Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a breaking of something, and then an ooze. A good ooze though, it felt like finally getting to stretch its… legs? Limbs? Tentacles? …one of those. Whatever broke had trapped it. But just as soon as it took up enough space to feel comfortable things shifted.

His once eldritch form was now a weak, pathetic, two armed two legged human child. Connections to dimensions of reality were severed while the nerve endings of this body shot to life, leaving him empty and overwhelmed all at once.

He remembers screaming. And then pain, as he fell to his knees and rough cobblestone scraped his knees. He dry heaved, his stomach whining in protest as it simultaneously wanted to consume and purge. This was torture, perhaps a punishment for all he had greedily aimed to achieve.

An endless life of pain…

Eventually he was able to calm down, allowing the meat brain he was given to do work of its own and bring his senses down to a tolerable level. He had curled himself up against a wall in an alleyway. The air was slightly humid, making his shirt cling in awkward places. 

He looked down. He was wearing a shirt. He didn’t know what he expected but for some reason that did strike him as odd. Perhaps the powers that be deemed it to not let him suffer any indignity. 

He didn’t move. Just let himself lay there, on the ground for quite some time. 

When he woke up again he was being carried by someone who was muttering.

The voice sounded familiar.

Yellow shifted and squinted up at the person carrying him, who stared back with eyes as wide as saucers.

“John?”

“Yellow.”

Well, that was his cue to leave. He twisted, trying to get out of John’s arms, only succeeding in getting himself thrown over John’s shoulder.

“Let go of me.” He clawed at John’s back.

“Not happening. And will you stop that?”

Yellow kicked his legs and aimed pathetic punches at John when he suddenly realized how much smaller he was. He paused. 

“John?”

“Yes?”

“Am I in a child’s body?”

John snorted out a laugh and Yellow felt his face go red.

 “You’re really tiny Yellow.” John finally said.

“I’m going to end you.”

“Sure.”

They turned and Yellow heard a door being opened. His view of the ground changed from sidewalk to hardwood floor. Still being draped over John’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, they made their way up to the offices of Lester and Doe.

“Arthur, I found Yellow!” 

Yellow bent himself to look around John’s back, and saw the very bane of his existence sitting behind a desk, looking unpleasantly surprised. 

“John, what the hell.” Arthur’s voice came out as almost a growl. 

Yellow chose to respond. “Trust me when I say I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me here.”

Arthur was shocked by the voice of a child. His eyes widened and back straightened.

“He’s taken the appearance of a child, height wise he’d barely reach up to your chest.” John set Yellow on the ground but kept a firm hand on his shoulder. 

Arthur ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair. His brows were knitted together. 

John continued. “He’s thin, almost emaciated so we’ll have to get him some food.”

“We can’t…” Arthur started but then shook his head. “Yellow, what are you doing here?”

“I don’t know. But given your history I’m assuming it has something to do with you.”

“You were in the Dreamlands, far away from the things I care about where I didn’t even have to think about you. So no, this has nothing to do with me.”

Yellow made a hissing sound. 

John loosened his grip on Yellow and walked forward. “Arthur, I found him passed out in an alleyway. I could feel his presence five blocks away, but he seems powerless at the moment.” And then in a lower tone. “We need to help him.”

Two emotions crossed Arthur’s face at that moment. Rage and guilt. 

Yellow felt somewhat vindicated by that second emotion, only to realize it wasn’t directed at him but at John.

“He’s hurt the people,” Arthur muttered out.

“So have I, the only difference is that he wasn’t given the same opportunity to learn.”

“And you think that opportunity is now?” Arthur scoffed, then his head swiveled toward Yellow. “Don’t you even think about leaving?”

Yellow had taken one step backwards, toward the door. “I thought you were blind.”

“I can still hear you.”

John took back the attention. “Arthur.”

Arthur tapped a finger on his desk, his unfocused gaze fixed in Yellow’s general direction. “If he does anything to hurt anyone…”

“I’ll handle him.”

Arthur sighed. ”We can’t bring him home. We’ll have to figure out some living arrangements-”

“He can just stay in my room, and you and I can bunk together.”

“That’s not- John, I don’t want him around Faroe. He’s dangerous.”

“Arthur, he looks like he’s going to pass out just from standing too long.” 

Arthur didn’t look like he was going to budge. “I don’t want him near her.”

Yellow piped up. “Don't I get a say in this?”

“What do you want to say Yellow?”

Yellow opened and closed his mouth. He actually didn’t know what to say. Given that humans were savages willing to hurt anyone and everyone if he were just to leave, without his true power he honestly didn’t know if he could survive at that point. 

“I won’t hurt anyone,” was eventually all he could say.

Arthur’s rage died down that moment. His hand tightened into a fist and relaxed. “Yellow, there is a lot of animosity between us.”

Yellow scoffed but Arthur ignored it and continued. “If you have any rage you feel the need to express I ask that it be at me and only me. No one else. Especially not Faroe.”

“Who is Faroe?”

Arthur’s body stiffened. “She is my daughter.”

Surprising. “I won’t fault the child for the sins of the father.”

Arthur bit his tongue, and nodded toward John. “We’ll keep a close eye on you, and I expect you to keep your word. If you don't, we'll find a different way to deal with you.”

…

There were three bedrooms in Arthur’s two story home. John’s was the only one Yellow was allowed in. It was spacious, and looked well lived in. John had a collection of knick knacks on a shelf above a writing desk. A movie poster for “The Thin Man” had been tacked up on one of the walls. Some other frames with watercolor paintings hung up on the walls as well.

Yellow flopped down onto the freshly made bed as John pushed the old sheets into a laundry basket. 

“You should probably shower first before going to sleep, if you’re that tired. It’ll make you feel better.”

Yellow glared at John.

“I’ll lend you some nightclothes to put on. They’ll likely be too big but the pants have a pull string you can tie tight. Tomorrow we’ll buy you some clothes.” John opened his closet and began rustling through his clothes. “Also if you need any help with the shower just let me know. They can be tricky the first time you use them.”

“Why are you helping me?”

John had found a set of blue nightclothes and pulled them out. “You deserved a chance.”

Yellow sat up. “A chance at what?”

John shrugged. “I met Arthur at a time when we were on an even playing field. You didn’t have that, he knew more than you.”

He motioned toward the door and handed Yellow the clothes. “You deserve to not be met with the same room to grow that I was given. Whether you take that opportunity is up to you.” 

Yellow stared up at the man and down at the clothes before him. He gently accepted and followed along the short distance to the bathroom. He was also handed a towel from the hallway closet and shown how to work the shower and what soaps to use.

John was unfortunately right about one thing. A shower did make him feel better. Layers of grime were stripped away, making him realize that some of his discomfort in this body had decreased. The hot water loosened his tensed muscles. He didn’t want to leave, but John had warned him that too long in there and the water would get cold, so he hopped out the moment the temperature started to drop.

He dried off and crawled into bed, the sun was still up but John had closed the curtains to let in as little light as possible. 

John came in a few minutes later, setting a glass of water and a small plate of crackers on the bedside table. “I’m making dinner later but you should try to get something in your stomach.”

He brought the desk chair up to the bed and sat. 

Yellow made a noncommittal noise, and sat up to grab the glass of water. He could feel the cool water as it made its way to his stomach. A few crackers also made their way to his mouth but he was too tired to finish the plate, and just wanted to sleep. John watched him the whole time.

“You look like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off.”

“The first time I had food I ate too quickly and threw up.”

Yellow grimaced and lay back down.

John waited a moment more before standing. “I’ll knock later once it’s time for dinner but if you’re asleep I’ll let you rest.”

Yellow knew John was treating him like a sick child, but he was too tired to care and just snuggled deeper into the bed. He felt John ruffle his hair before hearing the door close. 

…

It was dark out by the time Yellow woke up. He felt lethargic and didn’t want to move. However his stomach screamed at him. Seemingly since it had a chance to get some food it decided it needed more now. 

