Chapter Text
“So… do I get to know what my surprise is yet?”
Even with Lancelot’s back turned, Merlin can practically feel his husband’s disapproving expression, eyebrows raised and a mild scold on his lips. Merlin squeezes his arms a little tighter around Lancelot’s waist as if to pre-empt any kind of negative response, pressing a light kiss to the nape of Lancelot’s neck too for good measure.
Lancelot sighs and pours some batter out for a pancake. “What makes you so sure that there’s going to be a surprise?” he asks. “We’ve already done the present.” And each other. Twice.
Merlin pops another raspberry into his mouth. “Because there’s always a surprise,” he replies simply. “You’re kind of predictable that way.” Lancelot makes a mildly affronted noise, and Merlin places another placating kiss on his neck. Hopefully Lancelot won’t mind a little raspberry stain. “It’s a good kind of predictable,” Merlin says. “It’s probably not supposed to be charming, but on you it just is.”
Lancelot’s next sound is more agreeable, and Merlin smiles a small victory to himself. He peers over Lancelot’s shoulder in time to watch the pancake flip. “So, tell me. The surprise…”
At first, Lancelot says nothing. The pancakes take shape and the kettle whistles, ready to make more tea, and somewhere in another room Leon and Percy are yapping at each other, best friends already. And for a moment, Merlin doesn’t think about badgering Lancelot for an answer. For a moment, he just wants to bask in it all, in this home they’ve made.
Then Lancelot passes a folded parcel of pancake to Merlin on a fork.
“If I tell you,” Lancelot begins, “do you promise to still act surprised when they get here?”
Merlin almost chokes on his pancake portion. “They?” he echoes. A grin starts to form. “And who exactly is they?”
“It.” Lancelot blanches, while Merlin stifles a laugh in the nape of his neck. “I mean when it gets here, when it arrives…” He sighs. “You know I’m a terrible liar.”
Merlin shakes his head. “No, you’re not,” he disagrees. “You’re an excellent liar, you just don’t like to do it often because you’re morally opposed.” He nips playfully at the underside of Lancelot’s jaw. “My man of principles.”
Lancelot just feeds him another forkful of pancake and raspberry syrup to shut him up.
“They’ve really been looking forward to this,” Lancelot says. He pauses to pass a plain square of pancake to Leon, who always has a sixth sense for these scraps. Percy is angling for one, too, making himself small and endearing, even as he salivates all over the floor. After consideration, Lancelot gives him a dog biscuit, instead. Percy is delighted with it. “It’s been difficult getting everyone’s schedules together for the right time, but they certainly weren’t about to miss another birthday.”
“Wait.” The realization kicks in. “Is this who I think it is?” When Lancelot shrugs and says nothing, Merlin prods him. “Freya? Will?”
Lancelot is still silent, but Merlin can see the upturned corners of his lips, a wordless confirmation. Merlin whoops.
“Fantastic!” he exclaims. “I haven’t been able to see them for months!” Possibly even longer. They’ve talked over the phone of course, Facetimed and Zoomed whenever able. But it’s been difficult getting everyone together face to face. Already, their last meet-up feels like a lifetime ago.
Merlin smiles to himself. “How many are coming?” he asks.
Lancelot shoots him a dubious look over his shoulder, before evidently realizing that now that he’s let one thing slip, Merlin won’t quit until he has every detail. Merlin is amazed Lancelot is even surprised by it anymore.
“Today,” Lancelot says finally, “just the two of them. Morgana’s got a meeting she can’t get out of, so she’ll be driving up tomorrow morning, and then in the afternoon, Gwen and Arthur are dropping by. I think Elyan and Gwaine will be with them, but one of their colts is sick, so they might not.”
Merlin offers a sympathetic sound, imagining the two of them tending to their animals. Even if they can’t make it tomorrow, he imagines some photos of the recovering colt will more than suffice as an alternative birthday treat.
He hums, swiping one of the last bits of pancake before Lancelot can claim it. “What’s the plan, then? I assume you’re not cooking.”
