Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alive.  

Arthur can barely believe it, really; he had been expecting - no, he had known - for so long that he wasn’t going to be making it out of this alive. He was okay with that; so long as he could stop Kayne, and maybe save John in the process, he would be satisfied with the life he had lived. He deserved death, really; there had been too many second chances, second chances which many kinder, better people than he never received.  

But alas, death had lost its grip on him once again, and now he was back in the Waylay, talking with John and the Manager just as he had before. Arthur couldn’t stop himself from smiling slightly. Whether he deserved this life or not, he certainly wasn’t going to give up the opportunity to live it alongside John once more. 

Kayne is still a worry of course; despite the Manager’s reassurances, Arthur knows the nightmare realm is never going to be a perfect solution forever. He just had to hope that if Kayne found his way out again, Arthur’s life would have long since ended. He had played his part in stopping Kayne, and that was not an experience he ever wished to repeat. He was far from ready to settle down and lead a peaceful life however – there was still so many loose ends, so many people he needed to see again and cases to investigate further. He just had to return to Arkham, and then his life as a P.I. can continue. Different from before, very different, but perhaps not in a bad way.  

“So... what now?” Arthur asked. 

The Manager falls silent for a moment. 

“Well. Here’s the thing Arthur - I could send you back to Arkham. The office has been restored, and the Obelisk is back in safekeeping. In terms of damage, it’s as if the events of today never happened.” 

There’s another pause. Arthur doesn’t say anything – the Manager knows what he wants. He just has to hope he will give it. 

“But...” John prompts, clearly attempting to end the tense silence. 

“But there’s other worlds which need help. I’m going to send you to a new world, Arthur.” 

Silence again. Arthur’s speechless. As if saving one world wasn’t enough, he knows now he’s just being toyed with again. Beings more powerful than himself, expecting him to solve any issues they can’t be bothered dealing with personally. Hasn’t he earned a rest?  

John was clearly equally angry about this, protesting immediately 

“You cannot be serious! We just saved our world; you can’t expect us to go save all of them at risk!” 

“And ours still needs us too,” Arthur added quickly. “What about Noel? And what happened to Anna Stanczyk? And is Oscar okay? And Daniel? And there’s so many beings we never fully stopped! Mother Darkness swore vengeance on me, and Malam could escape the Hollow, and Horig, back in England- and what of Alia, too? Is she still sleeping? And everyone else back in-” 

“Calm down,” the Manager finally interrupts. “These people will all be fine without you. The entities you speak of have all existed for thousands of years without intervention and can do so for thousands more without bringing about the end of the world. This universe is different. There are people who need your help there. They don’t know it yet, and will likely try their very best to get rid of you. But they need you. If you don’t help, their world will end, and then countless others will be affected when they attempt to fix it. If you intervene now, this can all be prevented. And hey, if you fix it, you can go back to Arkham! The apocalypse is due for them in just a few years. If you stop it in time, you can return to the home you want so badly in no time at all!” The Manager begins to laugh slightly, quickly suppressing it into a quiet chuckle. 

Arthur sighs in resignation. “Okay. What do we have to do?” 

“What? Oh, I have no idea. Figure it out! That’s what you’re good at, right?” 

“Manager, this is-” John snaps, but his voice is cut off abruptly as the whole world begins to move around them, changing as they are moved once more to a new, unknown world. 

*** 

“Statement ends. This is… uh…” Jon pauses, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. While he would never admit it, that statement took a lot out of him, and the feeling of being watched still hadn’t completely faded after the statement. Taking a breath, he continued. 

“Excuse me, reading that was, um… hmm. While I am pleased that we have… found the statement that Prentiss gave the Institute, it answers far fewer of our questions than I would have hoped, and gives us little new information about her than we had before, save for a snapshot of her mental condition before her hospital admission. We were already aware of her religious history, and her breakdown over an ant infestation that apparently led to her termination from her work at the Good Energies spiritual supplies shop in Archway. 

The wasps’ nest is interesting. The paramedics report claims that when they and the police responded to reports of screaming at Miss Prentiss’ flat on Prospero Road, they found her in a loft space, passed out, with her forearm buried up to the elbow in “pulped organic matter”. This could indeed have been a wasps’ nest, I suppose, but no nearby residents reported to have seen any wasps in the area. Unfortunately, it could not be examined further, as later that night, there was a fire that-” Jon cuts off suddenly as he hears a thud followed by loud cussing outside his door. 

Jon sighs in annoyance. Must be Martin dropping tea again. The man really couldn’t be less professional if he tried. Jon still doesn’t know why Elias gave him the job – the team would be much more efficient if it was just him, Tim and Sasha. As awful as the Jane Prentiss situation had been for Martin, Jon would be lying if he said he hadn’t been a little disappointed when he came back. Or at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. He couldn’t let anyone ever think otherwise, after all.  

“Give me a moment,” he says to the tape recorder, which stays as silent as it always is. Which makes sense, seeing as tape recorders aren’t alive. Jon was still trying to reassure himself of this as he headed towards the door. 

“If this happens one more time Martin,” Jon starts, opening the door, “I’ll have to put in a complaint to Elias. This can’t keep-”  

Jon stops as he looks out at a man standing in the corridor, looking around intensely while muttering to himself. He looks a mess; his short hair looks like there was an attempt to style it before giving up and deciding to go skydiving instead, and his ragged clothes look like they would have been considered posh fifty years ago. The man seems to take a moment to notice him, and when he finally does his intense yellow gaze seems to settle just past Jon, almost like he’s looking through him. Jon dislikes him already, and decides to make this clear. 

“Who are you?” He snaps, in the most professional voice he can muster. “And why are you in my archive?” 

Chapter Text

By the time Arthur’s mind has finally cleared and the world feels like it’s stopped spinning quite as fast, the Manager and the Waylay are long gone, leaving just silence.

Arthur didn’t need to see to know he was somewhere new now. Not Arkham. Probably not anywhere he’s been before. He spits out a final curse of contempt to the Manager, struggling to his feet and trying to ignore his throbbing head as it adjusted from the movement between worlds. He dusts off his clothes, crumpled and battered from his time in the Dreamlands and his fight with Kayne.

“So,” he starts. “Where has our good friend the Manager kindly left us now?”

