Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Arthur."

Arthur stirred, shifting against John's chest, blinking his eyes open. The world greeted him, all blurry edges and dull colours that made him almost prefer being blind; John would have made the colours sound prettier than anything he could have seen. He groaned and squeezed his eyes closed again, tucking his head back into John's shoulder.

"Arthur, wake up," John giggled, rubbing Arthur's arms for reassurance. He was still giddy that he could do so. "The wagon is coming to a stop."

"Wagon?" Arthur mumbled, cracking his eyes open once more. They were at the edge of where the forest met what looked like a desert, but could have easily passed for a mirage with how flat it was. Occasionally, it was dusted with what looked like the Dreamlands' equivalent of sagebrush that grew in odd, twisted shapes and bright colours. (Arthur thought they must be bright to anyone whose vision hadn't been fucked over by an outer god.) Everything was awash in red light, making it appear more sinister than it might be.

"Right," He grumbled as he stretched his limbs— careful not to hit John— and coaxed the ache from his muscles. He sighed as John's hands found his shoulders, fingers digging in to extract the pain from them. He leaned into the motion, swaying with the temptation to curl up in his arms and go right back to sleep.

"How did you sleep?" John asked as he pressed a kiss to Arthur's temple. He couldn't wait to spend every morning like this; the two of them waking up without monsters chasing them, taking their time to soothe the aches from each other's bodies, taking turns making breakfast. "Did you dream?"

Arthur hummed, grabbing one of John's hands and tugging it around to place a kiss on his knuckles. "Fine. Better than usual. You make quite a good pillow. Uh, no, I don't think I did. Did you?"

John purred, pride welling in his chest. He was about to reply when the wagon jolted, stopping at the end of the path. He turned to survey what had happened to cause such a harsh stop while Arthur stowed the blanket away in one of their bags.

The old satyr jumped down from the front, kicking and cursing at where the sand encroached on the forest ground. After a few moments of pacing and looking through the trees, he huffed and marched back to the cart, slapping the side of it harshly.

"Alright, out. This is as far as you go."

Arthur glanced around, searching for any sign of buildings or people. "Is this Perinthia?"

"No," the old man grunted, slapping the cart again to hurry them along. "Passed it a few hours ago. Desert moved in and blocked the trade route, so now I have to go all the way around before it gets dark and you're extra weight. This is where I leave you."

"Hang on, that wasn't the deal!" Arthur snapped, taking John's hand as he helped him off the back of the tall wagon. "You said you'd take us to—"

"I said I'd give you a ride. This is what I did." He turned and climbed back into his driver's seat. "It isn't my fault you snoozed the city by."

"But, you—"

"Arthur, watch out!" John yanked him backwards by the back of his shirt just as the mule-like creature closest to them snarled; its face split in four, flesh separating with a wet popping noise to reveal circles of serrated teeth and writhing worm-like, fanged tentacles that lashed out at him.

He leapt back into John's hold, heart pumping adrenaline furiously. It stomped its clawed hooves and turned away to pull the cart back the way that they had come, chugging alone in a steady rhythm.

Arthur huffed, adjusting his bag back on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" John asked, picking up his own bag from where he'd dropped it.

"Fine," He grumbled, whipping around to face the desert. "Where are we? Did you notice when we passed Perinthia?"

John frowned, crossing his arms protectively over his chest and shifting on his feet. "I may have drifted off… for a few minutes. I only woke up when the cart started slowing down. I… I don't know where we are."

"Alright, well," Arthur took a deep breath, shoving his frustration down, "I suppose it's fine since we're headed to Carcosa anyhow. Do you… uh, do you see anything nearby? It'll be dark soon, and I don't want to be caught in this desert with no cover."

John took a moment to really examine their surroundings now that he knew Arthures wasn't mad at him. "The forest is thinner around us now, the evergreens are sparse with browning needles that litter the ground. They mix with sand granules as the desert starts to encroach on the roots.

"There appears to be a city in the desert. I almost missed it as it blends in with the surroundings. Sandstone towers crawl with desert plants. The red light of the star washes out the colours, making it seem like it has no real edges."

"Well, it's our best shot." Arthur waited for John's hand to find its home on his lower back before heading into the sand. He didn't need John's hand to guide him, but he liked how close it made him feel.

John hummed. The desert was hard to look at; the sand burned crimson, straining his retinas as they squinted against the harsh light (at least he could squint, no longer bound to only looking while Arthur controlled the eyes). The plants blended against the pale sand, nearly ceasing to exist if it weren't for their clawing, twisting shadows and eerie highlights. He found himself saying this all out loud to Arthur as they stumbled along, the sand constantly shifting under their feet.

He drifted off as he started to feel queasy, nausea bubbling up his throat. He felt untethered from his body, as if he were floating along behind his eyes instead of piloting them. He could feel the repetitive movement of his legs, even if they felt like they were bound together. He could feel the sweat building on his forehead and dripping down his temple, even if there was a suspicious breeze coming from nowhere around him. The flesh of Arthur's back under his hand somehow felt soft and grainy at the same time.

"I can make out some of the buildings now. Does it look abandoned to you? I can't make out a whole lot of movement." Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow.

John heard Arthur's voice as if it were underwater. It was suddenly very hard to keep his thoughts together, as if he were buried in a fog, unable to fight his way to coherent thought. It was almost as if he were being torn between two places at once. His next step had his foot sinking in loose sand, getting stuck, and yet he barely felt it, unable to focus on a solution. He dropped his eyes to the solid floor or sand, he couldn't quite tell.

Arthur turned as John's hand dropped from his back. He watched John's confused pout turn into one of bitterness and waited for him to tug his foot free, but he only continued staring.

"John?"

His heart clenched painfully as John ignored him, watching as grains of sand slowly climbed over his feet. His eyes, appearing orange under this light, were almost dull, missing their normal sparkle.

"John? Are you alright? What's going on?" He held a hand out, reaching for him and yelping as John suddenly slapped at his hand and flinched back. His other foot slipped into the looser pach of sand as he snapped, his eyes full of fear.

"Don't touch me!"

Arthur froze, throat clogging with hurt and trepidation. "John, what—"

"What…?" John clutched his head, blinking and trying to shake his thoughts from his ears. "Where… where am I?"

Arthur swallowed, eyes flicking down to John's feet, panic glazing his veins to see that the sand was up to his ankles. Memories from New York surfaced at that breathless, confused tone in John's voice, but now was not the time to worry about that, not when John was actively sinking.

"John… we're headed to the city in the desert, remember? We have to take shelter before it gets dark. Take my hands." He held his hands out again, slower this time, hovering between them in invitation. "John, please, take my hands, you're sinking."

John blinked again, suddenly glancing down at his feet as the sand trailed up the lower half of his calf. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head before making eye contact again. "Arthur? What…?"

Arthur nearly sobbed in relief at the recognition flowing back into John's voice, the sparkle in his eyes coming back. "John, my hands— take my hands."

John did, he always would, and Arthur grabbed them, tugging him firmly toward him to no avail. John tried to take a step forward, but his feet were stuck under the weight of the sand. He tugged back, clinging to Arthur's hands like a lifeline as the sand continued to creep up his shins with a horrid shifting, grating sound. "Arthur?"

"It's okay, it's going to be okay. We're going to get you out, just hang on." Arthur moved his hands to John's elbows, lifting as he tugged; his own feet slipping and sliding as the sand moved under their weight. "Fuck."

John wiggled his knees quickly as the panic set in, but it only served to make him sink faster. He yelped, adrenaline pounding through him, and dug his fingers into Arthur's skin.

"Fuck," Arthur muttered. He let go, fear turning his limbs to ice as John flailed for him with a panicked scream of his name. He flung his bag a few feet away from them and motioned for John's. "Your bag! Give me your bag! It's weighing you down!"

John shook his bag from his back, tears pricking his eyes as his fingers brushed Arthur's. The second Arthur's hands were returned, he was clinging to them desperately, frantic in his movements to free himself.

"Slow movements, John, slow," Arthur panted as he dug his heels into the sand, using the leverage to pull him back.

"Arthur, what if I—"

"I've got you, darling. I've got you." Arthur interrupted. They were not going to start thinking that way; he refused to think of losing John at all, let alone to something as mundane as quicksand. "We're making progress, you're okay."

John swallowed his terrified sobs and wiggled slower as he leaned toward Arthur. He watched in relief as the sand receded from his knees, slowly but surely letting go of him.

Eventually, John's knees met the edge of the two sands, and with a final tug from Arthur, he crawled out and collapsed next to him with his lungs heaving and tears pouring down his face.

Arthur curled his arms around John's shoulders, laughing into his hair. "Oh, wow, ha ha, that was… terrifying. Are you okay?"

"No," John croaked, tucking his face into Arthur's neck. His hands were clammy and trembling, his muscles taut with adrenaline, and his eyes were hot. Fear had always been a powerful emotion for him, but feeling it in Arthur's head was a lot different from having his own body react to its whims. The panic hadn't been this bad when fighting the ghoul just hours prior; why was it sand of all things that had almost rendered him useless? "Fuck, how do you do this all the time?"

"Do what?"

"Be afraid."

