Archive of Our Own

Another step, and another. Arthur only had the entity’s – well, John’s, now – word that he was managing a straight line. If that was the case, then Arthur supposed he ought to be granted some sort of reward. His legs scarcely felt like his own, in a fashion not dissimilar to his left hand. That didn’t do much to buoy his spirits. Christ, a coma. A coma?

“I–I…” He stuttered out. “I think I need to sit down.”

What? Came the frequently frustrated voice in his head. Arthur, we can’t rest now. They might be looking for us. We have to find answers on Amanda. We can’t stay here. 

“I know that, but… but I really think my legs are about to give out.” His entire body, for that matter.

You just slept for a month! 

“It wasn’t sleeping. It was… do you even know what sleep is?” 

It came out as more biting than he intended, but everything hurt. The parts of him that didn’t refuse to take solid form were as stiff as steel, and god, it wasn’t lost on him that even if he wanted to lay down somewhere, no bed in the world would welcome him home. Was their apartment back in Arkham…

No, couldn’t think about that now.

John spoke again, tone saturated with abrasive defense.

Yeah.

Great, well, Arthur scarcely had time to teach whatever lingered in his head about sleep and how it differed from a medical coma. “Then let’s just say it was a very long time not to be using my legs. I’m not suggesting sleep. Is there anywhere I can just… sit down?”

At first, he thought John might not cooperate. What was he to do, then? Stand in the middle of Harper’s Hill and loudly argue with the voice inside his head? John might not have a body, but Arthur scarcely felt like the warden here. John rarely did what he said; they hadn't even known each other all that long and Arthur knew that. 

Led by his nose like a cow to the slaughter house. The only thing keeping his hide intact (barely) was the executioner not wanting to slip onto the conveyor line.

There was little debating he seemed different now, in ways that Arthur couldn’t exactly put his finger on. He supposed he’d be a little different, too, were he put in this entity’s shoes.

No, not the entity.

“John?” Arthur asked, too weary to argue.

Yeah. Okay. Uh… there’s an alley. On your left. Keep going. 

He heaved a sigh of relief and kept on.

Alright, stop. Turn to your left – Arthur! That’s too much. Just put your hand out, and… okay. 

From there, Arthur could feel his way decently enough. The rough brick of the neighboring building scratched along his palms. An accidental kick – yes, there were the trash cans, best not sit too close to those. Arthur found a clean-ish stretch of alley on the other side, and Christ, he was too tired to not let the wall scratch the back of his jacket as he slid to the ground.

He pressed his head between his knees, his scarred fingers interlaced the back of his neck.

Coma. For a month. Nevermind that dog thing, and the corpse, and that dream– were they being hunted, now? More than they already had been. Already he’d put the crosshairs on Amanda, and now that poor girl– fuck. He hadn’t known. He’d just wanted to find answers, and he’d been so…

Some rest this was turning out to be. Arthur tried to quiet his thoughts and focus on the sounds of the street outside the alley, but every time, he returned to Amanda. 

A vicious rattle broke him out of it. Instinctively, Arthur shot his head up, gasping in fear. Just in front of him, was it–?

Arthur! The trash cans. Something’s… inside them. 

“ Shit!” Damn his legs, Arthur had sprung up to his feet. One of the trash cans continued to rattle dangerously, the lid practically trembling on the bin. He could hear something scurrying deep inside, and God, was this still the King’s doing? How could they ever hope to escape, nevermind get answers, if they were going to be chased at every possible moment?

Go out onto the street! 

“John, there’s people there!” Fuck, they should have gone to the gun shop first. Arthur didn’t have anything by way of a weapon on his person – and they were outdoors, above all! Where else was there to run?

The lid fell. 

It clattered and clanged against the metal, still wobbling against the ground. The rubbish lurched within. John choked in fear, but said no more.

Then– silence. A car drove by on the street. If any passersby peered into the alleyway and saw some grotesque monster, they made no remark on it. Arthur kept his hand pressed against the wall, bracing himself. “J-John?” He tried, scarcely above a whisper.

It’s just… staring at us. It’s not moving, perched on the rim of the trash can. 

