Chapter 4
Previously: Obsidian: Ash and Moonbeams – Chapter 3
Arthur shouts in alarm, clutches tight to Quincy’s hand as he feels himself suddenly dragged along… into what, or where, he doesn’t know- in the first moment. Then he recognises it as the same sort of swirly fae portal (?) thing that Llew had sometimes used to get them places. When the ground suddenly slopes and he loses his balance, he clutches at Quincy’s shirt with his free hand, feels a knee bruise his thigh, but that’s not important right now, he’s not sure how this happened, so the moment they stop moving he lifts his head and glances all around, ready to incinerate any threat, whether it’s fae or vampire or some other person.
But all he can see is dead heather, stones, and sand tumbling down around them. Quincy lies half under him, and blinks up at the morning sun, asks: “What?” Then, he immediately adds: “Are you hurt, Arthur?”
“…Nope, fine,” Arthur replies after he sent a quick healing spell through himself to take care of the bruises and scrapes. “Are we… at the beach? This looks like the beach?” Then he looks down at Quincy. “Are you okay?”
To his dismay, tears well up in Quincy’s eyes and he whimpers.
“No. No, I’m so not okay. I can’t do this. My head hurts from my drac howling and I wanted to get away to not hurt John or you with all these fae things that are happening. And what did I do?! If I won’t turn insane I’ll turn into my grandfather! I can’t… I can’t keep the cold away! The Divine always bloody beats me down, the world always throws stones at me. Every time I maybe think I have a future, it gets ripped away from me!”
Arthur decides that however that portal-thing happened, from what Quincy is saying, it was probably him, not Llew. And John is probably freaking out back at the castle- Arthur does think this hillside and the beach looks familiar, that they didn’t go very far.
For now, though, he sits down next to Quincy, because… “I… well, I don’t know how to help. But… but I don’t want to just sit around and wait! I want to find out what happened, I want to go look for Darcy! Would that be better? If we find a way to go look for her- in Faerie, if we have to?”
Lifting a hand up against the sky, Quincy stares at his fingers and starts crying again. “I don’t have a contract with her, no rights, no power in their eyes. What could we even barter with to try to go looking for her? I’m not my father… or…”
Suddenly, he sits up straight. “He marched into the Midnight Court not knowing a thing about being a vampire for his wife. Bloody hell, I’m not letting him be the more romantic one!”
Arthur doesn’t want to, it feels inappropriate, but he can’t help breaking into a snicker at that. “No, no, you can’t possibly let him be the more romantic one! And I’m not giving them any more than they already took, we’ll find a way to get what we want! Also, you have a blood bond with Darcy, that means you’re vampire married, even if the fae don’t get that- you’re both vampire and fae, it’s totally valid!”
At his snicker, Quincy starts to grin, only to deflate again with a sigh. “I don’t, it hasn’t taken yet. Two more days or so, two more bloody days!”
Arthur, spontaneously, hugs him. “It doesn’t matter! The important thing is what you and Darcy want it to mean, right? And… and this one’s on purpose, right? So it means way more, even if you got interrupted!”
Quincy startles in his hug, pulls a bit of a face, peels Arthur’s arms off, but then immediately puts his own around him, so… probably that wasn’t a bad thing to do?
“Yes, we wanted to be married, to share the blood, the whispers, and the sense of closeness. When her bloodbond with Gregory broke, she felt as if her drac had lost its footing, she couldn’t stop crying even though she realised that there were no feelings for him left, no obsession, no connection at all. We started ours and her drac immediately got better.” He smiles at the memory. “Mon sang du coeur. As if my crimson love really filled the hole in her heart, even if that hole was more Radu-shaped than anything else.”
Arthur leans into the hug, because if that’s how Quincy prefers it, that’s fine by him. “And her love is still with you! And maybe she’ll chew her way through those fae and come back soon. But if not, we’re not going to stop until we find her, and you can finish your blood bond.” Though… “But if it’s not finished… does that mean she’ll get worse again? Will you?”
~
“I…” Leaning his head on top of Arthur’s while exhaling slowly, Quincy sighs. “I really couldn’t tell you. It’s not as if I’ve ever done this before.”
