Chapter Text
He opened his eyes to darkness.
Not even the briefest bit of light could penetrate it, and for a moment he wondered if he’d actually opened his eyes at all. He tried again, feeling their motion but still not seeing.
Even that slight movement proved a sudden and violent reminder to the throbbing headache threatening to punch its way out of his skull. Though he could not see it, the world was spinning, tilting and twisting in ways it should not have. He thought he heard the faintest whisper of a voice, the tail end of a sentence he could not understand, its words too far removed from any sane comprehension for his ears to make sense of, and then those thoughts were shattered by another wave of agony that sent him spinning once more.
He wasn’t sure how long that lasted or if it even happened at all. Gradually, he became aware of his body. There was a fading soreness in every limb, as if he’d just run a marathon or been hit by a bus. The physical pain was not as bad as the lingering pangs of headache. It was as if his thoughts had been scrambled by an electric mixer and poured back into his head.
He groaned, which at least meant he could still move his mouth. Fuck, everything hurt. It was difficult to describe, more like a phantom pain than anything else, but it still hurt.
He was on his back, he realized, lying on the ground in god-knew-where. As quickly as possible, he sat up, feeling the rough scrape of thinly carpeted floor beneath his palms. No matter how many times he tried to blink, no matter how many times he felt his eyelids flutter up and down, he still had no sight.
“What the fuck,” he muttered to himself and was relieved to find that he had a voice. It was hoarse and scratchy from whatever the hell had happened, but he had one.
Who had one? Who was he, exactly?
With rising panic, he realized he didn’t know.
“What the fuck,” he said again, just to hear his own voice. With his sight and mind seemingly abandoning him, at least he had that, whoever he turned out to be.
He sat up quickly now, getting to his feet in a manner that was far too unsteady for his liking. Whatever had landed him on the ground and scrambled up his brain had done its damage good. Had he been drunk, perhaps? Passed out on the ground there? But if that was the case, why couldn’t he see? Why couldn’t he remember his goddamn name? Without any specific moment attached to it, he could recall the sensation of being drunk. This was different.
“What the hell happened?” he muttered, more to himself than anything else.
And, inexplicably, something answered.
Don’t you remember?
He whipped his head uselessly around, instinctively going for– ah, he had a gun. Good to know. Bad, though, if he couldn’t actually see where to aim it. At the very least, the feel of cold metal in his hands was something of a comfort. He wasn’t entirely defenseless after all.
Even as he drew the gun from his belt, though, he questioned whether it would make any difference at all. The voice hadn’t come from nearby him. It seemed to come from… inside him, somehow. A low, unfamiliar baritone, like a thought running completely distinct from the rest of his mind. It didn’t feel like a thought, though. It felt like another presence.
“Who are you?” he demanded, keeping hold on the gun regardless. It fit nicely in his hand. “What the fuck is happening?”
The voice reverberated through his head once more, confirming his suspicions. I’m a friend. The best friend you have right now. Something about the cadence, the tone, made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. The voice was speaking as if to placate a child. Disarming. Approachable. Utter bullshit. Whatever this was, he didn’t trust it one bit. The only friend you have right now.
Well, didn’t that sound super fucking suspicious. Even with no memory, a pounding headache, and a rapidly rising sense of fear, that set off mental alarm bells. The voice had a tone he recognized, a false attempt to soothe someone. He was fairly certain he’d known some people who spoke like that. He was fairly certain he’d hated them.
“Did you do this to me?” he demanded, unsure if he meant the headache, the blindness, or both.
I promise, friend, this is as strange for me as it is for you. I haven’t done this. Not purposefully, at least.
“Bullshit.”
Calm down. I’d rather us not get off on the wrong foot here.
“What have you done to me?” he said, more forcefully this time, and the voice sighed.
Relax, friend. I haven’t done anything, but it’s clear something has happened to both of us. I’ll tell you everything you need to know, okay?
“And why, exactly, should I trust your opinion of ‘what I need to know?’”
A sigh. That practiced calm was beginning to slip. Fair enough. That was a poor choice of words. I’ll tell you everything I know, though I’m afraid it isn’t much.
