Chapter Text
Every time Arthur awoke from his slumber, he was immediately greeted by John, quick to ask about his dreams. Arthur didn’t mind it, in fact, he found it endearing that the eldritch king– incapable of human slumber– was so fascinated by his dreams. He was only ever unwilling to share when it came to dreams about particularly traumatic events such as the prison pits, the Larson estate, or Faroe. So it came as a surprise to him when he awoke with no greeting, no questions about his dreams, not even a familiar warning about some horrendous creature above them.
“John?” Arthur called out, the only response he got was the howling of wind and rain outside the old walls of his current residence.
It was a small abandoned house a few miles outside Harpers Hill, the previous night John had described it as a quaint cottage, clearly having been abandoned for some time, the exterior was grey with white trimming and a low black tiled roof. Predictively, Kayne messed with their deal, causing his daughter to return to argue his unfair ways, and began to negotiate their fate. Arthur and John were sent here to not be “a bothersome prick and a god who named himself John”, as Kayne put it.
Far too exhausted to try and argue –and the fact they were transported away before they had any time to process– Arthur and John entered the cottage together, fearing the morning to come.
Now it was the next morning and Arthur was alone, horribly alone.
“John this isn’t remotely humorous.”
Arthur dug his ragged nails into John’s hand, he knew if he did that he would be scolded, that even if he was yelled at, at least John was still there. And yet, no scolding came no quick fiery temper that belonged to John, and only John, was lit.
It was just him.
Arthur Lester.
“John, where are you?”
…
“John, we don’t need to talk or have a conversation, just assure me that you are still there”
…
“John! Respond god dammit! JOHN!”
…
“John?” Arthur’s voice got so small and desperate, barely able to be heard over the storm outside.
The last time John wasn’t there was… Yellow.
‘No, no it's not like that, I’m sure there's a completely logical explanation as to why he isn’t responding.’ Arthur thought, shifting himself to the edge of the bed and standing up, deciding he might as well explore this cottage. He took a step forward with John's leg and collapsed when it couldn't hold the weight of his thin body, falling face-first into the floor. Using his right hand, he rolled himself over, shocked that he fell, even if he couldn't feel his leg normally, he always relied on John to-
Oh
Arthur’s heartbeat quickened as the situation at hand made itself painfully clear.
John was gone. But he promised he’d stay- he promised they’d never be taken apart, John promised he would stay. He promised…
‘Maybe…
Maybe he didn't leave on purpose…
What if- what if kayne had-’
Arthur’s head was spinning out of fear, curling himself into a ball, spiraling. With no one to stop it.
'What if this is my torture? Forced to relive not the dreaded memories but the pain, the guilt, the agony. What if I’m perfectly safe and John is being tortured for the both of us?
I can't do this without John- he is my anchor- my moral compass- without him…
I will drown’
Arthur started taking sharp, painful, gasps of air As if right then and there he was plunged into the freezing ocean. Helpless, scared, and yearning for someone to bring him to safety.
Faroe-
Is this what it was like for her in her final moments?
Maybe I deserve to drown.
Arthur couldn't stop himself as his sobs turned to wails, his body writhed in agony, chanting that he deserved to drown.