Yellow slowly extracted himself from bed. Rolled up his pants and shirtsleeves and quietly made his way out of the bedroom. 

From the front hall downstairs, he could hear Arthur and John talking. They seemed to be past the dining room’s swinging doors in the kitchen. Yellow leaned against the stairway banister, trying to make out their hushed conversation. Just when he was making out they were talking about bland foods, a small voice called out from behind him.

“Hello.”

Yellow whipped his head around to look into the living room. Sitting in front of the couch at a coffee table scribbling away on paper was a girl around six or seven. 

“Are you Faroe?” 

She nodded her head.

When Arthur had said he had a daughter he was expecting, well maybe a one year old. Arthur had said he didn’t have any children back in Addison, so he had assumed Faroe was a recent development.

Yellow crossed the threshold into the living room. She looked up at him, waiting for him to say something.

“I don’t remember Arthur having a daughter your age.”

“I was dead for a while.”

Whatever else Yellow had wanted to ask, that response had short circuited his brain. He looked down at the little girl, tried for about ten seconds to find a response, then just sat down on the couch behind her. 

She went back to scribbling out a drawing. 

The clock ticked. And Yellow began wrapping his head around the situation.

“Did John bring you back?”

“No, Kayne did.” She turned to face Yellow with a grimace on her face. “He was really mean to my dad and Uncle John.”

Kayne. Yellow grimaced alongside her. “Why’d he bring you back then?”

“Blackmail.”

That made almost too much sense. Yellow eyed her once more. She seemed normal. Eyes neither alight with madness nor dulled and dead. The drawings before her were just random people, animals and maybe what could be considered a car.

“So you just remember being dead. Most people can’t really handle that.”

Faroe looked up at him and shrugged. 

“And were you in the Darkworld?”

“No, I was with my dad. Most of it is kind of fuzzy, but I remember bits and pieces.”

“Why stick around your dad?”

Faroe froze and then turned back around to her drawing. “I know you don’t like my dad, but I do.”

Yellow sighed and leaned back against the couch. “So you hate me too.”

Faroe shook her head. “I don’t know you yet. Uncle John seems to think you’re alright.”

Yellow… appreciated that. He understood something about John at that moment. The urge to pat her on the head was strong.

Chapter Text

Oatmeal was horrible. It was gloppy and bland, and felt weird in his mouth. Yellow looked up at John who was only drinking coffee and avoiding eye contact by reading a newspaper. Arthur was standing at the counter making two more bowls. 

“This is disgusting.” Yellow said with the same harrowing voice of someone who has just realized they’d been poisoned. 

“Well, it’s easy on the stomach and for the next few days I don’t want to take any chances,” Arthur said, pouring some freshly boiled water into tea as well.

“I don’t like it either,” murmured John.

“John,” Arthur warned.

John took another long sip of coffee. “How bout I turn on the radio.”

He reached to the counter behind him and clicked on the radio. Soft music filtered in, the sounds tinny and muffled. It seemed to compliment the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the grassy breeze that came through the open window. 

This felt routine for them, the ease with which these people navigated their morning together. No fanfare, no commotion. 

Yellow had watched earlier as John and Arthur moved around this space. The slight nudges and occasional quick comments to let the other know where they were, what they needed. The two didn’t just get along well, they moved around each other like practiced dancers each taking turns to lead their partner. 

An empty cavity in Yellow’s chest made itself known, and he took another bite of the horrible sludge in front of him to quell it. Perhaps once this body didn’t feel like it was going to fall apart every time he stood up he could leave this hell. Or even better, murder Arthur in his sleep.

Faroe came shuffling in, breaking Yellow’s train of thought. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat down across from Yellow at the kitchen table. “Morning.”

A bowl of oatmeal was placed in front of her, and Arthur kissed the top of her head. “Morning darling.”

Arthur then reached into the pantry and pulled out a small jug of brown liquid. He placed it on the table before grabbing his own breakfast and joining them.

“What’s that?” Yellow asked.

“Maple syrup. It’ll help with the taste. John, make sure neither of them put too much in.”

Faroe was already reaching across the table and undoing the lid. She poured some over her oatmeal before handing it to Yellow. 

He poured about the same amount over his own bowl and mixed it in. He let out a breath of air before taking another bite. It was more tolerable this way. 

Faroe ate it all with a gusto, and began drinking her glass of milk. She looked at Yellow, and down at his bowl and back up. 

“If you let it get cold it’ll taste gross, even with syrup in it,” she said. 

Yellow grimaced.

“You don’t have to eat the whole thing, just get something in your stomach. We’ll try something else tomorrow for you.” Arthur took a sip of his tea, he tilted his head to John. “Anything interesting happening in the world today?”

John began listing things off headlines from the newspaper while Arthur ate. Yellow only half listened, focusing on eating what he could. He watched as Faroe slowly began to fully wake up, swinging her legs as the morning slog wore off. She soon joined her father in making conversation about mundane happenings. The conversation changed and grew into new shapes, leaping from one topic to another. Just like everything else around him, it seemed to enhance the morning, creating a living painting of their everyday.

It soon dawned on Yellow that three-fourths of this table were simply living their lives as normal, as though a god had not just been thrust into their midst. Yellow looked to his side at John. Perhaps the two mortals mistook John’s complacency in a human form as something that would swiftly happen with himself. An error once again on Arthur’s part for believing the two fragments to be alike. 

Yellow put down his spoon, not interested in filling his stomach anymore. He looked down at the cloth placemat under the mostly empty bowl of oatmeal. Little blue flowers were stitched into the corners of the mostly white cloth. 

“What are you gonna get while you're shopping today?” Faroe was staring up at him, arms crossed over the table and head resting to one side on top.

The sudden inclusion in the conversation was jarring. “Uhh…”

John cut in, turning to Yellow. “Arthur and I made a list of basic necessities you’ll need. So clothes, shoes, undergarments, toothbrush-“

“Yeah I got it, no need to list it all out.” Yellow interjected. He pushed away from the table. “We need to leave right?”

John knitted his brows and nodded. “I cleaned your clothes. Let me go grab them and you can get changed.”

Yellow stood awkwardly in the kitchen as John made his way through the basement door. He glanced at Arthur who continued sipping on his tea and ignoring Yellow for the most part. 

Once Yellow had the freshly laundered clothes he quickly made his way to his bedroom. He pulled off the oversized nightclothes and pulled on the clothes he had been wearing yesterday. He noticed as he buttoned up that the sleeves where ever so slightly tight restricting his full range of motion, buttoning the collar all the way seemed to choke him and all in all the entire outfit seemed to be ill fitting. 

Yellow thought it was curious but decided to not give it any more thought.

…

Yellow stared out the car window at the passing streets. People leisurely strolling the streets on a Spring day. The sky was clear, the breeze was cool and John would not shut up about this goddamn list.

Yellow huffed and tore his gaze away from the streets of Arkham as John asked him where he would like to start. 

“I don’t know, this isn’t exactly something I’m used to.” 

John flinched ever so slightly. “How about we start with your clothes? What you’re wearing looks restrictive and we’re going to be walking around a fair bit.”

“Fine.” Yellow went back to looking outside. 

Eventually John pulled over and parked the car outside a line of shops. Each window seemed full to the brim of brightly colored displays trying to entice people to come in.

Yellow was shuffled into a store meant for children’s clothes. He felt out of place watching kids being corralled by their parents. Yellow looked up at John. “I’m not going to ever call you dad by the way. I’m older than you.”

“I’m fairly certain we are the same age.” 

Yellow looked out again at the place. “Same difference.”

Yellow and John made their way through aisles of boys clothes. Several sizes of different types of garments were hung over John’s right arm. 

“You’ll need to try on sizes to see what fits right, and we might want to go bigger since you’ll be growing into them.”

“Do you do this same thing for Faroe?”

“Yes. Kids grow a lot faster than I thought they would,” John said, pulling a pair of trousers from a pile. 