He was filling a Radu-shaped hole. One that Darcy still grieved. Maybe, maybe Radu would know. How he can flip between being terrified of becoming the man and really thinking he needs to talk to him, Quincy doesn’t know, but then, fickle, his bloody heart tended to be fickle. Probably only more reason why he is so worried when it for once isn’t.
His love, Darcy’s love… John’s love, yes, that’s solid enough to lean on, cling to, really, and he should tell Arthur as much. Stroke his ego while he’s at it, it’s a way to take care of him, isn’t it?
“But you’re right, I’ll trust in her love and, if nothing else, then in your stubbornness that we really won’t give up until I can kiss her again.”
“I can be very stubborn,” Arthur confirms (as if that hadn’t been absolutely clear). “…Can we go back now? John is probably freaking out at us disappearing on him, too…”
“He would and he doesn’t deserve that.” Letting go of Arthur again, Quincy stands up. Divine, the things he has to consider these days. The deep care he feels for people.
Then he realises that, really, isn’t that what he wants to feel, rather than the cold?
Yes, fuck turning into his grandfather! He’s held a lantern to the grey world for so long, he might just as well do the same when the greyness has a face now. And that means he needs to campaign for more emotions all around. “I’ll have to do something about his fear of showing emotions with anybody but his girl if Cycy is missing for longer.”
Arthur gets up as well, looks up the side of the hill, probably trying to find the best ascent. “He has a fear of that? Why?”
Leave it to Arthur to overlook the obvious, but hey, all part of getting everybody more open with emotions, even if he has to do it by being a bit of an arse.
“Don’t tell him I said it out loud, but just being himself is hard for him every single day of his life. He might look like he should but that doesn’t mean he knows it here,” Quincy taps Arthur’s chest over his heart, “that others see him that way. That he doesn’t have to worry about every single word he says, every single thing he does, giving him away.”
“Oh.” Arthur seems to be considering that while he starts climbing back up the hill. “That sounds really hard. I… I guess I thought that now that he looks like himself, he’d be fine, but that was probably naive of me? Is there something I can do to help?”
“I can put you in a fancy suit but does that make you believe that you really are a noble?”
Why the hell does climbing up this hill feel like he’s basically walking on flat ground? On second thought, never mind, Quincy doesn’t want to know. He’d rather focus on the social conversation. That, he feels in control of, and he needs that desperately. And really, he might do it partially selfishly but he does want his darling to be validated by everybody in the household. “He needs all the support in feeling like a real man that he can get, so just don’t take it for granted, okay? Make it clear that you see him as the manly man he is.”
“Okay,” Arthur agrees. “I mean, I think a body is a bit more substantial than a suit in making you really look like something or other to someone else, but… I’ll do my best! …I’m not calling him a manly man, though, that would be weird…”
With a snort, Quincy waves a hand at Arthur. That one has utterly no idea what that sentence uttered by him and Darcy really means to John, but better not to even hint at that. “Oh please don’t! He’ll do that adorable routine of coughing and rubbing his neck when he doesn’t know what to say and gets flustered. No, be his…” Quincy has to actually think about it for a bit, but wait, John sometimes thinks of Arthur as ‘the kid’ and Arthur is a total sucker for Darcy protecting him, so why not widen that out a bit? And hey, he has gotten more than used to it, he’s gotten clingy about his own bro status so it isn’t deprecating, it’s nice. “Be the little brother he never got to protect and be idolised by as a real guy.”
~
“…Little brother?” Arthur considers that. With a pang, he realises: “Well… I am out a big brotherly best friend…”
“Oh honey, that’s not even a contest. John is the most protective, dedicated big brother you could ever wish for and really, he’ll need somebody to protect with Darcy missing or he’ll start drinking again.” Huffing and shaking his head, Quincy visibly sets his shoulders. “Oh no, not on my… our watch, he won’t.”
“…I don’t mind being protected.” Arthur doesn’t see why anyone would– it’s nice, isn’t it, to not always have to watch your own back, to not have to face everything yourself?