“I... I don’t know, Arthur.” John’s voice is cautious, clearly trying to figure out what he’s seeing. “We seem to be in a building, but it’s unlike any we've been in before. The lights are so bright, the white of the walls so harsh- it's awful, Arthur. We’re in a long corridor, with several doors along it, spaced evenly along the walls. There’s a door right next to us, too – it has a plain nameplate on it, simply reading ‘Head Archivist’. This is the first door in the corridor – the others are all past us, maybe five or six overall, but there could be more at the end of the corridor, which seems to split off into more rooms. It’s hard to see from here. At the other end, just to our right, seems to be a staircase – based on the lighting and lack of windows, I would guess we’re in a basement somewhere.”

Arthur hums, trying to picture everything John was telling him in his head. He was glad he couldn’t see it, as he often is now. Imagination can be much less overwhelming than seeing this new place.

“What about this door you mentioned?” Arthur asks, turning back towards the door next to him. “Head Archivist, you say?”

“Arthur-”

“An archive could be useful, I suppose. The information we could gather-”

“Arthur, listen to me-”

“-it could very well aid us in figuring out who we’re supposed to be helping, and why. I suppose we’d first have to-”

“Arthur! There’s a man standing in the doorway in front of you. He looks annoyed at your presence.”

“Why didn’t you mention this?” Arthur hisses under his breath, trying to look in the direction he expected the man’s face to be.

“I tried! You weren’t listening!”

“Who are you? ...And why are you in my archive?”

John’s frustrations were quickly cut off by the man’s voice, sharp and posh and... English? Arthur wasn’t used to finding other people who had immigrated; while it clearly did happen, it was still rarely that Arthur came across them.

“This man in front of us seems to dislike you already Arthur. His face looks like he’s used to frowning, but his hair is combed and his professional clothes give the impression he’s wanting to look official. Apart from his expression, his face looks fairly young, but his dark hair is peppered with grey, making him look much older than I think he is. From what I can see, he seems to be the only person inside the room he came from – I would guess he must be the head archivist noted on the door.”

“I’m uh... Arthur Lester. Pleased to meet you.”

The man huffs in annoyance. “You don’t sound too sure of that.”

“I am, I assure you. You just caught me off guard, is all.”

“Caught you off guard? You’re right outside my office!” The man pauses, clearly trying to compose himself. “You never answered my question. Why are you outside my office?”

Arthur tries to come up with a good excuse. He’s clearly not supposed to be here, else the man wouldn’t be interrogating him so severely. And if he was in a basement, then the Manager has kindly put them quite far into the building, so he must look like he’s intentionally walked down here. But John did say he was an archivist...

“I was just looking for information in the archives. I’m a private investigator, and one of our cases mentions some... very specific people I was trying to gather more information on.”

“Yes, Arthur! It’s perfect!”

Arthur smiles slightly. He never gets tired of John’s enthusiastic encouragements when they find themselves in situations. He isn’t sure how good of a lie it is – it would be easier if he knew what this was an archive of. He would just have to hope his guess made him seem truthful.

“I see.” The man’s voice is dry, seemingly unimpressed by Arthur’s lie. “Well, I’m afraid to say the archives are not open to the public unless-”

“Why Jon, it isn’t often I see you with other people down here. Is this gentleman making a statement?”

“What?! Did he say John?”

“It’s a common name,” Arthur says under his breath. “You can’t expect to be the only John we come across. Now stop complaining and tell me about this new man.”

John huffs, clearly irritated by the discovery of the archivist’s name. “He just approached from the staircase. He’s smiling at you Arthur, but in a way that almost makes him look smug – like he’s winning a game the whole world is partaking in. He’s looking at us oddly, too; it almost feels like his gaze is piercing straight through you. I don’t like this, Arthur.”

“Making a statement? No, I don’t think he’s doing anything more than trespassing. In fact, I think he was just leaving.” The man – Jon, he had said – was clearly trying to hide his frustrations at being interrupted further by this new man but was miserably failing. Whether the Manager had wanted him to help these people or not, he had clearly outstayed his welcome the second he had arrived and wasn’t sure he could stall any longer.

“Come now Jon, show at least a little respect to our guest. In fact, I think I would rather like to speak with mister...” The man pauses.

“Lester,” Arthur says quickly. “Arthur Lester.”

“Yes, of course. Does me a favour and make Mr Lester here some tea, Jon. We’ll be waiting for you in my office.”

“Elias, this is-” Jon starts to protest.

“That wasn’t up for debate, Jon.” Elias says, the hard edge making it clear this was final.

Jon sighs heavily and pushes past Arthur without saying another word.

“Now,” Elias says, his friendly tone returning. “Let’s go to my office, shall we?”

***

Jon was fuming.

Not only was this ‘Arthur Lester’ clearly not supposed to be in the archives, Elias seemed to have instantly taken a liking to the man! Jon doesn’t know what he sees in him. He looks worse than homeless, is talking to himself like a madman and didn’t even seem convinced of his own name. Who takes that long to respond to a simple question? Certainly not someone Jon wants wandering about in his archives.

And not only that, but Elias had the nerve to then undermine Jon immediately and invite Arthur to his office like it was nothing more than a damn tea party! Elias may run the Institute, but Jon ran the archives, and there was no way he was letting him look through the archives for whatever ‘investigating’ he claimed to be doing. This man was clearly just a timewaster, another stress Jon didn’t need on top of Prentiss.

Jon’s still upset about this as he pours hot water from the kettle into a mug, carefully picking it up as he exits the kitchen and heads towards the staircase up to the rest of the Institute. One of the doors opens as he passes, and Martin steps out.

As if Jon’s day couldn’t get worse, it had to be Martin he sees now.

“Oh, Jon,” Martin started, stepping out into the corridor slightly, “I was meaning to ask-”

Jon just stalks past him, ignoring the attempt at a conversation. He had no time for whatever idiotic question Martin was planning on asking now; he had Elias’ most esteemed guest to get back to.

He heads up the stairs and to the door to Elias’ office, pausing outside to hear the conversation.

“...it’s certainly unexpected,” Arthur was saying, “but I would be delighted to accept the position. I’ve been needing more grounded work since... well, since my circumstances left me without a good job.”

Jon can almost feel his heart sink to his stomach. First Martin, now this... Elias wouldn’t, would he? Surely Jon just misheard, or got the wrong idea, or... something. Jon desperately tries to reassure himself that his hearing has just got worse over the past hour from the stress as he pushes open the door, setting the mug of tea down in front of Arthur.

“Thank you,” Arthur says kindly, gratefully picking up the mug.

Jon hates him already.

He tries to quickly exit the room again, a final, feeble attempt to outrun the reality of the situation, but Elias calls him back. Stupid Elias.

“Actually Jon, you should know about this. I’ve decided to hire Arthur Lester here as another archival assistant. I know things have been... hard on you all recently, and a fresh pair of hands helping out will be good for you all.”

