive frown and he moved out of Arthur's reach to grab the clothes he'd set out in the morning. After an hour of mostly quiet, changing clothes, questions about Gwaine which he deflected, they were in a cab driving past a crowded Russel Square to the crime scene. They sat closer together, and he was about to hold Merlin's hand, to try it out, see if it could be something they did if no one looked, when Arthur's phone buzzed and Kilgharrah's name popped up on the screen again. He answered.

'DS Pendragon, you need to come into the office after you've seen the crime scene. Yourself and DS Emrys need to explain what happened on the 19th,' Arthur's heart rate spiked and his face grew uncomfortably hot as Kilgharrah spoke monotonously, 'A witness has come forward with a recording on his phone and its contents are highly disturbing. For now it's under my control but if this evidence goes public you will likely face charges of first degree murder. Don't say anything for now, focus on the double homicide, and don't discuss this with anyone. Say yes if you understand.'

'Yes.'

'I'll see you when you're done.'

The call ended, Arthur clicked his phone off, and stuffed it into his trouser pocket just as they pulled up to a street next to the park. Merlin glanced over to him with curiosity as he stepped out.

'Don't worry about it,' he said and joined him on the pavement, the cold wind somehow sharper, the sky flat and grey just like it had been in the dream. He followed Merlin around the edge of the black iron fence to the cordoned off entrance, a Uniform standing guard, two police patrol cars parked nearby. It took everything not to stop Merlin, tell him, freak out and break down. He couldn't. Merlin had been through something massively fucked up, he knew he had, and they had to focus. Focus. They showed their warrant cards and ducked under the white-blue tape.

(Playlist for Highly Disturbing:

Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons

Sleepwalker (feat. Joni Fatora) by Illenium and Joni Fatora.

Of The Night by Bastille

Cannibals by Kyla La Grange

...

Dark Star by Jaymes Young

Sleep Paralysis by Gabriel Bruce

Temple by Wilde

Empire & the Sun by The Moth & The Flame

Here We go by Extreme Music)