Chapter Text
Two years had passed since Freya's death.
Merlin buried his face in his hands, letting out a long sigh of frustration.
It was the ninth night in a row that Mordred couldn’t sleep, tormented by nightmares. The bad dreams had been gradually worsening—from monsters chasing him, to waking up the previous night screaming that his father had died.
And his reactions had only gotten worse with each nightmare. Irritability, small tantrums at bedtime, and now, complete refusal to close his eyes.
Merlin was exhausted. His coffee supply had dangerously dwindled, and the bags under his eyes seemed to deepen by the hour.
He didn’t know what he was doing wrong. He had followed a bedtime routine religiously. He had cut screen time further and started exercising regularly with Mordred, just like the therapist and pediatrician had recommended.
Still, the nightmares didn’t stop. They just took brief pauses before returning even more viciously.
For a Friday night, Merlin felt unusually drained—and extremely guilty for having given Mordred a couple of melatonin gummies under the excuse that they were vitamins.
He put away the dinner leftovers in the fridge and sat on the couch, trying to relieve the tension in his back.
Again, Mordred had spent nearly a month attending therapy sessions through his iPad. Though Arthur had initially agreed to work Fridays, he quickly proved incapable of lying to Merlin. His excuses for Vivian's absence grew increasingly absurd until he finally confessed that both of them were off at Fridays.
"I gave her the day off. She had a manicure appointment. Then she’s taking a trial skydiving class." But Merlin's favorite excuse had been the time Vivian allegedly went out for lunch at 8 a.m. Eventually, they agreed Mordred's sessions would be every Tuesday, and Arthur would issue a special medical note to make up for his missed classes later.
These memories often filled Merlin’s mind lately, stirring a small spark of joy he hadn’t felt since Freya was alive.
At first, Arthur’s sacrifices had seemed merely sweet—he was doing it for his son, after all—but Merlin couldn’t deny he had started to wonder about the deeper reasons behind them.
Mordred had grown attached to Arthur. Maybe Arthur was just being kind out of pity. But sometimes, when he laughed with Mordred or comforted Merlin without being asked—it was hard not to believe there was something more.
A heartbreaking scream snapped him awake. Disoriented, Merlin bolted upright and reached for his phone. The light from the screen stung his eyes before they finally adjusted. 9:20 p.m.
Mordred had only slept for a couple of hours.
Merlin stumbled groggily to his son’s room. He opened the door and found Mordred in the middle of the bed, clutching the plush Arthur had given him.
His face was red, eyes shut tightly, chest heaving fast—so fast it made Merlin’s own chest tighten.
"Sweetheart?" he whispered, brushing the boy’s hair back, revealing a face still trembling and murmuring nonsense in his sleep.
"Mordred? What’s wrong?" he asked, harsher than intended, making the boy’s sobs intensify.
It wasn’t the first time Mordred experienced sleep paralysis, as Arthur had once suggested. But this episode was nothing like the previous ones.
Merlin was on the verge of breaking.
Twenty minutes passed. Mordred was still stuck in his trance. Merlin was alone again, and the heavy fog of exhaustion clouded his thinking.
He looked at his son again—curled in on himself, clinging to the King of Nowhere like a lifeline.
That sight triggered something in Merlin’s mind.
Arthur could help.
He grabbed his phone and dialed the familiar number. Two rings, and Arthur answered.
"Arthur, Mordred’s having a really bad episode. I need you," he blurted out. Formalities had long faded from their calls, often replaced by memes from their youth.
"Send me the address. I’ll be there in minutes," Arthur replied. Merlin could almost hear the smile in his voice. He hung up and shot a quick message with the address and a cat emoji: "Keys under the pot."
Back in Mordred’s room, the boy looked slightly less frantic. At least his breathing had calmed somewhat.
True to his word, Arthur arrived 20 minutes later. He let himself in quietly, heading directly to the only lit room.
"Mordred?" he called softly.