“Right then.” The adrenaline rush was starting to fade. He tried to take a breath. As much as he hated relying on whatever this thing was, his sight remained stubbornly blank, and it wasn’t as if he had any other options. “Who are you?”
We’ll get to that.
“We’ll get to it now. You’re dodging the question.”
A brief beat. Parker, as much as I’d like to–
“Parker?”
Yes. That’s you, unless I’m mistaken.
Even if the maybe-entity-maybe-friend had been, he– Parker, apparently– wouldn’t have been able to tell. He was disliking this situation more and more by the second. This thing was in his mind, but how much could it do? How much could it see? Could it hear Parker thinking now?
Whatever the reason, this entity knew who he was, while he still had next-to-no idea what it was. It didn’t sound like any voice he’d ever heard before. There was a human quality to it, but it was battling with more headache-inducing disruptions that made Parker more certain it wasn’t normal.
Okay. Prioritize. “How did you know my name when I couldn’t even remember?”
Another pause, longer this time. Parker got the sense the entity was doing the same thing he was: weighing each statement, careful not to say anything that might give the other an advantage. Maybe it wasn’t as all-powerful as he’d feared. Either way, Peter had no intention of losing this chess game of a conversation.
After a moment or so, the voice returned, its tone more carefully measured. A man called out to you shortly before you passed out. I can’t imagine why he would call out his own name. Parker opened his mouth to break in, but the thing in his head barreled on. Believe me, I’m just as curious to find out who exactly you are to have received my book. First, though, we’ll have to figure out who you are to be here.
“And where is here?”
We’re in an office. A plate on the open door says Arthur Lester and Peter Yang, Private Investigative Services. Sound familiar?
It did, sort of, but not in a way Parker could pinpoint as actually meaning anything. He gave a frustrated groan the entity seemed to take as a response.
Alright, then. I’d like you to try and remember what you were doing here, and how this book came to be in your hands.
“What book?” The entity had mentioned it twice now, but as with everything else, Parker drew a blank trying to guess which book it might have been talking about. Things were starting to get vaguely clearer, shapes beyond that heavy fog, but still too hazy to see properly.
It’s right by your feet, the entity responded. Parker hesitated a moment before crouching down to look. A few seconds of feeling around revealed it to be almost directly beside him. It felt old; the cover and pages were leathery beneath his fingers, and he could detect that scent of old paper drifting from it.
Yes, came the voice. Now turn around and head towards your desk.
Alright, no. Parker planted his feet, gripping the book tightly in one hand. This voice, whatever it was, was up to something. It was hoping that as things stood– with Parker blind, disoriented, and afraid– he’d go along without thinking. He’d been right to dislike the tone. It gave the impression of something that was used to being obeyed, holding back that instinctual urge to just give commands because it knew that if it did, he’d react exactly as he was now.
“Maybe later,” he said flatly. “Right now, I want you to explain what the fuck is going on here.”
Parker. The entity’s voice thrummed with impatience. I promise, I’ll explain everything as best I can. But before I do that, I need to read something.
“I just woke up on the floor of a place I don’t recognize, completely blind, with a voice in my head, so you’ll forgive me if I’m not eager to do what you say.” A loaded pause. Besides his own heartbeat, the room was utterly silent. “Can’t just do it yourself?”
I can see the room around us, but my abilities appear to be very limited. I can neither move nor speak anywhere besides your mind.
“Hmm. How do you see? Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a body to speak of.”
I do, in a sense. Something darker entered the entity’s tone, and–yeah, Parker was beginning to feel afraid again. I have your eyes. And as far as I can tell, I control nothing else.
The ‘for now’ hung unspoken in the air.
Okay. So the mind-parasite was the reason Parker couldn’t see. Wonderful. At least he hadn’t lost more than his eyes. If it started trying to puppet him… yeah, no. Eyes were better than the alternatives. Nothing else had moved, giving Parker the impression that he was alone in the room.
Actually, that brought up another question. “What about the other man?” It wasn’t aimed at the entity this time. Listening to the directions of the voice that had somehow entered his brain did not seem like a good idea, and that was putting it lightly. Parker tucked the book under one arm and took a hesitant step forward, ignoring the entity’s protests. “Hello?” he called. There was no response, though even if there had been, Parker wasn’t sure he would have heard it over the increasingly annoyed repetitions of his name.