“And yeah, he’ll be way, waaaaay better- really be all the things that Gregory only pretended to be…”
Arthur scowls. The excitement of their unexpected beach trip distracted him for a moment, but now he’s back to feeling everything else, settling over him like a blanket of squirming, scratching critters. Why can’t they… why can’t they ever catch a break? Yesterday evening was so nice! Yes, even with breaking his arm and all. He was with everyone, and they were training together, and he’d felt like he was becoming really part of something for these last days, weeks- and now this.
Maybe Quincy senses it, or catches his thoughts, because he leans in and puts a kiss on Arthur’s hair, gently runs a knuckle over his cheek. “Hey, don’t think you can’t talk to me, you’re pretty upset, too.”
That makes his emotions feel only more volatile. Arthur bites his lip, hesitates, but then decides… to hell with it, and nods. “Yeah, I am… I’m just… trying to keep going, right now. But thanks.” He gives Quincy a smile he can feel wobble on his lips.
~
“Don’t do that for too long, it’s going to only get worse if you don’t deal with those emotions. But yes, let’s see that we get even one step forward.” Taking Arthur’s hand again, with a sense of at least a bit of calm because yes, clearly Arthur is letting him take care of him, clearly he has influence over those emotions, Quincy looks over at the castle. “Speaking of steps. If I have to deal with having tried to run from all that fae magic and getting us out here with one more fae heirloom sneaking up on me, let’s at least talk about it. You like examining my powers.”
The way Arthur holds on to Quincy’s hand speaks even more to his appreciation than the smile Quincy can see when Arthur starts talking: “Yes, I think it was- you wanted to get away, and next thing we know, we’re out here. That’s a bit too much of a coincidence, I think. You’re in high gear discovering new powers today!”
Just about to scoff at that having proven very useful indeed, Quincy changes his mind: No, the world is pushing him down, he won’t let it. He won’t protest against what is clearly an attempt at encouraging him from Arthur.
“If I’m faster, we can look around more places if we have to. Do we dare try it again? Get us back to John if I can?”
“Yes, it’ll be very useful, and the sooner we start trying to figure it out, the sooner you’ll have it down!” Arthur nods, holds on to Quincy’s hand, and steps closer.
Making sure he has a good grip on Arthur’s hand, then deciding that might be too dangerous and instead wrapping his arms around him, Quincy looks at the castle, glares at the castle, curses at the distance and puts a foot in front of the other.
He will do this; he bloody will not bow before the world, before the Divine always antagonising him. His queen ripped the tethers apart, he won’t let Cycy down. He will not! He will have his wife!
He can see, from the corners of his eyes, two massive, ethereal wings shimmer into existence from behind him, can feel the magic crackle underneath them right as the world falls away with his next step, moving so quickly that everything is merely a whirl of colours around him, but… There, he knows that, he’s opened it himself so many times! Right at the edge of the brightly coloured stream at his feet is Darcy’s wardrobe, and he whoops even as he feels the wood break his speed painfully.
Arthur’s clutch around him is tight and his eyes wide, and he oofs when they come to their sudden stop. “…Ouch. Where are we?”
“Darcy’s room!” With a kick Quincy gets the wardrobe door open and slides off the pile of Darcy’s underwear before he offers Arthur a hand. He’s feeling so bloody smug right now! Take that, Divine! He won’t fear what he can use. If he lets himself laugh and enjoy the fae things, maybe he can push back against them making him like his grandfather.
“…Is this why Llew showed up out of her wardrobe? Is this a fae thing?” Arthur takes his hand and climbs out himself. (Could the honey be any more obvious in trying to do his best not to notice any of Darcy’s bloomers?)
“Maybe it is, but now it’s my thing!” With that, Quincy runs over to the door and hangs himself into the corridor to shout at the top of his lungs: “Darling! Mariam! Whoever is running around there, I’m back, and so’s Arthur!”
~
Oh thank God!
Art runs over, Miss Powlett still shadowing him, and normally he’d be worried about her learning too much about the household, but his hair is still wet from where she had dumped a bucket of cold water over him to wake him up and order him to put his grown-up arse to use. The younger men of the house are apparently fighting with a door.
Because that had made sense, even less to his sleep addled brain, but by the time he had made it down to the nexus door, he only found John. At first in the process of trying to set the door on fire with an improvised bomb, and when that didn’t work, he was running off already.