Yellow trailed behind John as they made their way further into the store.

“How long have you been living with those two?”

“Almost a year now.”

“So it’s been about a year since we last… interacted?”

“Has it not been for you?”

Yellow shook his head. “I would probably say longer.”

“Larson, he’s-”

“Dead.”

John looked at Yellow head on. A mixture of concern and guilt crossed his face. 

”He was horrible company.” 

Behind John was a line of changing rooms, which Yellow decided to take as an out. “I’ll go try these on.” 

John wordlessly handed him the remaining clothes, and Yellow slipped behind and closed the door to the small changing room.

He slipped on a set of clothes. The pants felt too small and the shirt too big. He haphazardly reached for different sizes, and tried them on. Again it felt wrong. A tried on another and hated the way the fabric twisted around him. Another and the fabric felt too stiff. 

He stopped, threw everything into a pile, put on his old clothes and stepped out. John was leaning on the wall opposite him.

 “I don’t want to do this.” Yellow said feeling himself freeze up. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine with these clothes.”

John looked past him into the changing room. “Do you need help?”

“No.”

John tilted his head and widened his eyes. “Are you sure?”

Yellow was shaking. He hated this.

“What was too small?” John asked calmly. He made his way into the changing room and lifted up a pair of pants. He pulled out the tag on the back. “Did this pair fit?”

“I don’t know.”

John showed Yellow the small numbers on the inside of the clothes. “You have to check what you’ve already tried, and go up or down depending on how it fits. Try this one on, tell me how it fits and we can remove some options.

Yellow grabbed the pants. “Fine.”

John left the confined space and shut the door behind him. Yellow put them on and they were the tight pair. 

“They’re too small,” he called out.

“Okay, now you can grab anything with that number or below and you can hand it to me.”

Yellow sorted through the pile and collected all the ones that were too small. He handed them out to John.

“Now try on a bigger size and repeat.” John kept his voice monotone and calm.

Yellow nodded and repeated the process until there were a select few pieces of clothing that didn’t make him want to claw them off. He carried them close to his chest as he stepped out of the changing room. 

“These ones fit okay?” John asked.

“They’re fine.” 

John looked at the tag on one of the shirt collars and nodded his head. “We’ll get you a few more of these and maybe some other styles as well.”

“How many more of these do I have to try on?” Yellow whined. 

“We have your size now, so probably only one or two if they are a different style. Or we can just stick to these for now and come back another day.”

Yellow shifted the clothes in his arms. “I’m fine with just getting this over with.”

John gave him a pat on the head which Yellow tried and failed to flick away fast enough.

…

By the time they got back to the car, laden with bags Yellow was done with everything. He felt tired, his new shoes, though comfortable, were too squeaky, the sun was too bright and he just wanted to dive into the backseat and sleep.

“You hungry?” John asked, locking up the car trunk.

“Please no more oatmeal.”

John smiled at that. “No, I wouldn’t do that to you. There’s a place that sells milkshakes and fries. I figured you’d want something that actually tastes good before Arthur makes you eat something bland at home.”

“Do you know why he’s torturing me?”

John slipped his hands into his pockets. “I may or may not have gone overboard the first time I ate and ended up making myself sick. Going from nothing to everything is not exactly great on a human body. Also why you shouldn’t try running a mile if you haven’t built up to it.”

“I’m not you though.” 

John just nodded his head in the direction of the dinner. “Come on.”

The two eventually ended up in a booth, one chocolate milkshake placed in front of Yellow and a plate of fries in the center of the table. Yellow looked down at the brown liquid in the glass.

“This looks disgusting.”

“It’s good, trust me.” John popped a french fry into his mouth.

Yellow took a sip, and something in his brain short circuited for a moment. John grinned like an idiot as Yellow decided that milkshakes weren’t that bad and continued taking small sips.

…

“Marcus DuPont.”

Arthur perked up at his desk. “He has a name?”

”The body was originally called Marcus, now he is called Yellow,” Yorick informed.

Arthur let out a short breath through his nose and gave a polite grin. “Yes. So he wasn’t just… created.”

“John seems to be a special case, Master. This child… was already in Arkham.”

“So what, Yellow just took him over.” Arthur’s face dropped. “Is he still in there?”

“I do not know.”

“And his parents must be looking for him.”

“I also do not know that.”

Arthur heard little footsteps making their way to the back office and closed his mouth.

“Hi Yorick,” she said as she walked in. 

“Hello Miss Faroe,” Yorick replied.

Faroe made her way to Arthur’s side, which was usually his cue to lift her up. He settled her in his lap and she reached forward to the skull on the desk.

“What’s your favorite color today,” she asked.

Yorick was silent for a moment. “Blue.”

“Why?”

“The sky is clear, Miss Faroe.”

“So sky blue?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your favorite song you heard yesterday?”

Yorick once again was silent before answering. Arthur let the two chatter on. His daughter seemed to have developed a fascination with Yorick upon their first meeting and who was he to stop their fun. He gave Faroe a peck on the top of her head and leaned back in his seat. 

From the way John had described Yellow, short frame, underfed, perhaps this child didn’t have someone looking out for him. Or he was a runaway, susceptible to a being such as the King.

If that was the case, if Marcus was still in there.

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. It was a deal with Kayne that separated him and John. And that whole ordeal was not something he wished to go through again.

“Faroe?”

“Yeah?”

“What would you say to a visit from Uncle Noel?”

Chapter Text

Yellow doesn’t exactly know how it happened but he had been roped into sending folded paper out the window of his room to try to get it into a basket in the back lawn. The culprit was one Faroe Lester, who’s bedroom window did not face the backyard and thus she must sequester his room to continue her experiments. 

“Why are we doing this again?” He said after needing to refold the paper to match the one she had created as an example.

Faroe shrugged. “I thought it would be fun.”

She went up to the window, closed one eye, took aim and missed the basket entirely. The goal was centered on the grass and the paper plane decided to take a nose dive onto the back porch instead. 

Yellow would have scoffed if one of his previous attempts hadn’t done the exact same thing. “I think this shape isn’t optimal.”

“Do you have any other ideas?”

Yellow crumpled up his paper into a ball and threw it out the window. It landed halfway between the porch steps and the basket, a few feet behind another failed plane.

“No,” he said and sat back down on the floor folding a new sheet of paper. ‘New’ was a term being used lightly here as it had been scribbled over in notes. The paper was going to be discarded anyway so might as well throw it out a window.

Faroe let out a yelp of excitement after her next throw. “It hit the basket!”

Yellow peered into the backyard and indeed saw one of their creations lying prone on the grass next to the basket. 

“Nice.” Yellow took aim allowing the plane to glide through the air and land next to the crumpled paper ball. 

“At least you’re consistent,” Faroe said. 

Yellow narrowed his eyes at her and she stuck her tongue out. “You’re talking to a god, you know.”

“I know.”

Yellow peered down at her for another moment before making a new suggestion. “Want to open the front door and see if we can fly them through there from the awning?”

“Yes!” Faroe’s eyes widened. “Uh, but we should probably grab the ones from the backyard first.”

Yellow frowned, “Fine.”

The two gathered their supplies and placed it near the top of the stairs before making their way down to the backyard. Most of the paper airplanes were still in good shape and could probably be reused. Ones that they were going to bring upstairs went into the basket and the rest were shoved into pockets to be thrown away later. As Faroe shoved the paper into one particular pocket she also withdrew from it two pieces of candy.

“Oh I forgot about these,” she mumbled, and turned to Yellow. “Want one? They taste like strawberries.”

Yellow hadn’t been led astray by the girl yet so he trusted her enough with these things. He picked one out of her hand and unwrapped it.

“Make sure you don’t bite on it, it’ll break your teeth.”

“Lovely, who told you that?”

“My grandpa.”

“Right.” Yellow popped the candy into his mouth and immediately added it to the list of things he would eat again despite the inherent danger. 