If Lancelot had looked wounded by the pancake portion theft, he’s positively mortally injured now. “Is that so?”
Merlin’s eyes widen, and he gives Lancelot a tight hug. “You’re brilliant!” he exclaims. “But it’s a small kitchen, and you’re not hard to miss in here. You’d never keep the surprise from me if we were having people over for dinner.”
Lancelot considers, then makes a low sound of agreement, absent-mindedly patting Merlin’s hands on his waist. “True,” he replies. “But I’m not telling you.”
And then he plucks the last piece of pancake from Merlin’s fingers. While Merlin gapes, Lancelot kisses his cheek and slips out of his embrace. Merlin catches his wrist before it makes it far.
“Where are you running off to?”
Lancelot laughs. “The bathroom.” He raises his eyebrows, looking between his captured wrist and Merlin’s gaze. “Are you planning to come and watch?”
Merlin wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t let go. “Tell me,” he insists. “It’s not like they’ll know that I know.” He aims for a winning smile. “I’m an actor.”
Lancelot remains unmoved by his attempts. “You’ll find out in a couple of hours,” he replies. “Now, unless you want me to set a bad example for Percy…”
Merlin glowers. “If you love me-” he tries.
But Lancelot is ready for that, with a warm smile. “As a matter of fact, I adore you,” he replies. And he kisses Merlin, soft and sweet, and not even looking triumphant in the slightest when they break apart and Merlin releases his wrist. He looks too enamoured for his own good, Merlin would think, except he’s pretty sure he looks the same right now.
“Guess,” Lancelot says, as he steps away. “Surprises are far more fun that way.”
While Lancelot skirts around the dogs on his way to the bathroom, Merlin’s phone starts ringing. For a moment he pays it no mind, having too much fun watching Percy and Leon mount a joint attack on Lancelot’s ankles, while Lancelot – incapable of ever scolding them – makes soft little placating noises and carefully tries to usher them away. He’s not succeeding, and at this rate it’s a losing battle for the toilet. Merlin is already tempted to see about getting a third dog at Christmas just to add to the chaos.
But his phone keeps on ringing, and he can’t ignore it forever. He picks it up.
“Hello?”
“Merlin?”
It’s Freya.
Merlin shoots a glance at Lancelot, recalling his earlier words. Act surprised. “Freya!” He sucks in a dramatic gasp. “Didn’t expect to hear from you today! What’s the occasion? Must be something huge-”
“Merlin, are you okay?”
Merlin snorts. Finally free of the dogs, Lancelot gives him a thumbs up for the theatrics, which Merlin returns, before Lancelot slips into the bathroom. Alone with the phone, Merlin turns his attention back to Freya. “You and I both know I’ve never been okay, but ouch, on today of all days-”
“Merlin, answer the question, please!” There’s something frantic in Freya’s voice. Something that gives Merlin pause before his impulse to laugh. He smiles, vaguely perturbed.
“I’m fine.” And then, slowly, “Freya, what’s the matter? Is this about today’s plans?”
Freya doesn’t respond, and Merlin thinks she sounds like she might be hyperventilating. The sound spurs him into reassurance mode. “Freya, it’s okay. It’s completely fine, whatever it is. I don’t care if the surprise is ruined, I just want you to be okay. If something’s come up, we can always reschedule, you know I don’t mind-”
There’s a noise like a stifled sob, and then the phone is moving, and there’s a buzz in the background like a mass of people, a noisy crowd. And then there’s a new voice.
“Merlin, where the fuck are you?”
Will. Merlin swallows, increasingly unnerved. “I’m at home,” he replies. “With Lancelot. Will, what’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” Will echoes. “Merlin, what – what the fuck have you even been doing today? Don’t answer that-” and Merlin would laugh, but Will doesn’t give him a chance to get a sound in edgeways. “Just get the hell out of there. You and Lance, the dogs, whatever you can carry. Get out of the city. Now.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get out. Go as far as you fucking can, don’t stop for anything, don’t stop for us. Just go, please.”