"One bite at a time," Arthur chuckled, soothing the tension in John's shoulders. He opened his mouth to ask what had just happened, but was cut off as John screamed into his ear. He flinched back as John scrambled off him.

Arthur jolted up to see John kicking at a dried-out, clawed hand reaching from the quicksand to grab his ankle. John wildly grabbed for his bag, using it to beat the hand off him before taking Arthur's hands and getting to his feet.

A small creature, no taller than his knees, with bulging eyes and large hollow ears, crawled from the sand, hissing low. Arthur grabbed his bag as they took off running, stumbling through the sand toward the city.

"What the fuck was that?" Arthur shouted, keeping his eyes firmly ahead of them.

John glanced back, curiosity getting the better of him, and he almost tripped over his own feet. He shuffled his bag onto his back as he stared. "I don't know. There are more of them, dozens, all crawling from the sand and scampering toward us. Their mouths are full of needle-like teeth—"

"Not helping, John!" Arthur grabbed John's hand to tug his attention in front of them. He stubbed his toe and cursed as the sand transitioned into the sandstone paths of the city. Buildings rose all around them, towering almost high enough to block the light that was shifting from red to blue. They were running out of time before darkness fell over them, and these things would have more than just the home-field advantage.

"Arthur! To your right! There's an open door!" John huffed and caught Arthur by the shoulders as he smacked into him. He shoved him in the correct direction, muttering, 'your other right' under his breath. (Another incredible feature of having his own body and hands was being able to stop Arthur physically from falling or going in the wrong direction.)

They crowded into the building, John slamming the door behind them. Arthur's lungs heaved as he tried to catch his breath, listening for the patter of the creatures outside. The building they were in was set up as some kind of shop. Clothes hung from the walls behind a counter, and a staircase led further up the building, probably to a storage area.

"Do you think the door will—"

The door shook behind them, thuds and scratches echoing against the stone as the creatures threw themselves against it.

"Is there anything we can block it with?" Arthur shouted above the noise, pressing his back to the door and squinting into the room.

"No! Nothing that would be heavy enough!" John grumbled, shoving Arthur toward the stairs as the wood started splintering. They scrambled up, slipping on the thick dust as the door slammed open and blew a breeze across the floor. "Fucking go! Up! Up!"

"I am going!" Arthur hissed back, pumping his legs fast. He landed on the second floor, darting to the center of the room to look for anything that might have a modicum of usefulness.

John missed the last step and thudded to the ground, crying out as his knee sparked with pain. He flipped onto his back, pushing away from the stairs as he watched the creatures skitter up them. Terrified, he kicked at them as they got close, sending them screeching back down. Their claws caught on the fabric of his pants, catching his flesh on the way down.

"Fuck off!" He yelped. "Arthur!"

Arthur scampered forward, looping his arms under John's armpits to pull him away from the creatures, giving them more space to react. His right hand fumbled for the pistol on his hip; it was empty, but he used the grip to hit them back and give John time to pull away from their claws. He clocked one on the nose, and it whirled back, whimpering and scrubbing at the pain before hissing at him. Its jaw unhinged to reveal those needle teeth dripping in vibrant green saliva.

And then it snapped its mouth shut, standing straight as a ramrod with its large ears swivelling against its skull. The others copied it, dropping the room into deafening silence. They tasted the air, long, rope tongues swinging in the dusty air. In unison, they gave one last chilling hiss, then turned and ran back down the stairs, disappearing into the desert as fast as they'd arrived, leaving silence disturbed only by heavy breathing.

Arthur's hand tingled where it had connected with the creature's forehead, and he glared after them, half tempted to shout curses. Once he was sure they weren't coming back, he holstered his gun and dropped down next to John. "Are you alright?"

John nodded, shook his head, nodded, and dragged unsteady, clammy air into his lungs. He covered his face with his hands, trying to keep his tears at bay. "Fine."

"I've gotta say," Arthur breathed, trying to shake the remaining nerves from his trembling limbs, "it is nice to be able to save you for a change."

John sobbed, his voice coming out as a mere croak. "I'm sorry."

"What the fuck are you apologising for?" Arthur checked John's leg for damage, but the cuts were already healing.

"I didn't— I should have— I was too focused on running. I should have been describing better— if you had been blind today, what would have—"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Arthur hummed, cupping John's face and soothing his thumbs over his cheeks. "I've run from far more dangerous things with far less description. This is all new to you. Fear is hard to—"

"I can't lose you because I couldn't do my job again!"

"Again?" Arthur nearly hissed as John's claws dug into his forearms. "What do you mean again?"

"New York," John pressed against Arthur's hands, willing them to pull the anxiety from his veins so he could just breathe. "Just now, in the sand, it was… it was the same as New York. I couldn't think… I wanted it to be different, but there was… I was in two places—"

"John, John, take a breath. It's okay." Arthur leaned their foreheads together. "We're okay. It's going to be okay. You're here, John. Here, with me. No one is going anywhere."

"Okay," John breathed, nodding against Arthur's forehead as he took slow breaths. "Okay."

"Do you think Yellow is nearby?" Arthur asked, continuing to run soothing motions over John's face.

"I… I don't know. It didn't affect us in the Dreamlands before. I don't see what's different." John sighed. His shaking slowed enough that he felt okay to pull back and climb to his feet.

"Yellow was still The King then. Maybe something is different now that you've both been changed." Arthur stood and moved to the window, looking out at the empty streets. It was almost dark, the blue light fading fast. "Why did they leave? Do you think it's safe to stay in here?"

"I don't know, Arthur. Maybe they heard something we didn't." John peered over the stairwell, still taking deep breaths to keep himself calm. This would not be like New York if he could help it. He would get them both through this. "Perhaps we should move further into town?"

"Right," Arthur muttered, following John back down the stairs. He reached out and twined their fingers together to let John know he was right there if he needed him.

The door lay on the sandstone floor, the dust still settling back down around it. Its hinges were twisted and sharp, glinting in the fading light. John led them over it carefully and into the streets, forcing himself to stay focused in case whatever had scared the creatures off was out here. He swore he could smell a hint of iron wafting through the eerie streets. The quiet unsettled him. It was enough that he felt the need to whisper, letting go of Arthur's hand to wrap his arm around his waist to tuck Arthur securely against his side and press his lips to his ear.

"The blue star moves faster than the others, making the shadows appear as if they were breathing, moving creatures. This city seems abandoned; doors have been left wide open, or perhaps broken in by those creatures. Wagons and carts are tipped over, left in the middle of tasks that won't be completed any time soon. The entire area seems to be holding its breath. The buildings aren't wide, but they are very tall, rising high into the sky. Their walls are smooth, hardly decorated save for their etched bricks. This isn't a place of power like Kore's city. No god resides here."

Arthur released his breath through his nose and with it some of the tension in his shoulders. He was unashamed to admit how at ease John's voice put him, and how quickly he was adjusting to these casual touches; he'd miss them when they'd have to hide this on Earth. And even with his sight back (on occasion at least), he thinks he still prefers John's descriptions, adding another layer of colour and beauty to the world around them. He subconsciously leaned into John's arm, nearly tucking his head against John's chest. He was about to suggest they pick one of the buildings with a heavier door when John's hands covered his eyes.

"Oh, Arthur. Don't… don't look."

Arthur swallowed, regretting the taste of iron and bile that coated his lungs. "Why? What is it?"

John hesitated. "There are bodies torn to unrecognisable pieces lining the street. Blood covers every stone, mixing with the dust to create grainy clumps of viscera. It looks like… it looks like…"

"Carcosa." Arthur finished for him, a frown curling his lip. He pulled John's hand from his eyes and wished he hadn't. "Kayne."

"Hmm," John hums in affirmation, pressing closer to assuage his fear. "We should leave, immediately."

Arthur's eyes tracked the bodies lining the streets as they led to a chapel, or a building that resembled one. A trail of bloody footprints danced around the door that was propped open with a small body before disappearing inside.

"No. We should find out what he's up to."

"What?" John snarled, whirling to glare at Arthur, dropping his arm from his side. "Why the fuck would you want to get mixed up with Kayne again? He's dangerous!"

"I'm aware of how dangerous he is, John." Arthur couldn't resist the urge to roll his eyes. "That's why we have to find out what he's doing. If we can stop him—"

"You think we can stop him?" John hissed, biting back painful, bloody memories of bones and Arthur's screams. "Arthur, I can't guarantee I won't drift away the second he tries to pull anything. The two of us have lost to him at every turn, we aren't enough to—"

"Being enough isn't what matters, John." Arthur stepped around to catch John's eye. "What matters is that someone tries! I can't just stand back and do nothing—"

"Even if he kills us?" John's chest ached, fueling the fearful anger slipping into his voice. "Why would you risk everything we've gained to take him out? For what? What happened to getting back to Earth? What about starting a life… our life? We can't do that if Kayne tangles us in another web. Do you always have to keep going after more? More answers, more deals, more trouble?"

"You think I'd go after him for another deal? What more could I want?" Arthur nearly choked on the tang of iron in the air.

"I don't know, Faroe! You'd chase her to the ends of the earth, Arthur, because you can't let go. Kayne exploits that at every turn because I'm not enough for you!"