During their time spent out back the voices of John and Arthur drifted through an open window. Yellow wasn’t really paying attention until a third voice joined in.

“Faroe?”

“Yeah?”

Yellow pointed to the window connected to the back office. “Did someone else come here?”

Faroe listened for a moment before shaking her head. “That’s just Yorick.”

“Who the fuck is Yorick?”

“No cursing,” she said in a stern tone.

Yellow rolled his eyes. “Who’s Yorick?”

He did not like the mischievous smile that crossed Faroe’s face. “He’s a talking skull that helped dad a lot and now we keep him in the study. He’s really good at answering questions.”

Yellow took a moment to process before asking, “What the fuck?”

“I just said no cursing,” Faroe whined.

“Firstly, it’s your dad’s fault. He cursed all the time when I first met him. I picked those up from my wonderful conversations with him. Secondly, can I see the skull?”

“Yes, come on. He loves meeting new people.” 

Yellow picked up the basket of paper planes to set quickly in the kitchen and followed Faroe back into the house. The door to the study lay just past the kitchen but had been closed the past two days. Faroe pushed it open.

Arthur sat semi-sprawled on an armchair. He lifted his head at the door opening and turned to their direction. Yellow’s gaze slipped past him and went to the desk John was sitting at, on top of which a skull sat.

“Hi Yorick!” Faroe said cheerfully.

“Hello Miss Faroe.”

“Have you met Yellow yet?”

“I have not.”

Arthur sat up. “I thought you two were throwing our old notes out the back window.”

“We were but I wanted to see this talking skull,” said Yellow.

“I am Yorick, my king,” said the skull.

Yellows eyes went wide at the title

John groaned. “Yorick, we went over this.”

“Just because you have asked me to call you John does not mean I must not call other fragments by their title.” The skull paused for a moment. “Unless of course you wish me to call you something else… Yellow.”

Yellow was ecstatic. “By all means, you don’t have to call me Yellow.”

“Of course, my king.”

“Jesus Christ,” Arthur muttered under his breath.

Yellow’s face broke into a full on grin. Oh, he liked Yorick. 

Paper planes forgotten, Yellow and Faroe moved their activities to the study. Yellow was almost offended that he hadn’t been notified of Yorick’s existence till now. He was a fascinating thing, and answered any question he could with the most forthright responses.

Yorick was moved to the coffee table so the two children could sit on the couch and chat with him. Arthur looked somewhat amused with the whole situation after he got past Yellow’s new title. He didn’t move from the armchair, listening to the conversation and barely interjecting.

For some reason John seemed the most off put by Yorick and decided now was the time to do paperwork so he didn’t have to be part of the conversation. 

After a certain point Faroe seemed to lead the conversation, having more experience with the kinds of questions he liked. Or maybe it was because Yorick just liked to answer the questions that came from Faroe more. 

It was oddly calm for the first time sitting with everyone in the room. Maybe the combination of Faroe and Yorick worked as a metaphorical social shield where Yellow could sit in the same room as Arthur without wanting to claw his skin off. More experimentation would be needed. 

…

Yellow squirmed under his covers as the people outside his bedroom seemed to be running amok. He peered over at the clock on his side table and saw it was only eight in the morning. He snuggled further under the sheets believing he had an hour before he was officially called down to breakfast.

That proved to be false as John swung open his door. “Up and at ‘em.”

“Huh?”

“It means it’s time to get up.”

Yellow sat up. “Why do I need to be up?”

“Faroe’s getting ready for school and we’re bringing you to the office so breakfast is happening now if you want it.”

Yellow had several questions but just lay back down and pulled the covers over his head. “I’ll just stay here today, thanks.”

“Well if you want it that way, you can just sleep all day on the office’s couch. But we’re not leaving you here.”

“I’m not moving.”

“That’s fine, I can just throw you over my shoulder like last time.”

Yellow removed his covers from his face to frown at John only to see Arthur as well, listening in on the conversation. That annoyance of a man was trying and failing not to smirk. 

“Can you at least close the door so I can get dressed?”

John nodded and pulled the door shut. 

Yellow lay back down for a moment before hauling himself out of bed. His limbs felt draggy in the morning, like they didn’t want to work for him. He pulled out a clean set of clothes and pulled them on. 

Breakfast yesterday had been toast, butter, and jam which was actually good. Breakfast today was scrambled eggs with a side of toast. Yellow quickly learned that food in general did not look appetizing  and he needed to take a bite first to give his actual opinion. The eggs were okay.

Arthur did not sit down to eat, instead seeming to rush through the rooms like a gust of wind. Each time he passed through the kitchen he was carrying something entirely different, be it a book, a pile of notes, or a satchel. 

Faroe was dressed for school and groggy. She made no comment when John paused her breakfast to quickly tie up her wild hair into a ponytail. 

Apparently Saturday and Sunday mornings were not the norm in terms of starting the day. Yellow immediately knew he would continue to hate mornings like these.

Before they left, Arthur turned on the radio in the study and closed the door.

“You’re not bringing the skull to work?” asked Yellow, only half joking. 

“Our clients generally would appreciate not having a talking skull scare them out of their skin,” said Arthur when he had seemingly completed his rushed preparations. He took a swig of the coffee John handed him. 

“If Yorick could go anywhere, I’d bring him to school,” said Faroe, sliding away from the table. She shuffled toward her father, and leaned against his side as he finished his coffee. His free hand quickly found her shoulder and he gave it a squeeze.

“Do I have to go to school today?” she said looking up at Arthur. 

“She’s giving you puppy dog eyes,” said John.

Arthur snorted out a laugh. “Yes, you still have to go to school.”

“But Yellow will be bored if he’s just sitting in your office while you work.” She glanced between Yellow and Arthur. 

“Yeah, what do you expect me to do all day,” pipped in Yellow. 

“Oh, John and I have discussed homework for you Yellow.”

Yellow let out a jumbled noise before loudly declaring, “I’m not a child!”

“Listen John had a lot to learn about this world before being able to settle in. The history, the culture, the way things are done. Fortunately for you he kept notes.”

“It’s just to help ease your transition,” John quickly followed up. 

Yellow grumbled under his breath. 

“Or you can just sleep all day,” said Arthur.

Faroe frowned at the last comment, however John did not choose to vocalize that fact. 

…

There was a side room attached to the offices of Lester and Doe. Mostly it seemed to be used for storage of old documents and cases. There was also a coffee table and couch placed close to the single window in the room. 

“The sun is pretty strong until noon, so you can probably open them back up later in the day if you want.” Arthur leaned over the couch and pulled the curtains closed. The room sunk into a comfortable shade, with only enough daylight peeking in through to allow Yellow to see.

Yellow sat down onto the couch as Arthur stood up fully. It was overly stuffed and was clearly made more for napping rather than sitting.

“If you do change your mind, this pile,” Arthur pointed to the notebooks on the coffee table, “should be a good place to start.”

Yellow let out a low noise, before flopping down on the couch. 

Arthur frowned. “Let me feel your forehead.”

“Huh?”

“I want to check your temperature.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know, but the amount of sleep you’re needing is concerning me a little, and I want to see if this body is sick or if it’s just a side effect of however you ended up in it.”

“It’s probably just because humans are weak.”

“Yeah, sure.” Arthur swiftly aimed for the side of Yellow’s face, checking its position before pressing the back of his hand to his forehead.

“Hey!”

“No fever.” Arthur stood back. “We have a meeting at ten with a client, so try to be quiet around then. Come get us though if you need anything. We’ll get lunch at noon.” 

Arthur made for the door, and closed it softly behind him.

Yellow stared at it for a time, hearing the low tones of Arthur and John talking. He dragged the blanket draped on the back of the couch over himself and snuggled into a ball. Sleep came back to him swiftly and easily, the dreams and nightmares he once ruled, welcoming him with open arms. 