Yeah, not a good morning, but at least Mina’s brat and Arthur don’t seem to actually be also missing. And he’s clearly not moving fast enough, so he just tells them: “Better run, John is dragging your nightmare into the cellar in hopes the fae beast could kick the door down. He really lost it when he thought they got you two as well.”
~
No! Fucking no! They can’t do that to him! Llew can’t do that to him!
Not his bro, too!
He can’t do this without both his dracs!
He will get that door open and if it’s the last thing he does in his life! He’ll break those stones apart by hand if he has to.
Worse, he’ll drag Lucy Jr over here and sell anything and everything to get fae backup. If he has to buy her bringing Quincy’s grandfather back to rip another door open he fucking will!
Hannibal first, though. Llew got that horse, that means it’s fae, and it fucking catches on fire. “Come on, you stubborn mule. I know you like Arthur, this is for him, too! Get down those stairs, we need to help them!”
Just about to consider if he has to tranquilize Hannibal via his power and drag him down forcefully, John catches movement, fast movement from the side.
“We’re safe!”
It’s not his girl, but when Quincy wants to, apparently he can jumphug just as fucking hard. John welcomes the impact, welcomes having at least one drac in his arms. He doesn’t care if Quincy will smack at him for it, he crushes him tight. He goes so far as to use his jittering hands to pull Quincy over into their dreamscape for a moment so he can sob at him that he was so fucking worried.
Out loud, he just shouts at him, curses him out, but he knows only too well that they understand each other. He feels safe in letting Quincy know this way and he’s not blind, he can tell how much Quincy needs him, too. Quincy hates being hugged and he’s letting him. The flighty molly isn’t shoving him off, no, he’s leaning his head against his, whispering softly at him.
Yeah, they are messes together. Bros. He has somebody he can show at least some of his pain and hurt to. He doesn’t have his girl, but he has the closest to her, and it does his heart so fucking good that he holds Quincy tight for a long moment longer before he looks at Arthur and asks what happened.
“It’s his day for discovering powers, I think he accidentally found out how the fae do their disappearing act.” Now that grin looks fucking downright smug. Is Arthur smug about their molly? Now that would be news.
But frankly, John has bigger concerns, because, fuck! Maybe that is the solution! He grabs Quincy by the shoulders to look at him. “Can you do it through the door?!”
Mouth falling open, Quincy blinks. “How didn’t we think of that?”
Arthur’s eyes are going just as big (yay, three staring dolts together). “…You went through the castle wards… Yes, I don’t know, try! …Take someone with you, John? With a gun? Just in case?”
“Where’s that sword? It did more than my guns.” John’s already running towards the weapon’s room. Another chance, they have another chance!
~
“Can you take more than one person?” Arthur asks Quincy and looks about ready to dash for a weapon himself. How is everybody so eager for violence today?
“How would I know? Let me try.” A bit awkwardly, Quincy tries to lift Arthur with one arm and just about manages, but is wobbly on his feet. He’s a minstrel, for crying out loud! He’s not a knight. He shouldn’t be carrying anybody apart from it being for care. But here he is, apparently suddenly being a war horse and really, that idiotic thought only popped into his head because he’s standing right next to Hannibal. Still, even while trying with another grip, he shakes his head. “This doesn’t seem safe.”
“…Okay, I guess better you and John go…” Arthur holds tightly to Quincy for a moment. “Don’t you dare get lost or stuck!”
He can’t help himself, he can still hear the howling, but there’s a bit more of a growl to it now, and he wants to stay on top of that feeling, so Quincy grins at Arthur right from where he’s balancing him on his hip, inches away from his face.
“Would you miss me?”
“Of course I would! Lot’s! I’d be all alone… I don’t like being alone,” Arthur admits.
Setting him down again, Quincy puts a kiss on Arthur’s forehead while glorying in the feeling of being needed. Of being able to get a comment like that out of Arthur. That he wonders if that glee about the emotion is fae he’ll just ignore for the moment. “I like being alone, but if I can get through that door, I’ll come back riding on Darcy’s wolf back and then you don’t have to be alone at all.”