"What do you—" Arthur cut himself off, John's words and the tears simmering in his eyes hitting him. "Oh, John. It's not like that. It's not like that at all."

He reached for him, and a piece of him shattered when John swatted him away. "You are enough, I swear it. I'm not chasing Kayne to get Faroe back. I wouldn't trust Kayne with something like that anyway. But you are right. We don't know what he's up to or what he plans to do with the black stone. What if he does something awful with it? What if he hurts someone, and we were right here to stop it and didn't? He can take all of this—"

He gestured between the two of them and the world around them. "—away at the snap of a finger. I can't… I won't choose to do nothing. I can't be that… version of myself. Not anymore."

John dropped his eyes, hugging his arms to his chest. "You would do this even if you were with her? With someone you loved dearly?"

Arthur took his hand (his left one), and pressed a gentle, comforting kiss to his knuckles. He spoke softly as he reverently rubbed his thumb over the back of his hand. "You are someone I love dearly. Don't ever think you aren't. Yes, even then, I can't sit idly by knowing I could have done something to prevent more tragedy."

John sighed, knocking his forehead against Arthur's. He slid his free hand over Arthur's hip and pulled him into a hug. "I don't want to lose you."

"I know."

John sighed. "Okay. No unnecessary risks, promise?"

"That worked so well last time," Arthur chuckled.

"Promise me," John urged, apprehension coiled tight in his blood. Arthur's self-sacrificing tendencies were going to be the death of him.

"I promise," Arthur sighed, squeezing his hand. "Do you? Promise?"

"I promise," John replied, stepping back to his side. "Make the choice to stay alive, please."

"I will." Arthur took the lead as they made their way up the hill through the slimy viscera coating the streets. They squeezed through the door, staying as quiet as possible. Arthur waited until he was sure they hadn't been heard sneaking in before flicking his lighter to life. The light didn't reach far, and briefly, Arthur wondered how John had done such a good job of guiding him by its frail light. It was a church of some kind, although the only resemblance it had to those on Earth was the towering walls and the grand altar, littered with candles, at the front of the building. There were no pews, no grand stained glass windows; it was only an empty room for people to gather. The dried blood on the walls did suggest that gathering wasn't the only thing people did here.

It was nearly silent. Nearly.

A deep whisper in a language Arthur was sure he wouldn't be able to understand if not for John's translating abilities wound through the air in a familiar voice. Through his blurred vision, he could just make out someone kneeling before the altar, as if in prayer. Their hair was a brilliant golden blonde, tumbling in waves down their back. A pair of deep yellow, goat-like horns wrapped in glittering black and gold jewellery poked out from their head. A long, cadmium yellow cape, covered in shimmering black stars, draped across their back.

John grunted, clutching his head as they grew closer, nearly dropping to his knees at the dizzy feeling that overwhelmed him; at the same time, the stranger stopped whispering and clutched at their own head, crying in pain as they dropped their head to the altar. A rattle of chains echoed in the room, loud and haunting.

Arthur caught John around his waist, allowing him to lean heavily into his side. John clung to him weakly, unsure which pair of hands swimming in his vision were actually his.

Before Arthur could ask what was wrong, the stranger snarled and reared up from the altar, yanking the chains in vain. Their vitriolic yellow eyes glared right at Arthur.

"Don't you dare take another step," They growled, backing as far away as the chains would allow, which wasn't very far at all.

John glanced up, recognition flashing in his eyes as the double vision cleared. He blinked, trying to erase the sight as if it were nothing more than an illusion. "Yellow?"

"You two need to stay the fuck away from me," Yellow hissed, scratching frantically at the cuffs on his wrists, doing nothing to loosen them. "Fucking leave already!"

"How did you get here?" John asked, ignoring the demand and taking a few steps toward him. "Where's Larson? How are you in a human body? Was Kayne—?"

"I'm not telling you anything," Yellow snorted. "I want nothing to do with the two of you."

"But, you're stuck—"

"I'm not stuck!" Yellow yanked on the chains again. "I can leave whenever I want."

"John," Arthur grabbed John's elbow, his eyes carefully levelled at Yellow in the dim light. "He clearly doesn't want our help, and Kayne isn't here. Maybe we should leave like—"

"Arthur, look at him. He's chained down. We can't just leave him—"

"Yes, you can."

"—when it's about to be dark." John worried his lip as he glanced out the door at the light that was a minute from being gone.

"I summoned a Byahkee, and when it gets here, I will command it to eat the two of you!" Yellow snarled, the continuous rattle of struggling chains filling the room. "It is in your best interest to leave me here."

"You remember how to do that?" John asked.

"You don't?" Yellow snorted again.

"John," Arthur warned as the door was eclipsed in darkness, the only light left was that of the candles flickering on the altar and the lighter in his hand. Their light cast an eerie glow on the two gods in the room, their eyes glinting under its low amber tones.

John ignored Arthur but placed a hand over his to let him know he was still heard. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the low lighting, seeing further in here than he had in the tunnels below Kore's town. He supposed Yellow remembering certain things made sense; his own memories were patchy at best, but he still knew how to do things like exorcise a wraith or identify certain monsters. Why shouldn't Yellow remember how to summon the King's servants? "If you can remember that, do you remember how to change forms? To replace the mask? You could free yourself from those chains in—"

"What?!" Yellow snarled, rage igniting in his eyes. "You can take the human mask off?"

"You… you can't?" John's tone held that wobbling confusion and underlying anger he had when he was scared, although it didn't carry the same bite Yellow had.

Anxiety coiled in Arthur's stomach as the conversation dragged on. It was dark, and they were surrounded by blood, with a monster on the way. What was John doing? It's not like they had parted with Yellow on the best of terms; clearly, he was sitting here spitting venom at them. He'd hurt Noel and threatened them, and wanted nothing to do with them. Why was John trying so hard to help him? "John, just— just leave him—"

A screech like that of talons on a chalkboard rang out from the air above the building, followed by quick, thudding steps on the roof. Yellow chuckled darkly, calling out for the creature in that other language again. Arthur barely had time to blink before John was bundling him into the corner, trying to hide him from the beast as much as possible.

"John—" Arthur huffed at the ridiculousness of it as John's hand covered his mouth, effectively silencing his protest.

They watched as two giant, clawed hands slid through the open door and pried the wall apart. Dust clattered down with the sandstone fragments, littering the entryway with debris. Those same hands pulled a hulking, winged lizard through the hole. Its head was barren and wrinkled like that of a buzzard, but with the maw of a feral dog, dripping with saliva, as a lumbering growl ripped from its thick throat. Arthur slammed his eyes shut against the rush of fear and madness that assaulted his mind at the sight. (He had never been more glad that he'd been blind for most of their adventures than he was in the last few days. Listening to John and not being able to see these creatures had probably kept his sanity intact. He wondered if John was affected by that madness at all.)

John watched a sly smirk slide onto Yellow's features as the creature's eyes found him. He pressed back, further hiding Arthur between him and the wall. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to command this creature the way Yellow was certain he could, but he was hoping his presence would be enough to dissuade it from going after Arthur. The creature was blocking the only exit they knew of. It would be a tight escape, and once outside, they wouldn't be able to see much.

Yellow called out for it again, gesturing to the chains that bound him to the altar as the creature trod forward, its glassy eyes locked directly on the helpless god before it.

Too late did John realise it wasn't gazing in obedience, but in hunger.

"Yellow—!"

Yellow's smirk dropped as the creature lunged directly for him, maw wide open as its wings scraped along the ceiling. He yelped, scrambling back, halted by the chains. He cried out when its jagged teeth snapped around the flesh of his leg, ripping strips off when it reared back, taking his boot with it.

John turned to Arthur, confliction and fear painting his features. He didn't want to take unnecessary risks, but Yellow couldn't fend for himself. He couldn't just sit here and watch him die.

Arthur nodded once, a quiet understanding passing between them. "I'll distract it—"

"No, you can't see. Get Yellow!" John shoved him toward the altar and ran at the creature, shouting and waving his hands wildly. "Hey! Over here! This way, asshole!"

"John! Fuck!" Arthur didn't have time to argue, not with the creature's attention now on John as dark blood dripped from its mouth. He stumbled over to Yellow, digging through his bag for anything that could pick a lock. He found a thin set of metal forks and stabbed them at the ground, breaking some of the tines off.

"Get away from me!" Yellow hissed, pushing at Arthur's hands and smearing the blood all over him. Black ichor that shone with a golden oil slick gushed from his leg, staining the ground underneath them.

"Shut the fuck up!" Arthur snarled back, jamming the tines into the lock. Parker used to tease him about his lock-picking skills— he used to say he only kept him around for his smooth talking and ability to get them into places they shouldn't be within seconds. Of course, that was when he had the proper tools and wasn't fighting a petulant god or constantly checking over his shoulder to make sure his partner hadn't been eaten.

John ducked under the swing of claws aimed for his head, nearly tripping over his own feet. He had to admit, this dodging thing was much harder than Arthur had made it look (and he had perfect vision). He snatched a broken piece of sandstone from the ground and chucked it at the Byahkee's head. He nearly missed, but it still clipped it just below its eye.