Jon breathes in deeply, holding it before slowly breathing out. That’s what you’re supposed to do to stay calm, right? Jon isn’t sure anymore.

“I assure you, Elias, we’re all quite capable of handling the archives ourselves. We’ve really... bonded, as a team, and this could be disrupted with a new member of staff.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Elias says lightly. Jon can feel the last of his hope trickle away like water in a drain. “After all, Martin wasn’t initially supposed to be joining the team either, and look how well he fits in with you all! I have no doubts you will all get along brilliantly.”

“Yes, of- of course.” He turns to Arthur, offering him a tight, almost non-existent smile. “Welcome to the team,” he manages to choke out, before promptly turning and exiting the room. He quickly heads back down to his office, keeping his gaze down to avoid any possibility of making eye contact with someone else who’s new mission was to ruin his mood.

He collapses back into his chair, hardly able to look at the abandoned notes of Jane’s statement.

His day really couldn’t get any worse.

Chapter Text

“You just have to sign this, and I can get the paperwork fully sorted for you to be on the job by tomorrow morning. Take today to get used to the environment and the work you’ll be doing; I’m sure someone will be happy to show you around.” 

“Thank you, Mr Bouchard. I really appreciate it.” 

“Elias, please.” Elias slides the paper across the table, a pen sitting on top of it. Arthur moves his hand across the paper, feeling for the pen. Picking it up, he notices how small it is; this place must be pretty posh to get pens as compact and fancy as this. Most places were still using fountain pens – a ballpoint was very unique. 

“Nice pens,” Arthur comments. “It’s not often ballpoints are used.” 

“He’s looking at you strangely, Arthur. I don’t think you should have said that.” 

“Yes well- I wouldn’t normally call Tesco’s nice, but they work fine I suppose.” 

“Tesco’s?! Sounds interesting. We should go to a Tesco’s, Arthur.” 

Arthur didn’t respond; no point looking even more mad in front of his new employer. He was, however, less sure this ‘Tesco’ was as interesting as John thought it was; he should make sure not to comment on the pens again. Clearly, wherever he was, ballpoint pens were not the exciting experimental feature he knows them as. 

“The form is several pages long. Flip to the back, I think there’s a place for you to sign it there. Yes, just- one more page. Good. Now move your hand closer to the bottom, there’s space there. Yes, there’s good. Sign it, Arthur. Elias is still watching us closely.” 

Arthur obliges, silently beginning to sign his name on the sheet. He’s sure the rest of it is probably just job terms, however seeing as the Manager hadn’t left him with much choice but to take the job, it doesn’t really matter to him.  

“Wait- oh, Arthur... Arthur, this isn’t good. There’s a date on this form, just above where you’re signing. It has the date as Thursday, the fifth of May- Arthur... the date on this form is for the fifth of May, 2016.” 

Arthur freezes. “What?” he whispers. That can’t be correct. 2016... that’s eighty years in the future. Eighty years. No wonder Elias looked at him strangely; fountain pens probably stopped being used years ago. Who knows if they’re even still using ballpoint pens commonly – anything could have happened! Arthur breathes in deeply, trying to stop himself hyperventilating. He’s dealt with worse situations; if he can handle England in the eleventh century, he can handle wherever he now is in the twenty first. 

“Is everything alright?” Elias asked, his voice tainted with concern and confusion. 

“Y-yes – everything's fine.” Arthur quickly finished signing the page, turning the page back to the front. He needed to know where they were – the form probably had an address, but he had no way of asking John for it without giving Elias more reason to take him to an asylum. He moved his hand to the top of the page, where he expected the address would most likely be, and pretends to smooth out the paper, trying to subtly tap the paper while he does so. After several taps, John seems to finally get the hint. 

“The place – yes, Arthur! The top of the form, in small text. It reads, ‘property of the Magnus Institute, London.” John lets out a slight laugh. “I wonder if England has changed much in the eight hundred years since we were last here.” 

England again, then. It would explain the accents, but doesn’t help them much. Arthur was already in an unknown era; taking him away from America wouldn’t help make this easier on him either. He pushes the form back across the table towards Elias and takes a sip of the tea Jon had brought in. 

Jon. He was going to have to figure out how to deal with him; he clearly despised him, and if this was the man he was supposed to be helping, that may make things difficult further down the line. For now, however, pressing him too much would seem suspicious, so he’ll just have to be as friendly as he can around him.  

That, Arthur muses, will likely be much easier said than done. 

“Well! Now that everything’s sorted, I’ll take you down to meet the rest of the Archives team – they should all be on their lunch break currently. They’re all very friendly; I have no doubts you’ll get along great.” Elias pushes himself out of his chair. “After you.” 

“He’s holding the office door open for you, Arthur. We must be heading back down into the basement.” 

Arthur gets up and heads through the door, trying to figure out what other information he can try get out of Elias. “So, you run the whole Institute then? Must be quite challenging, it looks to be a big place.” 

“You do what you must,” Elias started, clearly pleased with the compliment.  

“He’s heading down the stairs to your right- the other right. Yes, there.” 

“The Institute itself is made up of many smaller teams working to investigate the supernatural. You’re working with one of the smaller groups in the Archives itself, which takes the statements of everyday people and investigates them. A lot of the work currently is organisation based; after the last Head Archivist left, the system was quite a mess. I’m sure you’ll get a hang of it soon.” 

“You’re approaching one of the doors at the end of the corridor. Elias is gesturing for you to enter.” 

Arthur walks inside the room, brushing his hand against the doorframe to make sure he doesn’t walk in too far ahead of Elias. There’s a man talking loudly as they enter, but the chatter quickly dies down as curiosity takes hold. 

“We appear to be in a kitchen, Arthur. There’s some strange looking appliances along one wall on top of the counters, with a small dining table in the corner. On the other side of the room, there’s a couple sofas next to a plain wood table. The room as a whole is bland and mostly undecorated, but it’s clearly used quite frequently. There’s three other people in the room with us; the man who was talking is leaning against the counter, while another man is making several cups of tea. There’s a woman too, sitting at the dining table. They’ve all turned to look at us as we’ve entered.” 

“This is our main staff room and kitchen. Arthur, meet Sasha, Tim and Martin. They’re the other assistants you’ll be working alongside. Everyone, this is Arthur Lester, our newest hire. Please do show him around, but make sure you don’t get behind on work. You have a lot to do.” Elias turns at this point, exiting out of the door again. 

“You got it, boss.” Arthur flinches as someone puts their arm around his shoulder and begins pulling him in the direction of the sofas. “Hey, if anyone knows how this place works, it’s me. I’m sure I can show you around.” 