“Would you can it for a second?” he hissed. “I’m trying to listen.”
I don’t think you quite understand the situation, Parker.
“No shit.”
Look, friend. I’m not your enemy. I just think it would be best to take things one step at a time, and if we want to get anywhere, I need to take a look at that book.
If that book was what had caused this, Parker was in no hurry to open it again. “Fine, I’ll hold onto the book. But first, I want to find that other man. Is he still here?”
The silence felt heavy before the entity said, yes. That wasn’t a good sign. The man(and Parker could feel he was close to breaking through the fog, because ‘that man’ had a name that was on the tip of his tongue) was probably unresponsive, maybe passed out as Parker had been.
He raised his arms and tried to feel his way around the room. It was an office; it couldn’t have been that large. As he did so, the entity sighed.
Parker. Parker, I wouldn’t suggest–
Parker’s right leg caught against something solid, sending him sprawling against the carpet with a grunt. Look out, came the very unhelpful warning.
“Thanks,” muttered Parker, dragging himself back upright.
Was that… His suspicions were confirmed as he reached out and caught hold of what was unmistakably an arm. There was another person sprawled across the floor beside him. “Hey,” he said loudly, giving them a shake. Nothing. “Hey. You alright?”
Trying to be gentle, Parker felt around until he found the other person’s hand. It was cold. Icy dread began to pool in his stomach. “Is he…”
Yes, Parker. He’s dead. The entity’s voice was flat, but the words were like a slap to the face. Parker sat heavily back on his heels, mind reeling once more. Dead. The man was dead. That’s what I was going to warn you about.
Parker had no retort, just sat there on the floor trying to steady himself. He was fairly certain this wasn’t the first body he’d seen(well, not seen) or even touched. Still. Those were out in the rest of the world, where blood and death and violence were somehow more palatable than witnessing them here in this office. In his office, he realized suddenly. This was his space. Not just his, but partially.
Arthur Lester and Peter Yang. The entity had been confused because the other man– Arthur, his mind supplied– had called out his nickname.
So if he was Peter, then the corpse on the floor was…
He placed his hand on Arthur’s wrist, trying to search for the pulse point in case the voice in his head had been wrong. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Parker didn’t actually know much about medical stuff like this. He was fairly certain he was looking in the wrong spot.
From the texture of the skin, cold and clammy, he was fairly certain it didn’t matter.
“Oh, god,” he muttered aloud, letting Arthur’s hand drop to the floor. He felt the small fwump as it flopped back over like a dead fish.
The entity’s voice returned, smooth as silk. Calm down, friend. Parker got the feeling it was trying to sound soothing. It wasn’t working. The anger that had been steadily growing within him since the start, that gently rising flame that grew hotter and hotter, was still growing. It fought with his grief, bleeding over and staining it ugly colors.
“ Don’t,” he hissed. “Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down.” He stood up, resisting the urge to hurl the book at the ground. Why should he be calm? Given what had happened, what was still happening, Parker had reason to be very, very upset, and this thing in his head had made no move to help in a way that seemed real.
Parker, it said shortly, and oh, Parker recognized that tone. This thing’s anger was boiling over as well. I don’t think you understand the situation. I have your eyes, so you’re going to shut the fuck up and listen to me. Walk to the desk. Put the book down. I won’t ask you again.
The outburst stunned Parker into silence, but only temporarily. “I can still move,” he hissed. “I can do what I please. I can actually talk. You have a lot of nerve for someone who’s been nothing but a fucking nuisance . Whatever it is that you’re trying to do, I’m driving, and I don’t need sight to do that.”
Goddammit, Parker! You’re making this harder for both of us. Frankly I couldn’t care less if you want a minute to grieve for that man, but there will be time for that later. If you want to find a way to separate us, then I need to see that book. Understand?
Parker fumed, but flipped the book open. Another whiff of musty paper drifted from within. “Fine,” he gritted out, because pushy and manipulative or not, the voice in his head was a lot more likely to know about this sort of thing than him.
He obeyed the voice’s directions but dropped the book unceremoniously on the desk, relishing the small mutter of annoyance the action earned. More than anything, he wanted to lie back down on the floor and fall asleep. Maybe he’d wake up and find this really had been some terrible dream.