It’s typical of Will to try and take the reins like this, so headstrong once he has an idea in his head. It’s very much not typical of him to plead.
Across the flat, Lancelot steps out of the bathroom. He’s on the phone, too. He frowns when he meets Merlin’s eyes, a matching look of confusion.
“Will, I don’t understand.” Merlin keeps his voice low, but it still trembles. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Another stifled sob. Merlin doesn’t think it’s Freya this time. “You’d better call once you’re safe,” Will says. “I can’t promise we’ll answer, but just – you know we love you, right? Never fucking said it enough, but we do.”
“Will-”
Freya whispers down the phone, “Merlin, be safe,” and the line goes dead.
Merlin stares down at the phone in his hand. Be safe. From what?
Every instinct tells him to call them back, urgently. Every other part of him knows, somehow, that they won’t pick up.
There was the sound of a crowd, he thinks, in the background of the call. If Freya and Will are due to visit him today, then they’ll have taken the train. Are they at one of the stations? Merlin sinks down onto the sofa, barely even aware of Percy snuffling curiously at his lap while his fingers move across the phone screen, trying to find an answer.
Meanwhile, Lancelot paces up and down, his face lined with concern. “Gwen, you should stay at home if you’re worried,” he murmurs, before his features crease into a frown. “Why not?” He pauses mid-stride, turning toward the window though he doesn’t cross the room to look properly. “Which hospital?”
Merlin knows which hospital. University. Panicked tweets and blurry video clips dominate every feed he has, and over and over again, it’s the same place that everyone is talking about. Something is happening at University Hospital.
Amidst the chaos, there’s a BBC live feed. Merlin opens it, and is greeted at once by the sounds of an anxious mass, sirens, and rattling gates. There’s a barrier erected around the hospital entrance, winding all the way past the ambulance station. Patients and staff alike are scattered around the barrier, clutching as if to rip it away. They look unharmed, untouched – but terrified.
The BBC correspondent stares into the camera with a grim expression. “We’re receiving word that Welsh military reserves are en route,” she reports. “They’re expected to arrive within the hour, but it’s hard to say exactly what their purpose will be, as the situation remains unclear.”
“They’re killing us!” Someone screams through the barrier. “You can’t stop it, they’re killing everyone!”
As if in confirmation, a spray of bullets shatters a window on one of the hospital’s upper levels. The crowd gathered around the camera surges in a fresh wave of panic. Lancelot shudders; Merlin hasn’t even noticed him sitting down.
“Armed police are on the scene-”
“They’re dead!”
“-and the Chief Constable of South Wales says that the situation is under control.” The correspondent adjusts her earpiece. Even with a composed tone, she can’t hide the way her hand trembles.
Another window shatters under gunfire. The crowd quakes, and then – Merlin leans closer, as if that might be enough to help him see more in the small rectangle on his screen. There’s someone at the destroyed window. Someone gesturing, too far away to be discerned but too frantic to be ignored.
The BBC correspondent sees it, too. She motions for the camera operator to take a closer look. The camera zooms in until Merlin can see a police uniform streaked with blood. The officer is desperately waving, mouth open like he’s screaming, too distant to be heard from the fifth floor and the rising fear of the crowd. He’s screaming, and his feet come up onto the ledge, and then-
And then he jumps.
“Jesus,” Lancelot breathes, face turned into Merlin’s neck. Merlin closes his eyes and listens to the fierce drum of his own pulse, almost enough to drown everything else out. What is happening at the hospital?
And why are Freya and Will so afraid?
When he opens his eyes again, the BBC correspondent is ashen faced. She isn’t even looking at the camera anymore, making her way to the barricade. “Someone should help him,” she says to the people on the other side, so quiet that her mic only just picks it up. “There must be someone who can help him.”
“He’s dead,” someone moans behind the barricade. “We’re all dead.”
There’s fresh commotion in the crowd. The camera swings left and then right, panning over panicked faces. Merlin tries fruitlessly to see what’s still happening at the hospital, but the camera moves too quickly for him to find anything. Is the crowd simply shaken up by what they’ve just witnessed? The thought makes sense, but there’s something else. The feeling lodges deep in his gut and won’t budge.