“Absolutely not, Tim,” a woman says sternly from the other side of the room. “Do you not remember when Elias asked you to help out that new girl in artifact storage once?” 

“I don’t know what you mean, Sash. She loved me!” The arm disappears from Arthur’s shoulder as the man, Tim, flops onto one of the sofas. Arthur sighs in relief. After everything he’d been through, he still wasn’t used to touch where the person wasn’t trying to hurt him. It was hard to change that mindset, even now he was safe. 

“I heard she’s still in therapy after that,” Sasha adds, a humorous tone creeping into her voice. 

“Details, details. Maybe you’re right, though.” 

“It’s okay, I can take him for the afternoon,” pipes up a third voice. This one must be Martin, Arthur presumes. “I’ve already done most of my cases for the day.” 

“Of course you have. You’re always the reliable, organised, kind hearted worker. Me and Sash have nothing on you.” 

“You have nothing on him,” retorts Sasha. “I’ve always been reliable.” 

“Sure you have, Sasha. But enough of our chatter! How’d you end up with a job in this cesspit of a workplace, Arthur?” 

Arthur isn’t quite sure what to make of this situation. These people are clearly already friends; he’ll have to try his best to get to know them without looking too suspicious in the coming weeks. However normal this place seemed so far, Arthur knew he wouldn’t be here if something horrible isn’t due to hit these people soon. He sits on the sofa behind him, the cheap workplace furniture creaking slightly as he does so. 

“I’m... not too sure, to be honest. I walked in, got offered a job from Elias, and took it, I suppose. The pay’s decent, and I’ve been looking for work so- seemed perfect for me, really.” 

“Ah, you’ll regret that choice soon. But hey, it’s work!” Tim stands up again, heading back over to the counter.  

“These people are strange, Arthur. Hopefully this means you’ll blend in fine.” John chuckles slightly at his own joke, savouring the knowledge that Arthur is unable to respond. 

“Tim’s just a bitter old man,” Sasha jokes, ignoring Tim’s attempts to protest. “I’m sure Martin will make the job seem at lot less miserable once you get started.” 

Tim snorts in amusement. “Talking of bitter old men...” 

“Jon’s just entered the room. He somehow seems in an even fouler mood than earlier, if that is even possible.” 

“Shut up, Tim.” 

“Who? Me?” Tim asks innocently. “I would never do anything as terrible as make a joke at our dear bosses expense!” 

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Jon says scathingly, loudly pulling out a chair and stiffly sitting. 

“Well!” Martin says quickly, clearly trying to draw attention away from the conversation. “Shall we get started Arthur?” 
“Yes, let’s,” Arthur says, standing up. He’s glad to have an excuse to leave the room. Befriending Jon is definitely going to be harder than he had initially anticipated. 

***  

Jon watches as Martin and Arthur leave the room, chatting easily to each other. Of course Martin would get along well with Arthur; they’re certainly equal in their levels of annoying Jon.  

“I like him,” Tim says once the pair have left the room. “He’s weird.” 

“You’ll get along great then,” Sasha comments. 

Tim ignores her, continuing his ramble instead. “He actually flinched when I first touched him, and I don’t think he looked any of us in the eyes once while he was here. But everyone has their quirks, right?” 

“There’s a difference between ‘quirks’ and ‘lack of social skills’,” Jon notes, feeling rather unimpressed by the fact that everyone seems to have taken a liking to their newly hired trespasser. 

“Oh, lighten up. He’s not that bad.” Tim slides into a chair next to Sasha, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “Awful taste in fashion, mind you,” he adds, voice muffled by the food.  

There’s a brief moment of silence as the three focus on their respective meals until Tim looks up at Jon again, eyes sparkling in that way which Jon hates. That looks means he’s about to be made fun of, as is common with Tim. He gets along well with Tim and Sasha, or at least he thinks so; for some reason, Tim takes this as a reason to bully him relentless. Thus was the way of friendships, he supposes. 

“I’m surprised you don’t like him,” Tim continues. “You’d think your shared taste in clothes would be something to bond over.” 

Sasha huffs, clearly supressing a laugh. Jon just glares at Tim, who continues eating, seemingly unbothered. If only looks could kill; Jon could make the workplace much more enjoyable. 

“Who said I dislike him, anyway?” Jon asks, taking a small bite of his food. He doesn’t really have an appetite, but should probably eat something. Thinking about worms is never good for the appetite, and as Prentiss is always in the back of his mind now, eating has been getting scarcer. 

Sasha snorts in disbelief, evidently quite amused by Jon’s question. “Please. You couldn’t look like you hated him more if you tried.” 

Jon sighs. “I maybe... haven’t taken to him too well. But have you spoken to him?” he protests, a desperate attempt at getting anyone to agree with him. “He just seems confused; there’s no way he can handle a job like this!” 

“You’re being too hard on him, same as you are Martin,” Sasha says, standing up. Jon just huffs. “Just try speaking to him, okay? We need to get back to work.” 

“Do we?” Tim questions, sinking deeper into his chair. 

“Yes,” Sasha orders, pulling Tim from his chair. “You’ve ignored it long enough.” 

Tim sighs, following her. “I suppose. See you around, boss!” 

They both leave the room, abandoning Jon to his thoughts. Sasha was clearly wrong; Arthur was a good for nothing nobody who had no right to work here, and Jon had to make sure he knew that. Martin, too. Oh, how he wishes he had just Sasha and Tim, the team he had initially requested. He didn’t need help! He had everything under control! Maybe he should assign Arthur cases related to Jane. If he was lucky, maybe he’d disappear for a week too. Jon would be grateful for the break. Jon pushes his food away and sighs. A break, a proper break, would be nice right about now. But alas, he didn’t have a break, and these statements wouldn't record themselves. Who knows, if he does another, maybe the feeling of being watched would fade for a while. 

He could always hope. 

Chapter Text

Arthur was relieved to finally be out of the staff room. 

As kind as they all seemed to be, it was a lot to process right now, and Tim was... a lot to handle, to say the least. Martin seemed much calmer, which Arthur appreciated. He needed that right now. 

He’d taken them through into a new room, which Martin had informed them was the main archive. The echo in the room was evidence enough of its size, but John’s wonder of the rows and rows of shelves with neatly packed folders, along with the stacks of others lying around on the floor, further confirmed that this place was massive. Hundreds of stories, all filed away neatly. Fragments of people’s lives, important memories and experiences, all given a folder with a date, and marked as official papers as if it were nothing. Arthur isn’t surprised John likes it here; the number of cases which must be unsolved made the investigator in Arthur yearn to read them, too. 