“What is it? Does it look… like what we faced, in the hospital?”

No. No, it’s… it’s smaller. A similar body shape, but entirely covered in– in brown, striped fur. Long protrusions erupt from its face. It stares at us with hungry eyes, its long tail flicks as if threatening us with it – John broke himself off with another gasp of horror. Arthur, it’s thrown its head back! The fucking fangs on it!

“Alright. Alright, just… slowly. If I keep to the right, can I get out of this alley?”

Arthur! It has sharp claws, curved and gripping the edge of the trash can! I think it’s getting ready to leap at us, we have to move! 

Not helpful, John, Arthur thought with some weariness. He managed a step to the right before he heard the trash can rattle, as the creature leapt into the air. Instinctively, Arthur flinched and threw his right arm up to protect himself, dagger-like adrenaline and an anticipation of agony making stitchwork of his mind.

“ Meow.” 

“Wh–” Arthur panted, still stiff. He kept his arm where it was. “John, did it just–”

It’s… it jumped off the trash can. Though John seemed cautious, the alarm in his voice had passed on. It’s– it’s approaching us, Arthur, tail straight in the air. I-I don’t know what it’s doing, it doesn’t seem…

“Meow.” 

Oh my god.

“ John,” he asked, a smile rising to his face. “Is this just a cat?”

No, of course it’s not a fucking cat. 

Already, Arthur crouched to stick out his hand. The creature let out a gentle ‘mrrp?’ and then Arthur felt whiskers brush against his fingers, a cheek brush against his hand. “Oh my god, it is! Hello, friend. Did we disturb your lunch?”

There was some unpleasant-feeling goo on the fur, to be certain, and some small bones that Arthur dutifully petted off. As it was, the cat seemed quite pleased to be pet, brushing its spine up against Arthur’s palm whenever his arm wandered too far off.

Arthur, stop petting it. It could be dangerous. 

“It’s not dangerous,” he cooed to the cat. “He’s a little pussy-cat, isn’t he? He means no harm to anyone, John, don’t be cruel.” His fingers curled around the cat’s face to scratch his jaw, and – ah, there it was!

Arthur! It’s starting to growl! 

“That’s a purr, John. You’d know if it was growling. You like that, don’t you? Don’t you? Yes, when’s the last time you’ve ever had anyone scratch your chin?”

What are you doing? 

“I’m petting him. You said we could have a sit, well. This is how I’m using the time.” 

This isn’t useful. If you’re not going to be sitting, then let’s get up and go. We have to find out more on Amanda. 

“Don’t mind him,” Arthur informed the cat dutifully. “He’s never seen a cat before. You gave him a nasty fright. Can you imagine that, sweet little thing like you?” 

Go fuck yourself, I wasn’t– The cat pulled away from Arthur’s fingers. Done? He thought, a little morose at the idea. Still, perhaps John was right. There was a certain urgency to their task, and as much as he’d like to rest more… 

It fell over. 

He frowned. “Fell over? Is he sick?”

No, I don’t think so. It’s contorted its spine to look up at us, its gaze seems almost … John momentarily hummed as he searched for the word. Friendly? 

“Oh, he just wants us to pet his belly. Well, hopefully. Cats can be finicky that way.” Still, out of all the risks Arthur had taken to this point, this seemed relatively minor. The cat’s fur was longer on his stomach, and Arthur drug his hands through fondly. He could practically feel the cat’s skin vibrating with the intensity of his purrs. “John, do you want to pet him? Might be the only time you get a chance.” 

His reply brimmed with barely-concealed condescension. No, Arthur. I don’t want to pet the cat. 

“Yes, I’ve bet you’ve gotten attuned to hospital sheets and IV needles by now. God forbid you touch something soft, it’d throw off your entire understanding of the world.”

Well, someone in this alleyway was growling, and it certainly wasn’t the cat. Arthur gently played with the sleeker fur on the underside of the cat’s neck. His paws wrapped around Arthur’s forearm to keep him there.

This was nice, actually. Good to know that the world still spun around them, that it hadn’t inadvertently ended during Arthur’s time away. 