It screeched at him, the sound grating on his eardrums like a broken bell, making him flinch and cover them in an attempt to stop the noise from bursting them. It snapped its head back, bashing against the wall and thrashing its wings, sending more debris to the floor. John yelped as a rock hit his shoulder just before he could duck out of the way.

"Fuck!" He clutched at his shoulder, tears blurring his vision, and his hand came away bloody. "Any day now, Arthur!"

"I'm fucking trying, John!" Arthur yelled back, fighting Yellow more than the lock. "Would you fucking sit still?"

"I don't want your help!" Yellow's foot slipped on his blood as he tried to scoot back, and he fell, his knee slamming against the altar hard.

"Well, sorry, your highness," He finally undid the first lock, swinging over to the next one, "but your better half is occupied at the moment!"

Yellow snarled, only resisting the urge to shove at Arthur with his now free hand because he wanted to get out of there more than he wanted to fight with Arthur fucking Lester. He snapped at John over the noise of the creature's claws and wings. "Take off your mask, idiot! It will listen to you if you actually look like The King—"

"No!" John snapped back, smashing the creature's foot with a rock and barely dodging the swipe of its wing in time. "I won't!"

"Are you fucking serious?" Yellow yanked against the chain, causing Arthur to slip and curse. "I'd do it if—"

"Just shut up and let me get you out of here!" Arthur gripped his wrist hard and pinned it to the altar, working quicker on the lock when he heard John yelp.

John hissed as he thudded against the wall. The creature's back leg had swept his legs out from under him. He rolled to the side, his cape tearing as the creature sliced at him. More rock and dust fell from the ceiling, landing all around him.

"Ah-ha!" Arthur cheered as he got the second lock undone. The creature's thick, spike-studded tail slammed into the two of them as it whirled to chase John. They crashed into the far wall, the candles falling from the altar, fizzling out and casting the room in darkness.

Arthur groaned, rubbing at his head. Yellow was sobbing at his side and grasping at his leg. The dark was nothing he wasn't used to, so he switched tactics, flailing his arms out at the ground, searching the floor for something… anything. He gasped as his hand brushed over a latch in the ground near the altar. He tugged it open, revealing a ladder heading down into a tunnel.

"More fucking tunnels," He muttered before turning to where he assumed Yellow was. "Do you know where this leads?"

"How should I fucking know?" Yellow cried, blood staining his hands and tears shimmering down his face. "I don't even know where we are!"

"Arthur!" John shouted, whimpering as his shoulder hit the wall he jumped into.

"Here, John! Right, your right!" Arthur shouted directions as he gripped Yellow by the elbow and dragged him kicking and screaming over to the hatch.

"Unhand me!" He swatted at Arthur's hands, barely having time to attempt to catch himself as Arthur shoved him into the hole. He hit the ground hard, his leg twisting under him, forcing a sob from his throat. "Fuck! Fucking shit!"

John rubbed his eyes, clearing the dust from them; he was glad he could see in the dark, or he'd be so incredibly fucked right now. Teeth snapped just millimeters from his skin. He threw another rock blindly and missed. He cursed and ran toward where he'd last seen Arthur, the creature's rancid breath hot on his tail, stinking of rot and decay.

Arthur jumped down after Yellow, yanking him up and shoving him down the tunnel. "Move, god damn it! John, jump! I'll catch you!"

John scampered over to the hole and slid into it, his heart leaping into his throat as he fell directly into Arthur's open arms. He grunted at the impact to his ankles and stumbled from the jolt of inertia.

"Are you alright?" Arthur breathed.

"Fine, let's move!"

"I'm not!" Yellow panicked, staggering on his leg as he struggled to stand. "You shoved me down a hole!"

"Oh fuck off—"

Arthur was cut off as the creature's disjointed hand scrabbled through the hatch, clawing at the ladder and splintering it with a loud crack. John yanked Arthur out of the way, and both of them took one of Yellow's side, supporting his weight as they hauled ass down the tunnel and out of reach.

Once they were far enough away, they collapsed on the ground to catch their breath, lungs heaving and ragged. Arthur scuttled over to John, flicking the lighter open and checking him for injuries.

"You're sure you're alright? It didn't… it didn't get you— John, John, you're bleeding—"

"It's fine, Arthur, just a scratch," John reassured, squeezing Arthur's hands. "A rock hit me, nothing more."

Arthur sighed, relief flooding his veins. He dropped his hands to John's shoulders as John let go to do his own inspections of Arthur's body. The lighter reflected back at him from a deep pool on the ground. He followed the trail to see Yellow's leg still gushing blood. "Jesus Christ, Yellow—"

"Nice of you to fucking notice!" Yellow growled, his hand the only thing slowing the blood.

"You aren't healing?" John whispered, letting go of Arthur to change course and check on Yellow's injuries. "Arthur, a spare shirt."

John ran his hand over the injury, conjuring the feeling from before, when he had to heal Trim. He grit his teeth, healing what he could as the pain seared and echoed in his own leg. Once the deeper parts of his muscle had stitched back together, he let go, unable to take any more of the pain. It was a wonder Yellow hadn't passed out or complained more loudly.

"How are you doing that?" Yellow gasped, breaths coming more steadily as the dizzy feeling lifted and the pain dulled to a small ache instead of burning.

John didn't answer, his vision swimming as his head grew dizzy. He took the shirt from Arthur, his hands shaking, and wrapped it around the now shallow gash to stop the rest of the bleeding.

"John?" Arthur asked, placing a hand on John's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

John sighed, leaning into Arthur's touch and choking down the nausea. "Hurts really fucking bad."

Arthur choked on a panicked, whining noise and held the lighter close to John's leg, checking for injury. "You didn't tell me it hurt you to—"

"No, not really. It's just… just a phantom pain. It will go away after a while."

"John, you can't just—"

"Don't worry about it, Arthur."

The creature screeched again, the sound ringing down the tunnel before more scrabbling followed. Rock and nail clattered for a moment before it hissed and its footsteps faded. Silence fell, enveloping the tunnel in an eerie blanket.

Yellow whimpered weakly as he tenderly prodded at the makeshift bandage. His brow creased in pain, anger boiling up his throat. He couldn't look weak in front of these two, not in front of Arthur, but he could still barely catch his breath. "How the fuck can you do that? That's not one of our powers."

"Give him a fucking minute—"

"Arthur," John huffed, leaning all his weight against his human as he could do very little else until the dizziness subsided. "No, it's not. It's one of mine."

Yellow rolled his eyes at the non-answer, bracing himself on the rock wall and pulling himself to his feet. He snarled as he slipped back down.

Arthur sighed, holding a hand out to help him. He scoffed when Yellow swatted his hand away. "Just take the help you—"

"Help? From you? You just threw me down a hole!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Right, sorry for saving your life."

"Oh, fuck off with—"

"Yellow," John gingerly pushed Arthur to the side, standing on his own and squeezing Arthur's shoulder reassuringly. He held out a hand to Yellow. "Tell me what you're doing here."

Yellow scrunched up his nose at the gesture, but still hesitantly took it. John pulled him to his feet, and Yellow immediately shoved him off to lean on the wall. "I don't owe you anything. I want you to leave me alone."

"Can you at least tell us where Kayne is?" John asked.

Yellow snarled, his claws digging into the rock and leaving deep gouges. "Kayne… I'll fucking kill that asshole the next time I see him."

"Join the club," Arthur scoffed.

Yellow wasn't as tall as John, closer to Arthur's height, the top of his head ending at John's shoulders. To Arthur's eyes, Yellow seemed like he belonged on a throne. His posture was firm, regal, all haughty and holier-than-thou, like he'd sooner crush them like bugs than listen to a word they said. It was odd seeing it next to John's more relaxed stature. He also wore more jewellery than John, each piece on his horns, ears, throat, wrists, and fingers glinted brazenly under the lighter. His necklace matched John's, the same swooping symbol resting against his collarbone.

A bright yellow turtleneck peeked out from a dignified brown button-up that had yellow stitching running in a vertical pattern. His pants, even shredded, reeked of the kind of expenses Arthur would never know. The one boot he had left reminded him of the riding boots he often saw in royal portraits of kings next to their stallions. His hair, now slightly tangled, was a shade of yellow blonde that wasn't natural to humans, but fit him extremely well. His skin was the same dark umber shade as John's but appeared to have a strange golden hue running just underneath it; it was probably due to the colour of his blood, giving him a more ethereal appearance. He wore his origins much more proudly, and arrogantly, than John did.

"Is…" John swallowed, pushing more and more like he always did. "Is he why you're separated from Larson? What happened to—"

"Larson," Yellow spat, "didn't deserve the quick, painless end that Kayne gave him. He deserved to suffer for eternity. Yes, Kayne was the reason I was stuck there, and he's the reason I was stuck here. And you are always the cause of it. Now leave me alone."

Yellow turned and began walking down the tunnel, trying his best not to let them see how hard it was for him to put pressure on his leg without crying. He hoped his voice still held enough authority that they would listen to his weak threat.

"John." Arthur stopped John from following with a hand on his wrist. "What are you doing?"