The camera swivels back unsteadily to the correspondent. She’s adjusting her earpiece again, frowning. At the motion of the camera, her face starts to smooth over, professionalism making a swift return. But there’s a grim horror in her eyes.
“We’re receiving word now that military reserves have been delayed,” she reports. “An undisclosed incident is taking place en route, and it’s unclear when the delay will be resolved – but we remain on the scene. This is Eira Jones for BBC Wales, in Cardiff, reporting on what some are calling an unprecedented case of violence at the University Hospital. Please take care, as this broadcast includes distressing scenes-”
And that’s when the screaming starts.
The barricades rattle like thunder, and even that noise is almost lost beneath the desperate pleas for freedom. Through the chaos, Merlin can see movement at the hospital’s entrance, a limping shuffle. The camera operator doesn’t try to zoom any closer, and in fact the camera is shaking. Someone shouts, so close that Merlin feels it in his bones.
Then the camera crashes to the ground, swept into a tide of people frantically fleeing.
Everything is noise and blurry motion. Off to the corner of the screen, there’s a man’s head – trampled, Merlin realizes. In seconds, the crowd is gone, with only the screams behind the barricade remaining. A narrow stream of blood trickles past the camera.
For a moment, all Merlin can do is stare, as the stream becomes a steady river, and the rattling of the barricade drowns beneath hopeless wails. What is he witnessing? He can’t wrap his head around it, can’t reconcile this chaos with the city he’s come to call home.
He can’t bear to look any longer. He tears his eyes away finally, putting the phone as far as his arm will reach, screen down so the lingering sounds are muffled. He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know if he can think. The only thing in his head is white noise and the image of a crowd in terror.
Lancelot reaches across, clasping Merlin’s hands in his. The way he’s trembling, Merlin guesses the touch is intended to comfort both of them. But as for its success… Merlin knows it would work, if not for how cold he feels right now. He looks at Lancelot, and all he can see is blood painting the streets. A part of him wonders what Lancelot sees.
“Will told me to run,” Merlin says, slowly. “Said we needed to get out of the city, right now.” An undisclosed incident, he remembers. What if Freya and Will are related to that somehow? Merlin thinks he might be sick. “What if – Lance, what if-?”
Lancelot watches him with grave understanding. “What if this trouble is spreading?”
For all either of them knows, it could be an entirely unrelated incident that’s delayed the military reserves, and yet another different situation affecting Freya and Will. But really, what are the odds of so many different problems happening all at once? No, Merlin thinks, they must be connected somehow, or even the same.
A new thought strikes him, then. He retrieves his phone – quickly exiting the still rolling camera footage – and checks his call history. “Freya called not even ten minutes ago,” he says. “And they’re at-”
“Central Station,” Lancelot supplies. “Their train was due twenty minutes ago.”
“So, they were probably still at the station, or close to it when they called.” Merlin frowns, running through rough estimates in his head. The station’s a good hour, or near enough, from the University Hospital, assuming that whoever is hurting people is travelling on foot. Merlin can’t recall hearing any kind of vehicle before the crowd started to run. Maybe the attacker is fast. Or maybe…
“If these are connected, then there’s more than one person behind it,” he says. And they’re killing us, the people at the barriers had said. Maybe they were just unsure of the attacker’s gender, but there’s the equal possibility they were speaking in plurals.
It’s a cold shock that runs through Merlin’s blood at that thought. There are multiple incidents like this happening.
Multiple monsters, a part of him thinks, and even as he pushes that thought out of his head, his doubts are beginning to rise. He never heard any gunshots except for those that came from the armed police, and judging from the one officer who leapt to his death, it doesn’t seem like they’re the ones responsible for this. What could be capable of spilling so much blood, in mere seconds, if not some kind of monster?
But Merlin reminds himself firmly, the only monsters in this world are people.
