Archive of Our Own

Arthur is no longer twenty-three; he’s thirty-six, and he has a lovely mansionette that houses himself, his darling husband, and their two children. They also have two rabbits, a dog, and a cat. He has a respectable well-paying job that provides him with the luxury to support his husband with his endeavours. Alfred doesn’t need to lift a finger, but he has his commissions – he is a wonderful artist. He contributes what he can, but he doesn’t need to. Arthur is happy with this arrangement. Alfred, even more so.

Somehow, Arthur’s able to make time for their children and manages to go on dates with Alfred. He manages his time well. It had taken him years to get to that point, but he managed to arrive, eventually. He’s very mature, after all. He is thirty-two, and a working man, and a husband, and a father, after all.

Arthur doesn’t particularly miss his twenties, much less his early twenties. His early twenties did not have Alfred as his partner. His early twenties did not have his children. His early twenties did not have his career or money. Basically, his early twenties did not have the things most important to him now. His early twenties were wild and exhausting – but fun. It isn’t that Arthur regrets his twenties. Heavens, no. But he does prefer what he has now.

But there’s something he does miss from his early twenties. Alfred only knows a few things about it, but that's because Arthur has never spoken much about it. He only tells Alfred as much as he needs to know, which isn’t a lot. He’s left that life behind, after all.

But when he sees an old chum still very much engaged with this ‘lifestyle’, giving him a tempting offer, Arthur’s resolve crumbles.

For once, Arthur decides to leave work early, and he takes a different route that evening.

What’s one evening? He thinks nervously. It isn’t like he’s going to keep coming back. He’ll only check in, see if anything’s changed, and then make his quiet exit.

Alfred knows that Arthur’s been lying about late nights in the office. Alfred watches Arthur quietly as he sits across from him. He’s sipping tea and reading a book; it’s their typical routine. Alfred usually sits hunched over his desk and drawing tablet, while Arthur reads a book by the bookshelf.

Arthur notices Alfred staring. He sets his book down (face down, to be precise), and rises from his seat, the old chair giving a tired creeeaaaak. “Any reason for staring?” Arthur asks as he slowly approaches Alfred with raised eyebrows. He rests his hand on Alfred’s shoulder, and Alfred naturally wraps his arm around Arthur’s waist.

“Can’t I just stare at my hot husband?” Alfred returns with a chiding but overall mirthful tone. Arthur snorts from that, and Alfred smiles, resting his head against Arthur’s hip. Arthur strokes his hair and Alfred’s eyes flutter shut, trying to erase the nagging feeling that Arthur may be having an affair. He glances up at Arthur, who’s smiling down at him.

“It’s rude to stare,” Arthur uses the tone he used to use on their children, when they were younger. Alfred whines from that. “Even if it is at your so-called hot husband.”

Alfred shakes his head. “C’mon, can’t I get an exception? My husband is hot.” He teases. Arthur rolls his eyes again and Alfred’s heart swells with affection, fully embracing his husband’s legs. Arthur uses what little wriggle room he has to turn to Alfred fully and cup his face, tilting his head up. Alfred feels butterflies from the tender gesture, and shudders as Arthur strokes his jaw. “Damn…getting me worked up at two in the afternoon?”

“Please.” Arthur scoffs lovingly. “That was barely anything. And I know you’re busy.”

Alfred chuckles. He appreciates that Arthur respects his time, glancing at the monitor of his drawing tablet. “You’re incredible,” Arthur’s voice is soft and sincere, and Alfred snuggles closer into Arthur’s embrace, appreciating the rewarding words. Arthur always tells him that, and he’s always sincere. Alfred knows when Arthur’s being sincere.

But, that’s also why Alfred knows when Arthur is being deceptive.

“So. Me. You. Kids at nana’s. This Wednesday. How’s that sound?” Alfred asks after clearing his throat. He looks up at Arthur, and observes all his tells.

“I…” Arthur glances at Alfred very briefly. He looks away to his right. He scratches his chin. He opens his mouth, then closes it quickly. He sniffs. He musses up his hair. He sniffs again. “I’ve got a meeting late that day. We’ll see.”

Alfred doesn’t react. He tries not to. And if he did, he doubts that Arthur even noticed, since he’s still looking away.

But his heart hurts.

“I fucking knew it.” Alfred mumbles under his breath when Arthur exits his office building precisely forty-five minutes before he usually leaves. He watches as Arthur heads to the parking lot and waits.

Arthur’s car eventually emerges, and Alfred soon follows with his borrowed dark blue Vespa. His heart aches with every turn Arthur makes, one that leads them farther and farther away from the usual drive home. The route Arthur takes is unrecognisable and, frankly, a little frightening. Moving away from the residential areas mollifies Alfred somewhat, as it sort of erases the possibility that Arthur comes home to another. But his anxieties are not laid to rest completely.