Something was tugging at his arm, just at the elbow. Arthur said nothing. 

Oh, John sighed, it is soft. 

“For the best. Massachusetts is still quite cold in the spring. Though, who knows? Maybe you’ve got a family to go home to at night.” He pauses, and then he adds - a little softer, a little sadder – “I hope you do.”

I think so. It’s quite … large. 

“Yes, I can feel that. It’s a wonder you didn’t knock the entire bin over! Can’t imagine there’s anything tastier in there than what you have at home.” The paws released from around his arm, and Arthur smoothed his hand over the creature’s forehead. “A brown tabby, you said?”

Yes. The stripes are more apparent on its belly. It’s… it’s still purring at you, Arthur. It shut its eyes in a picture of contentment, and it’s flexing its paws in the air in a rhythm, as if… trying to reach for you.

“Oh! Kneading.”

Kneading? Kneading what?

“For its mother’s milk. An old instinct. Muscle memory. Like… like how I could play the piano, back in my office, when I couldn’t remember anything else.” 

Oh. None of that old defensiveness he’d come to expect, only genuine surprise. Arthur supposed it would be a surprising thing. I … when I asked, Arthur, I wasn’t certain that you would be able to remember how to play. 

Now, that was something Arthur hadn’t considered. Waking up with no memory, his questions hadn’t been of the existential sort (as much as who am I and where am I could be considered non-existential). He hadn’t thought to question John much.

“And how did you know that I could play, to begin with?”

I just… knew. I don’t know, John sighed, when I saw the piano through your eyes, I just knew that it was yours. It’s hard to describe. Like being able to find your finger in a pile of dismembered others.

It was so macabre that Arthur could only bark out a laugh. “God, you really know how to brighten the mood.”

He received no response. Whether John took offense… well, he couldn’t have taken too much offense, as Arthur’s hand bumped into John’s own in the forest of fur. Arthur didn’t break the silence between them, only shifting to his knees so that he might be able to relieve some of the pressure on his legs. The cat purred onward. 

Before, Arthur had had an issue with cases. Like a bulldog, he found it hard to let go. Common enough problem, according to Parker. How could you focus on things like food and sleep when someone was out there: cold, alone, and scared?

As Parker identified the problem, so too did he have the solution. You just had to be a little selfish, sometimes. 

Well, Arthur supposed he had great experience with that. 

It had only been his partner’s influence that got him to rest from time to time, even then only with agitation. John was not cut of the same cloth as Parker, in a multitude of ways, but it was good to see that not everything had changed in Arthur’s life. He could, perhaps, be persuaded to relax time and again.

Even momentarily.

OW!

“ Mrowr!”

John’s hand jerked back so hard that it struck Arthur in the chest. Their newest friend-turned-enemy hissed at them and ran off - scampering deeper into the alleyway, Arthur thought. 

What the fuck? It bit me. 

“Are you bleeding?”

I, I don’t– no. Is it venomous? 

It shouldn’t matter if it’s venomous if it didn’t break skin, Arthur internally sighed, but shook his head anyway. “Probably just had enough of you petting him.” 

Like that  gives it the right to fucking bite me? 

“You’re right, there are probably gentler ways of going about things.”

In the back of Arthur’s mind, John clucked his tongue. Huh. 

It didn’t exactly sound like he was taking that lesson to heart, but… well, god knew it was something Arthur had to remember every now and then. He stayed on his knees for a beat longer, considering, before putting a hand to the wall.

“Well, that was fun. We ought to get going. Seek out some details on Amanda, like you said, and… figure out where to go from there.”

We lost our gun. 

“Yes, yes. Should get one of those, too. And an ID, and… well, a few other things. I’ll think of them on the way.” He ambled back to the mouth of the alley. Sounded like the streets were relatively sparse. Bad time of day for travel, or shaken by the murder in town. Hard to say. “You know, it’s funny, the limits of your knowledge – you knew what a dog was, back in the hospital, but no idea about a cat?”

Yes. Well. I hope we don’t meet another. Turn left out of the alley. 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Arthur said airily, returning to his hopeful line down the sidewalk. “The day is young. Maybe we’ll meet a fish next.”