“I really hope you will,” Arthur says, and leans into him for a long moment. Somebody is catching on that that’s not only okay, no, Quincy likes it, hm? Who’s taking comfort from whose presence here?
Aw, honey! Quincy caught that worried thought about very much hoping that won’t be the last time he gets to be close to him and have him there.
That much appreciation deserves a reward, so Quincy smiles, puts his arms gently around Arthur and rubs his back. He can’t promise anything, so he doesn’t, but he still tries to be extra solid for Arthur a moment longer.
Then John comes running with the sword and the mood goes from caring to daring as he lets go and dashes down the stairs because, really, he’s not good at aiming himself so he wants the shortest possible distance to travel.
~
“I’ll wait here!” Arthur calls after them, his heart pounding- this could work? God, he hopes this works! “Be safe!” Then he starts petting Hannibal’s muzzle to calm himself.
He doesn’t have to wait long before there’s a sound, or a cacophony of sounds, from below: a shrieking, crackling sort of sound, like straining glass, and lightning striking, and fabric ripping. Fae magic assaults his nose as a ripple of iridescent colour travels straight through his field of vision a moment before John’s voice comes from below, too, cursing loudly and yelling for him.
Arthur takes off and flies down the stairs, healing magic ready- at least John is clearly there, and able to talk, whatever went wrong.
Quincy is there, too, but it becomes obvious immediately why John was the one yelling. At least Arthur hopes Quincy isn’t conscious with the way his skin is still blistering as if it’s still exposed to whatever fire did the damage.
“Oh no, no, no!” Arthur mutters as he slides to a stop, but he isn’t paying any attention to what’s falling out of his mouth, or how cloying the fae magic smell is. All his concentration is focused on where he hovers his hands over Quincy and concentrates on healing as much and as fast as he can.
He can’t tell what exactly the damage is, just that there is damage- but Quincy is still alive, and it’s not more damage than his healing magic can keep up with- the blisters are fading under the stream of it. So soon Quincy will be able to shriek about his burnt hair that Arthur’s magic can’t fix, he thinks, distantly, with relief.
~
“Come on, Molly, you’re stronger than that.” As John keeps mumbling under his breath, he unthinkingly puts a hand on Quincy’s hair, tries to rearrange the burnt shorter parts to still hide his scar, he knows how much Quincy hates that scar, he doesn’t want him to have to deal with that trauma on top of everything.
It’s nothing compared to what he’s seen from Darcy, but after some healing, John notices the little shadows swirling over Quincy’s skin that tell him his dhampir healing is helping out, too. He’ll need blood, and of course John will gladly give it. He rolls up a sleeve… or at least he tries to but his arm doesn’t want to obey him.
With a look of confusion he inspects it, then can’t help a snort. He hadn’t even noticed with how focused he was on Quincy, but, of course, now that he did notice, he grunts at the pain finally managing to get his attention.
“Fuck. I think my shoulder is broken, too. Arm’s not moving and kind of hanging weird.”
“I’ll fix it in a moment,” Arthur promises, voice distant with concentration.
“Sure. I’m not asking for me. I can’t get my wrist out like this and I’ve no idea how much blood he’s burning with his own healing. Don’t need a berserked molly.”
It’s true. Sure, it hurts but he doesn’t care. He can deal. What he can’t deal with, probably, is Quincy going for either of their throats. He points at one of the most visible healing shadows with his good arm.
Although, he can command Darcy’s drac down, Quincy is a pest and a handful but… maybe his drac would also listen? They are bros, after all. Still, he doesn’t want to just hope and then learn he’s shit out of luck when it’s too late.
Just, right, they aren’t alone in the place anymore. That’s Art running down the stairs and is it weird that John wishes it was Jack? That one’s a doctor, and also, if Jack knew Darcy was missing, he’d probably already have come up with three plans to solve the problem. John feels incapable of making any progress here.
But at least he can answer when Art winces at the sight of Quincy and exclaims: “Shit, so it was you three who set the wards off! What the hell happened to Mina’s brat? Is he healing alright, that’s not a lot of healing flow?”
“Arthur’s magic’s doing the lion’s share.”
