Chapter 70
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 69
Arthur… doesn’t know what to do. He can’t tell whether Darcy is happy or upset, because she’s both laughing and crying, and then she’s… dancing? up the walls and around the ceiling as a wolf. He does wince in sympathy when she lands on John, because the library ceiling is pretty high and she’s not that light, and going by John’s involuntary grimace, yes, that hurt. “Ummm…” he says, not sure if he should offer John some healing.
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Even while John puts his arms around Darcy, he looks over at Arthur desperately, that’s about as much as he can do to not bend over in pain. The nausea is punching him right in the gut from where she landed, but of course, his girl has no fucking concept of pain being a bad thing… or some people preferring their balls untortured… And that was fucking petty and he will not think of her that way, both her body and her level of consideration towards him, still, fucking ouch!
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Arthur decides to interpret that look as “Help, please!” and scoots over a little so he can reach John’s shoulder and heal him- and, yes, there is something to heal.
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With Arthur closer, Darcy moves, and well, doesn’t sit on his lap, she thinks he wouldn’t like that, but still, she gives him a hug and a kiss to the cheek. “Your meanie father is so stupid. Just you wait, I’m sure my plan is working out. Just a little bit longer and I’ll have you, the other you, safe!”
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Arthur does enjoy the hug, but gives her a searching look. “So you’re okay? It wasn’t too bad a vision?” Also, his father is stupid? Arthur really isn’t sure about that one…
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She shrugs in answer and climbs back on John’s lap, rubbing her face against his. “I wouldn’t say it was bad. He’s eating right up that I would dump that other you for him because he’s the more powerful man. Silly him. He doesn’t even realise that obviously Arthur and I are friends, not married. Not that he cares, I think, he just hears what he wants to hear.”
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John wonders if his feeling sick might be from the implications, or still from the pain that is gone now. Not that he isn’t used to his girl having to be the obedient wife to an arse. He’s glad that she can at least use it. She’s doing something with her challenges to still win. He only feels more powerless at the thought of having to face that vision again. Darcy went back under, what if he will, too?
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Arthur pulls a face, decides he’s not going to think closely about that, but, just… “Ew?” He shudders.
Shrugging once more, Darcy smiles at him. “The important part is that I am working towards getting my drac back! He can’t keep it, and he can’t keep me down once I have it.”
Arthur gives a hesitant nod. “Okay, I guess that’s good. But, um… I guess that also means it’s still an ongoing thing and wasn’t just a one off… Too bad. I mean, I’m not really surprised, but still… would’ve been nice if it’d just stopped.”
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“But then I wouldn’t know how the story ends!” Darcy blurts out without thinking, before blushing because right, John and Arthur were really upset with their visions. She gives John an apologetic look, but he just chuckles. “That’s so you, culver.” After thinking about it a bit longer, he asks Arthur: “Think she’s on to something there, though?”
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Arthur purses his lips in thought. “…Maybe? Like… it does feel kind of… unfinished? And, so…” He focuses back on Darcy. “So you could make things happen in the vision? Like… my father reacted to me in mine, so it’s not just something… pre-determined, I guess?”
“Oh yes, I’ve been interacting with him for… uh, I want to say weeks but time feels a little bit weird,” Darcy explains while she thinks about what she just did.
Picking it up from there, John adds that time can be off in his dreamscape, too, it can be made to fit with the story.
“…Maybe it is more like a story?” Arthur wonders. “But what’s the point of it?”
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“If it’s a curse maybe it’s a horror story?” John sure feels that his vision was one, but Darcy’s doesn’t seem to be. Then again, his girl likes being the monster in the stories they tell together. His girl only calmed down when he ripped that fucking mask off her face after he let her be a wolf instead; when he insisted on wanting her drac, not any fucking image she thinks she should present him with. So of course his girl would make herself the villain of her own horror story rather than being the terrorised protagonist.
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“Maybe,” Arthur agrees, eyes the books- not that they’ve gotten more than an initial overview so far, but that hasn’t turned up anything obvious. Well, that’d be new if something weird that happened to them was so easily solved… “But if it’s not a curse from my father, where does it come from? How did it get through the wards? And why now?”