Alfred does not understand why they’re suddenly away from the city. He half-expects Arthur to pull over to the side of the road and reveal that he’s known this whole time that Alfred has been following him, but Arthur keeps going, seemingly unaware that a suspicious man clad in all black from head to toe has been following him on a dark blue Vespa.

Arthur eventually does park his car to the side of the road. Alfred, at this point, regrets his decision deeply, because wherever Arthur has led them (well, technically, himself), there are barely any cars that are driving by. The streetlights are sparing and nothing but the dark woods surround the road, which is winding and appear to go on until forever. The air is cooler here, and the sounds of wildlife are louder in the dark. Alfred stops about a modest fifty feet from Arthur, lest he risk blowing his cover. He hopes Arthur only has to take a leak, and that he’d go somewhere nicer instead.

But Alfred’s heart drops when a figure emerges from the forest. They’ve got a flashlight on, and there’s a bulky bag on their back. They approach Arthur’s car. Alfred is revealed that they move like a human would. So that’s skinwalker off the roster.

They talk to Arthur through the window, before Arthur finally exits the driver’s seat. Alfred readies himself just in case Arthur’s harmed, but the person seems amicable. Not overly so, but enough to indicate that they’re not a threat. They seem friendly with Arthur, and Arthur, likewise, is relaxed. Not in an ‘I’m sleeping with this guy’ way, but in a familiar way. He clearly knows this person.

Alfred unmounts his vehicle and dares take a few steps forward. Arthur pops the trunk and reveals…bags, heavy-looking bags Alfred has never seen before. This makes Alfred freeze in place. He has a better look of the stranger now, though, and sees that it’s a man around their age. He seems satisfied with what he sees in Arthur’s arsenal. Arthur takes the bigger bag while the man takes the smaller one.

Then, Alfred’s jaw drops when the man hands Arthur what seems to be a gun , and Arthur smiles widely.

Then, they disappear into the forest.

Every fibre of Alfred’s being screams for him to leave while he can. This wasn’t part of the plan. Suddenly, an affair doesn’t seem so bad. Somehow, Alfred wishes that it had been an affair instead, and not whatever the fuck Arthur’s up to with a whole gun.

But Alfred’s shaky hands bring his phone out despite himself. He sends a location tracker to his brother as his legs start moving on their own volition. He turns on the flashlight of his phone. It isn’t as bright as he would like, but it will have to do. He enters the forest and weaves through the trees and shrubs and prays to god that he doesn’t step on both shit and scary shit. He tries his best to follow where he thinks Arthur and the stranger have gone, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He sort of wants to cry from fear. He’s never liked the dark. He doesn’t even like checking his kid’s closets at night when they ask him to.

When Alfred notices light seemingly coming from a glade, he feels both relief and even greater fear. He shuts his phone light in fear of giving his position away, very quietly moving towards the source, which sheds enough streams of light to help guide him through the dark forest. He hides behind a thick tree trunk when he’s sure he can hear the discussion well-enough.

Alfred recognises Arthur’s voice.

“Our target is strong, so I need everyone to perform better than usual. Male. His name is Desmond, or Devon. It wasn’t very clear. It doesn’t matter.” Alfred hears Arthur say, and his heart drops to the pit of his stomach from the choice word. Target. “He’s good at hiding, but I managed to get him to talk a little last week, just a bit. He’s good, but not good enough. Not for me. Never for me.”

There are other voices that seem to mumble. Both men and women. There must be about no less than ten of them, including Arthur. Alfred is shaking at this point. He hopes he’s misunderstanding things, he hopes–

There’s a familiar click. Alfred is almost positive it’s the click of the gun. Actually, it should be. It has to be. Arthur was handed a gun, after all.

“And it’s this space?” One of Arthur’s companions asks.

“I’m positive.” Arthur answers. Alfred wishes he could see what was going on, but he’s only forced to listen to the sounds of what he assumes to be weaponry. And soon, he smells smoke, too, and he recognises that the flashlights are eventually turned off and replaced instead by a large fire.

They’ve started a bonfire.

“When he shows up…don’t forget, men. Shoot immediately. I will not tolerate any delay.”

Alfred feels sick. That’s his husband’s voice – Arthur’s voice, his partner of ten years, his husband, the father of his children and fur-children. He’s always thought that Arthur was good. That he knew Arthur. But at that very moment, Alfred questions whether he’s known Arthur at all. He mourns for their love, for their lives, for their kids, for what he thought he’d known.

Had Alfred really married a psychopathic murderer?