“So,” Martin started. “How much did Elias tell you about the job?” 

“Not a lot, to be honest,” Arthur confessed. “I know this is an archive of the supernatural, but not much more than that.” 

“Right.” Martin sighed. “That sounds like Elias. Roping people in without explaining really what he’s getting them into. I got the same treatment. So, uh- welcome to the Institute, I guess? I’m Martin Blackwood. I’m one of the archival assistants here alongside Sasha James and Timothy Stoker, who you just met. Jonathan Sims is our boss – he's the Head Archivist here. I apologise for him – he doesn’t take well to new people, I’m afraid. Or anyone, for that matter.” He laughs slightly, but can’t completely hide the sadness in his tone. “Trust me, I’ve experienced that first hand.” 

“Martin’s moved over to one of the shelves and has picked up a case file. He’s flicking through it idly, but doesn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular.” 

“The job itself is quite straightforward, albeit a little hands on. Jon takes statements from in here and records them digitally, whether that’s on his laptop or by tape recorder. He then takes notes on specific people or places he wants us to track down or investigate, and we do whatever we can to gather supplemental information which can either support the statement or counter it. This helps get an idea of which ones are true, in a way.” Martin pauses. “Although I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jon call one true. He’s rather... sceptical of this all.” 

“What about you? Do you believe any of it?” Arthur questions. It would be nice to see Martin’s viewpoint on things considered otherworldly. 

Martin fiddles with the corner of the statement. “I don’t know. Some of them- sometimes they feel real, you know? But- it's all so strange. I don’t think I want it to be real.”  

John huffs in annoyance at this. Arthur doesn’t speak to him, but grips his hand in acknowledgement. Once upon a time, Arthur would have shared Martin’s sentiment of not wanting the supernatural stories so frequently told to be true. But now, knowing John, nobody could make him believe that his existence wasn’t for the better.  He had saved Arthur so many times – from others, sure, but from himself too. Arthur hopes John knows how much he needs him, and he knows John feels the same way about him too.  

Back to the matter at hand, though. 

Arthur has absolutely no idea what Martin’s talking about. 

Laptop? Tape recorder? These terms are all new to him and, based off Elias’ reaction to the pen incident earlier, Arthur would likely look strange if he asked about it. But what choice did he have, really? He needs to know what he’s dealing with. 

“Our part of the job. Does that, uh... does that also involve laptops and tape recorders?” 

“Not as much, no. We generally just read over the statements instead of listening to the recordings, and we all have personal PCs in the main office for the research.” 

Ah. Arthur decides, if anything, talking is just making matters worse. After a brief moment’s consideration, he decides digging himself a grave now will save him from having to deal with this later. Better confuse Martin now than drag out his lack of knowledge over a longer period. 

“Will we also be given a PC to use, then?” 

“Well, I already have one. You’ll be given one to use though. We can sort that out in a minute.” 

Arthur curses internally at his mistake. He has to adjust to saying ‘I’ again. No matter what, he cannot let these people know about John. That certainly wouldn’t help in getting them all to trust him. 

“I think that’s all to see in here. Ready to see the offices?” 

“Yes, I think so.” 

“He’s leaving the room now. The door’s behind you. He’s heading to the right now, to the next door along. Follow him inside – yes, there. This new room is much smaller. It’s made up of several desks all along the far wall – there seems to be six overall, but several look unused. Each desk space has some sort of machine on it; I don’t recognise what they are. They seem to be comprised of multiple parts – a box, a screen of sorts, something resembling a flat typewriter and a fourth, smaller object beside it. Tim and Sasha are in here, too; they’re both at a desk and seem to be interacting with the machines in some way. I’m unsure what they’re doing. Martin’s heading over to one of the machines next to Tim. You should follow him across the room.” 

Arthur decides the machines John’s describing must be the PCs mentioned by Martin earlier. He can already sense this is going to become problematic very, very fast. He takes a deep breath. As much as he hates this, he can only see one good way out of this situation. If only the Manager could have provided him with any useful context for this time period, he would have been okay, but no, he was just left to figure it out. And unfortunately, even Arthur’s ability to adapt to situations had limits. 

“I, uh... can’t say I’ve ever used a PC before to be honest with you, Martin. This is all rather... out of my depth, so to speak, and I’m rather unsure on how this all works.” 

“Martin’s turned to look at you quizzically. It’s a risk doing this Arthur, but I trust you to make the right call on how to tackle this. Tim and Sasha have both stopped interacting with the machines, too; they’re trying to pretend they’re not listening, but Tim is quite awful at hiding his surprise. Even Oscar did a better job hiding emotions than him.” 

“Never used a PC before? That’s- okay, sure. I can show you how to work this.” Martin’s tone, Arthur gratefully notes, is much more puzzled than accusatory. He had taken a gamble in assuming Martin wouldn’t press further if Arthur did his best to look stressed enough, and it seemed to have worked. And if Arthur can figure out to work everything now, he hopes he can avoid any more awkward slip-ups down the line. After all, how much could possibly change in eighty years? 

***  

Jon closed the case he was reading over with a sigh. It had just gone 5PM, and he was very ready to go home. This case was another fake, anyway; as most of them are. 

All, he corrected himself quickly. 

All of them are. Jon knew that. Everyone who came to give a statement here was just insane, in one way or another. Of this, Jon was very sure. He went to file away the statement before heading with his empty mug into the kitchen to clean it up. Much to his disappointment, Tim and Sasha were in there, talking. 

Even worse, they were talking about Arthur. Again. 

“-did you see how he was with the computer, Sash? Nothing about that was normal!” Tim was saying, much too enthusiastically for Jon’s liking. “And, to make it even better, do you know what Martin told me he said just before he was leaving? He said he asked Arthur for his phone number and he didn’t have one!” 

“He is certainly odd,” Sasha responded, her voice slightly betraying her confusion. “Not having a phone these years is not normal, even for Arthur. He looked like his heart was about to collapse from the stress when he said he couldn’t work a PC, the poor guy.” 

Tim slammed his hands down suddenly on the table, almost making Jon drop his mug while washing it up. “I know! You know that empty corkboard I have in my bedroom, the one I’ve no idea what to do with? I’ll start an Arthur Lester weird things board! Every time he says or does something weird, I’ll take a note and add it to the board when I get home! Oh, I am such a genius. You should feel lucky being my best friend, Sasha.” 

“I can barely stop myself from asking for an autograph,” Sasha says dryly. 

