A/N: Part of me feels a need to apologize for writing this. I kept asking myself while writing, what are you doing? The other part of me says this is how I've opted to cope with stress. I love my Fanfic Writers series and I couldn't wait to write one for Salvation, so this is what happened.
Please read, relax, and enjoy.
The Warning
Darius was sat at his drafting table, tweaking his latest plans when a loud crash, followed by a bang and cry of pain, pulled him from his concentration. It sounded like it had come from his bedroom.
"TESS, alert security," he said, standing to go investigate.
"TESS?" He tried again when the AI failed to confirm his request. Again, TESS didn't respond.
"Damn," he cursed under his breath. Whatever had happened had knocked TESS out. It had to be something strong because TESS stayed on even during power outages. He sighed and kept walking to his bedroom. Once inside, he saw, in front of his bed, a strangely dressed man with hair nearly down to his shoulders and a well-trimmed beard and mustache, rising to his feet, grimacing with each movement.
"Who are you and how did you get in here," Darius asked, being careful to keep his distance. The man looked up quickly, the movement setting him off balance. Instinctively, Darius reached out to grab the man's arm to steady him. He was dirty, smelly, and bloody and Darius definitely didn't want that on his bed. He'd have to burn the sheets and maybe the mattress.
"Oh good," the man said. "It actually worked. They all said I was nuts, insane for trying it but it worked."
"Who are you and how did you get in my bedroom," Darius repeated carefully. The best he could tell was the man was British and enjoyed cosplaying the 17th century.
"I'm Aramis of the King's Musketeers and I'm here to save you from them," Aramis said quickly.
Darius was sure he did a visible double-take.
"Alright, I think someone's been watching too much Star Wars and The Musketeers. I'll be nice and not call security, but you have to leave now."
"No, I'm really one of the King's Musketeers and I'm here to make sure that they don't get you. Now's the perfect timing because things are just getting going and not much has been written yet."
"Okay." Darius decided to humor the man for a turn. It wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with this sort of lunacy. "Who's them that you're determined to save me from?"
"Fanfic writers! They're terrible. They've put me through so much. Stabbings, shootings, illness, kidnappings, poisonings. The list goes on and on. I just barely escaped them to get here to warn you."
Darius rolled his eyes. This was a new sort of insanity.
"I'm perfectly fine. I have the best security in the world to protect me."
"They can get past security. They might even take control of your security, actually. They come when you least expect it, you see. You're out with your friends enjoying a lovely picnic by the river and then a roving band of bandits!" Aramis clapped. "And before you know it you've got twice as many holes in you as you're supposed to have and your friends are having to decide which one to cauterize first!"
Darius watched carefully as Aramis ranted in front of him. He clearly wasn't well and not just mentally. Just as he was going on about extra holes in his body, Darius saw a large gash running the length of the man's right forearm. Whatever had gotten him had cut clean through his leather jacket or perhaps he should call it a doublet. That was probably what this lunatic called it.
"You do know you're bleeding on my floor and probably the bed with how close to it you're standing." Darius was annoyed and didn't try to hide it.
"Damn it." Aramis looked at his wounded arm. "It figures they wouldn't let me get here without injury. Frankly, I'm surprised it's not worse."
"I don't care about them. You're bleeding everywhere, you mad man."
"Would you forget about your precious floor and bed. There are more important things at stake here." Aramis gave him a serious look.
"Right, these mysterious fanfic writers you're babbling about."
"Argh! Why does no one believe me." Aramis threw his arms up. Darius didn't miss the wince and aborted motion that indicated some abdomen injury.
"Because there's no such thing as some other beings controlling our lives, making us do things. You probably get hurt because you're reckless."
"I am not reckless. Not by my own doing, at least." Aramis stood as straight as he could manage to show his indignation at the remark.
"It's them, isn't it," Darius said jokingly.
"Yes." Aramis jumped, pointing at Darius.
"You're nuts and I'm going to get security to haul you out of here if you don't leave in the next minute." Darius pulled out his phone to add to the threat.
"Will everyone stop telling me I'm crazy. It's starting to get on my nerves." Aramis turned around, walking away from Darius. It was obvious the man was injured worse than he thought. There was a tell-tale limp in his step, likely from a knee or ankle injury. Maybe he should call 911, instead.
"Maybe if you stopped talking about the fanfic writers," Darius suggested.
"They are real and if you don't do something now, they're going to come after you and make your life miserable. I can see it, they go after the leads, the handsome ones. That's why they go after me, and they're coming for you."
"Rather full of yourself aren't you?"
"Oh, don't tell me you don't think you're handsome." Aramis gave him a look.