Crossing her arms again, Darcy tilts her head before shaking it. “I don’t think your father would know how to do something like this. He doesn’t have the imagination for it. John, are you sure you don’t have a… uh aberration flu or something?”
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“I fucking what?” He knows Darcy is serious, but still, only his girl would formulate it like that. “Uh, that would be news to me.”
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Arthur gives a surprised snort at that and starts snickering. Aberration flu? “And you would notice if it was your power doing something, right?” he asks, because, well, it is a good possibility to rule out. “… Also, neither me nor Darcy were asleep for our visions, we just kind of… blanked out, didn’t we?”
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“I can do the blanking out bit if it’s a daydream.” Demonstrating on Darcy without going in himself, John keeps talking to Arthur while Darcy is slumping slightly forwards as his fingers touch her temple. “But I have never been unable to change my own dreamscape.”
Arthur looks at Darcy’s posture. “And, hm, that looks more relaxed than when she had the vision?”
“She’s just about not dozing off, but with the vision, she went slacker, right?” John tells Arthur, then wakes Darcy back up, who smiles immediately at him and he just wishes he could let himself feel how hard that still hits him. How much she trusts him, how much she makes it feel so natural and normal to have her right there, both on his lap and in their dreamscape. But that’s not the point right now. They are trying to figure out why they are having horror stories unfold.
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“Yes, I think so,” Arthur agrees with John’s assessment. Deciding that that probably rules out it being his aberration, but checking anyway, they ask the library for whatever books they can get on aberration powers, too.
The next little while is spent in research with a frustrating lack of results. Arthur manages to skim through all the sections in his father’s books that have to do with curses, but none of them describe anything remotely like what’s happening to them. Sure, there are nightmare curses, but you have to be asleep to suffer them. And sure, there are curses that cause madness and hallucinations, but then you don’t just blank out, and they’re not coherent like that, Arthur doesn’t think. There aren’t any curses to give someone waking visions, that he can find.
Darcy does a lot of growling and huffing over the aberration books, declares there’s nothing there except humans being silly and mean to them!
Arthur turns and is about to ask for something a little more specific than ‘silly and mean’ when he senses… something. Like the briefest flash of darkness crowding in from the corners of his eyes, and he has time to think: “Uh-oh…” before, yes, he’s back in the vision. Standing in front of his father, who is now frowning. Same, wrong study, and… and somehow it doesn’t feel like much time at all has passed. Darcy said something about weeks, but he thinks he’s right where he left the vision, or near enough.
He staggers backwards, feels a wall against his shoulders, while his father tilts his head and regards him like he’s a particularly puzzling spell graph. “Did you experience any problems with the summoning?”
The summoning… Gregory’s demon form is still looming behind his father there. Not moving, not talking, just waiting. And he has a flash of memory- a complicated circle, and a man in it. Not Gregory, some stranger, struggling weakly, barely conscious. Drained of blood so he doesn’t put up much of a fight, he knows somehow. And there’s a knife in his hand, and he’s consulting a spell book, and there’s a second circle with Gregory’s demon form in it, and he remembers… he remembers feeling all focused and confident and happy, like he does when he figures something out. And not caring at all about that man.
Arthur shudders, and shoves the memory away- even though he knows that this him used that knife and killed that man. “No!” he bursts out. “No, you’re not real!” He’s not sure whether he means the vision him or his father this time. “This is a vision, it’s not real, and I’m not really here!”
His father raises an eyebrow. “Delusions? Hm.” He makes a thoughtful sound. “How unfortunate your Uncle Jack isn’t here. Oh well. Your sister will take care of you.”
Sister? Uncle Jack? Arthur doesn’t have time to wonder more before his father calls: “Darcy!” in that imperious tone of his, marches over to open the door of the study. The demon follows after him. There was a part in that circle spell work to suppress it developing a personality, to make it easy to control- and Arthur doesn’t want to know that!