A shiver runs down Alfred’s spine when he hears a soft hiss. It sounds like an instrument, like something being rattled. There’s humming, followed by a sound that was most likely produced from hitting a percussion instrument. The sound is followed by another, and another, until Alfred realises it’s a consistent beat. Amidst the deep humming, whispered chants follow soon after, and more bass-like chants serve as another layer.

The hairs on Alfred’s body rise as what sounds like an invocation increases, and he realises that it likely was an invocation, of sorts. They’re speaking a language unlike anything Alfred has ever heard before, and somehow, the air feels colder as the intensity of the sounds increases. The whispers have turned into aggressive chanting, and the rattling instrument is now playing incessantly. The drumming has increased in speed, a speedy du-dump, du-dump rhythm that feels like it’s rumbling deep inside Alfred’s chest, as if willing his heart to match the speed.

Then, Alfred recognises Arthur’s voice amongst everything. He’s chanting something with a scratchy, poisonous voice. Alfred does not understand or recognise a single word, and if not for the fact that Alfred recognises that Arthur uses this voice when pretending to be an evil wizard for their kids, he would not have known that it was Arthur speaking.

The whispers sound like wailing now and Arthur is practically screaming, and Alfred can see Arthur’s shadow moving among the trees, his movements eerie and inhuman. Alfred wishes he would wake up soon.

But oh, everything is very real, from the cool gusts of wind feeling as though they were penetrating his body. The fire is more intense now, Alfred realises, and he feels that the very low temperature does not match the intensity of the light.

And then, Alfred lets out a terrified sob when what sounds like the wailing of a thousand tortured souls rips through the air, and there’s an explosion of white light. He squeezes his eyes shut and holds his head, shaking like he’s never shaken before.

And then, silence and total darkness.

Not the natural kind at all, no. He doesn’t hear the hissing of crickets, or the hooting of owls. He doesn’t hear the sound of nature. His ears are ringing. It sounds like being in an empty room. Nature is quiet, unnaturally so. Ironically so. The air is cool, but it is still, too.

But Alfred hears breathing. The desynchronised breathing of about a dozen people.

Then, Alfred hears Arthur’s voice again:

“ Shoot, men !”

And the noises of dozens of electric-sounding weaponry being deployed crack through the air. There’s a howl of pain that sounds unworldly that fills the air. Alfred grimaces and covers his ears from the inhuman howl. But no animal could have made such a sound either.

The howling is incessant, and Alfred can smell sulphur. The unmistakable electric buzzing continues to ring, until Alfred hears Arthur shout an order to stop.

“ You …” It sounds like a voice that sounds like the whispering of hurricane wind. It’s scratchy, at the same time, and Alfred wants to run, but he’s frozen in place. “ You…I know you… ”

“...indeed you do.” Arthur answers the ghostly voice. “And you’re Desmond.”

There’s a scratchy chuckle. It truly does not sound human, the voice. “ So…you remember…I told you never to return…and yet, you return, and there are fourteen of you… ”

“Fourteen…” Someone sputters, “There are only thirteen of us.”

“ Mm…I can feel the presence of a fourteenth human soul. ”

Alfred’s breath hitches when he realises that he may be the fourteenth human soul. He’s trembling, and even though his kids think he’s a hero, he’s just a man – and he wants to run.

But he feels pinned in place.

“ He is…over there. ”

Alfred’s eyes are squeezed so tightly that the only reason he knows someone is next to him is because he can hear the sound of crunching.

And then…

“...Alfred?”

Alfred lets out a sob, because it’s Arthur’s voice.

“What are you–”

Alfred is unable to resist it, and he falls into Arthur’s arms. He’s trembling and crying and positively terrified. “What the fuck , Arthur?” is all he can really manage to whisper. Arthur catches him easily, holding him securely. “What the fuck is going on, Arthur? What the hell is this–?”

“ The fourteenth soul… ” The voice whispers, and it sounds like it’s speaking directly into Alfred’s ear, breathing its cool breath onto Alfred’s skin. Alfred jerks instinctively and turns to where the voice could have come from, but nothing is there.

“Alfred, calm yourself.” Arthur speaks sternly, as if he has no reason to be panicking. Alfred looks up at Arthur, and he shudders in fear when he sees his husband staring at nothing, but he’s staring as if there is something. “I do apologise. I meant it when I spoke with you last time, that there are only thirteen of us in the society.”

“Society?” Alfred asks with a stammer. It’s only then that Alfred notices that there are other people watching him and Arthur – ordinary-looking people, thank god. “What– Arthur…?”

“ So…he is not part of the audience… ”

“...I’m afraid not,” Arthur ignores Alfred, but his hands are rubbing Alfred’s back soothingly. “But I assure you, he’s to be trusted. He’s my partner.”