Then, a bit sheepish, he has to admit that he can’t get at his wrist up to make sure that his dhampir doesn’t blood-rage out. Fuck Art raising an eyebrow at ‘his dhampir’, it’s true and he will not back down, he stands by his bro no matter what Art might think of that.
But at least Art bends down next to them, apparently assessing the healing he can see. “You’re doing well, Arthur, that’s fine-tune work his healing is doing there, we should be in the clear.”
Just about to be relieved, John suppresses a wince when Art examines his shoulder and tells him this is going to suck. “Nothing’s broken but that shoulder is dislocated, I’ll pop it back. Pick your favourite curse word.”
To probably nobody’s surprise, that’s a “Fuck!”, very loudly, as Art fixes the problem- only for John to blink.
“What? Now it feels fine.”
Patting him on the fine-again shoulder, Art nods and John’s earlier bristling up at the man evaporates at the joking tone, the being treated as just another guy.
Now, John still tries to be nice to Arthur, so rather than quipping back he only chuckles at Art’s words:
“It’s always weird like that, going to be sore for a while though, don’t wank too enthusiastically.”
Probably for the best, going by that face, Arthur’s concentration is wavering, but he trusts him to be too focused on helping Quincy to really let that break him fully out.
~
Seeing what he did there, Art gives Arthur an apologetic smile, but gets up to check on the rest of the room. He thinks this is the first time anything actually triggered more than a passive defence. He has to say, Mina’s brat definitely is showing off who his father is, the boy packs a punch if he makes the fae nervous enough to roast him.
It’s not a comfortable thought, but if the fae really stole his sugar doll, he’d rather have Quincy on their side. Better to throw him at the defenses than one of his own boys.
Crouching down next to the door, Art runs his fingers through what looks like a puddle, only to find it solid.
Poking at it and smelling his fingers, he turns to John and asks him to come over.
~
For a moment, John is reluctant to let go of Quincy, but maybe Art spotted something important and he doesn’t want to miss anything that could bite them later.
Not that it takes him long to come up with an idea what they’re looking at.
“Well fuck, so much for my new sword. Wait, I was holding it…”
He looks down at his palm, but there isn’t a scratch on it, let alone the burn damage he suspects he should have from holding a piece of iron that got melted completely.
Did he drop it when his shoulder impacted the barrier, or did Quincy somehow…? He whirls around when he hears a moan from his molly and runs back to his side.
As he crashes down to his knees at his bro’s side, he sees Arthur take Quincy’s hand, probably to make him aware he’s there, and because Quincy is a stubborn dolt, likely also so he stays put for a moment longer so Arthur can finish up the healing.
Stubborn maybe, but fuck, what is John supposed to feel here? Even before Quincy opens his eyes he tightens his fingers around Arthur’s then coughs, coughs again, wheezes out: “John?”
That’s the first thing his bro asks about? Him? Yeah, there’s a crack in his voice when he answers.
“Right here, Molly.”
John brushes the hair back into Quincy’s face where the cough had dislodged it again, and he feels a bit overwhelmed. Both with the appreciation shown, but also because he isn’t sure he could have survived what Quincy just did and he still doesn’t know if Quincy somehow took the brunt for him or what the fuck happened, so he feels his eyes sting and he fucking hates that, so instead he quips: “You found a new makeup remover, you look worse than in the mornings.”
Managing to crack his eyes open, Quincy glares at John then wheezes out a snort (fuck is John happy to hear it).
“Look who’s talking, Mister Bed Hair.”
~
That’s an obviously relieved sigh from Arthur there, but Quincy prefers what he hears and the adorably wobbly smile:
“Don’t listen to him, you’re good as new!”
That attempt at banter deserves an answer so Quincy huffs: “Hear that? Arthur still thinks I’m pretty!”
When Arthur reaches over, though, to rest a hand on John’s shoulder, Quincy narrows his eyes. That looks like he’s healing him.
Struggling up to a sitting position, Quincy looks around. Shit! They’re back in the bloody cellar!
Realisation strikes: Arthur was healing him, is healing John now.
The fact that he was nearly burned alive settles in for real, together with his hands starting to shake uncontrollably, his breathing hitching up so fast that he can’t manage to breathe out before he tries to get the next breath in.
~
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