Chapter Text

Noel stared down the pile of documents he was about to shove into his suitcase. They painted a rather messy picture. A marriage. A birth. A divorce. She left with her affair partner for Arkham. He stayed in Long Island with the child. She sued for custody. He won. She died in a crash with her new beau. He died of pneumonia a year later.

The child stayed with his father’s sister, but no missing reports for Marcus had found their way to the police. In fact when asked, the aunt wouldn’t even tell you her nephew existed. Noel, now leaving a rather run down hotel in Long Island, couldn’t even get confirmation from the neighbors a boy matching Marcus’s description ever lived there.

The boy was a ghost, perfect to be used by the former King in Yellow. From what John had said on the phone Yellow didn’t choose this, but Noel wasn’t exactly going to trust anything that came out of that bastard’s mouth. So, amongst his belongings to bring to Arkham was a book with a way to, not exactly get rid of Yellow, but bring whoever else was in there to the forefront. For all he knew Marcus was yelling his heart out in there but couldn’t be heard, or was just being ignored.

With a final shove to get his suitcase closed, Noel was ready to go. A combination of anger and anticipation kept him more awake than any cup of coffee could as the morning sun began to rise. 

.

Observing others seemed to be one of the many tools John had used when adjusting to living in his own body. Stand next to Arthur, and watch as he interacted with the world, and how the world interacted with him. So while John had taken the form of an adult, Yellow assumed his equivalent in this equation would be none other than the smaller Lester. At least that was his excuse to be laying on the living room carpet while Faroe worked furiously to finish homework. 

Arthur was less annoying when Faroe was around so Yellow used her his human shield. She was also just more enjoyable company. Despite her aversion to cursing, she had no filter when talking and if she wanted to do something, like dig a hole in the flower beds to search for buried treasure, Yellow was going to be right there next to her. 

Adults were boring. A fact Yellow wrote down in John’s journal alongside some old notes about restaurant etiquette. Faroe was a little bubble with a great capacity for chaos. She wasn’t boring… most of the time.

Yellow lifted his head up, trying to peer over the coffee table. Lots of numbers. The neat printed worksheets contrasted Faroe’s scratchy handwriting. She was focused in, muttering under her breath every now and then, paying no mind to the other person in the room. 

“Do you have any extra lined paper?”

Faroe blinked at him. “Yeah, why?”

“Your handwriting is bad which reminded me, mine isn’t much better. I better start practicing so you don’t get better than me.”

Faroe rolled her eyes but still pulled out a sheet of paper from her notebook and handed it to him. He grabbed a stray pencil on the table and tapped at the paper. 

“Are you going to just stare at it?” Faroe asked after a few seconds of silence. 

Yellow stuck his tongue out at her. A gesture frequently vollied between the pair over the past few days. He then rolled over to the bookshelf and pulled out one of the poetry books, before rolling back to the coffee table.

“Your clothes will get dirty if you keep doing that.”

Yellow brushed off his shirt. “It’s just carpet.”

He opened the book to a random page and began writing down the poem on the page, trying to make them as legible as possible.

The piece was short, but his hand was already starting to cramp as he clenched his fist too tightly around the pencil. The letters were thick and shaky, and some words he couldn’t tell if they were legible or not. Very quickly he scurried to the other side of the table and sat next to Faroe on the couch. 

“Can you read this?” he asked, handing the paper over. 

She put down her pencil and took it, squinting her eyes.

“The way a… crow shook down on… is that supposed to be a ‘me’? The way a crow shook down on me the dust of snow from a… hemlock troe? Hemlock tree! Has given my heart a change of mood and saved some part of a day I had rued.”

Yellow glanced back and forth between the paper and Faroe. “So not awful?”

“I can read it, but you wrote it down wrong.”

Yellow snatched the paper back, examining it. “No I didn’t.”

“You’re supposed to write a poem line by line, not as one long sentence.” She pointed to the odd formatting of the poetry book. 

“I thought it was just printed weirdly.”

“It’s supposed to look like that.”

Yellow leaned back into the couch. “Well that’s stupid.” 

Faroe shook her head and went back to her maths. Yellow glanced at the poetry book sitting on the table before letting his gaze wander around the room. His hand landed on the wooden frame of the couch. Its sides weren’t padded except for the long round cushion shoved up against the frame to use as an armrest. The front corners had knobs, the perfect size to grab in your fist. So while Yellow examined the family photos above the fireplace, he absentmindedly discovered the knob was loose, and fidgeted with it. He kept fidgeting as Faroe finished up her work and organized it into a folder.

He was about to finish fidgeting with it when it popped off the wooden frame. Both he and Faroe stared at it in horror.

…

Inside Faroe’s play chest was an absolute catastrophe. Toys were disorganized, dolls’ hair tangled up with other toys causing an abomination of disjointed parts to be pulled out in one go. Her art supplies were scattered, filtered through layers of plastic and fabric, only to make it to the bottom and join the dust bunnies in their lightless home.

Faroe plunged her hand into the bottom and scrounged around, before pulling out a tiny bottle.

“What’s that?”

“Glue,” she said solemnly. “Last time I used it, dad had to take me to get my hair cut.” She shuddered.

Yellow was not going to ask for any further details. “So we’re just going to stick it back on?”

“Yep. But first, precautions.” Faroe handed Yellow the bottle and pulled a hair tie off the top of her dresser. She tied her hair back, and in her eyes Yellow could see she was prepared for battle.

The two peeked out of her room and down to the bottom floor. John and Arthur were still making noise in the kitchen so they swiftly made their way back into the living room. Yellow picked up the offending knob and handed it to Faroe. 

The little girl meticulously screwed off the bottle cap, using the little brush attached to smear glue both on the broken piece and the spot on the frame it broke from. She slotted it back in and stood back.

“Is it fixed now?”

“We gotta let the glue dry.”

Yellow nodded his head. The two continued to stare at the couch like the whole thing would collapse.

“You two ready for dinner?”

Yellow nearly leaped out of his spot before swiveling his head to the doorway. Arthur was leaning into the room, one hand grabbing the outside wall to keep his balance.

“Yes,” Faroe said quickly, slipping the glue bottle into her pocket and rushing past her father.

Arthur furrowed his brow. “You two up to something?”

“I borrowed one of your poetry books to practice writing,” replied Yellow.

“You didn’t write in it, did you?”

Yellow shook his head, before remembering John wasn’t here. “No.”

“Alright then.” Arthur tapped the wall and turned back to the dining room.

…

The following day, Faroe and Yellow both eyed the living room as they prepared to head out. A silent agreement passed between the two that no one would ever bring it up. If they were too quiet during the short ride to Faroe’s school, John and Arthur simply must have talked over it.

Once Faroe was on her merry way to class the mood in the car changed. Not in the way it normally did, where Arthur’s attention shifted elsewhere as John talked enthusiastically at Yellow. No, something passed between Arthur and John. Unseen and unheard.

“Do you remember Noel?” Arthur asked, his voice shying toward accusatory. 

Yellow froze, making eye contact with John in the rearview mirror. “Vaguely.”

“Good then you should be able to recall why you need to apologize to him when you see him today.”

An unfairness shook at Yellow. “Why the hell would I do that?” He whined.

“Because he’s helping us find out exactly where this body of yours came from.”

Yellow leaned toward the front seat. “Why do we need to know that?”

“In case someone is looking for you,” John chimed in. “It’s better to know sooner rather than later.”

Yellow sneered. “And what, get taken away? I’d gladly take my chances with a deadbeat parent versus you two.”

“Says the one who hasn’t attempted to run away yet. My old room too cozy for you?”

“I pity you John.”

“Uh-huh, sure you do.” A hand quickly reached back and ruffled Yellow’s hair.

Yellow swiped it away and leaned back in his seat. 

A beat more of time passed before Arthur continued. “Also I’m pretty sure if you don’t apologize Noel might try to dangle you off the side of the roof. Even things out between you two.”

…

Noel did not try to dangle Yellow off the side of the roof. He did look angry though. Angrier than Arthur first had, and that was saying something.