He focuses once more on Lancelot. “Will told us to go,” he says. “So, that’s what we should do. He wouldn’t have said so unless he didn’t think the flat was safe enough.”
Quite what could be dangerous enough that not even their home can protect them is something Merlin doesn’t dare think about.
Lancelot nods decisively. “You’re right,” he replies. “Whatever’s going on, we need to be safe. What else did Will say?”
“Just to call back once we’re safe. And…” The memory of the call feels jumbled against the shock of what’s just been witnessed. If whatever is out there has crossed paths with his friends… The fear threatens to choke him. “Will said he couldn’t promise they’d answer.” If Will believes that, then he must think his life is under threat.
Lancelot thinks this over. “If what just happened at the hospital – or something like it – is happening at the station too, then they’ll have stopped the trains. The two of them are still in the city. Can we get them here somehow, then leave as a group?”
Don’t stop for anything, Will’s voice echoes in Merlin’s mind. Don’t stop for us. How could Will expect Merlin to just abandon him and Freya like that? They’re his oldest, dearest friends. He can’t not stop for them.
But if there’s one thing Merlin knows about Will, it’s that he’s stubborn as hell. If he doesn’t want Merlin going after him and Freya, then he won’t be coming towards Merlin, either. Merlin can’t imagine where the two of them will try to go instead, but he has to be honest with Lancelot about the possibilities.
“Will said not to stop for them. If he and Freya are still in the city, then they’ll be making their own way out.” Determination rears up over his concern. “But if we can find out where they’re headed, we can at least meet them on the way.”
Lancelot nods with something close to a smile. “That’ll be safer for all of us,” he replies. “If we went to the station first, we could just be moving further away from them. We’ll be better off finding a route.”
Merlin flicks through his phone until he finds a text thread with Freya. He tries not to look at their last conversation, to get caught up in memories. Right now, he needs to act quickly. He sends his question.
which direction are you headed?
The message is received. Merlin doesn’t even wait another moment before he sends another message with urgent intent.
do NOT go to the hospital
He waits for a response, hardly breathing. One minute passes, then two. Despite the anxiety knotting up his stomach, he tries to think rationally. Freya’s not likely to stop and check her phone until she’s safe. That’s what anyone would do in an emergency. Freya not answering within five minutes doesn’t mean something bad has happened to her.
None of that logic is enough to get rid of Merlin’s worries. He sends the same two messages to Will, too, where they sit alone with no reply bubbling up to meet them.
He jolts up to his feet, catching his shallow breath. “We should get ready,” he says. “That way we can leave as soon as they get back to us.”
Lancelot nods. “I’ll get some clothes,” he replies. “Hopefully we shouldn’t need to be out of town for more than a day or two.” The alternative, that whatever is driving them out of their home will persist for longer than either of them anticipate, goes unspoken. There’s no room for pessimism in this plan.
While Lancelot heads into their bedroom, Merlin scouts around the cupboards for food. Hopefully they won’t have to travel too far, maybe Newport or Penarth, and while there’s no knowing what the roads are like right now, on foot it shouldn’t take more than a few hours. Still, they’ll feel better off with food at hand. He grabs a couple of sealed sleeves of crackers, and then some dry meats, stacking them into a backpack. There’ll be fresh food wherever they end up going, so they shouldn’t need much else. After a little deliberation, Merlin bundles a few tangerines and apples in with the dry food, before he shakes out a generous portion of dog food into a Tupperware box. Percy and Leon come bounding over, snuffling greedily, but one small handful split between them is enough to capture their attention long enough for Merlin to snap the lid on the box and pack it away.
It’s probably unnecessary; after all, they’ll have dog food in the other towns. Merlin hardly needs to pack two days’ worth of food for them.
But what do you pack, when you’re running out of town on such short notice, and in such chaos? A part of Merlin is still waiting for the laughter to kick in, for the joke to end and the day carry on as normal. But it isn’t going to, is it?
He doesn’t know what else to pack. And the idea of stopping for a moment, of stopping to think about what he and Lancelot might need – it feels dangerous, somehow. Like once he’s started, he won’t be able to stop thinking about all of this, about what it means for everyone, when or if it’ll ever end.