"Arthur!" the child cried, throwing himself into the blonde’s arms, burying his face in his stomach.
"I thought something bad had happened to you," he said between sobs.
Merlin and Arthur exchanged a slightly awkward glance. They both looked awful.
Still, something about Arthur’s disheveled appearance made Merlin feel oddly at peace—he reminded himself: Arthur is here as a friend.
Arthur hadn’t had time to change. He wore mismatched socks with slippers, plaid pajama pants, and a silly shirt that said “Dungeon Master” with two fire-breathing monsters.
Despite the reason he was there, it was an endearing sight.
"Nothing happened to me, little dragon. I was just feeding Papa Pendragon before I came over—I have to look after my old man," Arthur said as he gently combed Mordred’s hair.
It only took a song and a couple of stories for Mordred to fall into a warm, slow sleep.
The boy had clung to Arthur’s side, one hand gripping his, the other clutching the puppet. He was full of Arthur.
Merlin hadn’t left them for a second, closely observing how Arthur comforted his son, soaking up every detail through his exhaustion.
"Sorry, Arthur, what were you saying?" Merlin asked, standing at the same time as Arthur and reaching to turn off the bedside lamp.
"I asked if I could stay over. You clearly haven’t been sleeping well, and if Mordred has another episode, I can help," Arthur repeated, lowering his voice so as not to wake the child.
They walked shoulder-to-shoulder to the living room, turning on a lamp to push back the night.
The couch creaked softly under their combined weight, making them laugh awkwardly. Their knees touched. The warmth of it made the moment feel real.
Merlin wasn’t alone.
"Of course," he finally replied, pointing to a chest near the front door. "There are blankets and pillows in there—take whatever you need. The AC remote’s on the table." He spoke under Arthur’s intense gaze.
The way Arthur looked at him was one of life’s great mysteries. Those eyes always seemed to see more. They stirred something in Merlin’s chest he couldn’t name.
"Thank you… You have no idea how much this means to me," Merlin said, voice cracking slightly. He hadn’t noticed the knot in his own throat until that moment.
He also hadn’t realized when his heart had betrayed his wife and replaced her with Arthur as his emergency contact.
Arthur stayed silent for a few seconds, carefully choosing his words. Too sweet, and his crush would become obvious. Too cold, and Merlin might feel unwanted.
Instead, Arthur pulled him into a firm, warm hug. He smelled like clean clothes and body wash. His arms were solid and safe. He radiated protection.
No words could explain the devotion Arthur felt for that little family. Maybe he was afraid to say it out loud.
The fear of being pushed away was stronger than his honesty.
"You’re not alone, Merlin. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself," Arthur whispered, squeezing him tighter.
Those words shattered the armor Merlin had fought so hard to build.
He’d thought he’d done a great job hiding how lonely, lost, and vulnerable he was. But Arthur had seen it. And since then, he’d guided him, comforted him.
And even though it was terrifying—being seen and validated felt like a relief.
Merlin cried for hours, protected in Arthur’s arms. There was no doubt in his mind—Arthur was an angel in his life. He had never met a man so kind and sweet.
They said a soft “Good night. See you tomorrow,” even though the clock had already passed midnight.
Merlin tossed and turned under the sheets, unable to find a comfortable position. Again, his thoughts kept him awake.
But after crying so much, he felt oddly relaxed—even happy. Because he realized he wasn’t alone anymore.
His eyes landed on the cactus plush sitting on the nightstand. He still couldn’t sleep in his own bedroom, but in a moment of bravery, he’d brought the plush to keep him company.
Was it wrong to feel happy again? Did it mean forgetting Freya and how much he missed her?
“Mordred, I’m sure that when your mom sees you from heaven, it makes her happy to see you smile again and do what you love. Healing isn’t forgetting.”
The memory of that past session wrapped him in warmth.
Maybe Merlin was starting to fill with Arthur too, after all.