Chapter 5
Previously: Obsidian: Ash and Moonbeams – Chapter 4
“Aw shit, somebody’s going into shock.” Art moves past Arthur and scoops Quincy up into his arms. “John, which room? He needs to get away from the reminders. Arthur, start a bath, throw whatever fancy lady stuff sugar doll has in there, anything so he can’t smell his hair.”
Arthur blinks in surprise at Art being caring for Quincy- he thought he didn’t like him much? But he nods, his healing finished, there wasn’t much for it to do with John, and dashes off to Quincy’s room to ask the house for a bath for him, and… have a look if Quincy has his own fancy lady stuff, because he really kind of thinks Quincy would.
~
Of course Quincy does, as John knows, which is why he also tells Art to get them to Quincy’s room. Once they are there, though, he just about lets Art bring Quincy in before he tells Arthur and Art to get out. That’s his bro, who he knows hates nothing more than care he didn’t ask for.
There’s no way he’s going to let him down by having a fucking group around him in that state. He might not be able to carry Quincy, but his bro wouldn’t want that anyway.
Instead, he gets one of Quincy’s arms over his shoulders and walks him over to the bathtub.
Quincy’s clothes are seared. The fire didn’t leave them alone, not that John would have been surprised if it did.
Fucking fae magic.
He can see Quincy’s fingers slipping off the buttons repeatedly. His bro is trying so hard but this is too much, so John reaches out and gets the buttons open for him with a grinned: “Remember how you never fed me while I had to see to Darcy? Yeah, I definitely never undressed you.”
That doesn’t get more than a wheezed gasp of a laugh, but it’s better than nothing.
Especially because it’s kind of only a half truth.
No, of course John never actually undressed Quincy for any of the threesomes, but has he pulled shirts off of a sleepy dhampir? Yeah, he has.
Nothing weird about that. And… actually, nothing weird about the bath thing either. Not as if John didn’t grow up in a culture with bathhouses. Just because he was shit out of luck about getting in there with other guys doesn’t mean this is anything to even think about. Also, not as if he hasn’t seen the molly naked a hundred times.
“Get your stork legs over the bathtub rim before I shove you.”
He knows he’s making his words harsher because his hands are gentler, but… this is Molly, he’s the very last person after Darcy who would ever question him.
Nah, just drac care.
Protecting him from his own fears, and that John will always do for his dhampirs.
~
Finding themselves in front of a door slammed shut in their faces, Art starts laughing and crosses his arms. “What’s he so nervous about? As if I never fussed over Jack when he got hurt.”
With Quincy telling him about how John is worried people won’t see him for himself even with the right body, Arthur can take a guess what John is nervous about. And he doesn’t know how much Art knows, or how much John wants him to know. “Um… maybe let him know that?” he offers. “I think he’s worried we won’t think he’s tough enough…”
“Tough enough? The boy’s made of nails and gunpowder. I’m proud of him.” Shaking his head with what looks like a fond smile to Arthur, Art claps him on the shoulder and nudges him to walk along. “But fine, I’ll tell him after he’s done helping his best friend. Probably should tell him over a round of sword training, because it’s starting to be funny that he still hasn’t realised what his sabre means.”
Arthur makes a note to definitely tell John that Art thinks that about him, but gives Art a confused look. “What his sabre means? Um… what does it mean?”
“That’s my own military sabre, who do you think would I gift that family heirloom to, hm?” There’s a warm smile to Art’s words and softness to his eyes as he steers them towards the kitchen. Arthur feels a little pang of… something, and shoves it away- he’s happy John has someone looking like that about him!
“…A family member?” he guesses. He glances back at the way they came, and adds: “What happened?” Then realises: Um, you don’t know what happened, do you?” He turns back to Art, realizes the man arrived after him and so knows less than him. …How much less than him? it occurs to him to wonder. He seems very cheerful, does he know…?