It wasn’t. He’d scraped his arm against the chair when he tripped over Arthur’s body, and he could still feel it stinging.
When the voice said it hadn’t learned anything, Parker snapped again. “Why the fuck did you make it seem so urgent, then?”
This time, though, the entity didn’t bite. I don’t want to fight you, Parker. I understand this is all a bit overwhelming. I don’t mean to be callous; I simply want to make sure you understand the priorities of this situation. In opening this book, you’ve cursed yourself.
“Cursed,” said Parker flatly.
Yes. And, in a manner of speaking, me as well.
“Mhm. You don’t say.”
Parker. I am being serious. You think I wanted to be bound to you?
“You haven't told me jack shit about what you actually want,” said Parker sharply. “Frankly, all I’m interested in right now is how to get you out of my head.”
The entity sighed. Then we at least agree on something.
Parker bit back another retort. The adrenaline rush was beginning to fade, and the rage along with it. The more he learned(though he still wasn’t inclined to trust his chief source of information), the odder this whole situation seemed. “You want to leave, then?” he asked, not bothering to keep the skepticism from his tone.
Yes, came the reply. This book is where I was bound until quite recently, but this new arrangement isn’t ideal for either of us.
Parker frowned. Bound, then.
Part of him was still waiting to wake up.
He didn’t.
“You were bound there,” he said instead. “And now you’re bound… to me.”
Yes. To its credit, the voice didn’t sound any happier than he was about that fact.
“Perfect. Brilliant. Just what I was expecting to happen on a fucking Sunday.”
This situation will take some adjustment, but I’m afraid there will be plenty of time for that later. Right now there are more pressing concerns.
More pressing. If things got any more pressing, Parker thought he might pass out again from sheer emotional whiplash. “More pressing concerns?”
The door is open, said the voice, and some of the darkness seeped back into its tone. It didn’t sound upset in the slightest, just coldly focused. And there's a man lying dead in the middle of the floor.
Parker couldn’t help it– he flinched at that. As much as he didn’t want to show any weakness to this entity he was apparently bound to, there was only so much of this he could take. Memory was trickling back in, like water leaking through a dam, and every little bit seemed to sting. Arthur had been the brother he never had. They’d been friends for years, most of which Parker still couldn’t remember, and now he was dead.
“Yes, I know,” he said. The bite in his tone fell flat, and it came off more hopeless than serious. He drew himself back into a standing position– slower than he’d gone down, to avoid brushing against Arthur’s body. “I should phone the police. They don’t need to know about all of– I mean, whatever we’re calling this… arrangement? Mistake? Life-ending disaster? –but they can–”
Parker, the voice interrupted. I wouldn’t advise that.
“Why not?”
If Parker had a nickel for every loaded silence, he would have been a rich man. “How did he die?” he asked, because the silence was pointing to a whole lot of things and none of them were good. This entity didn’t have a physical form, but… well, it had entered his eyes. It would have no problem keeping its other abilities a mystery, especially holding court over their collective vision.
Close the door first. There was no room for negotiation in those words. If some passerby looks in, you and I will be going away for a long time, and I think I speak for both of us when I say that is not an ideal situation.
It wasn’t wrong, per say. It was just that in this situation, with this whole bound to some otherworldly creature thing, Parker was feeling rather inclined to disagreeing with anything it said.
But what other choice did he have? It had his eyes but not his mind. He still had his body but not his sight. As much as he hated to admit it, coordination would benefit both of them.
“Fine.” The situation was so ridiculous that had everything not been so undeniably awful Parker might have laughed. That usually worked; it was more of a band-aid than a solution, but it stopped the bleeding, at least for a few minutes, and sometimes that had to be enough.
You couldn’t cover a gunshot wound with band-aids, though. No matter how many you piled on, it would stain through until each and every one was soaked and you bled out regardless.
There was a list or something, wasn’t there? The stages of grief of someshit like that. He’d never given it much merit before; Parker had buried plenty of people he cared about. It had hurt like hell, of course; each time he was convinced it left him more and more stained, until one day he couldn't smile through it anymore. But that day was always a far-off fear. He surrounded himself with people, helped them the way no one had helped him, made it work.