"I…" John stopped to take a deep breath. He didn't know. Not really. But part of him couldn't just stand by and watch… a part of him struggling so much. They may be different people now, but they had come from the same place. Maybe Yellow just needed someone to be his Lily; someone to show him what kindness was— that there was more to this world they lived in but never truly experienced in their centuries of life.

"Arthur, if I could just… get him to listen to me, maybe I could…"

"You could what, John? Save him?" Arthur felt warm and panicky, unsure of what feeling was bubbling in his chest, but anger seemed like the easiest name for it. "He doesn't want that! He's not— well, he's not—"

"Not what, Arthur?" John frowned, ripping his wrist from Arthur's grip. It occurred to him then that they didn't have to have these arguments anymore. He'd walked out in the inn; he could walk away now. He could chase after Yellow and come back for Arthur later if he wanted to. (If he'd had this ability their entire time together… he suspects they would not have become friends.) The question was whether Arthur would still be waiting for him when he returned. "Not human? Not me?"

"That's not what I meant—"

"I was just like him once. You know that. If Lily… and if you hadn't shown me kindness, I would have the same view of the world that he does. No one has shown him that love is a better kind of power. And I already failed him once. Maybe now, with human eyes, he'll understand what I was trying to tell him."

"What do you mean you already failed him once?" Arthur croaked past the dryness in his throat. He didn't want to be fighting with John. Why was he so good at always saying the wrong thing? Why had he insisted on coming to this stupid building? Why couldn't Yellow or The King or whoever he was just stop showing up in their lives?

"Arthur… there's," John sighed, dropping his eyes to the ground at Arthur's feet, "… there's a part of the story that I— that I haven't told you."

Arthur sucked in a breath. "That citadel that Kayne—"

"Yes." John cut him off before he could ask more. "I am no better than Yellow. I know you believe me to be, but I… He is no more The King than I am. If… If I can change, then he deserves to have that choice too. I want to at least try to help him."

Arthur felt the word 'choice' hit him like a blow to the chest. Yellow couldn't leave them any more than any of the names that haunted Arthur. In human terms, John and Yellow could have been twins, brothers, family. That put Yellow on the same level as Bella, Faroe, Parker. Who was Arthur to tell John to abandon his family? To force those connections to disappear? John needed to work out where they stood, who they were to each other, and who they were within their bond that wouldn't just vanish at either's whim.

And hadn't he been the one to take that choice away from Yellow? He'd been the reason Yellow knew nothing but hate and grief and control. He'd all but pushed Yellow toward Larson's stupid rhetoric of gods and power being superior.

And it wasn't like Arthur was any better than Larson. He'd thought of John the same way in his absence. He'd put him on an indestructible pillar, thinking of him as nothing less than a perfect example of humanity; better than all the rest because he had clawed his way to kindness from the very depths of depravity. He had to be better than The King because Arthur looked up to him. He had to be what Arthur most wanted to achieve, or else what was he but a malevolent god?

John was here pleading with him to understand that he was John. John had been The King; those experiences still shaped his choices and his past. But he was John now, and John could make mistakes, horrible, awful mistakes, and still be John. And if that were true, then the same thing had to be true of Yellow. John needed Arthur to be okay with extending a hand, even if it was rebuked.

"Fuck!" From up ahead, they heard a clatter and a shout. Yellow had tripped, grazing his hands on the ground. The shirt on his leg was soaked in blood, and from this distance, he seemed to be shaking.

Arthur sighed, shoulders dropping as the tension drained from him. "I can't promise we'll get along."

"All I'm asking is to give him a hand." John cradled Arthur's face in his hands, accidentally smearing blood on his jaw. "It's up to him to take it."

"Okay."

"Thank you," John sighed, pressing a chaste, grateful kiss to Arthur's lips.

Arthur relished the contact for just a brief moment before John was pulling away to help Yellow.

John held out a hand for Yellow again, but this time, he stubbornly pulled himself up with help from the wall. John sighed, "We're going to Carcosa."

"What!" Yellow stopped, setting his glare upon John for the first time. "I thought you wanted nothing to do with our city?"

"I don't." John glanced back at Arthur as he stubbornly kept his distance. He and Yellow were more similar than they were willing to admit; both of them were bull-headed, and it was going to give John a headache. "I just want to get home, to Earth. That's what you want too, isn't it? Home?"

"It's not something as human or trivial as a home. It's… I belong there. I am the King of Carcosa. Unlike you, that is not something I want to throw away. I have to get back because it's where I should be. Even if it wasn't, if I don't, Kayne will…" Yellow stopped, as he realised he'd said too much.

"Kayne will what?" John prodded, apprehension curling in his toes.

Yellow clipped his mouth shut, glaring at John like he might disappear if he willed it hard enough.

"Did you make a deal with him?" Arthur snapped unhelpfully.

"Fuck off, Arthur," Yellow sneered, flinching at the judgment in his tone. "I didn't have a choice. I was stuck with Larson. Larson, who wanted nothing more than to use me for his own gain, to take my power for himself. I was trapped in a useless human body! Do you know how… limiting that is? Of course you don't, Arthur. You were made to exist in these conditions. This is beneath me! I am not this thing that is weak and powerless. I can do so much more… I am so much more. And I am tired of creatures like you treating me as nothing more than a prisoner to satiate your needs. I may not remember every tiny detail, but I remember enough to know this is not me. And it isn't— fair! It isn't fair that I am once again trapped in a body that limits me, while you—"

He turned his vitriolic gaze to John, teeth bared and nostrils flaring. "—You get to have everything that used to be mine! Ours, whatever! And you don't even want it! Kayne was supposed to fix it, to put me back where he took me from, and all he did was create a new prison. Now I have to get home in this stupid body before the end of the play, or he'll toss me into the Dark World where I'll be stuck like this forever or until I… until I… Are you fucking happy with that answer!?"

The two were quiet for a moment, absorbing all Yellow had said.

John crossed his arms, willing the anger boiling up to stay within him and not burst out at the people around him. Arthur had been right; Kayne needed to be stopped. How many other people would he ensnare in 'life-saving' deals that were bullets carved for the gun he was loading? John understood the safety net of power Yellow was chasing, but he also understood that he would be clawing to keep a hold of that power for the rest of his life. It didn't feel powerful the way that love did. But the unfairness of the situation made his chest ache and his eyes burn with angry tears. Yellow didn't deserve the Dark World, no one did; at least not as an eternal punishment.

Yellow scoffed and turned to continue down the tunnel, leg burning. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rip the offending limb from his body to stop the pain and embarrassment it was causing him. Most of all, he wanted to get away from these two idiots before they got him killed… or worse, annoyed him to death.

"Wait." Arthur rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, taking a deep breath to center himself before he continued. Part of him wanted to curse at Yellow for being so stupid. The other part knew that he had also taken those deals when he was desperate, with little to no choice. (And under the right circumstances, might take one again.) That part felt nothing but pity for Yellow. "Make a deal with us."

"What?" Yellow deadpanned.

"Yes, Arthur." John nodded, sending Arthur a grateful look. He stood in front of Yellow, eye shimmering with the tiniest bit of hope. "We could get you back to Carcosa, and you could get us home."

"Why would I do that?" Yellow tried to move around John, but he was taking up too much space in the small tunnel. "Get out of my way!"

"Think about it. You're not used to a human body—"

"I can handle myself just fine!"

"—and we don't know how far it is to Carcosa—"

"You don't?" Yellow narrowed his eyes at him, curiosity momentarily overtaking the anger. "You mean you can't feel it?"

"You can?"

Yellow studied John, his eyes, his posture, his comfort level in human skin, the emotions written so plainly across his face. It was hard to believe they had once been the same being. What game was he playing that Yellow couldn't see? Why hang around beings like Arthur Lester when they were so intentionally cruel unless he was setting up a long con? What did he want from this?

He glanced back at Arthur, who was slowly catching up to them. He hadn't seen much of Arthur's face in their time together, but now, in the dim light, he could see the insecurities it held; the way his brow twisted as his eyes locked on the ground. Was he worried John would figure him out soon? Or was he worried that Yellow would tell John the truth about gods? About how Arthur was keeping John from reaching his full potential? Arthur flicked his gaze up and immediately schooled his expression into carefully held neutrality.

Yellow sneered, shoving John out of the way. John, he could tolerate, even help, if he felt like it. He was curious about him and the way Arthur had talked about him, and it made him want to poke and prod at John until he got the correct answers; maybe get him to come back to Carcosa with him.

But he wanted nothing to do with Arthur, and Arthur clearly still wanted nothing to do with him. Why would he? He wasn't John.

"I don't need another manic deal hanging over me." He yelped when John slapped his hand on the stone in front of him, blocking his way once again.

"I know what the Dark World is like. Do you?" John stated, his voice dropping into that low, threatening octave he hadn't used since New York. "It is a world full of nothing but pain and misery. It will trap you in its torment with no sense of comfort or escape or reprieve. You will spend eternity fighting for your life, fighting to keep any sense of who you are… if it doesn't kill you first.