“A son.” Still smiling, Art looks over at Arthur, then chuckles. “And I know that sugar doll is missing, but Lucy hates when I turn into a worrywart, I always do. She’s been mind-controlling the living hell out of me through the blood bond so that I can function at all.”
“Oh.” Arthur says, blinks. “You, uh… you don’t mind being mind-controlled…?” And if he feels another one of those pangs at John getting to be the son of someone… well, someone nice… He shoves it aside again, because: Happy for John. He deserves it.
“If you had asked me that six months ago, you would have gotten hunter propaganda and a man obsessed with revenge, now, nope, that’s my wife knowing what’s best for me and doing it. I don’t mind. Pretty sure she asked my personal doctor, too.”
Art chuckles again, then looks around the kitchen. “My personal doctor who’s also my preferred chef, but I guess I’ll have to fend for myself here. How about you fill me in on the full situation over some food?”
Chef? Arthur assumes Art is talking about Dr Seward. Who really did great cooking at Christmas, and Arthur’s stomach rumbles at the mention of food- right, yes, there has been a lot of running around and excitement this morning, and he’s used a lot of magic, all on an interrupted breakfast. And it’s much nicer to think about being hungry and food than about how Christmas isn’t so long ago, and how Darcy was there, and how they all had fun together. So he nods in agreement. “Well, yes, I guess if you trust her and she does it to help… and you know about it, I guess that makes it okay.”
“Trust her? I love her, have for the last twenty years when she was just a memory of a life we never had. Now I have her and my best friend back, all thanks to sugar doll. If sugar lips wasn’t helping me, you’d find me curled around a bottle of liquor in the smoking room, probably getting berated for being a useless piece of shit by Miss Powlett. And rightfully so.” Shaking his head with a scoff, Art starts rummaging around the kitchen. “But important things first, a second cup of coffee! I got woken up a bit abruptly, after all.”
“That doesn’t sound very constructive,” Arthur agrees- wonders about reminding Art that the house can just make things, but decides that the man probably knows that at this point and if he wants to do things himself, that’s up to him. So he himself takes a seat and asks the house for a cup of tea. And then he’s stumped on where to start with the ‘filling in about the full situation’. There’s so much, and… and so much has to do with Gregory, and things Arthur didn’t see, and that hurt and make him angry and that he hasn’t had any time to properly think about.
Art looks over his shoulder, probably at the sudden silence, and then turns around from his kitchen work and leans against the counter.
“Do you want to talk about it or would you be more comfortable if I ignore that you are clearly upset? I’ll give you the space, but only if you promise to talk to somebody about it, okay?”
Arthur looks up from his tea cup, surprised that Art noticed. “Um… I don’t know, you asked what happened, and…” He bites his lip, feels uncertainty shimmering in his gut and mind. “Quincy offered, and I probably will, just… I don’t know where to start or how to tell you what happened without…” He breaks off, realizing he’s rambling.
“Mina’s brat seems good at getting through people’s emotional armour, yeah, definitely talk to him.” Art grabs his coffee mug and sits down across from him with a smile. It’s a nice smile. “And go on if you want to; I’ll listen even if it takes a while. Sometimes the best way to say something is by making big circles around it.”
“…That seems inefficient,” Arthur says, but not with much force behind it. He looks down at his tea cup. His stomach rumbles again, and he decides he might as well eat while he finds out how many circles he needs.
He asks the house for some eggs and toast and sausages- and that seems a vague enough starting point:
“My breakfast got interrupted when…” Now he has to deal with the churning worry again, and he sets his tea cup down for a moment, looks into it. “When John came down and it turned out Darcy wasn’t with anyone and we’d been tricked- she told Quincy she’d be with John, and John she’d be with Quincy, and obviously she’d never do that on her own, so…”
~
“No, sugar doll wouldn’t lie.” Art’s just not going to ask about details, he can make guesses, it’s dhampirs. Also, Ms Powlett already told him that part, so he knows that John ran off pretty much yelling for Llew’s head. “Do you have any motive figured out so far? Did we get any fae comment apart from the house defences?”