Darcy. Darcy is here in the vision? That’s… good, right? But it’s a nightmare vision, so Arthur can’t help but feel apprehension as he hears footsteps clatter up stairs, and then… it has to be Darcy, he can kind of recognize her, who bounces into the room and chirps: “Yes, Unca?” And also goes on her tiptoes to kiss his father on the cheek. Which is so, so wrong.
“Your brother seems to suffer some aftereffects from the summoning after all,” his father says. “I have a demon to test.” And with that, he marches out of the room after a last glance at Arthur, demon on his heels.
Arthur should really stop that. Whatever kind of tests his father would do with a demon, Arthur really needs to do something about it. But Darcy is bouncing up to him and… and she looks different? Her face isn’t as round, and she’s way taller. But still shorter than him, and that’s just wrong. And her hair is partially open and partially in some kind of complicated braid that circles around her head, and Arthur has another flash of memory of his own hands braiding that- he doesn’t know how to braid hair like that! And also, Darcy is only wearing a casual house dress which is kind of not really appropriate.
Well, neither is the way she steps up to him, and rests her hands on his chest, and looks up at him from so close. “You did so well with the summoning this time,” she… purrs? Her voice isn’t supposed to be that deep, and sure they’ve hugged before, but the way she’s pressing up against him… it’s different. Arthur feels his heart beat fast, and he tries to inch back, but he’s against the wall.
“Do I have to bite any meanie necrosphere leeches for you again?”
Necrosphere leeches? Arthur has no idea what those are… except he does. He does, vision him has a memory of that grey skin and those double-pupiled eyes and he knows that, and he doesn’t want to think about that, about that day and what he did and how Gregory died and all the fear and helplessness. He shakes his head, not so much in response to her question but in denial of the memories, shudders.
Darcy pouts up at him. She’s still way, way too close. If anything, she’s pushing even closer, and that- no, that’s just wrong, and the way she’s looking at him is wrong, it makes him feel all cold and queasy inside. And then she says: “Why are you so upset? You smell upset. Do you want me to fuck it better?” And she grins, and he can see her fangs. “I know how you like it.”
Arthur feels like everything in him locks up, his breath, his heart, his limbs and his bones and his stomach. No. No, he can’t, he doesn’t want to, he… it’s just a vision, it’s not real, he’s not really here and this isn’t really happening and he can’t really feel Darcy’s hands and the press of her body against his chest and his stomach and his thighs and this is all wrong, and… and…
And he barely notices that the vision breaks, because he feels sick, he feels so cold and his limbs are like water and he curls up and whimpers and his stomach is crawling into his throat and he can’t get enough air and his skin feels numb and like it’s trying to shudder away from his flesh, away from the memory- no, he can’t remember, no, he has to shut out Darcy’s voice, her words, he has to get away, but he can’t, he can’t because his limbs won’t move, all he can do is curl up around the churning in his gut and gasp and shudder and try to… to think of something else, anything else.
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No! No no no! What can she do?! Arthur had stopped breathing, fallen sideways on the sofa and of course, John jumped. Of course he tried to help. But when he put his fingers to Arthur’s temple he spasmed and now he’s even worse than Arthur. At least Arthur seems to have come out of the vision at her pleading and gentle shaking, but he’s a shuddering mess.
What can she do? She feels so helpless, so terribly helpless. She can’t bite problems like this. She can’t fight them! There’s an anger rising in her stomach and her drac is telling her that yes, Gregory is coming closer, came closer from the moment she felt so bitterly helpless. But what’s that going to do? No, Gregory can’t help, never does. She hates that thought but the thought of Gregory reminds her of Llew and she hates him, too, but he… he’s more helpful than Gregory when she just pays him, so, with a lash of self-hatred, she cries out for him, begs him for help.
He’s there, just a second later he’s there in that silly glitter of his and with that creepy smile. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about herself. It’s just her body, she can do this. She has to, she has to help Arthur and John, so she whirls on Llew, throws herself at him, and shows him all those emotions he’s always grinning over.