“You shouldn’t. You’ll need something to remember me by when I become an international celebrity.” 

Jon, who is very tired of hearing about Arthur, decides just to leave the room again. He doesn’t make an effort to talk to Sasha and Tim, and they choose to ignore him too. Jon tries to tell himself he’s fine with that. He doesn’t need validation from them. 

Jon grabs his coat and heads out of the Institute, taking in a deep breath of the awful, London air. He sighs. Maybe he should go to the countryside sometime. It would be nice to remember what clean oxygen is like. 

As he walks back to his flat, he thinks over everything he’s learned about Arthur. If what Tim was saying is correct, and he really doesn’t know how to use computers... maybe he could file a complaint to Elias about unsatisfactory levels of work. Get him fired for his incompetence on the job. That would make Jon feel better. He reaches his flat and pulls out his keys, unlocking the door and stepping inside. Maybe he could pass off firing him to the others as protecting him from Jane Prentiss. After all, none of them wanted to deal with her, so surely it was safer for Arthur not to be involved too. The poor man has no idea what he’s signed up for; the worms are definitely worse than what most people deal with on the job, and Jon suspected whatever work Arthur has done previously was no different. He was certainly strange, and if he doesn’t own a phone maybe Elias has just picked him up from the poorer parts of London. And while living in poverty is hard, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with worms. Yes, Jon likes this excuse. Maybe he’ll have a word with the others tomorrow, try and see if he can get them to agree with him. One way or another, he’s certain he can get rid of Arthur. 

Chapter Text

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” 

“Yes, I suppose so. Thank you for your help today, Martin.” 

“My pleasure. Catch you later!” 

“Martin’s heading down the steps in front of the Institute and is starting to walk off down the sidewalk. We should go too.” 

“Yes, we need to get away from here. Let’s go round the corner so we’re out of sight, and then we’ll decide what to do next.” 

“I agree. Head down the stairs; there’s four in total. If you head to your right, we should be able to access a path off to the side in a minute. The sidewalk is straight, and there aren’t people heading this way; you shouldn’t collide with anything.” John pauses as Arthur heads down the steps, making sure he was walking the right way before continuing.  

“London is huge, Arthur. It’s similar to New York, but the buildings are taller, and the cars crawling down every street seem different to how they used to be. More shiny, smaller, more... modern, I suppose. It’s amazing how much has changed in eighty years. Turn to your right here; there’s an alley we can enter to be out of view.” 

Arthur turns, reaching for the narrow walls of the alley to ensure he was out of sight from the main road. “Right. Let’s check our pockets; maybe the Manager left us with something to help.” He feels into his pocket, pulling out something rectangular and made of leather. 

“It’s a wallet, Arthur! Open it, let’s see what’s inside. Yes, this is perfect! There seems to be six one hundred pound notes, what seems to be a driver's license and a small, thin, rectangular piece of plastic. I’m not sure what it is.” 

“Brilliant! We can use the money to eat and find a place to stay tonight. This can tide us over until we first get paid. I’m sure the driver's license and the other item will come in handy too, once we know what it is.” Arthur checks in his pocket again, freezing when his hand brushes cold metal. Could it be...  

He pulls it out of his pocket, flipping open the lid and striking it. A small flame sputters into life. 

“Well!” Arthur says, his voice betraying his pleasure. “I suppose we couldn’t go on without a replacement.” 

“This lighter’s identical to the one we used to have, down to the engraving. At least... at least with this, maybe she can come with us still.” 

“Yeah,” Arthur says, snapping the lid shut. “Maybe.” If only Faroe could be here with him. She would have loved to experience this new, modern world, all its shiny cars and strange devices. She was always so clever; having her by his side, figuring out this new world together – it would be a dream come true. His dreams never seemed to become reality, however. No matter how hard he yearned for them.  

“I suppose, in a way, it’s a keepsake to remind us of Kayne, too. Of how much worse things could have been, and how much worse it was than this world. If we could beat Kayne, there’s not much which can stop us now.” 

Arthur smiles softly. “John the undefeated,” he says quietly. 

“And you, too,” John quickly adds. “We’re in this together.” 

Arthur doesn’t respond, both of them enjoying the silence. After all, this is the first moment of comfort, alone, they’ve had in a long, long time. The quiet acknowledgement between them that, no matter what, through good and bad, they’ll tackle it together, as a team. Just like they have for what feels like decades now, despite the relatively small timescale everything had happened in.  

Arthur pushes himself away from the wall and feels his way out of the alley, beginning to walk down the street again. “I’m starving. Let’s go find a place to eat, preferably close to a hotel.” 

John lets out a short huff of laughter. “Maybe there’d even be time for a movie after.” 

“Oh, for fucks sake! Do you have any idea how hard today has been?” 

“I do! I’ve been watching you all fucking day! You promised, Arthur!” 

“And we will! Just not the same day I’ve fucking died and ended up in a new universe!” 

“This weekend, then.” 

“If we get a moment, fine, we can go to the movies this weekend. But only if we get a moment.” 

“Fine.” 

“Thank you.” Arthur goes quiet for a moment. “How does London look, John? Describe it to me.” 

John sighs. “It’s starting to get dark outside, the last rays of the sun just touching the tops of the tallest buildings, casting long, deep shadows along the streets. The roads are still choked with cars, in so many different colours and shapes, almost like a kaleidoscope of the vehicles. There are a few people on the sidewalks, too, heading home after busy days at work. Like us, I suppose. The roads are illuminated by tall lights spaced evenly along the sidewalk, and the beams of light from the cars is so bright the dying sun is scarcely noticeable. It’s a busy city, full of ordinary people leading ordinary lives. And we can save all of them, Arthur. If what the Manager said is true, and the apocalypse truly is meant to happen here... many of these people could die. We have no way of telling what the Manager thinks will happen.” 

“We won’t let it happen, John. We didn’t fail before; we can’t fail now.” 

“I know.” There’s another moment of brief silence between them before John speaks again. “Careful here; we need to cross the road. Move to your right slightly; there’s a crossing to your side. Yes, here. There’s a restaurant just on the other side.” 

Arthur crosses, trusting that John knows it's safe for him. With everything that has happened, perhaps Arthur should be less trusting of the voice in his head; maybe another person in his situation would be. 

Arthur, however, is not that other person, and it would take a lot to break the trust he has in John now. 

“The door’s just a few steps ahead of you. It’s already open; just walk through.” John pauses. “Kayne was right about one thing, you know.” 

“What’s that?” 

“We do have a standing lunch date. And one it’s about time to fulfil.”  