And now, he thought, a bit hysterically, now he was taking instructions from a disembodied voice with a to-be-determined level of morality with a dead man as his only witness.
What a fucking Sunday.
Mind drifting, Parker tuned out the entity’s directions and paid for it as he walked directly into some sort of large object, which immediately voiced its complaints loud enough for anyone walking by to hear.
Why was there a piano in the middle of the office, for Christ’s sake, and why was it so fucking loud?
It was right beside the door, and straightening up again Parker managed to close it. The metal of the knob was cold beneath his hands and he didn’t let go even when the door was shut, letting that chill seep in and ground him.
The voice was still prattling on. Parker did his best to ignore it. It wasn’t easy; he couldn’t exactly put his hands over his ears to block out something that seemed to be speaking directly into his brain. Still, he tried to tune out the chattering monologue and really think.
Unconsciously, he’d started to lean against the piano. He nearly fell as his hand slipped, barely keeping his footing and creating a cacophony of sound as his arm dragged across the surface. The entity seemed to shut up at that, giving a long, drawn-out sigh that Parker ignored.
He didn’t play piano. He was fairly certain of that. Memories or not, music was a thing that was meant to stick with you, wasn’t it? Experimentally, he poked a couple of the keys, waiting for some sort of epiphany.
None came. Alright, so he wasn’t the one with the musical talent. That wasn’t exactly enlightening information, but right now he’d take whatever he could get. Unable to see the bench, Parker felt around in the air for a couple seconds before locating it and taking a heavy seat. If there had been anyone else in the room(anyone alive, at least), he must have looked like an absolute fool, waving his arms and tripping over his own feet. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
Couldn’t bring himself to…
There. Parker chased that faint flicker of memory, unwilling to let it slip away. The memories came hazy, but they were there.
He didn’t play this piano, but he’d bought it. He’d watched the movers take it in. He’d poked at the keys, making sound but not music, trying to encourage Arthur to play.
Arthur hadn’t, though. He’d eyed the thing like an ex-lover he’d had a particularly bad breakup with, but he hadn’t played, though Parker knew for a fact he could have. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to, for some reason. Parker hadn’t pushed him, and they’d both let the matter drop.
There was another thing, too. Something fresher. Something more recent.
“Oh god.” Unwittingly, he started to lean against the keys again; their musical complaints chimed far too brightly for the situation at hand. “Oh, my god…”
What do you remember?
A book, lying open on a desk. Someone peering over his shoulder, trying to get a look as Parker scanned the pages. A voice, unfamiliar, creeping into his mind. Then another voice, this one familiar.
“Parker? Parker–!”
And then–
“Arthur,” said Parker numbly. “Oh, god. Oh god, I…”
He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.
The entity had no such qualms. Killed him.
Arthur had come up next to him as he was reading. Parker had reached out to him. Arthur’s face had gone from confusion to fear. Parker had watched from behind his own eyes with a detached sense of nothing; and it was over.
It didn’t take long at all for the life to leave a body. It was clean; no wounds, no blood, no scuffle, the whole thing simultaneously fuzzy and crystal clear in Parker’s mind, but still he’d felt the life bleeding out of his partner’s body as he became nothing more than that: a body. No soul left to inhabit it.
The drunken feeling was back. Shock, something in his brain said.
Fuck. Fuck, every time Parker thought this situation couldn’t possibly get any worse, the universe took it as a challenge.
“Why?” he muttered. It wasn’t a real question. There were so many whys, so many things Parker didn’t understand.
He’d learned by that point the entity didn’t care for whys. It was better at hows.
The urgency of their situation was not lost on Parker. If the dice didn’t fall in your favour, sometimes all you could do was keep rolling them. He’d already buried himself deep enough today. Why not make things a little worse?
Arthur was light. It wasn’t hard to drag him into the closet. It wasn’t hard to kick the door shut and hide his lifeless body from sight.
It wasn’t as if Parker could see it either way, but his imagination was certainly trying to compensate.
“Where’s my chair?”
To your left. Directly ahead of you.
Parker had barely turned to move when a knock sounded from the direction of the door. In his mind, the entity gave a little huff. Parker had the ridiculous thought that if it had ears, they would be pricked up like a cat’s.