~
Arthur scowls and stabs a sausage in frustration. “Nothing substantial. Something about… fae politics, or diplomacy, and contracts, or something…? John was the one who got hold of Llew, at least for a moment. But I don’t think he got much out of him.” He’d like to believe that ‘their’ fae can’t just do something to Darcy, that there’s got to be a way to get her back, a loophole or something, but… He’s not that optimistic, he realises with a sour feeling in his stomach.
~
“For once I’m inclined to agree with Mina. Damn spring court.” Slurping on his coffee, Art shakes his head, then remembers something completely different, maybe just because he doesn’t think they’ll get very far here. “After breakfast we really should get your horse out of the corridor by the way. At least that, I think we’ll have good chances of success with.”
~
That makes Arthur blink, and then he groans. “…I forgot him! I’m going to have to bribe him with so many snacks to make him forgive me! …Also, he’s probably wandering around and chewing on the tapestries or something.” That’s an amusing thought, at least.
Really, he wishes earning Hannibal’s forgiveness with much petting and bribing were his biggest problem.
~
“They’re fae tapestries, fine by me if they get chewed up.” Kind of grinning about that thought is so much nicer, but of course, he’s only mind controlled out of worrying, not out of thinking, and maybe, just maybe, he should actually do one thing he’s been mulling over since last night while he can’t go down the emotional drain. “So, mind if I check something with you? Something I’ve been wondering about and I wasn’t really present for.”
~
“Uh, sure?” Arthur says, even while he wonders what it could be- whether he should be apprehensive about it. But then there’s an odd, soft scuff of steps outside, and a moment later, no one other than Hannibal nudges the door open and sticks his head into the kitchen.
Whether he’s heard his name or smelled the food or was just exploring, his ears flick happily into Arthur’s direction, and then he marches into the kitchen.
Which suddenly seems a lot smaller, with a being the size and shape of a horse in it.
“Uh,” says Arthur, and blinks. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to just leave you by yourself, um, did you want to get back outside…?” He motions at the kitchen door.
But Hannibal stops by his chair, his hooves quieter on the tile floor than Arthur would’ve expected, and he somehow manages to fold his legs under and lie down without knocking anything over or even bumping into a table leg. He does take up about half the available floor space in the kitchen this way, but it’s not like that’s a problem. And then he puts his head onto Arthur’s lap like he’s an overgrown cat, and Arthur finds himself smiling down, because… he has the best horse ever!
Whom Darcy gave to him. It makes tears sting his eyes again while he scratches Hannibal’s forelock and then feeds him a piece of his sausage.
Then he looks back up at Art, sheepish. “Um, right, what did you want to ask?”
~
Not as if Art doesn’t know that Arthur’s horse isn’t quite normal, but that still has him chuckle. That one is even more like a good, loyal dog than some other horses he’s seen. Can smell his owner’s discomfort at a distance that one. He’s glad Arthur has a companion like that… and now Art misses some of his terriers over the years. But it’s just for a moment, because he has more than companions now, damn, he’s only been over here for a day and he already misses Lucy and Jack.
But maybe he can do something for them while he’s here, apart from dadding on the kids, he means.
“Can you maybe tell me how Darcy and Gregory got together originally? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that story.”
~
Arthur’s fingers tighten on Hannibal’s velvety muzzle, and he knows he just sort of… twitched at the mention of Gregory out of nowhere. “Oh, uh… I… I’m not actually too sure myself? At first, she didn’t like him,” he remembers, “and then they suddenly… were together?”
And Gregory is, probably, most likely… a demon. Which he should tell Art about.
But then he has to admit to how that’s his fault again, and what if Art gets mad about it? Just because Quincy and John weren’t, doesn’t mean… Art’s an adult. He’s probably going to be mad about it. Someone really should be mad at him about it.
At least now he has Hannibal here to hide behind.