So, he doesn’t think about it. Instead, he just maneuvers the contents of his bag to avoid anything getting squashed or broken, and when he spots the knife stand on his way out of the kitchen, he stops in his tracks and grabs the biggest one within reach. It’s a breadknife, long and serrated – and, hopefully, something he won’t need to use.
As Lancelot exits the bedroom, his phone starts to ring. Both he and Merlin jolt, and for a beat, Merlin wonders if it might be Freya or Will.
Lancelot takes a look at his screen and doesn’t answer the phone. But when he slips in and out of the bathroom, toothbrushes tucked into his elbow on the way out, he’s typing something.
Whatever message he’s sending, he doesn’t say anything about it to Merlin. Instead, he just looks at the breadknife with an unreadable expression, before he lifts a cricket bat for Merlin to assess. It’s something they’ve been meaning to donate or gift away for going on six months now, after someone brought it in as a show prop and then abandoned it in the foyer.
Merlin tries not to feel too grateful about having not gotten rid of it just yet.
He looks away from the bat in favour of retrieving his phone. It’s been almost ten minutes now, and there must be some kind of response.
But there’s nothing, from Freya or Will. He texts them both a pair of question marks, if only so they’ll be alerted by the notifications. Minutes pass, and still no answers.
I can’t promise we’ll answer, Merlin remembers. Does that apply to texts, too?
Maybe he should just call. But what if the noise of it attracts unwelcome attention, wherever Freya and Will are?
But if he doesn’t call, then there’s no knowing when they’ll notice his messages. How long will he and Lancelot have to wait in the flat, knowing Will has called it unsafe, or take the risk of moving through the city without a clear direction in mind?
Merlin’s never been one for waiting long when it comes to the people he loves. He makes the call.
The phone rings. Merlin and Lancelot look at each other, counting the seconds. If Will is fearful for his life, then he probably won’t pick this up – but Merlin doesn’t want to give up until he’s heard Will and Freya’s voices. He needs to know that they’re okay.
The phone rings and it rings, and there’s no other noise in the flat but that ring. Not even the dogs are feeling boisterous now. Leon seems attuned to the anxiety in the room, making himself tense and small, while Percy sits and stares, bemused by it all.
Still Will doesn’t pick up the phone.
When the call goes to voice mail, Merlin feels like he could hit something. Instead, he forces himself to think and find the right words, quickly.
“Will,” he says, voice low. “Freya. I don’t know when you’ll be able to hear this, but-” He closes his eyes, imagining routes. “Go east,” he says, a snap decision. “If we’re getting out of the city, then Newport should be safe. Lancelot and I will meet you on the road.” He hesitates, an echo in his head, but he forces the words out, regardless of how it stings to hear them repeated. “Be safe.”
He hangs up.
Lancelot takes his free hand. “I’ll call Freya,” he says. “Just sit for a minute, have some water.” He doesn’t outright say it, but Merlin knows the look on his face speaks for itself. He’s shaken, and for the first time since they met, there’s little Lancelot can do to help him out of it. All either of them can do is hope.
Lancelot gets him a glass of water, dialling as he goes. Merlin listens faintly as the phone rings and rings.
No answer. Lancelot leaves a message, murmuring the same words as Merlin, though Merlin doesn’t quite hear them this time. Between the cold glass in his hands and the lilt of Lancelot’s voice behind him, Merlin is trying not to come adrift in his fear. He needs to stay focused, to concern himself only with material goals like which roads will get them out of town the quickest, without veering too close to the hospital or the train station.
By the time Lancelot returns, double-point leash in hand for the dogs, Merlin feels ready. He rises to his feet.
Leon perks up at the sight of the leash, bouncing at Lancelot’s heels with an enthusiasm that even Merlin can’t help but be infected by. He chuckles, and Lancelot smiles at him, a look suffused with such warmth that Merlin knows with a sudden, crystal-sharp clarity: they’re going to be okay.