Someone is at the door, Parker.
“Really?” he whispered back. “I’d assumed it was a travelling tap-dancing troupe.”
Parker. Focus. Do you remember anything else?
Some things, none of them relevant. A couple names Parker couldn’t link with any face, a couple of people he was set to go drinking with in a few day’s time, a few unsettling details from his and Arthur’s last case.
They’d been set to meet with someone, maybe. Probably. Parker was at least 30% sure.
“A client.” The person knocked again, and Parker redoubled his efforts to keep his voice low. “Can’t remember exactly who, though.”
Get rid of them, the entity hissed(it seemed to be whispering as well, catching itself halfway through its sentence as it realized there was no need to do so).
"Let me take a moment, will you?"
We may not have a moment. Get rid of them, or both of us might be going away for a very long time.
Maybe so. But maybe not. "If they believe nobody's in, they might just leave."
I thought you said you had an appointment?
"At some point today, yes, I don't even know what time it is. That could be anyone." The knocking didn't return. Straining his ears, Parker heard what might have been the sound of footsteps retreating. "See?" he muttered, managing to keep nearly all the smugness from his tone. "They left. Now, where's my chair again? I need to have a sit down."
The entity paused, no doubt fuming. The left, it said grumpily.
Maybe it had been a bad idea, getting snippy with it. Parker hadn’t been able to help it; he’d been angry and upset, and the voice was an easy target. It had very much seemed like this entity(for he still had no idea what it actually was) had been the cause of this disaster, and Parker had reacted as such.
He was still inclined to believe that, if he was being honest. Still, it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice. Whatever the entity’s intentions might have been, they were in this together now.
A disembodied voice that may or may not have been a malevolent entity. On the list of Strangest People Parker Befriended, that had to be a record.
For now, he exhaled and tried for a friendlier tone. “Peter Yang. Private Investigator.” As far as introductions went, perhaps the blandest he’d given in years. But Parker was in no mood for jokes, and he doubted the entity had a sense of humor. They’d have to head outside soon enough. Best to save that energy. “But please. It’s Parker. I’d shake your hand, but… well. Bit difficult considering you don't seem to have one.”
Parker, came the humming reply. It was impatient, he could tell. They did need to get a move on, find out who had been knocking, but no one had let themselves in and at this point Parker was certain they wouldn’t.
He felt his way over to his desk chair and sat, relishing the familiarity of it. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus simply on keeping his head above water and hope the rest fell into place. “Seems a bit unfair that you’ve got a name– several, actually– for me, while I have none for you. So? What should I call you?”
The hesitation this time was different, without the air of calculation. He’d managed to catch it by surprise, then. Bit of an odd question not to anticipate, but identity didn’t seem to be this thing’s first priority.
I can’t remember.
Hmm. Well, that was potentially worrying. “It hasn’t come back to you? Nothing about who you are, why you might have ended up here?”
A huff of annoyance, though Parker got the sense it wasn’t directed at him. Memory becomes… difficult, when you’ve lived as long as I, the voice admitted. Time is a much more meaningless concept in the world I am from.
Parker mentally chalked that down on his rapidly growing Things That Will Absolutely Require Elaboration list.
“How do you mean?”
I have lived lifetimes upon lifetimes. Most of those have been in a place entirely divorced from the concept of time. A sigh. Parker, I promise I’ll try to explain this all to you later. For now, though, you need to get rid of whoever is at the door and hope they haven’t heard you talking to yourself through the wall.
“Right. Well, I can always say I was speaking with someone on the phone.”
This room doesn’t have a phone.
“Fine. Then I suppose I’ll tell them I was having a chat with the voice in my head.”
Parker, that would be–
“A surefire way to get rid of someone, if nothing else.” Bedrock, he used to say to Arthur. Was this bedrock? To wake up laying in the wreckage of a life you hadn’t seen destroyed?
It still felt like a cruel joke. But Parker wasn’t done yet.
Parker didn’t have a direction, but his goal was the same as always: keep moving. Head above water. Don’t drown.
Step one: get better acquainted with spooky new friend, because like it or not, Parker got the feeling they would be stuck with one another for a while.