~
Art can see that Arthur is nervous. not as if it’s not obvious that Art is still furious about what Gregory pulled, what Art had to ask Lucy to do because of the stupid boy, but he can focus on calming Arthur down that he doesn’t hold him responsible for his friend’s mistakes after he hopefully dispels a nasty suspicion of his.
“So whirlwind romance, hm? Vampire style ‘only drinking from him’ romance by any chance?” He’s trying not to sound too obvious about what his suspicion is, but it’s hard.
Art so hopes he’s wrong, but all his years of hunter training are ringing the alarm bells.
~
“Um,” Arthur says, and frowns, because… Art is trying to sound casual but that’s a leading question if he’s ever heard one. It niggles oddly at him.
“…Maybe?”
It feels like so long ago, even though it was just this autumn- barely half a year ago. “Darcy… was pretty freaked out by the blood-drinking at first.” Which… seems odd, now. “So we kind of… made blood cakes. But then, pretty soon, nobody asked me to have a turn donating for those anymore. Even though it’s not like I minded? But I don’t think she went hunting?” That was such a thing later, when Dr Seward insisted, with that whole straw situation, wasn’t it? “So… it must’ve been Gregory…?”
Demon blood. Only demon blood. His mind wants to jump to something, there’s something bad about this, his gut is already there, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. He scratches Hannibal’s mane absently while he tries to nail the thought down.
~
‘Must have been Gregory’ is not a watertight thing, but it’s close enough for Art to groan and push his coffee cup against his cheek for a moment before looking sideways at Arthur. He’s not Jack, he is shit at this asking questions thing, but if he can, he’d like to not hand his suspicion to Arthur but have him make a guess himself. The kid read all those books about dhampirs and vampires after all. And he saw the absolute shitshow it must have been when Darcy was obsessed with John. Art only heard about it and he feels bad about it, so he can guess how that was to see first hand. “So Darcy drank only from Gregory when… they got together?”
~
“She must have. Which…”
Wait. Dhampirs and vampires drinking from only one person is a big no-no. He knows that!
…He knows that now.
He feels his eyes widen.
“That’s… But wouldn’t she…? But obsession…?”
~
And there it is. Yupp. The thing Art really hoped he was just being his usual worry wort about, but Arthur’s a smart cookie, if Jack says it, the kid is likely smarter than Art himself.
“Fuck, not just me who, when poking at it, started wondering. Yeah, obsession, you were there when she had it with John, right?”
~
Arthur nods, dazed. “I… I didn’t understand it? At first? Fuck, we didn’t know about it! But she got all jealous…”
She became jealous over Gregory too, didn’t she? Maybe? He can’t put his finger on a definite memory or moment, but it feels like she did. “It… It could really be…” He clutches at Hannibal’s head in his lap, and is glad that there’s much to clutch there, because… He whimpers a little.
“That’s… Oh no.”
It really is all his fault, isn’t it?
~
“I know he’s your friend, but Arthur, that’s just not right. She… when we did that damn ritual, it was John she called for, not Gregory. I can’t let her be married to somebody she doesn’t actually love. I’m sorry, but I am going to get them divorced.”
It’s been months, with teenagers, and his sugar doll is tiny. If she was pregnant, he is sure he’d have spotted it by now.
No, Art’s pretty sure this will not even be a difficult divorce, legally speaking.
How that stupid boy Darcy unknowingly chained herself to is going to react though, yeah, that’s going to be way more of a headache.
Reassuring Jack about him having condoned the whole damn thing because he didn’t dare not to is going to be probably even worse.
Ugh, typical, he won’t even be able to relax once they have Darcy back from the fae.
~
Arthur blinks at Art, because… divorce?
He gives a choked laugh.
That would’ve seemed like such a… problem and solution in one just a little while ago, but now… No, he’ll have to own up to it.
“No, it’s worse, it’s so much worse, and… and it’s my fault, really…” He falters, bites his lip, and nervously pets Hannibal some more. Who gives a snort and a nudge as if to tell him to get on with it.
