Work Text:
It’s nearly spring in Arkham. Not yet warm enough to shut off the radiator and crack a window, but at least warm enough that Arthur doesn’t have to keep his coat on to stay warm in the drafty office on Mosby Avenue. Birds are chirping outside on branches just starting to bud, Arthur is well rested, his coffee is fresh and hot, and by all accounts, it’s shaping up to be a good day.
A knock at the door lifts his head, and the unnecessary, “Knock, knock,” that accompanies it makes him smile. The voice is familiar, but Arthur can’t quite place it.
“Come in,” Arthur says.
“Well, hey there.”
“Detective Noel,” Arthur gasps and a smile blooms on his face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he’s never seen this man before. Quite literally, he doesn’t know what he looks like. But this man is Noel, he’s certain at first glance.
Arthur gets to his feet to meet him halfway across the space and shakes his hand gladly. “How- how are you?” His eyes flick over the man, spot the bit of scar gnarled just above his shirt collar, long since healed. “How… long has it been?”
“Since what?” Noel asks with his signature grin. “Since we’ve seen each other? Oh, about a year.”
“What are you… doing here, in Arkham?” Arthur wonders. “I thought you were in…” He blinks. “I-I-I don’t know where I thought you were,” he admits, a bit sheepishly.
“You left me for dead,” Noel says, almost nonchalant. “Poof, I was gone, and you never followed up on it.” He lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Them’s the breaks, I guess.”
Noel starts to look around the office while Arthur stands there in shock. How… how could he have just… forgotten about Noel? Why did he just return to his life from before, like nothing had ever happened?
“Like what you’ve done with the place,” Noel says, wandering around Arthur and the office with a nostalgic glint in his eye. “Nothin’. Same as I left it,” he chuckles, but there’s no warmth in it. “Who’s this desk for?” He raps his knuckles on the empty desk catty-corner from Arthur’s.
Arthur turns to look. Who is that desk for?
Noel leans against it, looking at Arthur expectantly. “Nobody?” He asks. “That checks out,” he snorts. “You really got a shit track record when it comes to partners. Parker Yang, Oscar, me, even the Butcher… Heh. The guy was a nutcase and murderer for hire, but he still deserved better than that.” He shakes his head.
Arthur’s hands begin to shake. “Wh-why are you here?” He asks.
“Even John is gone,” Noel says.
Panic douses Arthur’s whole being like ice water. “John..?” He whispers quietly at first. “Where is John?!” His eyes dart around, looking for some scrap or hint of John’s existence, his presence in the space.
“You even forgot John,” Noel says and tsks Arthur. “How could you forget John? ” He sighs. “You know, it’s a good thing you lied to me.” His face is downright cold.
“Lied to you? What are you saying--?”
“You told me the voice in your head was named John,” Noel says, his voice solid as oak, lacking that breezy quality it usually had. “You didn’t tell me he was a piece of the King in Yellow. Not even when I told you what I’d been through. Not even when I told you what he did to me, what he put me through, and I was kind not to give you all the details.”
“What--? Noel, I’m sorry, ” Arthur pleads. “I didn’t want to lie to you, but I couldn’t- I couldn’t tell you, and John was so scared--”
“The King ruined my life,” Noel says. “Twice, if you count getting mixed up with you and John.”
“W-where is John?” Arthur asks in a small voice. His heart feels like it’s going to hammer out of his chest or break into a thousand pieces. “John?!” He calls out.
“He’s not here,” Noel says more firmly. “He’s gone. Just like every other person you’ve come across in your miserable excuse for a life.”
Arthur can’t see straight, can hardly breathe, and then Noel’s hand is on his jaw, forcing him to look at him head-on, pinned under his unforgiving stare.
“You’re a disease, Arthur. A plague,” he says. “Everything you touch rots.”
“N-Noel,” Arthur stammers. “Please-- Ch-Charlie--”
“Don’t,” Noel snaps. “The King killed Charlie Dowd. You killed Noel Finley.”
“I- I didn’t,” Arthur gasps. “I’m- I’m so sorry,” he pleads thickly.
“Who am I supposed to be now, huh?” Noel demands, a mad light in his eyes. “Well. Who’s the lease under?”
Arthur is bewildered. “What…?”
“13 Mosby Avenue,” Noel says with a jerk of his chin. “Who’s the lease under? You?”
“I- I don’t understand why you’re--” A terrible thought jolts across Arthur’s mind. “No--” He gasps low.
But Noel’s hands are already wrapping around his throat and squeezing. “I’ll make this quick,” he says, his tone casual, conversational as ever. “Do the world a favor, really.”