The leash slips over Leon’s head, and Percy follows in the same eager fashion. Merlin could almost believe it’s an ordinary morning, if not for the meticulous way Lancelot checks the leash is secure.
With one last tug to make sure neither dog gets loose, Lancelot straightens upright and looks to the door. Merlin follows, grabbing his key and tightening his hold on the knife. He can’t hear anything from the other residents of the building – is that a good thing?
Only one way to find out. Merlin takes a deep breath, and starts for the door. He expects Lancelot’s footsteps close behind – but he doesn’t hear anything. He turns around, and Lancelot is just standing there, watching him go. Merlin’s heart thuds uncertainly, torn between confusion and concern. “What is it?”
There’s an oddly familiar look on Lancelot’s face, Merlin thinks, in the silence between the question and the answer. It’s like that time a fox got loose inside The White Dragon, and Lancelot had chased after it with a foam sword from their last panto, looking as if he was heading into war. Merlin had laughed at it, then.
He doesn’t feel like laughing now.
“Go straight to Newport,” Lancelot says, and it feels like he’s halfway through a conversation already, responding to something that Merlin hasn’t yet said. “Other people will probably be trying to get out of the city too, and you’ll want to avoid trouble. If you make a start now, you’ll be there in three hours, no more than four. If you don’t hear from me by then, aim for Monmouth, stay awhile with Elyan and Gwaine.”
“What?” Merlin stares at Lancelot. “You’re coming with me.”
“I can’t.” Lancelot shakes his head with a grim look in his eyes. “It’s Arthur,” he says. “His father is in that hospital, on one of the trauma wards. Arthur and Gwen are trying to get to him, and I…”
“You’re going to help them.”
Lancelot nods. He doesn’t explain his choice – doesn’t need to, not to Merlin. And Merlin knows that if it was the other way around, Gwen and Arthur would make the same choice.
So, he doesn’t try to dissuade Lancelot. Instead, he just says “Then I’m going with you.”
Lancelot blanches. “Merlin – I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“And I don’t want you getting hurt.” Merlin crosses the small distance, taking one of Lancelot’s hands between his own. “You’re not going into that on your own.” Just the thought of it, of turning his back on Lancelot, making his way to safety while his husband enters a nightmare – it’s like a knife twisting in his gut. It’s unthinkable.
“We’ve already made our vows,” he says, decisively. “You know what that means?” He offers up a wry smile. “You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not. Whatever it is that’s out there, we’re facing it together.”
Lancelot hesitates, but Merlin can see the relief in his eyes. For all of his wonderful courage, Lancelot doesn’t want to do this alone, even if he thinks it’s what he should do.
“Alright,” Lancelot says, finally. His gaze is soft but unshakeable. “Together.”
He squeezes Merlin’s hand, another note of reassurance for them both. Then he drops it, fingers wrapping around the handle of the cricket bat, instead. Try as he might, Merlin just can’t picture Lancelot using it; it’s probably for the best if he doesn’t try to imagine. He just hopes it never comes beyond his own imagination.
He tightens his own grip on his knife, and advances on the front door. This time, Lancelot follows close behind.
There, Merlin pauses. This building is far enough from both the hospital and the train station that, even heading for the hospital, they should still have enough time to get out of this area without running into anything dangerous. All the same, he takes a moment to press his ear to the door and listen.
Silence. It’s reassuring – and, paradoxically, anxiety-inducing. There’s a chance that not everyone in this building even knows anything unusual is happening; if that’s the case, should Merlin and Lancelot warn them?
It would be the right thing to do. But they don’t even know what they’re up against yet; how could they even begin to explain it? And besides… They’re running out of time. If Will thinks they should get out of the flat, then they need to leave before this trouble spills over into their part of the city… and they need to reach the hospital before it’s too late to get Uther out of there.
That thought solidifies Merlin’s resolve. He takes another deep breath, and reminds himself that whoever or whatever it is that’s out there, he and Lancelot are more than capable of defending themselves. They’re going to be okay.
He opens the door.