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Oh, now that looks like he is getting laid tonight! Llew listens to Darcy’s words spluttering out of her, the explanation of visions and other thems and how Arthur and John are struggling. Well, serves them right if they can’t handle a winter trial. But there’s Darcy, shuddering in his arms, eyes tearstained and he can still see her disgust with him stream off of her, but there’s a desperation to her that tells him he has her in his pocket. Good, he’ll make her pay hard for the little bit of information he needs to tell her. “It’s a fey trial. You are supposed to overcome versions of yourselves who are failures. Helping others is cheating; of course John gets punished by the rules.”
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This is fey? That means Llew can help! Yes! With one last push on herself, Darcy shows her fangs and promises him he’ll get what he wants if he just helps! Yes, yes, it’s a deal! Just do something!
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Not that he actually can, but she doesn’t need to know that, so Llew makes a show of checking over John. Pulse is something humans have, right? Well, he’s not sure what it should be, but it’s there. Llew tells her that John’s likely fully in his vision now. It’s up to him to be strong enough to break free, likely against higher odds with the cheating he did. Oh, and Arthur over there just has an emotional breakdown, shoo, not part of his job, she can see to him. Her husband is in, by the way, too. (Of course he is, his kind would hone in on its primary hook’s emotions like that, but now Llew has her in a deal. She’s his!)
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Darcy can’t focus on that right now. Gregory will have to, for once, see to himself for a little bit. Kneeling next to Arthur, Darcy puts her hand on his cheek and tries talking softly to him. “It’s not real. Whatever your meanie father did. It’s not real. Please, Arthur-dear. You’re in the library with me. Can you hear me?”
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He’s going to throw up. Any moment now, Arthur’s going to throw up. But maybe, if he just puts it off a little bit more- breathing. He has to breathe, breathing makes it better. He just has to wait it out and breathe and not think. He can see nothing except his arms he has wrapped around himself, a bit of his chest. Dark sleeves- so dark blue they’re almost black. The right sleeves. The sleeves in his vision are more blue, less black. This is right, this is him. There’s a soft sofa under him.
And that’s Darcy’s voice- at first he wants to flinch away from it, but no- it’s the right voice. It’s lighter, and concerned, and she calls him “Arthur-dear”. It’s the right Darcy’s voice, and there’s none of… that in it. She wouldn’t, not ever. She’s his friend. And she’s married to Gregory. And she likes John. No, it’s the real Darcy, the one who is nice, who isn’t weird and creepy. (He didn’t say any of that out loud, did he? He hopes not.)
He tries to keep breathing, nods a little that he hears her. He still can’t make himself uncurl- he needs to be safe and protected and hidden and small, but… but he can breathe again. His stomach still churns, still feels sour and aching, but the pressure in the back of his throat is fading. He can swallow, even though it hurts.
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What is Arthur mumbling about? Why would she be weird and creepy? What did that her do? Oh… he’s freaking out, like he normally only ever does when… oh no, that her must see him differently, maybe that vision is like her Daddy thought? It’s really her and Gregory and him?
More importantly now though, there was that little nod… oh, oh, maybe Darcy can help? She rushes off as fast as she can, runs hard and apologizes for startling Katharina when she thunders into Arthur’s room on her paws. There, right there is the plushie she gave him, and she just about remembers to not jump on Arthur’s bed to retrieve it but still, it’s hard to not ignore all those concerns. Being right back in the library, she tries to stick the plushie underneath his arms with her snout while making little whining noises at him, trying to soothe him.
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Something soft… and a snout with a warm nose and short, bristly fur and whiskers- Darcy in her wolf form. Arthur manages to unclench an arm to pull the soft thing close to himself- spotted fur and a long tail, the stuffed genet Darcy gave him.
Because this is the right Darcy and she’s sweet like that. Arthur hugs the genet to his chest, feels himself starting to cry. Which is embarrassing, but it’s also making him feel better, and he reaches out his other arm to give Darcy a clumsy hug around her wolf shoulders.
He’s safe. Her wolf fur and her whining noises make him feel safe. They remind him of her carrying him through the snow in the trap book, and being with her in London, how all the big, scary men gave them a wide berth.