Darius shrugged his shoulders, giving Aramis the point.
"So, King's Musketeer, what do you suggest I do?" Darius crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on one foot.
"Umm…"
"Well, that's really helpful."
"Well, my plan is usually to go after them." Aramis shrugged his shoulders stiffly.
"And how has that worked for you?"
"I've never actually found them, but that's only because my friends won't let me go after them," Aramis added quickly.
"That's because they don't exist. I'm calling an ambulance because not only are you mentally unwell, but it's clear that you're physically unwell, too." Darius started walking away to call.
"Don't," Aramis yelled. "Please, I'm serious. I know I can't really tell you how to avoid them, but you need to know that they're coming and they're relentless. I mean, I spend more time in my bed recovering than on my horse."
"Be prepared, that's the best advice you can give me?" Darius turned, giving Aramis an exasperated look.
"Sorry, I didn't plan this out better. I really didn't think I'd get through. I had to fight my way past at least ten bandits to get here."
"And it shows." Darius pointed to the ever-growing injuries. The limp was now more pronounced, the right arm was hanging limply, while the other was tucked carefully against his ribs, hiding some injury, and blood was slowly flowing out of more holes than Darius thought possible to have and still be standing. The rug at the side of the bed was ruined as was the bedding and the floor was going to need a serious mopping once he got this lunatic out of here.
"This, this is nothing," Aramis said with a dismissive wave. Nevertheless, he wavered, barely catching himself before he could collapse.
"Still, I'm calling 911. If you go nicely, I'll keep quiet about the fanfic writers."
"You still don't believe, do you?" Aramis turned suddenly. Darius saw him go pale and his eyes roll back. He moved quickly to catch Aramis before he could tumble to the ground and injure himself further. He carefully set the now unconscious man flat on the ground.
"Damn lunatic," he muttered.
"Darius," someone said. The voice was distant and muffled, but insistent, calling him again. He faintly recognized the voice.
He blinked, confused when he found his eyelids heavy. He looked around, expecting to see his room, but everything was blurry.
"Wha…" he mumbled.
"Darius. That's it. You need to wake up." It was the same voice, but a little clearer this time. Where was he? His body was heavy and hot. He felt sticky with sweat. What happened?
"Open your eyes, Darius."
He tried, finding it an enormous effort. After a few tries, he'd managed to open his eyes fully, the blurriness mostly gone. He found himself in his own bedroom, Grace sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Harris and Liam sitting nearby, giving him worried looks.
"Wha..." he croaked out. Liam jumped to get a cup of water and helped him take a couple sips.
"What happened," he tried again, his throat slightly scratchy still.
"You've been sick," Grace said.
"What?" Darius looked at her, puzzled. He couldn't remember getting sick. The last thing he remembered was his conversation with Aramis.
"It's been a couple days. Liam came in to run some things by you and found you passed out at your desk, running a fever and coughing. Karissa called your doctor. He said you were run down and had a touch of pneumonia."
"Pneumonia?" Darius' eyebrows shot up at the news.
"When you started getting worse, Liam called me in a panic," Grace explained. She ran a wet towel across his face, which felt better than it had any right to feel. He couldn't help a sigh at the coolness against his still hot skin.
"And Harris?"
"I found out you were sick after calling Grace and offered to come over. We've been friends for a long time. Whatever our differences I won't let them come between making sure you're healthy," Harris explained.
Darius nodded, not sure what else to say.
"How are you feeling?"
"Hot and sticky," he said with a cough.
"Your fever is finally breaking, but it's still high. The medicine is finally starting to work," Grace said.
"We were beginning to think we'd have to get you to the ER," Liam said.
"I didn't know I was that sick," Darius said quietly.
"You don't remember getting sick," Grace asked.
Darius shook his head, coughing again. He couldn't help but think back to his conversation with Aramis about the fanfic writers. Was he right? Were they coming after him?
"You okay," Harris asked.
"Yeah, just thinking about a strange dream I had," Darius said.
"Fevered dreams are the strangest," Liam said, absently.
"This took the cake. I dreamt a Musketeer came to warn me about some fictional writers who wreak havoc on certain character's lives." Darius coughed, the wetness rattling his chest.
"You should get some more rest," Grace said. "You're still not quite through the worst."
"I still don't understand how I got so sick." He coughed again, harsher and more prolonged. Harris stepped forward to ease him up into a sitting position. When the fit finally ended, he was out of breath and his chest ached. As Harris laid him back, he rubbed a hand against his chest.
"Damn fanfic writers," he muttered, trying to keep his eyes open for one second longer.