“Haustur.” Noel said as a sort of greeting. Coming from him it sounded like an insult.

He stood in the center of the office, staring at the little god who had just left his comfortable couch in the spare room.

“Haven’t you heard, I’m called Yellow.” Yellow felt John place a hand on his shoulder. A warning.

Noel snorted a half laugh and turned to Arthur. “You want the good news or the bad news?”

”Good news.” Arthur said, leaning back in his chair. 

“No ones gonna come looking for the kid,” files were dropped on the desk. “Parents are dead.”

Yellow left John’s grip and strode toward the man. “Great! Thanks for the information. Now can you kindly fuck off? I already have an antagonistic person I can’t get rid of, I don’t need another.”

There was barely a moment where Yellow could enjoy Arthur’s offended expression, before he very suddenly remembered what kind of body he was in. Noel, despite being both shorter than Arthur and John, cut an intimidating figure. Someone who’d been to hell and back and would tap into his demons as needed. 

Yellow felt something shrivel within him. This man was going to kill him and there was nothing he could do about it. He was so sure of it. A hand covered Yellow’s eyes, and another pulled him back.

“What’s the bad news?” John asked.

“Well the bad news is more for our new friend.” 

At the noises of a suitcase being opened, Yellow pulled John’s hand away from his face, not letting go when he could see again. Using John as a human meat shield would probably be useful in this situation. There, in Noel’s hand was a book, worn and fragile.

“I’ve found some ways to get talking to Marcus.”

Yellow felt his stomach drop. “You’re kicking me out of this body?”

“We’re bringing the kid to the forefront of your consciousness. John’s told me you can’t hear him in there, but if I were him, I’d probably want out. You’re telling me you enjoyed being stuck in someone’s head?”

Yellow leaned back against John. “And what about me?”

“After we talk to Marcus,” Arthur spoke up, “make sure he’s been heard and understands somewhat what’s happening, we’ll begin working on separating you two. Get you a nice cadaver that doesn’t have an opinion on the matter.”

“And that isn’t a child?”

Arthur nodded. “And that isn’t a child.”

Yellow gripped tighter onto John’s hand, eyes dancing between Noel and the book. He could hear blood rushing through his veins. He was fairly certain in the end he wouldn’t be given a choice in this. They’d drag out the other boy whether Yellow let them or if he fought, kicking and screaming. 

“John.” Yellow’s voice cracked as he said the name. “I’ll only do it if John’s the one.”

He cast his gaze up at the other fragment of a god almost pleadingly. Perhaps watching Faroe abuse her puppy dog gaze with John allowed Yellow to rely on a similar heartbroken stare. Or maybe John could see the fear in his eyes. A powerlessness that came with losing everything and only being able to cling weakly on what was left. 

A look of concern crossed John’s face. “Yeah, I can. I can, right?”

He looked back at Noel who just sighed and nodded his head. 

Yellow for the remainder of the day did not leave John’s side. The plan was to happen in three days, enough time for the boys to scrounge around Arkham for the correct “ingredients”. Barely enough time for Yellow to process, but enough time to think about it and let it frazzle him. Like psyching yourself up before pulling off a bandage. Why wait and freak yourself out about the pain versus ripping it off and getting it over with.

Either way, it would end with Yellow taking a backseat to a body’s original inhabitant, and he could only hope John would be enough to protect him from a bad end. 

Chapter Text

The walk between the Lester household and Faroe’s school was about twenty-five minutes. The usual routine was drop off Faroe and head to work then pick her up on the way back at the end of the day, all in the car. Now however, everyone else had been home since noon, Yellow having hidden away in his bedroom the moment they got back.

John and Arthur both knew they would have to explain to Faroe what was happening. She was far more attached to Yellow than Arthur would have probably liked, and John wanted to spare his friend from being the bad guy in this situation. So he figured walking her home would give John enough time to let her process what was happening while simultaneously letting himself be the bearer of bad news.

She looked so happy walking out of the school building, chatting with all her little buddies. John had often described the same scene to Arthur, watching as the other man’s expression softened. Faroe would always light up when seeing her father, rushing into his arms with a sudden burst of energy. In the colder months she had shoved her face into his coat trying to combat the frosty air.

On the occasional day like this, where John was the only one picking her up, a flicker of disappointment would cross her face. Nonetheless she would run into his arms instead, calling out his name and letting him scoop her up into his arms. John knew Arthur would always be Faroe’s favorite, but he still liked to keep a few of these precious moments to himself. 

For a while she was a name and a memory. A picture and a protector. Then she was solid and for the first time real to John. Arthur loved her so much, John couldn’t help but love her the same.

So he treasured times like these, where she was calling his name and running to his arms, even if they only happened with the absence of Arthur. He’d so hate to spoil it today. But he sighs as he walks hand in hand with the little girl. He looks around, ensuring no one was walking close enough to hear their conversation. “Faroe, you know how this body was more or less… made for me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The same isn’t true for Yellow, his body belongs to someone else.”

Faroe squeezed his hand tighter. A look of nervousness crossed her face as she tried to guess what he was going to say next.

“So, we are going to try to talk to the original soul and Yellow might be… away for a while.”

She stayed quiet.

John bent down on one knee to be eye level with her. He swallowed hard before continuing. “I’ll be there to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

Her eyes turned glassy as she tried to hold back tears, eyes looking anywhere but at John. Frustration and fear were clear as day in her expression. 

John pulled her into a hug. “We eldritch beings are made of some pretty tough stuff. And I’ll make absolutely sure he’ll be okay.”

“You better.”

“Of course.” John pressed a kiss to the side of her head and picked her up. 

…

Yellow was greeted with a tackle of a hug that knocked all the air from his lungs. Now sat on the dining room carpet, there was no way he could get up with the small child currently grappling him. He looked up at John who just shrugged and strolled past them. 

His foul mood quickly began to dissipate as he wrapped his arms around Faroe, and leaned his head atop hers. 

“You hear what these people are doing to me?”

Faroe responded by squeezing his tighter.

Crying seemed oh so very human. And gross, as a lot of things humans did were. The tears made sense, even if they were wasteful of water. It was the snot that seemed worse. Sticky and messy, not easily evaporated when wiped on a sleeve. So Yellow decided not to cry. It seemed too much of a hassle. He let out one ragged breath after another instead, his heart beating hard against his chest.

Faroe eventually loosened her grip and looked up at him with her big doe eyes. “Are you going to be okay?”

“John and Arthur think so.” His words came out shakier than he would have liked.

“Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t… what do you mean?”

“When they talk to the other boy? Are you still going to be in there?” She pointed to his head.

“I think so, I don’t entirely know.”

She furrowed her brow, disappointed by the answer. “You can’t go too far, we have to get you back.”

A nervous laugh came out of Yellow, one he didn’t know he was capable of making. “Yeah, sure.”

“Promise.” It was a demand, not a request. The little girl could not look more serious.

He nodded his head. “Promise.” 

Somewhat satisfied she let go of him entirely, moving to sit crisscross in front of him. Yellow reorganized himself to mirror her.

She opened and closed her mouth a couple times looking for what she wanted to say next, gasps of breath not being followed by anything until, “Do you want me to help?”

“With… the ritual?”

She nodded.

“No! Uh, no that…” It could be dangerous for her if anything were to go wrong, like per say seeing an unimaginable eldritch horror that could (and has) cause physical and mental harm to mortals. “I trust John to take care of things.”

“Okay.” She fidgeted with the edge of her skirt. “But is there anything I can do?”

Concern flooded her face. Not pity. Not guilt. Genuine concern, toward him. It baffled Yellow. From the moment his memories began he only knew of others wanting to either use him or get rid of him. John could only relate to him because he was him, at least at one point. It was a begrudgingly mutual understanding of each other.

This here, before him, was the first of its kind. He had somehow made it into a piece of someone’s heart, however small that piece may be. 