He’s okay. He makes himself take some more deep breaths, and to stop sniffling. After another few moments, he manages to sit up, and he scrubs a hand across his face, more embarrassed than freaked out now.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
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With a soft scoff, Darcy puts her front paws up on the sofa and, after just a moment of hesitation, licks at Arthur’s cheeks to get his tears off him. She wants to just give him time but… but maybe he can heal John? Or is that cheating and then he’ll get punished, too? She doesn’t know, but after one more lick she also checks on John. He’s so pale, so very pale and it scares her. She can’t protect him. She can only sit there next to him and trust in his own strength. He’s her big, strong man, isn’t he? Surely he’ll be fine.
She tells Arthur what Llew, of course nowhere to be seen now, explained to her. The little bit he did. She sold herself for so very cheap. Well, that’s exactly the kind of harlot she is, not just a whore, a cheap one at that. Good for Gregory.
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Arthur still feels embarrassed, but that doesn’t stop him from clutching the stuffed genet to his chest. Maybe it’s a silly, childish comfort, but he’ll take it. And… John got punished for trying to help him? That makes guilt join the tumult of emotions inside of him, but there’s no time for that now. He leans over to check on John’s pulse. It’s fluttery and weak, and he bites his lip. After a moment of hesitation, he pulls his hand back.
“…I’m not sure I could heal this, if it’s a fey thing, and so… so I think it’s too big a risk to try, in case you’re right and the magic also considers that interfering? …A trial, hm. That means there’s… an end goal?”
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Stroking her hand gently over John’s cheek as she talks, Darcy tries not to sniffle. “He said something about winning over failed versions of us. He didn’t say much, just that John will need to break free on his own. I don’t know what breaking free… no, wait, he said ‘of his own strength,’ and did I hear him mumble the word ‘winter’?” Llew tends to give her more info than he thinks he does; her ears are good after all.
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“Winter?” Arthur tilts his head. “What does that mean?” His voice still sounds stuffy from crying, and he curls a little tighter around the genet. Trying to think about it tactically… isn’t quite working. “Break free of our own strength?” He shivers. “…I don’t want to go back…” he admits.
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“I’m sorry I can’t protect you.” Now Darcy really is sniffling. She hates this, hates it so much. She can deal with the vision, there’s something, someone she can fight and somebody she can protect. But here, right now, she feels so powerless, so helpless, so unable to be good for the people she cares about.
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Seeing Darcy get upset, Arthur hesitates, then scoots a little closer to her. This is real Darcy, not vision Darcy. She’d protect him, she’d never hurt him! And whenever he has to go back into the vision (he feels a sour churn at the thought), he’s going to remember that! He’s not… he’s not just going to stand there, no, he can… he can fight, maybe? Because real Darcy would never do something like that to him and if this fake Darcy does then… then he doesn’t have to hold back! “…You did protect me, though,” he points out, nods to the genet he’s clutching.
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Leaving her hand on John’s cheek, Darcy also reaches to gently take one of Arthur’s. “It’s so little. I’m not good with… well, you know, all this social stuff. I can’t bite your fear. I’m sorry.”
She just about finishes the sentence, then has to scramble to let go of both Arthur and John to stand up quickly enough. She will not let Gregory barrelling into her hurt those two. John needs her to keep Gregory away… always has, but now even more so when he can’t fight physically. And of course Gregory tells her that he could feel how upset she is and came right away. Why does that make her feel angry rather than relieved? In either case, she sits him down across from them. Did he have any dreams or visions?
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Arthur… Arthur feels odd. Like… he should be relieved that Gregory is here? That he’s alright, he’s evidently not a demon under his father’s control, that there’s someone else there to help. But… but instead he feels a flare of annoyance, because he’d wanted to reassure Darcy that, well, that knowing she’d protect him is already helping with facing the vision, a little at least. But now they’re interrupted, and it doesn’t… it doesn’t feel right to say it in front of someone else, including Gregory. And they need to focus on any information Gregory can give them. Gregory opens his mouth to answer, and then his face kind of freezes and his eyes go glassy.