The fact that Art just smiles at him kindly and tells him that he doubts that but he’ll listen only makes it worse. Arthur shakes his head.
“No, you see… you see, we’re pretty sure… Gregory’s not… my friend. He’s…” He swallows. “He’s a demon. I did a ritual, back in August, because Gregory… died, and I knew it didn’t work properly, but he came back and he said he was himself, and I wasn’t sure whether to believe him, but then… but then everything happened, and we ended up here, and maybe…”
He has to clear his throat.
“No, not maybe, I just wanted to believe him, that he was himself and that he wasn’t… bad, or just pretending, and then he and Darcy fell in love, supposedly, and I…” He ducks his head. “I suppose I just… wanted it to be true?”
~
Uh… well shit.
Art lets his cup sink to the table. Is he ever glad Lucy pulled his worry out of him, because there’s about a shitton of things with that he could worry about… Then, apparently, his noble training kicks in. Or is that his ruthlessness? He’s not sure and he’s even less sure if he should say anything but… no, Arthur looks like six months of misery piled high, so important things first. Love first. He’s wasted enough years on revenge.
“So I decided to become a murderer because I lost somebody I loved and you decided to try necromancy. Kind of think I win the shit race here, don’t you think?”
~
Arthur stares at Art for a long moment, because… what does he even say to that?
“You’re… not mad at me? It’s all my fault! I did that stupid ritual, and now she married a demon and even got blood-obsessed with him, and he’s been hurting her, and… and I think she didn’t tell me because she thought I’d side with him, and I’ve just been stupid and oblivious and we did that other ritual and Quincy said maybe she actually really liked Radu,” (Quincy had said that, and in the moment, Arthur hadn’t even fully registered it, but… but, what?!,) “and… and now she’s missing, and a divorce isn’t even going to be enough, now I… now I need to figure out how to kill him…”
It’s all too much, and to his embarrassment, Arthur can’t stop a sob, or the tears, and he hunches down in his chair and hides his face against Hannibal’s forehead, who lifts his head to nuzzle at his chest.
~
Yes, definitely love before revenge, because Art could pretty easily give Arthur a much longer list of atrocities he’s at minimum partially at fault for. After all, nineteen years of stupid and oblivious on his record, yeah, not much of a competition here.
Instead, he gets up and sits down on the chair next to Arthur rather than across from him and starts ruffling his hair. “I know it feels like shit. It really, truly does, you saw me cry on Lucy. But there is one thing I can take off your shoulders here. You don’t have to kill him, or even figure out how to. Darcy made him a member of the Order of Galahad. They have specialists for just this kind of case. Their knights all are on paper so that the nobility can control them. One letter from us that her postulant is hurting his noble ward and every member of Galahad is after him. He won’t be any problem at all.”
~
Arthur can’t recall anyone ever… just touching him the way Art is doing right now. Especially not after he fucked up.
It’s nice.
So he dares to look at him, sniffles. “But… just like that? Darcy… Darcy isn’t here to give evidence? But then, I guess he’s an aberration, so… But he’s so tough! What if he hurts someone else? And it’s my mess, shouldn’t I be the one to clean it up?”
~
“Kid… Arthur… son…” Now he’s stumbling for words, but Art wants to make it better. The poor kid needs a dad who actually teaches him what taking responsibility means. Not just blindly running after having to do it himself. “The ones he’s most likely to hurt are us. None of us is a trained exorcist. You are cleaning it up by making the right decision on telling those who are qualified. It’s okay, you are still a responsible person. A good person. Remember when we told the police about being blackmailed? This is similar. Just like that.”
~
Arthur processes that for a few silent moments. Hannibal puts his head back down on his lap with a huff, as if to say that he should listen to Art. (Who also called him ‘son’, which is… probably just a figure of speech, but also… nice. No one’s called him that before, either.
It’s much better than ‘boy’.)
“So we tell them we think he’s possessed by a demon and then… it’s just over?”
~