“ Partner… ” The voice echoes, as if it’s an unfamiliar concept. Alfred can somehow feel the imposing presence move away from him. When it speaks, it sounds as if it’s returned to the glade. “ Then, is he to listen to my tales? ”

Alfred looks up at Arthur. “Arthur,” he chokes out, “Arthur, what’s it talking about?”

“I–” Arthur frowns. “Alfred…I need you to trust me right now. You weren’t supposed to know about any of this. I can’t believe you followed me–”

“Yeah, no shit.” Alfred whispers harshly. “I thought you were fucking somebody else, Arthur. Do you know how suspicious you’ve been acting these last couple of weeks? Turns out, you’ve been– you’ve been– I don’t even know what you’ve been up to–”

“Alfred,” Arthur is calm. Eerily so. But he’s sincere, Alfred is sure. Arthur cups his face, and he kisses Alfred softly. Sweetly. Truthfully. Alfred melts and he feels as though Arthur’s absorbed all his fears, and he holds on to Arthur like an oxygen tank.

They aren’t finished kissing when Arthur speaks again:

“Do you trust me, Alfred?”

And Alfred, ever in love, nods.

So, Arthur pulls away from the kiss. Only then does Alfred realise that Alfred has a dark marking over his left eye, clearly hand-painted. It’s intricate and intentional, but Alfred does not understand anything. Before he can comment on it, Arthur shakes his head, and Alfred realises only then that he has been pointing at it.

“I don’t think you want to see him.” Arthur says simply. “I know you don’t do well with the supernatural.”

Alfred shakes again. Arthur’s right.

“You can listen, anyway.” Arthur assures. He plants a kiss on Alfred’s head, and leads him to the glade.

To Alfred’s surprise, the ‘society’ sits eagerly around a small flame. Some do not look too pleased to see him, but some offer him greetings and smiles. He realises then that he recognises some faces from Arthur’s old pictures.

“ Are you ready to listen, fourteenth soul ?”

Alfred purses his lips, then he nods.

“Yeah…yeah, I am.”

And then, Alfred hears a tale from centuries ago, the kind that is distant but very real; the voice soon becomes familiar, and soothing, and he forgets that he was even scared, huddled next to his husband under a nice fleece blanket.

“What?” Arthur asks amusedly as Alfred watches him emerge from the bathroom with a small smile. Alfred opens his arms wide in a familiar, welcoming gesture. Arthur snorts and joins him in bed, allowing himself to be engulfed in Alfred’s embrace. “You’re in a good mood.”

Alfred beams at Arthur, “I can’t help it.” Alfred giggles, and Arthur snorts at him for that. “The Society of Umbrageous Spiritual Storytelling from the Yesteryears . In other words, The SUSSY. ”

Arthur flusters in embarrassment as Alfred cackles, and he begrudgingly untangles himself from his husband’s laughter. “Look, it was started years ago! How was I supposed to know its name would become something tied to some idiotic meme?!”

At that, Alfred only continues cackling.

For what it’s worth, Arthur’s glad Alfred isn’t shaking anymore.

When Alfred finally calms down, Arthur allows his husband to weasel his way between his arms again, comfortably resting his head on Arthur’s chest. Arthur runs his fingers through Alfred’s hair and plants a soft kiss on the crown of his head.

“I suppose…I’m glad you’re taking this well. I know the supernatural doesn’t sit right with you, that’s why I never told you.” Arthur looks away, feeling the weight of guilt. “I…started this society when I was twenty-one, you see. I’d left it eventually, but an old member of mine – the one I’d appointed as the new leader – reached out. They’ve since upgraded their means of spirit channelling and wanted me to have a look. It was, well, nothing short of incredible. I couldn’t turn it down, I wanted to…”

Alfred looks like he’s about to laugh when Arthur glances at him, and Arthur scoffs and tries pulling away, but Alfred holds him in place.

“Honestly, Arthur, I always knew you were a weirdo.” Alfred snorts. Arthur could be upset, but he knows Alfred is loving, most of all. “I’m just happy you’re not cheating on me.”

Arthur feels a pang in his chest for making his husband worry about that. “I would never.” He says honestly. “I don’t like lying to you.”

“Yeah.” Alfred agrees. “You suck at it.”

“I don’t know if I should be happy to know that.”

“You should be.” Alfred’s voice is soft and tender. He looks up at Arthur. Arthur smiles and kisses Alfred gently, holding his face. “Although…that does clear up another lie of yours.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“...you always said the stories you told the kids were original. I knew they were too good to be true! You plagiarise those stories from these ghosts, don’t you?!”

“...good night, Alfred.”

“Wh- don’t you ‘good night’ me! It’s thanks to the SUSSY you’ve got all these awesome stories to tell the kids! And you were the one who told me one of my comics was too similar to a Jimmy Neutron episode! Holy shit, you totally rip your bedtime stories off–”

“ I said good night !”