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The wind whipped at the rickety windows, rain thundering on the glass, occasionally interrupted by a bang of lightning. John flinched every time. He may only have an arm and a foot, but he still flinched.
The windmill creaked with the force of the wind, Arthur barely stirring (quite the contrast from John). He seemed comfortable, no thrashing, no mumbling, no nightmares, nothing. He seemed peaceful, bundled up in the ritualistic cloak.
John was incredibly glad Arthur was getting sleep, God knew he needed it. But he also hated that Arthur was getting sleep. He hated that he was alone, in the dark, in the quiet, defenseless, powerless. Afraid. He was afraid. It felt humiliating. He used to be a god, why was he afraid of th-
CRASH!!
John squeaked. What a glorious noise to come out of him, a former god .
Arthur groaned and pushed himself into a sitting position. Fuck. Fucking great. Now he’s woken up Arthur. Arthur, who needed sleep. Arthur, who probably hated him. Arthur, who would turn his anger onto John because who else was there to let it out on?
“J’hn…?” Came Arthur’s raspy, sleep-mangled voice. John watched the world blink into view as Arthur sat up and scrubbed at his eyes. The world flashed before letting out a large BANG!!
John hoped Arthur didn’t notice him flinch this time.
“Go back to sleep, Arthur,” John said as soothingly as possible. He noticed his hand was shaking. Oh.
“Are you alright?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I thought I heard you.”
“You probably heard the thu-”
BOOM!!
John tried to stifle a gasp. Arthur noticed that time.
“John,” His voice was kind. Too kind. Too kind for what John has done, for what he will do, for who he was, for who he is, for who he will be. Arthur was too kind.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
A heavy pause fell over the two. John picked at his pinky with his thumb. It sent a tingling sensation through the roots weaving through his bones. It was a nice distraction from, well, everything.
Arthur shifted, resting his hand over John’s shaking one. He flinched away from the contact ever so slightly.
“You can talk to me John,” Arthur murmured, gently rubbing his thumb across the back of John’s hand. “I won’t force you to do anything, but… it might help. With- uh… With everything.”
Another pause with a large CRACK!! in between, leaving John trembling under Arthur’s hold. He sighed. It was a pained, sympathetic sigh. John didn’t understand why Arthur was so… kind to him.
“Sometimes, talking about smaller things can help in the long run. You’ll… uh… it can help you open up about bigger things, like- like what happened in the Dark World, whenever you’re up for it.”
John thought about it. Maybe it would help. Arthur knew about this better than he did. Far better than he did. How would he even word it? How would he put this terror, this- this horror seeping through his metaphorical veins into functional sentences? How would Arthur understand the blubbering that was bound to erupt out of him the second he tried to explain the fear? How would he-
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Arthur said, his hand still on John’s.
How long was John quiet for?
“I… think I want to, ” That was a start. Not a good one, but a start. “ I feel… humiliated, I suppose. Embarrassed, maybe? It’s quite stupid.”
He blew it. He knew he did. Arthur didn’t respond. They sat in the quiet, in the dark, waiting for John to explain why the fuck he woke Arthur up.
“ Fuck , Arthur, I’m sorry, ” John quickly spat out, picking at the wooden finger with his thumb again. “ I didn’t mean to wake you, you should just go back to sleep. You need it after everything we’ve been through, after everything you’ve been through.”
“Who are you and what did you do with John?” Arthur joked, a smirk audible in his voice. “The John Doe I know would never apologize for waking me up!”
“Arthur I-”
“Sorry, sorry, this is a serious conversation,” He mumbled, gently caressing John’s hand again. “I’m just trying to make you feel a smidge better.”
“…Thank you, ” He clenched and unclenched his hand a few times, still in the loose grasp of Arthur’s right hand. “ I… uh… I’m scared.”
A pause.
“Of…?”
“Uh… The- the uh… all the- it’s the… uhm… ” He fumbled, grabbing onto Arthur’s hand and fidgeting with it. “ This is fucking embarrassing.”
“I’m not going to judge you,” Arthur said. “I have no room to, you’ve seen me at my worst, John. I’m willing to help you no matter what.”
John took a breath.
“I’m afraid of the thunder, ” He immediately felt the urge to justify himself, shaking. “ It- It’s just- It’s so- It’s loud, a-and when- and when your eyes are closed its- it just- it gets so, so dark and- and it’s like- it’s like I’m there again. I’m- I’m still there , Arthur, and- and I just- I don’t-”
He cut himself off before his stammering could turn into a sobbing, gasping, mess. His hand shook (violently, might he add) in Arthur’s grasp. And Arthur- God, Arthur. He was silent. He was judging. John knew it. He shouldn’t have said anything, he should’ve just convinced Arthur to go back to sleep. Why the fuck would he let himself be vulnerable like that?! The last time that happened he-
“Oh, John…” His voice was gentle, pitying. “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”
“You’re… not mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I… uh… I don’t know? It was stupid?”
“That’s not stupid, John,” Arthur fumbled with his pocket for a moment before pulling out his lighter. “That’s reasonable!”
“What are you doing with the lighter? ” Lightning flashed, illuminating the engraving of ‘This Too Shall Pass’ before dousing them in darkness once more. And, of course, it was followed by the deafening THWACK!! of thunder. John quickly grabbed onto Arthur’s arm (not his hand, he didn’t want to make him drop the lighter). Arthur froze for a moment.
“It’s alright, John,” He mumbled, flicking the lighter open. He clicked it a few times before a small flame burst into life. It flicked and wavered, casting heavy shadows around the room, but illuminating it enough to see. John felt some of his fear evaporate as if being absorbed by the flame. He relaxed his grip on Arthur’s arm.
“Better?”
“Much.”
John stared at the flame for a while. He wasn’t sure how long he stared, letting his mind melt in the light. It was warm, as if he were physically present around a campfire, as if comforting arms were wrapped around him. He basked in the comfort like a lizard in the sun.
And then Arthur yawned, snapping John out of his hypnotic trance.
“You… uh… You didn’t have to do this for me, ” John said. “ You can go back to sleep, Arthur.”
“John, you’ve done much more for me,” Arthur replied. “This is the least that I can do.”
“But-”
“How about this, I’ll sleep once you’re feeling better and when the storm dies down.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“…Thank you, Arthur.”