Arthur smiles. “I guess so.” He heads inside, pausing in the doorway. There’s music being played from a radio, but it is unlike anything Arthur’s ever heard. He’s glad. The music he’s been hearing lately has... generally not been sang in the best of situations, and is usually accompanied by corpses and dancing on tables. 

“The interior is warm and inviting, with clusters of candles on each table illuminating the walls. There’s not many people in here; there’s a table in the corner to your left where you should be free to speak without too much notice.” 

Arthur follows the wall around, moving his hands to feel for the table until he reaches the corner and seats himself. “Is there a menu?” 

“Yes, just in front of you. There’s so many options on it, Arthur... I never knew this much food existed.” 

Arthur laughs. “Can’t say I can remember much more than bread and cheese either to be honest. What options look good?” 

After a long period of decision making and arguing back and forth – despite not being able to eat the food, John most certainly had opinions on it – they had settled on smoked salmon with a side of fries. After a short while, a waitress brings the plate over. 

“Here’s your food, sir.” 

“Thank you.” Arthur takes a mouthful of the food, eyes closing in pleasure. “Mmm. I think I’d almost forgotten what real food was like. You know, Parker and I used to go out like this too. We’d go out every Saturday for drinks and a meal and discuss our latest successes in our cases. I suppose this isn’t too different.” 

“I guess not. And we certainly have many successes. I mean, trapping a Nyarlathotep is quite a feat. Even if you died while doing it.” 

“I came back! What’s one more death on the cards, really.” 

“Don’t act like it doesn’t matter! Every time you die, Arthur... it’s awful.” 

Arthur huffs. “Tell me about it. I’ll do my best not to die anymore, as a favour to you.” 

“Thank you.” John quickly moves on, clearly eager to change the subject. “You know, if you and Parker used to do this, maybe we should too. A meal out sometimes, discuss our progress on stopping the world ending.” 

“Yes, that’s always been my favourite topic of conversation over a light lunch. The apocalypse.” 

“Fuck you! You suggested it first!” 

“I suppose I did. In all seriousness, though, I agree. That sounds nice.” Arthur takes another mouthful, savouring his food. "God, I’m so hungry.” 

Arthur pauses, shuddering at the thought. Hungry. The last thing said by the newly disfigured King in Yellow before they chose to send him back to the Dreamlands. He hopes he made the right choice. Maybe, with the Blackstone destroyed and Kayne trapped, he had returned to his previous form. He would hate for him to suffer, and he would hate for other people to suffer because of him. Arthur doesn’t regret his decision to send him home, but he does hope others weren’t hurt because of it. 

But there was nothing he could do about that now. He was stuck here, in a new world, far from anything he once knew. He hopes to one day return to his universe; it would be nice to see Daniel and Oscar again. And he still wasn’t sure what had happened to Noel; tracking him down is one of the first things Arthur plans to do when they return. In the meantime, however, he has to get used to this era. And that is looking like it’s going to be much harder than he had first anticipated, which was once again demonstrated as he tried to pay for the meal. 

“How would you like to pay?” the man behind the counter asked, his tone bored. 

“I, um- what are the, uh, options?” Arthur hadn’t realised there even was multiple ways to pay. Surely there wasn’t new means of trade other than money nowadays as well? 

The man was clearly equally as confused by Arthur’s question as Arthur was his. “Well- just cash or card, I suppose?” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”  

“Oh- um, cash, then. Here.” Arthur quickly slides one of the hundred pound notes onto the counter. The man takes the note and quickly begins counting out the change.  

“Here’s the change.” 

“Thank you,” Arthur said, feeling for the money and taking it before turning to leave. He was now £14.99 down; not too bad, he decides. He was expecting it to be cheaper, but supposes money won’t go as far now as it used to. Can’t expect money rates to stay the same when everything else seems to have changed.  

“The sky has darkened quite a lot now from earlier, although the bright lights keeping the streets visible are reflecting into the sky, so it isn’t truly dark. There are no stars, but it’s impossible to tell if that’s due to clouds or the amount of light on the ground. Head to your left; I can see a hotel just down the street.” 

Arthur yawns. He would be grateful for a rest now. He has had a long, long day. 

Chapter Text

“Yes, here. Room twenty-one.” 

Arthur paused outside the door. What had the receptionist said to do with the keycard? Use the sensor? Arthur sighs. He doesn’t know when hotel room keys fell out of fashion, but he can’t help wishing he had been sent to before that point. What was so wrong with a key that they felt the need to replace it, anyway? Who knows if Arthur may need to break in somewhere during his time here, and that would be much easier if he could pick a lock. 

Hm. Maybe Arthur does know why they fell out of fashion.  

“Anything around here that looks like the ‘sensor’ she mentioned?” Arthur asks, feeling around the doorframe for anything out of the usual. 

I’m not sure. There’s a black box next to the door; maybe try interacting with that.” 

“Interacting how?” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” 

“Fair point.” Arthur’s hand hits the box, and he starts waving the card back and forth in front of it. Nothing. He tries feeling around on the box for any buttons, but doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary. He keeps trying to wave the card in front and move it around close to the box, but it remains unaffected by his attempts and the door, much to his annoyance, is still locked. 

“Here.” The gruff voice of a man appears from nowhere as the card is taken from Arthur’s hand. A second later he hears a beep, and the door is pushed open. 

“The man just placed the card on top of the box, Arthur. He's holding the door open for you.” 

“Ah- um, thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” The card is pushed back into Arthur’s hand before he hears footsteps moving away from him again. Arthur sighs. Apparently he hadn’t done enough in terms of embarrassing himself yet today. He enters the room, carefully closing the door behind him. The lock clicks shut. If nothing else, at least he knows how to open it again now. 

“The room is fairly small, consisting of a large bed, a wardrobe and two small tables on either side of the bed. There’s another screen up on the wall, and a table beneath with two mugs, some teabags and a kettle. There’s another door off to the left; a bathroom, I presume.” 

“Not bad for a hundred pounds, I suppose. I would have rather found somewhere cheaper, but there doesn’t seem to be much available these days for less. Small or not, this will function fine as home until Sunday.” 

“And what about then?” 

“I guess we’ll be on the streets, won’t we? Until we get paid, there isn’t much else we can do. We’ve slept through worse; I’m sure we’ll manage.” 

“But we don’t know what London is like! There could be anything on the streets, and it’s cold, and there isn’t even many places you can sleep!” 