"Trust me when I say that you do not want Kayne, of all people, to be the one who puts you there. He will push and push and take until he has you exactly where he wants you, and you won't even have time to blink. Make a deal with us. We'll help you get to Carcosa and avoid the Dark World. All we ask in return is that you send us through the portal to Earth. Then we never have to see each other again."

Yellow growled at the hand John presented him with. He opened his mouth to reject it and curse at him for even offering, but the looming threat of the Dark World gave him pause. He wanted to continue to hiss and spit and storm off on his own to get back as quickly as possible. But with his body in this state— leg oozing blood, ribs aching and popping with every step, fatigue weighing on his eyeballs— he would be lucky to make it more than five minutes before something killed him. He couldn't do this alone without his powers.

His only other option was to… allow them to accompany him to aid in his survival. And if he could convince John to come back with him, to leave Arthur alone and powerless, then all the better. It was what Arthur feared most, so it's what he deserves. He glared at Arthur, huffing all his frustration out through his nostrils. "One condition."

"Only one?" Arthur snorted, amused.

Yellow couldn't hide the disgust that twisted his lip. "If you so much as suggest that you're threatening me, blackmailing me, or belittling me, I will not hesitate to kill you once we're in Carcosa. You cannot point the gun at me, whether it is loaded or not."

John growled low in his throat, retracting his hand and stepping ever so slightly in front of Arthur, as if it would intimidate Yellow into taking it back. Yellow would not admit that it had almost accomplished that goal. John was taller, broader, and more used to the human form. Not to mention, he had access to their other body; he could take the mask off and rip Yellow in half in a second or less. If Yellow could do that, he wouldn't need them, and that was probably exactly why Kayne blocked him from it.

Bastard.

Arthur put a hand on John's arm. "You're saying all I have to do is behave and we have a deal?"

"Yes."

"Arthur—"

"Fine. I can agree to that. I won't point any gun." Arthur did not appreciate being threatened by Yellow again, but at least this time, he couldn't snap his fingers and break his bones. He could bite his tongue to give John room to work with him. Because, for some god forsaken reason, this loving creature next to him wanted to give his worse half a third chance.

And that thought made Arthur want to kick himself. Wasn't that the entire problem between the three of them? Wasn't Yellow standing across from him, believing he was superior because Arthur had drilled it into his head that he was the inferior half of The King and could be nothing more? Because he hadn't given him the same chances to grow as he'd given John? No blackmail seemed like the least he could do to make up for implanting that belief.

Yellow still bristled at the thought of having to work with Arthur again. Every fibre of his being wanted to hang Arthur Lester from his toes and beat him with a stick until he was nothing but a bloody pulp begging for Yellow to show the mercy he'd never given.

"Fine. Deal." But the desire to be rid of both of them was stronger. "So, you don't know where Carcosa is, and you're still—"

It was only then that Yellow noticed that Arthur's eyes were staring directly at him. "You're not blind?"

Arthur drew in a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back. "A gift courtesy of Kayne. Today, I can see about three feet in front of me. Tomorrow? Who knows?"

"Kayne." Yellow huffed an unamused laugh. So they were just as tangled in this mess as he was. "How were the two of you going to reach Carcosa without me telling you where to go?"

"We've done it before," John scoffed, irritation prickling his skin. He was every bit as anxious as he had been when they'd met Kore. Except he didn't want to impress Yellow, at least he didn't think he did. He only wanted to prove… prove what? That he was capable on his own? That he didn't need Yellow? That if Yellow was redeemable, then everything would be okay? That all his wrongs as The King could finally be absolved? That Yellow could be… more like him? He huffed, dropping his gaze from Yellow's. "I assumed that we would eventually stumble into somewhere familiar—"

"The Dreamlands are always changing." Yellow continued to lead the way out of the tunnel. A small surge of satisfaction and power filled his veins now that he held more knowledge than John. At least his memories were returning more and more the longer he was in the Dreamlands. (Did John know more than he was letting on? Or was Arthur somehow keeping memories from him?) "They are as fleeting as the dreams that they're built on. Dreamers never know what they want. A jungle could spring up out of the ground in front of us because some child discovered monkeys for the first time. The next day, it could be a pine forest because they decided squirrels were cuter. The only constants are what the gods have made. You can't seriously expect everything else to stay the same?"

John frowned, searching his memory for any semblance of truth in Yellow's words. The more he thought about it, the more his thoughts grew fuzzy. His thoughts drifted from him, and suddenly he was seeing twice as much tunnel. Yellow or him or both, he couldn't be sure, grasped at his head, the jewellery hanging from their wrists jingling as if it were mere background noise in a faraway dream.

"John?" Arthur asked, gingerly placing a hand on John's shoulder.

Both fragments jumped at the contact, staring at him in confusion and fear, both sets of eyes glossy and dull. Yellow looked at him as if he were searching for something, and John jumped, sneering at the contact. Arthur watched as they growled at each other before gaining their awareness back.

"Ugh!" Yellow hissed, leaning on the wall for support. "Fuck!"

"What?" John grumbled, stumbling and nearly falling on his ass before Arthur caught him. "What is… why does that keep happening?"

Yellow sighed, rubbing the leftover pain from his head. "We can't be in two places at once."

Arthur supported John's weight as he fought back the ache in his head. He frowned, thinking of Kayne and piano keys and avatars of gods. Did other fragments suffer this way? Or was this something Kayne had done to them when he'd plucked Yellow up and stowed him away in Arthur's head? Had Scratch and Lilith had these issues? "This didn't happen when The King was trying to get John back. Why New York? Why now? What—"

"We're occupying the same place. There's bound to be some overlap." Yellow bit his lip as he tripped over a rock.

"It didn't happen in the Dreamlands before," John protested weakly.

"My bets are on Kayne fucking something up." Yellow shook his head. "You should unmask or change forms or whatever you call it. It could help if we aren't occupying—"

"No," John grumbled, sliding his hand back to its spot on Arthur's back to keep himself steady. "You should—"

"If I could, I would have done it by now, and I wouldn't have made this deal with you!" Yellow snarled, feeling more tired than ever before.

"I wasn't going to suggest you do! I was going to—"

"Whatever it is doesn't matter because that's the only way to help—"

John snorted and kicked a rock. "Fine. I'm not doing it."

Arthur's mind whirled with the new information as they continued down the tunnel in silence. If John wanted Yellow to understand humanity, would that mean urging him to keep his human… mask? Would that doom them both to these overlap issues forever? Where would all of this leave Carcosaa and its citizens and the creatures that answer to The King?

"Why were you calling the Byahkee?" Arthur frowned. "And why wouldn't it listen to you? Why—"

"Jesus fucking Christ, I forgot how many stupid questions you ask," Yellow muttered, rubbing his temples in annoyance.

"Excuse me?" Arthur sputtered.

John let a small chuckle slip from his lips. "You do ask a lot of pointless questions with no immediate answers."

Arthur gasped, a small bit of hurt worming into his voice. "Having no immediate answer does not make them pointless! If you don't ask questions, how are you supposed to—"

"I'm teasing, Arthur," John giggled, pressing a kiss to Arthur's temple.

Yellow scoffed, his nose wrinkling in disgust. He spoke his next sentence loud enough to block out whatever Arthur's reply was. "Those creatures will go wherever they're called, and sometimes they offer to help, but ultimately they work for The King, which apparently we are not, and everything else is fair game. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy."

"That's…" John spoke before biting his lip to stop the incomplete thought. He stumbled over a rock and was grateful for Arthur's steadying presence. A faint purple light finally made an appearance in the distance. "That's not entirely true. We… we are The King. We may be separate people now, and… not at full strength on our own, but that doesn't erase what we—"

"Save the speech about humanity and all that nonsense. That's not what I meant, and you know it." Yellow exasperated. "Whatever power or presence they respected is missing."

John snapped his mouth shut. Yellow was right, this wasn't about who they were or who they are. It was just facts.

"And you think you'll get that back when you get to the city? Without John?" Arthur's voice was hesitant, like speaking an idea into the air would make it true.

"Who says I'll be without John?"

"Me." John scoffed, rubbing circles into Arthur's back, more to comfort himself than Arthur. His thoughts were torn. With Yellow in a human body that he had agency of, this might be the perfect chance to show him everything good about humanity: art, poetry, kindness, the beauty of the world around them, caring about lives as if they were each a story to be told and not ants to be ignored unless they were convenient.

But John also understood what it meant to feel uncomfortable in his skin. To look at a form that was supposed to be him and be unable to call it home. He's called Arthur's body home for so long, and yet, that wasn't him. His brief stint in the Dark World hadn't been… terrible. He could exist like that if he had to, but it still wasn't him. He was getting used to the flesh that fit snugly around him now, and maybe once he'd fully settled into it, it would be everything he wanted. He wouldn't want to reside in a form that made his soul itch with wrongness.

Could he condemn Yellow to that fate just because he deemed this better than what they once were? Better for whom? Did he need Yellow to change for Yellow's sake? Or for his own, so he could prove whatever naive bullshit he was thinking about his own path? To prove he could be someone's Lily and therefore had clearly changed.

"John?" Arthur tapped the back of his hand gently against John's chest. "I can hear you thinking."

"No, you can't," John grumbled in return.