Arthur grips Noel’s forearms, choking on apologies, gagging for mercy. His vision swims first with tears, and then with spots as the world grows dim.
“Arthur Lester,” he hears Noel say distantly. “Gotta admit, it’s got a good ring to it. Might just make somethin’ out of your life this time around.”
Everything fades to black.
… thur!
Arthur!
ARTHUR!
Arthur wakes up such force, he feels like he’s jumped out of his own skin. He gasps for breath, choking and coughing and weeping.
Jesus Christ, Arthur! You stopped breathing in your sleep, John says, his voice full of worry. I tried to w--
“John,” Arthur weeps. “John, thank goodness, you’re- you’re here.” He grabs John’s hand and cradles it against his chest, wracked with sobs.
I’m here, Arthur, John rushes to reassure him. I’m here. Did you- have a nightmare?
“Yes,” Arthur manages out through his tears.
I tried to wake you. I called your name, and I even started banging on your chest. I- I didn’t know what else to do. John sounds just as panicked and distressed as Arthur feels.
Arthur’s heart pounds against his ribs, his head swimming and dizzy, unable to catch his breath.
Arthur, calm down, John urges him. Please, just try to breathe. His fingers clutch at his shirt. Listen to me, he insists, Breathe in. Slowly.
Arthur tries to catch the breath running away from him and just take one. It’s shaky and shallow and nearly everything is drowned out by the blood pounding in his ears. Luckily, he doesn’t need his ears to hear John’s voice.
Now breathe out, John says in a voice so tender it makes tears flood down Arthur’s cheeks. He manages to exhale. In, John guides him and it comes a little easier, the pounding of his heart a little quieter. And out…
It takes a full minute of John telling him when to breathe for Arthur to finally calm down, but John, bless him, does it willingly, patiently. John rubs his chest gently with his thumb, his fingers laced with Arthur’s.
You’re okay, John says gently.
Arthur sniffles. “Thank you, John,” he whispers, his throat hoarse.
What happened?
“O-oh, John, I- I don’t know if I can…” His head feels congested and heavy now.
That’s okay, John is quick to say. If it was too terrible, I- I understand…
“I felt like I was going mad,” Arthur blurts out. “I- I was back in Arkham,” his voice cracks, “Alone. And then- Noel showed up at my door-”
Noel? John whispers hopefully.
“He said-- he said I’d forgotten him. Left him for dead,” Arthur says bitterly. A fresh sob makes him pull up his knees and curl up like a child. “J-just like I had everyone else…”
Arthur…
“You were gone, John. And Noel said I’d forgotten you, too!”
Oh, Arthur, John sighs. His hand lifts to cup Arthur’s cheek, trying to wipe away his tears.
“He s-said the King killed Charlie Dowd, a-and I’d killed N-Noel Finley, and… and… He was going to do the world a favor.” Arthur’s trembling voice finds footing. “Kill me and take my name next.”
He wouldn’t do that, John says with certainty. And you wouldn’t do that, he adds more gently. You wouldn’t forget him. You wouldn’t forget… me.
“No,” Arthur gasps, thick with grief. “No, never, John.” He holds John’s hand against his cheek. “I told you. I will never forget you.”
Once we get back to our time, we’ll look for him, John says decisively. We’ll find Noel.
It feels like an impossible task. They might as well be a million miles away. But John’s certainty and hope makes another sob bubble up in his chest. “Yes,” he says in a watery voice. “Yes, when we…” He takes a breath, centers himself on hope. “When we get back, we’ll find him. We will, John.”
Do you think it was Scratch? That gave you the nightmare? John asks. Or… the King?
“I don’t know, John,” Arthur says wearily. “The- the King has certainly used Noel’s voice and mannerisms on me before…”
But why would he…? John wonders.
“I don’t know,” Arthur snaps with less patience, but the venom is not meant for John. “Well, why not, I suppose. Horig, Mother Darkness, Scratch, the King, why not all of them terrorizing my dreams,” he mutters.
John sighs wearily. I’m sorry, Arthur. You’ve finally had time to sleep regularly, and now…
“If it’s not one thing it’s another,” he murmurs. “So much for rest.” He sniffs and tries to dry his eyes-- John’s eyes. “Can you see anything?”
The fire has died. Everyone else is still asleep. I can see the sky through the trees overhead, and the stars. They… seem to twinkle more brightly through your tears…
Arthur sniffles and manages a small smile. “At least they’re good for something,” he says blithely. “Why don’t you try to make shapes of them. Describe it to me.”