He wasn’t going to cry, no matter how hard his body desperately wanted to. “I’ll be okay, I don’t need you to do anything. Just…” 

She tilted her head waiting.

“Don’t forget me.”

“Why would I forget you?”

Yellow shrugged. “Just don’t.”

“Okay, I promise.” She lifted her pinky finger in the air.

“What are you doing?”

“Pinky promise, give me your pinky.”

Yellow cautiously mirrored her once again, and let her hook their fingers together. 

Clanking of pans and muffled conversation came from the kitchen, seeming to signify three adults in there was possibly one too many. Fresh from their promise pact, the two kids (oh gods was Yellow considering himself a kid now?) pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

Noel apparently wasn’t expecting Faroe to be on Yellow’s side for this whole ordeal. He looked appalled when Faroe pointed a finger at him and said “You better not hurt Yellow with this whole thing,” and promptly stuck herself to his side. 

John covered his mouth as he tried to cover a smile, and Arthur gave a look that indicated a headache was swiftly approaching while he lifted a steaming pan from the stove.

“Honey, I’m not gonna hurt your new friend.” Noel crouched down to be eye level while desperately avoiding Yellow’s gaze.

“But you don’t like him.”

“I… don’t. For good reason.”

“He’s been good, I promise.” 

Noel’s expression seemed to indicate he didn’t believe that.

“He has. I mean he’s cursed me out quite a bit but he hasn’t threatened to destroy our existence.” Arthur had set everything he was holding down and turned to face the room fully. “Noel’s rightfully distrustful, but he’s not going to do anything malicious, Faroe.” 

Yellow looked down at Faroe. “She’s pouting.”

Arthur sighed. “Faroe, Yellow is going to be okay. Yellow, you will be okay.” He said it with such an air of truth that Yellow almost actually believed him. 

…

As the next couple of days passed, Yellow grew more and more anxious. He knew he wasn’t dying, but he still felt like Death was waiting behind him with her scythe ready to swing. Each minute pushing him closer to her embrace. 

The first day he tried to follow Faroe around the house, but he kept looking over his shoulder and kept seeing hints of what was happening based on the objects making their way into the house and down to the basement. He locked himself in his room after dinner.

The second day, he woke at three in the morning. The bed was too uncomfortable to stay in, feeling more like an oven than a warm cocoon of blankets. He didn’t leave his room, didn’t read the books on the table, didn’t do anything but sit between the small space between the desk and the dresser. After what felt like an eternity of spiraling he leaned out and looked at the clock. Twenty minutes past four. He sat stock still as the second hand worked its way around the clock face. Twenty-one minutes past four. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Someone was awake. Their footsteps slightly uneven and slow. They walked past his door to the room next to him. The door to Faroe’s room was opened and the person walked in.

After a moment, Yellow stood and crossed the room to open his door, cringing when the hinges squeaked. He paused, waiting for any more noise, but when nothing was heard he tiptoed to the other open room. He saw Arthur sitting on the floor by Faroe’s bedside, his head tilted forward, face contorted in concentration. Faroe was sound asleep, her soft breathing breaking the usual silence of early morning. 

For a time Arthur stayed in his position, but eventually stood up slowly. Yellow stepped to the side as Arthur left the room and closed the door behind him. 

“Couldn't sleep?” Arthur asked in a whisper, acknowledging Yellow’s presence.

“No.”

Arthur nodded. “I’ll make us some tea.”

Before Yellow could respond, Arthur had already brushed past him and was headed down the stairs. When they arrived at the kitchen Arthur quickly prepared the kettle to boil water and pulled open a cabinet above his head. He reached in, feeling the various tins before pulling out a cylindrical one. 

“What does the label say?”

Yellow flipped on the light switch and looked at what Arthur was holding. “Chamomile.”

“Good.” Arthur then continued his search to other cabinets pulling out two mugs and then a jar from John’s baking stash. “You’ll probably need some sugar in it. It can be a bit bitter if you’re not used to it.”

Yellow took the jar and set it on the kitchen table. 

The kettle whistled and Arthur took it off the heat, dropping tea bags into the mugs and filling them with water. He pulled out a spoon from the silverware drawer and set the cups on the table.

Arthur and Yellow sat opposite each other. Through the window to the backyard streaks of red and purple begin to paint the sky. He opened the sugar jar and subsequently poured a spoonful of the sweet stuff into his tea, mixing it in.

“Let it cool so you don’t burn yourself,” Arthur said as Yellow’s mixing stopped.

“You don’t.”

Arthur brought up the cup to his lips and tried to cool the surface with a couple exhales. “Yeah well I don’t like myself enough to wait sometimes.” He then took a sip that ended with a rather painful grimace. 

Yellow wrapped his hands around the ceramic, letting warmth seep into his fingers. “Why were you checking on Faroe?”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up as he took another sip. “Would you believe me if I said it was to make sure she was still alive?”

“You trust me that little?”

“Actually, I think when it comes to Faroe, I might trust you a little too much. Your actions make me think she has you wrapped around her finger.”

“She does not have me wrapped around her finger.”

“You would be in good company if she did.”

Yellow huffed and slouched in his seat. “So then why?”

“I believe you are aware she was… dead.” 

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

Yellow grabbed his tea and took a sip. It wasn’t scalding now, but still a bit too hot. An uncomfortable silence layered itself over the table.

“I can guess the reason you’re awake,” continued Arthur.

“Oh, like that’s hard.” 

Arthur shrugged, “I don’t blame you for worrying. I’m actually quite surprised with how in stride you’re taking this all.”

Gods, had Yellow gone soft? “Want me to start breaking stuff?”

“Go for it. Maybe just leave the knives out of it, though?”

“How am I supposed to tear up the cushions without a knife?”

Arthur smiled at that. Smiled like he was trying to not smile, but couldn’t hide it. “You can use a knife but only on the cushions, alright?”

Yellow took another sip of his tea, now cooled to a reasonable temperature for sipping. “I think I’m scared.”

“Yes, we’ve established that.”

“No, I-” Yellow gave him a look, that although couldn't be seen, he hoped was felt. “I’ve been scared since I got here.”

“Of me?”

“Of everything. Of having a body, of being seen by others, of eating. Arthur, I’ve never been mortal. Even with you and Larson, I’ve only experienced life through a window.”

“But in Carcosa-“

“I don't remember Carcosa. I don’t remember being Hastur. When I got to the dreamlands all that was left of my kingdom were dead bodies and unmarked graves. Beings I might have known, I knew nothing about. I couldn’t even properly mourn what was once mine as it has no place in my memories. I had nothing, Arthur, besides Larson who was a pain in the ass up until the moment he died.”

Yellow took a moment to catch his breath, looking at Arthur’s face. It was twisted into a confused mixture of guilt and understanding.

“All I have now is this body and the small amount of life I’ve experienced with it. And now I’m scared because I don’t want to go back to looking through someone else’s eyes.”

Arthur sat still for a moment, processing, before nodding his head. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

Yellow scoffed.

“But I do know that John and I will do everything in our power to make sure things go right, and you come out the other side safe and well. Because you deserve a chance to live without being afraid.”

The dawn came, and brought with it a soft golden glow, bringing life to the dim kitchen. The human and the eldritch god sat in silence as the world awoke.

…

The set up was ramshackle at best. Candles, talismans, ingredients of unknown origin were scattered about a large chalk sigil sketched onto the basement floor. 

Noel sat perched on the staircase having handed everything over to John and now just watched the room like a hawk. Arthur stood nearer by, holding his cane and simply existing as backup to John.

John was leafing through the pages of the old book and guiding Yellow to lie down. 

“Are we entirely sure this will work?” Yellow asked, the concrete floor seeping cold into his bones.

A yellow shimmer danced across John’s eyes as he nodded his head. “See you in a bit, Yellow.”

Chapter Text

For a while he was floating. His too many limbs spreading into the inky darkness around him. Or maybe he didn’t have any limbs. He was too tired to care to make out the difference. A vague thought crossed his mind that he should probably be experiencing at least something else. But just as quickly as the thought came it disappeared under the blanket of content washing over him.