"You always get like this when you're thinking hard about something, silent and brooding."

"I don't brood."

"Yes, you do."

The tunnel finally opened up to a forest, much different from the ones they'd been in so far. Towering trees that weren't quite redwoods, not quite evergreens, were grown so close together that they would have to move in a single file line through the dense underbrush just to be able to traverse the area. The leaves of the canopy were so thick that they blocked most of the purple light, the streams not even reaching the forest floor.

Yellow slowly peeked out from the rocks, trying to glimpse what he could between the sprawling plants on the ground.

"Should we just rest here?" John asked, glancing back at the shelter the tunnel provided.

"No." Both Yellow and Arthur answered.

"Don't agree with me," Yellow harumphed.

"Don't agree with you, don't disagree with you, don't belittle you." Arthur rolled his eyes, leading the way into the woods. "Your list of demands is getting impossibly long."

Yellow stuck his tongue out at him when he was sure they couldn't see him. John was plastered to Arthur's back, which meant Yellow was alone to make up the rear. Smart of them to leave the one who couldn't run in the back. But Yellow was grateful for it when they couldn't see him trip over the vines and roots more often than he'd care to admit.

His legs ached, his lungs burned, his head pounded. He hated it; he let John and Arthur know every time he was bothered. He was aware that he was whining; he didn't care. They should care more about helping him. John should care because they were… well, they were something to each other. Arthur should be bending over backwards to help him because he was human, he was inferior, and he had a lot of ground to make up in the apology apartment. He should be making sure the god… gods… god in his presence was taken care of.

He yearned for the safety of his old body. He longed for the one that didn't make him feel pain in every step. He'd remove his own memories of how weak and small this made him feel once he had it back. Carcosa wasn't far off. If he could just make it past all the pain…

"Are we almost out of this god forsaken forest?" He whined, not caring to keep his voice quiet. If he were lucky, maybe some creature would come out of the brush and chew his leg off. "I can't walk any—"

"We get it!" Arthur snapped, whirling on him with heavy breaths. "Well, I'm sorry this is too much work for you, your highness. But you're going to have to suck it up and fucking deal with it."

"It's your majesty," Yellow snorted.

"What?"

"You address a king with your majesty, not your highness."

"Oh, I'm sorry, your majesty. Would you like us to carry you the rest of the way?" Arthur gripped the strap of his bag hard, knuckles turning white and teeth grating together.

John stayed silent. He understood where Arthur was coming from. He'd done his fair share of poking and prodding at Arthur the first time they'd traversed the Dreamlands. He'd been snapped at the same way. With a human body of his own, he understood why; now he regretted ever teasing Arthur for wanting something as simple as a drink of water.

Yellow's complaints were starting to get to him, too. His own body hurt and throbbed from not only his own injuries, but those he had taken on. He was just as annoyed as Arthur was. Yellow could be in a hell of a lot more pain right now if not for him.

"That would be preferred—"

"That's it!" Arthur screamed. "I have fucking had it with your whinging—"

"Arthur—"

"No, John, I'm fucking done! Your leg hurts, you can't breathe, it's hard to see, you have a headache— who fucking cares! How do you think John and I feel? We're not over here taking a fucking vacation!"

Yellow growled, claws digging into the palms of his hands. "You're awfully close to pointing a gun."

"Oh, listen here, you little—"

"Arthur!" John barked, stopping whatever slew of insults was about to pour out of his partner. He'd seen firsthand how vitriolic those could get, and they would only serve to push Yellow away. "Enough, this isn't going to get us anywhere."

"But—"

"Yes, it's annoying. But you remember when I was like that. Insults won't help. We won't have to deal with it forever." John glanced around the clearing they were in. There was a huge rock formation that had an overhang big enough for them all to camp under. "Would here be an okay place to rest?"

Arthur fumed at the smirk that crawled across Yellow's face. He huffed, opened his mouth to argue, to snarl, to scream enough that his anger would subside. But John was right, this was not the time. He huffed again before turning toward the rock. "Good as a place as any."

Yellow wished he'd had John around sooner to put Arthur in his place. He flipped him off when Arthur sent one more warning look before stalking over to the overhang to set up camp.

"Yellow," John turned his tired, annoyed eyes on his other half, "get over it."

Yellow opened his mouth to argue, but John barged right past him.

"I know it hurts, but whether you like it or not, you are stuck with this body. Pain is just something that comes with that. And need I remind you that I am carrying the worst of your pain?"

He gestured to the barely hanging-on shirt on his leg. "It could be a lot worse for you, so just deal with it until we get you back to Carcosa."

Yellow pouted and glared at Arthur as he gave him a smug look behind John's back. What did he have to be smug about? John had been mad at him, too. Speaking of John, Yellow wasn't so sure he wanted him around anymore. "Why should I listen to someone who bows to such an inferior being? You're nothing more than a parasite who—"

"Don't talk to him like that!" Arthur snapped, fury replacing the smug look on his face in an instant. "What gives you the right to—"

"I'll talk to him however I like!"

"ENOUGH!" John's voice echoed off the trees. Any creature in a five-mile radius that hadn't discovered them would surely know where they were now. "We are all tired, and in pain, and it's doing us no good to be at each other's throats. Both of you drop it. And let's rest while we can."

"Fine," Arthur huffed, slinging his bag down under the rocks. "I'm going to find firewood."

"I'll come with you." John left his bag next to his, waving Yellow to sit with them. "Watch camp."

Yellow opened his mouth to protest, to say he wouldn't be bossed around, but Arthur was already doing so.

"Are you sure we should leave him alone?"

"What's he going to do, Arthur? Run away?" John fidgeted with the bracelet on his wrist; it matched the one on Arthur's. "I… I need to talk to you… alone. There's something… something you need to know."

Yellow huffed and sat down next to the bags, unwilling to admit that John was right. He frowned as he watched Arthur turn that wary, accusatory look on John. From all his yammering about him, he would have thought John perfect in Arthur's eyes; that his other half could simply do no wrong. But Arthur seemed ready to cast his well-used gavel down at whatever this information was.

"Okay…"

John released the air in his lungs in a huge sigh. Yellow could see that his hands were shaking as the two of them crept off into the woods. He grumbled to himself now that he was alone. He would not admit that sitting down and getting the pressure off his feet felt amazing. Maybe those two would get lost and wouldn't come back, so he could walk to Carcosa at his own pace.

Except… he didn't. Despite all his complaining and whining, he really didn't want to be alone on the trip back. He shook his head to keep from imagining what would have happened if they hadn't shown up when they did. Kayne had chained him to that altar as extra motivation, but Yellow thought he had just wanted to get rid of him.

John was right; he didn't know how to survive in a human body. He was weak and small and way too vulnerable now that Arthur and Larson's human expertise had left him. Not that he wanted to go back to being stuck inside someone, hell no. It just meant that he had no idea what he was doing. Not that those two knew what they were doing either; Arthur had nearly died from everything they'd encountered, and Larson had stood zero chance against a being like Kayne.

He glanced at the woods around him as a strike of fear filled him. What if Kayne was hovering nearby to finish him off? These woods resembled those of Addison. What if Kayne sent wolves after him? There would be no way he could outrun them, especially if they were the Dreamlands equivalent. What if they were invisible like the creature in the mines? He wouldn't stand a chance.

A stick cracked somewhere in the distance, and he jumped, nearly screeching. He hated how fear made this entire body run cold; hated the way it made his breathing quick, made his fingers tremble. All he'd felt since waking up in Arthur's body was fear. He'd tear the emotion from his chest if he could.

How long had they been gone now? Did it usually take this long to find firewood? Surely they wouldn't have run off and left their stuff. What if they had killed each other? What if whatever John had to say was enough to trigger Arthur's cruelty? What if John decided that Yellow wasn't worth the trouble of saving? What if some other creature had gotten to them? Would he be able to hear their screams?

He stifled the small whimper in his throat and hugged his knees to his chest as he scanned the forest for any sign of danger. His eyes landed on John's bag, and curiosity seemed like a good distraction from the fear. He pulled it over, digging through it to keep his hands busy. A blanket covered what little was in there: clothes, food cans, water containers. And… a book.

Yellow pulled it out, dropping the bag back where it was. The book was plain, brown leather, with no title. It was heavy, the type of heavy you don't carry around unless it's important. It cracked open with ease, the spine well-worn. The frail pages were haphazardly glued in with no particular order, just random poems slapped into a collection.

Another crack of a stick had him worrying his lip with his fangs. He snorted, choosing to ignore it.

The poems weren't titled, nor did they quote an author. They were just meaningless words dumped on a page with no purpose. All that remained of these people were words and rhymes that weren't even attributed to them. What did John get from carrying this around?

"How could you not have!"

The scream was clearly Arthur's. It echoed through the forest, haunting in its pitch.

So, they weren't dead, just arguing. He knew that Arthur had told him that he and John hadn't gotten along very well when they first met, but he didn't think they argued now. Arthur had made it seem like John was everything good in this world, everything important to him, everything he cherished. (Yellow thought that John had just been better at manipulating him than he had.) What would they have to argue about that made Arthur treat John like Yellow?

What had Arthur lied to him about?