“We don’t have any choice. The absolute furthest we could have stayed would be until Tuesday, and that would leave us with almost no money in case of emergency or for later. No, this is for the best. We’ll stay here until Sunday, get cleaned up and buy some new clothes, then maybe pay for another night later in the week to get cleaned up again. I want to be sure we’re not completely out of money before we’re even halfway through the week.” Arthur pauses, his tone softening. “I know you’re worried, John. But this is for the best. We’ve slept in much worse places than the streets of London.” 

“I suppose. I just- I want you to be safe, Arthur.” 

“And I will be, as much as I can. We can get through this.” The room is filled with silence. Arthur knows John is still unhappy with the plan, but what choice do they have? The Manager has provided them with enough money for a few days, but it can only take them so far. And leaving themselves with no money at all could easily become problematic later on. Yes, Arthur knows this is for the best. He sighs, tired of- well, everything, he supposes. “Where did you say that bathroom was?” 

“A few steps to your left. Here. The handle’s just below where you’re holding your hand out.” 

Arthur heads into the bathroom and, after a little bit of difficulty and guidance from John, steps into the shower. “Can you see how it works?” 

“There seems to be multiple dials, with a button just beneath them. Reach out your hand – yes, there. That should activate it.” 

Arthur feels for the button, pressing it. Immediately, a sharp, almost malicious feeling burst of cold water shoots directly into his face. 

“Fuck- fuck!” Arthur slams his hand back into the shower controls, eventually hitting the button again. The water turns off, with just a few freezing drops of water making their way down his back as a last, spiteful move on the shower’s part. Arthur just glares in its direction. 

“What the fuck was that about?!” 

“Did you not see how fast that water came out? And it was as cold as the fucking lake in Addison! What do the dials do?” 

“The first ranges from cold to hot. It seems to control the temperature; the dial is currently set as cold as it gets. The other dial is for water pressure – that's currently set to very high.” 

“And you couldn’t have fucking mentioned this before I turned the shower on?!” 

“You didn’t ask about that!” 

“Do not fucking start with that. We had enough problems with Yorick, I can’t have you doing this too.” Arthur breathes deeply as he adjusts the dials, turning the shower back on. If only Yorick could be here with them. As annoying as his clacking jaw and decision to never tell them anything useful was, he offered a source of amusement through their travels the last time they had been in England. And, after everything, all he had ever done had been to help them. Who knew a skull could be so selfless, when it came down to it. 

Arthur steps out of the shower and redresses, staring in the direction of the mirror as he combed his now wet hair back with his fingers. “How do I look?” he paused. “And if you say eighty pounds sopping wet again, I’m fucking putting you in timeout.” 

John laughs. “Not this time. The new scar on your neck is covered by your shirt collar, and all your other scars are now gone after your body reformed in the Dreamlands. Even without them, though, you still manage to maintain the cold, calculated demeanour of someone not to fuck with. I suppose some things never change.” 

“Good. I suspect we’ll need to maintain that to get through to Jon sometimes.” Arthur heads out of the bathroom, feeling his way onto the bed. He collapses onto it with a sigh.  

“About that, Arthur. You can’t keep calling him Jon. It’s too confusing, we’ll never know who you’re talking to.” 

“Oh come on, you could figure it out. If he’s in the room, I’m probably talking to him, aren’t I?” Arthur pauses. “This is about more than that, isn’t it? You just don’t want him to be called Jon as well.” 

“It’s my fucking name!” John sounded frustrated; he’s clearly been upset about this for a while. 

“It’s a common name, is what it is! You only chose it in the first place because the nurses didn’t know what else to call me!” 

“This matters, Arthur! Call him Sims, or something. Just not John!” 

“I can’t just call him by his surname, that’s weird. Fine, though. I can probably get away with calling him Jonathan. That’s exactly what I needed, anyway. Another reason to piss him off and make the others think I’m insane.” 

“I think you were doing perfectly fine on both of those anyway. One more thing won’t make a difference.” 

Arthur huffs, lying down on the soft bed and pulling up the duvet to cover him, enwrapping himself in the warmth. “Whatever. Goodnight, John.” 

“Sleep well, Arthur.” 

The sun was bright and hot, beaming down onto the beach and basking Arthur in the warmth. The horizon stretched out for miles, the shimmering blue of the sea merging into one with the deep blue of the sky. There wasn’t a single cloud visible to stain the sky; just the endless blue. It was a beautiful day, only made better by the small child ambling alongside him, humming a little song to herself. She was wearing a small pink dress, which often got tangled in her feet, and she occasionally reached down to pick up a seashell or an interesting looking rock. Interesting to a child, anyway. They all looked the same to him. He smiled at the sight of her. No matter how many uncertainties life and the future holds, he knows one thing he can rely on. He will always, always, love Faroe unconditionally. Nothing could ever change that. 

He looks up and closes his eyes, savouring the moment. A gull suddenly squarks up ahead, startling him out of his haze. He seemed to be further down the beach than he was when he shut his eyes. How long had it been? It only felt like a few seconds. He looked down to his side, and immediately spun around, scanning the beach. Where was she? 

“Faroe?” He called out. Nothing. No sight of her on the beach anywhere.  

“Faroe?” He called again, unable to hide the slight panic in his voice now. The beach was completely clear, with nowhere for a small child to hide. Despite this, she was definitely not here now. 

“Faroe?” Desperation was seeping in, and he began to jog back the way he had come, scanning for any sign of her. Then, he stopped. Out a short way into the water, something was floating, gently bobbing up and down in the waves. 

“Faroe!” He shouted, breaking into a full run as he entered the water. “Faroe darling, come here! Get up!” His voice was starting to break now, unable to keep himself steady. “Faroe! Faroe, I’m coming!” 

But he wasn’t. He wasn’t getting any closer at all. After what felt like years, he finally collapsed onto his knees in the water. It didn’t even reach his torso.  

“Faroe,” he begged desperately. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He started to sob uncontrollably, unable to do anything but look at her fragile, lifeless form, just out a little way more into the sea. “I’m so sorry, Faroe. I’m sorry.” 

“Arthur!”  

Arthur jolts awake, sitting up. His breathing is broken and shuddering, and he takes a moment to settle it. 

“What the fuck happened, Arthur? Are you okay! You kept crying out, I- I didn’t know what to do!” 

“It was her, John,” Arthur eventually managed to reply, his voice still cracking slightly as he spoke. “I failed her, I let her drown. My baby.” 

“I-I’m sorry, Arthur. You did your best, you always did your best. It wasn’t your fault. It was a dream. Calm down, Arthur. Breathe. I love you. I’m so sorry. You’re okay now.” 

John kept speaking softly, repeating himself over and over as Arthur once again drifted off into an uneasy sleep. This time, thankfully, without dreaming.