Time moved slowly here. Perhaps they were having a nice chat with the boy by now. Calming him down with soft tones, and assuring pats. Maybe they were getting that cadaver Arthur mentioned. A pinprick of annoyance at being conned out of choosing his body hit, before being soothed over once again. When he felt something pulling him back finally it was simultaneously far too long a wait and far too soon.

And then he woke.

Everything hurt, his eyes swollen with tears, throat stinging with bile. He was lying in his own vomit, still warm but swiftly cooling on the basement floor. He tried to breath in but only succeeded in making himself cough, his lungs not wanting to work properly. A loud ringing in his ears barely let him make out Arthur’s muffled yelling. 

Yellow opened his eyes, the dim light of the basement still too much, causing more pain to shoot through his brain. He curled in on himself sobs wracking his body, as a pair of sturdy arms lifted him up. The world faded once more into oblivion as the pain grew to unbearable for this little body.

…

Marcus Dupont had spent his eighth birthday alone at his aunt’s house, not for the first time feeling the weight of his father’s death bear down upon him. When he tried to bring up the date he had been met with a sharp gaze, cutting off anything else that would have come out of his mouth. 

It was late in the afternoon when he decided to run away to Arkham Masachuccets. His mother lived there now, he supposed that if he could go anywhere she would be the best choice. The last time he saw her had been two Christmases ago. She looked so sad when his father told her it was time to go. Marcus thought maybe it was because of all that legal stuff with his parents she couldn’t come and get him. 

He grabbed all the spare change he could, made himself a butter and jam sandwich, and headed out of the house for the first time in forever. The man at the station very kindly informed him that it wouldn’t be enough money for a ticket, but the group of kids barely a few years older than him taught him how to hitch a ride in the storage car.

He was home free on his way to see his mother, hoping beyond hope she was happy to see him. Despite the rainy weather, the world seemed to shine bright. In the end it wasn’t the lack of funds for food that got him, just a horrible cough that sounded like his father’s had. And time. You have all the time in the world given to you when looking for a dead woman.

…

Yellow was disturbed by something poking at his hair. He began to lift his head to see what was happening.

“No, don’t move! The flowers will fall out.”

Yellow let his head lean back against the grass once more, peering over his head at Faroe. Her nose and cheeks were pink from playing out in the sun. As it was, they were both resting under the shade of a rather tall and flowery bush. It was late enough in the day that the sun did not shine directly overhead, allowing shadows to grow longer and longer. 

Yellow was uncomfortably aware of his surroundings at the moment. He could feel the grass brushing against his bare arms, making them itch. A snapped twig dug into his back if he shifted wrong. The cool breeze stuck to him as sweat caused by the heat of the day had yet to evaporate. The flowers Faroe was ever so carefully sticking in his hair began to irritate him as he grew more and more conscious of their presence. He sat up, shaking his hair out as Faroe made a noise of complaint.

“Yellow!” she whined. 

Yellow flopped back down on the ground, curling up next to Faroe on his side. “No more flowers.”

“Fine.” 

He looks up at her disappointed little face but says nothing else. He knows she’s probably just trying to make him feel better. Hell, she’d been sticking by his side since the moment he woke up.

Apparently the three men in the house had gotten a rather heated talking down to from the tiny girl. John told him soon after he awoke. 

John had been very upset to say the least. Mostly at himself. Noel looked like he felt guilty about the whole thing but wasn’t really apologetic. And Arthur was… hollow. 

Yellow was just too fucking tired to care. He went back to his early days of just lounging in bed or on the couch sunrise to sunset. The only reason he was outside was because John had insisted he get some sun and run around lest he start feeling lethargic. 

It sucked. Just as he was getting comfortable, getting into a rhythm, he went back to square one. At least he knew where he was heading now. Stuck in this body, bound to be treated as a child for several more years. 

It kept hitting him that this was his life now. Part of him wishes he were back in that void, where nothing happened, and only a sense of complete numbness overtook him.

God, what he would give to feel numb. Everything was too much. He could feel everything and it wouldn’t stop. He just wanted it all to stop. 

The discomfort caused by the tears on his face pissed him off more than the fact he was crying curled up in the grass next to a six year old. 

He felt fingers ruffle through his hair. He blinked up at Faroe, her face contorted in concern.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Not your fault.” Yellow scrubbed away his tears with the back of his hand. He sat up, pulling his knees to his chest.

He began pulling at the grass, shredding it very slowly as something to do with his hands. Also avoiding eye contact, he couldn’t bear to have his heart shattered with one more sad kicked puppy face. Not just from her, John had given him plenty of those as well.

He glanced at the pile of fallen flowers. A few by Faroe’s side still had full stalks.

“Why don’t we get those in some water,” Yellow suggested, trying to move the conversation along. “They’d look nice at the breakfast table.”

Faroe looked down at the leftover flowers and simply nodded, gathering them up into her arms.

The two fled quickly into the house, only to find John sitting at the breakfast table where he’d likely been keeping an eye on them. 

Faroe bounded up to him, presenting the flowers. “Can you get the flower pot?”

John nodded his head, glancing at Yellow with a careful eye. He stood to his full height and grabbed a vase from the very top of one of the kitchen cabinets. He wordlessly passed it to Yellow, and watched as he filled it up, placing it on the kitchen table. 

The flowers were unceremoniously stuffed into the vase, but Faroe’s eyes sparkled at her work. They weren’t a particularly pretty bunch of flowers. An odd combination of forsythia, daisies, and lavender. What grew intentionally in the backyard was simply what John and Faroe thought was pretty. The rest, namely the forsythia, simply grew rampant in and around the neighborhood. 

Yellow sat across from the two, face held up by his hand. He watched as John did his best to spruce up the odd mismatch of plant life while Faroe told him not to mess it up too much.

John tilted his head at Yellow, eyebrow raised, as if to ask ‘are you okay?’

Yellow nodded his head, not really feeling okay but not wanting to talk about it either way. A lot of his bark had been taken from him. Not easy to talk back when all your body wants to do is curl up in a dark room. 

He heard the sound of the office opening and swiveled to see Arthur heading toward the kitchen. He looked tired, which Yellow thought was unfair all things considered. He wasn’t the one who got split apart and put back together only to land right back where he was.

”Faroe picked some very pretty flowers,” John said.

“How nice,” Arthur said with a smile, slowing his approach. Yellow kicked the chair next to him which Arthur then quickly grabbed and pulled out to sit in. “Thanks.”

Yellow let out a breath of air before leaning his head on the table. 

John, picked up Faroe and placed her on the seat next to him. “Did Noel talk to his guy?”

“Yes, he said it was doable.”

Yellow looked over at John with a raised eyebrow.

“You need fake papers,” John said as if it was obvious.

Yellow sat back in his seat. “Do you have fake papers?”

John nodded. “John Doe, coma patient. Noel suggested making fake adoption papers for you.”

“So what am I gonna be, Yellow Doe?” The name sounded horrid. Like it was talking about a mangy animal.

“Actually,” Arthur piped up, “we figured Lester would be a better fit, just because out of the four of us here, I’m the only one without any fake documents. It won’t raise as many flags if you’re legally under my guardianship.”

“This is what you people talk about when I’m sleeping?”

Arthur shrugged.

“I’m not taking your last name.” Yellow practically hissed that out, crossing his arms.

“But that would make you my brother.” Faroe stared at him across the table, with her big brown eyes.

He stared daggers at her, wanting to tell her that no way in hell would he want to be considered Arthur Lester’s child. But something about her saying that made his chest tighten. He hated how much it made him feel warm inside. Because why? She wanted to be his family. No way in h-

“Adam Lester,” he blurted out. If there was a positive in that moment it was the shocked looks on John and Arthur’s faces.

Before anything else could be said, Yellow rose from his seat and walked away, planning to sleep off the headache he could feel coming.