A/N: Warning-my first pretty serious warning for a sequence concerning self-harm/suicide. Its minor in my opinion but if you want to skip that, start reading after the page break "ooOOoo" and, if you want, I can PM users a summary. Sorry and thank you!

23.

The moon found Merlin trudging on the sidewalk alone, one windy night. It was just barely November, just barely late enough to be late. His mother, likely still up watching one of her sitcoms, wouldn't expect him home any time soon.

Will was the reason. For the numbness in his hands, the heaviness in his shoulders, the sick in his head.

Merlin let him borrow his gloves to grab the wallet forgotten in the car, and still had them now. It wasn't a big deal at the time, just a hasty exchange of keys and words before the waiter came back. And Merlin left in too much of a hurry to bother asking for them back. Now he wished he had.

He left in a hurry after some of Will's rather unpleasant mates showed up on the pair's way back to Will's, herded them with both jeers and reassurance to Mary's pub, and proceeded in trying to get the two 17 year olds drunk. And watching Will dance with some of the girls there, to the sound of his peers cheering, to the sound of laughter and acceptance—that's what put the sick in Merlin's head.

All he could see was Freya's exasperated smile when they announced it was boys night, the love in her eyes when she kissed Will goodbye.

And that image flooding his vision was perhaps the reason Merlin didn't notice at first the old man who'd come in step beside him, keeping easily with his rushed pace. Not until, of course, the man spoke.

"You care about her? Freya?"

Merlin stopped mid-step, staring at him. Old, with smile lines and a bushy gray beard and dark eyes.

"Tell me, boy. Freya—you wish her well?"

Merlin knew who this was. Pictures of this face and Freya's, as a little girl, littered her room. "I do, sir."

"I expected so," the old man grunted, nodding. "Then you'll hear me out, I know."

Her grandfather started walking again, Merlin staring after him a moment before realizing he was supposed to follow. They turned a corner, to the side of a closed store, and the old man stopped.

"You have a message," Merlin said, no question in his voice. The ones who came to him, came to speak and understand, conversed like they were alive. Out loud, into the air.

The only difference being that his breath puffed into the dark a cloudy white, and the old man's did not.

"For you," the spirit answered, placing a thick hand on Merlin's shoulder. It felt like an icy bucket of water was being poured down the nerves of his arm—but Merlin focused on the old man's next words. "I fear for what is coming. For what has come. And what will come, for my Freya, Merlin."

"Is something wrong?" Merlin inquired, taken aback by her grandfather's solemn words.

He nodded. "She's in danger. She hasn't told anyone yet, kept it hidden well, but I've seen."

His dark eyes looked watery, tear-filled. "What do you want me to do? What is she in danger from?" Merlin asked, looking for answers in them.

He found them shortly. For Freya's grandfather gripped his other shoulder as well, staring at Merlin with eyes like wells, the answers lying in their depths.

A starry night, her face looking out the foster home window.

A blade, glinting in the low lamplight as her hand slowly opened a drawer. Taking the weapon out,, carrying it the bathroom.

Red, seeping from her wrists and onto white tile.

Harsh breaths, growing fainter as the scarlet pool grew and grew and . . .

"She's in danger from herself," the old man's whisper ripped Merlin back into reality. He blinked dumbly, hardly able to focus on the spirit's face.

But a moment later the apparition crumbled, bits of Freya's grandfather blowing away into dust, and from dust into nothing but a cold breeze suited for the November night.

The world tilted and Merlin's knees struck pavement, the pain hardly registering as his mind tried to accommodate such an experience. Such a terrifying, horrible experience, nothing in the nine years Merlin had seen and conversed with spirits to compare it to. And all that coupled with horrendous fear, ominous dread as the images replayed themselves in his head.

He turned right instead of left at the next intersection, the panicky determination in his heart quickening his legs into an all-out sprint. His phone was already on speed-dial.

ooOOoo

"Why here?" Merlin wonders aloud as he walks through the threshold of the guest room, his room. Gwaine, who's already inside and sprawled across Merlin's bed, makes a broad sweep of one hand before explaining, "This one was mine, for a good year. Good place to keep me connected here, for as long as I can."

Merlin's eyebrows rise. "They gave me your room?"

"Should feel honored, yeah?" Gwaine grins, sitting up finally and glancing around. "Ahh, but it's been awhile. I can't blame Gwen for putting this place to some use. Bet it was getting dusty, without me to stir things up." He rolls quite suddenly over, flipping to the opposite side of the bed before examining the bedside table and, after a moment, exclaiming an "AHAHH!"

Merlin jumps, startled as Gwaine waves him over excitedly. "Look! Here, Merlin, it's still here. In all her glory, too." He walks cautiously over, inspecting the spot of wood the man seems so excited over.

It's a burn mark, he sees, from something likely set down on the table. And . . . well. It looks a little like. Ahem.

Gwaine breaks down laughing immediately after craning to see Merlin's expression, which can't be helped. Merlin shakes his head at such a sound of pure glee. "Percival about pissed his trousers when we noticed it," Gwaine says proudly after calming down, tapping it once affectionately.

"How exactly did it happen?"

"Not entirely sure. We were both stoned something bad," Gwaine shrugs in a mock serious tone. "Probably missed the ashtray trying to put out a joint, I reckon." His face cracks into a grin almost immediately. "That kind of thing led to the end of me eventually, but. Funny as hell at the time, funny as hell still."

Merlin snorts after one more glance at the bedside table, shaking his head. "Good to know the point of your urgent call from the dead was actually to reminisce smoking pot and scar me."

Gwaine's black eyes take on a mischievous glint as he answers, "You think you're scarred now? Haven't even told you about the wonderful shower. Or that nicely placed desk over there," he gestures, mirth evident.

Merlin folds his arms and shakes his head. There's no way he's getting ensnared into Gwaine's undoubtedly obscene narratives. Even if a morbid part of his curiosity is piqued. "It's a wonderful shower no longer," Merlin informs Gwaine, who cocks his head in interest. "Since I've gotten here the shower and sink both stopped working."

The spirit's face now is serious, nodding as he sits up. "A lot of things around here seem to be 'Out of Order,' so to speak." Gwaine glances around, brows pulled together before he looks at Merlin again. "Never experienced anything like it. For an eternity it feels like, I've been walking around, waiting around. Always feeling myself drawn to my grave, same time all the time. Until about four months ago."

"What happened?" Merlin asks, Gwen's words echoing in his head. "It started about four months ago—and that was just the beginning."

"Nothing really. Just this feeling," Gwaine shrugs, "like order was unraveling. Or the clockwork the dead side of this estate has been relying on lost its cogs. I feel the connection between myself and this place, fading out, more and more.

"I'm sorry I wasn't at the cairns to meet you," he adds, giving Merlin a sheepish grin. "Bet you felt like an idiot, getting stood up by a ghost."

Merlin snorts. "Not the first time, let me tell you."

"Really?" Gwaine raises an eyebrow in interest.

Merlin smirks. "I won't get into the tale now. Not when we're short on time and you've yet to tell me what exactly—"

"What exactly I've interrupted your morning about, I know," Gwaine nods, voice solemn. He stands, light pouring through his shadowed frame from the window directly behind. The man's never looked more like a ghost as he states quietly: "I've come to warn you."

24.

Warn me that Arthur potentially could kill me? Already covered, mate.

Merlin says nothing though, only waits as Gwaine sucks in a breath and continues.

"Every time I've gone to my grave, I've opened the gate, and then closed it. Not really the cemetery gate, mind you—the gate between me and this place. It kept getting harder to open, to shut, for some time. And then, when I left the last time, after speaking with you—" Gwaine cuts off, confusion evident on his face. His voice seems to be getting more echoey. "I don't know, but I couldn't close it. Something escaped past me, big and dark and invisible. I know it was someone, Merlin, but it's like a great black fog was concealing them from me. All I could tell was its intent—to hurt you. To scare you away."

"To throw a rock at the back of my head," Merlin confirms, pointing where staples still puncture his scalp.

Gwaine raises his eyebrows. "Indeed. Well, ever since, it's been barring my way. Barring everyone's way, for the most part. I only managed to reach you once I realized," he pauses, looking past Merlin.

Merlin turns his head, seeing nothing but the quiet room around them. "Realized what, Gwaine?" He turns back to Gwaine's solemn face.

"He's gathering his strength," Gwaine answers, voice even more soft and echo-ey. "The past few days of nothing, Merlin—it's not a rouse or a fake-out. It's a strategy. He knows he can defeat you—"

"So it is a he, then?" Merlin interrupts.

Gwaine nods. "I think so. And he thinks of you as just an impediment, a small obstacle. There's something bigger he's after, I don't know what, yet I can feel it each time he presses me back. And after the confrontation between you two in the parlor, he was weak enough for me to slip through. To warn you." The spirit's eyes are wide and wary, lips in a tight smile as he separates the distance between them and speaks to Merlin's eyes now. "Ghosts cannot kill. But I fear what he plans . . . what he plans will be much, much worse."

Merlin's mouth opens, though he has no thought of what words to speak.

"Merlin—" Gwaine starts again.

A knock sounds from the door. "Merlin!"

Merlin pales as he recognizes the voice. "Yes Morgana?" He calls back, silently gesturing for Gwaine to wait till he can get rid of her.

"Could I leave Mordred with you for a bit?" Her voice carries from the door. "Gwen and I—"

"That's fine!" Merlin interrupts quickly. "Just give me a second."

She answers after a moment with a slightly off-put "Of course."

He lets out a breath upon hearing her retreat, Gwaine peering curiously at the door. "That was Morgana, right?" he asks in a peculiar tone. Merlin nods. "Strange," Gwaine frowns, "never thought I'd hear her voice on these premises again. Not in such calm cadences, at least." The spirit chuckles.

If Gwaine's form wasn't fading, disintegrating with every word he spoke, Merlin might ask what exactly he means. But there are much more important things to understand. "I don't know how long she's been here," he says, "but—"

"Who's Mordred?" Gwaine looks almost concerned.

"Her son," Merlin replies hastily. "Now—"

"Son? She has a son?" Merlin nods, and Gwaine shakes his head slowly. "Much has changed then. I fear I've been gone much, much longer than I thought. Which means Percival . . . " he trails off, eyebrows rising in alarm. "Merlin," he says suddenly, grabbing Merlin's arm—Merlin feels an icy coldness drip into his nerves at the touch—"I need you to find him. Percival will help, if no one else will. You have to stop this thing, from whatever it plans." His entire form is almost gone, just the outlines remaining to Merlin's physical eye.

"I will, but Gwaine," Merlin starts, just as the door behind him opens.

Gwaine stares at it, behind Merlin, the shadow of his face contorting into surprise and confusion even as it disintegrates into nothing. A part of Merlin sinks, looking into the empty air that used to be Gwaine. Gone, like the man doesn't exist. Though in a certain matter of science, he doesn't.

Merlin almost forgets someone is standing at the doorway until he turns and sees the very small Mordred there, an uncommon smile on his face. He's looking past Merlin, right to where Gwaine used to be.

Merlin feels slightly faint when a small chubby hand points to that same spot, as Mordred's first word to have reached Merlin ears turns out to be—

"Who?"

A/N: Follow, Favorite, Review! For all who review (that have accounts, sorry) as a treat I'll PM a short snippet from the upcoming chapter!