Would this argument drive them apart? Would John finally have enough? And would that mean only one of them would come back to camp?

Who would he prefer?

He hated the way Arthur made him feel, as if he were superior to him in every way that mattered. He didn't like being held under his thumb. Would Arthur even care to keep their deal with John gone? Or would he go right back to belittling him and treating him like the problem? Of the two humans he'd travelled with, he'd begrudgingly admit that he preferred Arthur over Larson. At the very least, Arthur had answered most of his questions and understood why Yellow didn't know anything. At least he could have a conversation with Arthur that didn't feel like he got every answer about the universe wrong.

John didn't seem too bad. Yellow was curious about him, but he presented too many unknowns. What did he want? What did he want with Yellow? In every memory he had, the two of them had fought more viciously than he and Arthur had. John hated him and had only ever wanted him to leave him the fuck alone.

But, maybe, without Arthur, John would want to stay in Carcosa with him. Maybe all of that animosity had been manufactured by Arthur, and if they got rid of him, John would see that it had all been stupid. Maybe he would finally be The King he should be.

Maybe he should go find them? He drummed his fingers on the book's cover. He could stop them from fighting just until they got Yellow home, and then they could rip into each other.

His thoughts were suddenly very fuzzy, and his vision doubled. Images of blood rivers and walls made of bone and screaming rushed by him, leaving him winded. He dropped his head to his knees, snarling at the crying Arthur that was in front of John, not him. Red, hot anger spiked through him from the memory. Yellow bit his lip so hard it drew blood, black ichor mixed with golden oil splashed onto the book, blotting out some words.

The pain dragged him back to his body, and the overlap with John faded. He was left gasping and choking down emotions that weren't his. He lay down, clutching the book to his chest as he got his breathing under control. When had that been? Was that real? Had John actually killed Arthur, or was it just a strong desire?

A stick cracked close to camp, and he shot up, adrenaline still pounding hard through his veins. It was only John and Arthur stumbling back into the clearing. They'd both been crying.

Arthur's face was stained red, his hair mussed from what must have been his frustrated hands running through it. He was still sniffling as he dropped the firewood next to their bags. He barely glanced at Yellow as he started gathering small stones and arranging them in a wide circle.

John looked as if he'd just come back from war. He was rubbing golden tears from his eyes that were glued to the forest floor as if it would open up and swallow him whole if he looked away from it. He was biting his lip almost hard enough to tear it off, and his claws were digging into his arms, small rivulets of blood dripping down his arms. Yellow noticed the wounds closing and reopening every time he removed his claws and sank them back in.

He jumped when John's eyes met his. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Yellow hissed, keeping the book close.

John nodded, his eyes finding the book.

Yellow froze. Would he be mad that he'd gone through his stuff?

John's lips quirked up into a small, faint smile before he trotted over to his bag, pulling the blanket from it and making a small spot comfortable on the ground. "Here. You can sleep on this."

"Sleep?"

"Yes, human bodies need sleep." John was standing awkwardly by the bags. His confidence leeched from him as he lingered, unsure of what he was supposed to do now.

Yellow almost felt bad for him as he made himself comfortable in the blanket.

Arthur glanced up at John, and all his defences fell, taking his anger with them. "Would you like me to teach you how to start a fire?"

Arthur's voice was raw from the screaming, but still held an impossibly soft quality Yellow had never heard before. It made him uncomfortable.

"Like…" John lifted his head, puzzlement briefly taking over the grief. "Like what you learned in the boy's brigade?"

"Yes, like that," Arthur laughed. It was a tiny laugh, more of a chuckle than anything properly hearty. But it was enough to have John practically running for his side. His eyes turned to Yellow, and they were missing the anger that had been there for the last hour. They were almost pitying, and it made something cold and sharp twist in Yellow's stomach. "Would you like to learn as well?"

Yellow scoffed and opened the book again. "Why would I need to know how to build a fire?"

Arthur only sighed. "Suit yourself."

Yellow watched them for a moment more as Arthur showed John how to arrange sticks with impossible tenderness. He huffed and buried his nose in the book. He didn't need to watch John's eyes light up like the tinder that was catching spark. What was so amusing about it anyway? They used to be able to create bigger, better fires with nothing more than a snap of their fingers.

He violently turned the page and hissed when it sliced through his finger. "Fuck," he muttered, sticking his finger to his tongue. His blood tasted bitter, too salty.

He wondered briefly if he and John had the same blood, so he glanced over at the now-drying paths on his arms. He bled red. However, it could have been a trick of the light, but he thought he could still see the yellow oil slick under the crimson.

What else was different about them?

A pair of shoes entered his vision, and he tried his best to ignore them. But then Arthur cleared his throat, and he was forced to acknowledge him. He was holding a strange can with bits of chopped-up fruit swimming in thick syrup. Yellow scrunched his nose up and only offered a raised eyebrow in response.

"You should eat something." Arthur's voice had lost its agitated tone, making it seem like he almost cared whether or not Yellow was comfortable.

"No, thank you." Yellow cringed. He would not fall for this trick again. Arthur's kindness was conditional, and he was always changing the rules Yellow was supposed to play by. Taking this now could mean getting yelled at later.

"It's not poisoned. It's just peaches."

Well, now Yellow definitely thought it was poisoned. He frowned, opening his mouth to tell Arthur exactly what he could do with those 'peaches' when John came over. He caught his eye and frowned right back at him.

"Didn't you know, Arthur? Human pleasures are too good for him."

Yellow reeled back. He knew that tone. He'd used that exact tone when talking to Arthur in Addison. It was a cool, calculated manipulation, wearing a blanket of faux trust to draw the target in.

"It's not a pleasure, you donkey," Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes at John. "He needs to eat, or he'll starve to death. And so do you."

Was that true for him? He remembered using starvation as a torture method in the prison pits, but he'd never personally kept track of how long it took to affect human bodies. Would he make it back to his old body before he felt it? Even if he was worried, it wasn't like he could take that can now; that would be admitting defeat. Worse, it would be admitting that Arthur was right.

John took the can from Arthur, using his claw to spear a small piece of fruit. He brought it to his lips, still holding Yellow's eyes. "It's not like he'll be too terribly hungry the whole way to Carcosa."

Arthur watched John carefully, confusion knitting his brow. He sighed and threw his hands up in surrender before stalking back over to the fire. John held his eyes for a brief moment more before setting the can at the edge of Yellow's blanket and returning to Arthur.

It was a trap. It had to be.

He watched the two of them eat from their own cans, muttering low under their breath. Maybe they were placing bets on how long it would take the fruit to kill him.

Several moments went by before he started feeling an uncomfortable pang in his stomach. He ignored it, staring at the can like it would bite him if he took his eyes off it.

Arthur giggled at something John had said. They were sitting on the same blanket, firelight illuminating their smiles as they laughed. What could John have said that was so funny? Especially after the argument they'd just had.

He tried to read the book, but the longer he ignored it, the worse the pain got. It wouldn't kill him, at least not yet. But it was extremely uncomfortable and distracting.

Yellow waited until he was sure they weren't watching before creeping forward and snatching the can. He brought it to his nose, sniffing experimentally. It didn't smell poisoned, and John was still fine after his small bite.

He dipped his finger into the syrup, bringing a drop to his hesitant lips and squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the worst. It was sweet, almost overwhelmingly so. But it wasn't… bad. He copied what John had done, spearing the fruit on a claw and depositing the piece on his tongue. Its flesh was soft, giving way immediately under his teeth to splash flavour across his tongue.

Before he knew it, the whole can was gone, and the pain had subsided. Okay, maybe there was something to this whole eating thing; he felt miles better than he had before the fruit. He jumped at the sound of John's voice getting louder. He'd forgotten they were there.

"I can keep first watch." He moved to sit on the edge of the blanket, leaving plenty of room for Arthur to sprawl out on his own.

"Are you sure?" Arthur hovered, looking the most lost and awkward Yellow had ever seen him.

"Yes," John nodded, looking like a lamb that was asking a wolf for guidance.

"Okay," Arthur fidgeted with his fingers, biting his lip. He noticeably did not move to fill the space John had left. It took a few moments, but eventually he took a deep breath and gestured to the spot next to him. "Is… is it alright if I… well, if I lie with you?"

John inhaled sharply, doe-like eyes suddenly glued to Arthur's face. "You… you still want to—?"

Arthur nodded, laughing breathlessly. "Yes, John. I do."

"Oh, okay." John's voice was shaky as he scooted back to where he had been, reclining against the rocks as comfortably as he could before opening his arms. Arthur sighed and curled up against John's chest like an oversized housecat. John gasped when Arthur wound their fingers together and brought his knuckles to his lips for a kiss.

Yellow nearly vomited as he looked away. They were disgusting.

He shivered, the cold sir draping around him like a bad dream. He pulled the blanket out from underneath him and wrapped it around his shoulders, sliding closer to the fire, taking the book with him. He got lost in the way the firelight danced off the jewellery hanging from his hands.

At least Kayne had had the decency to decorate him like the king he was.

His eyelids started taking longer to open, soothed by the crackling of flames. He startled awake when he heard a soft, droning noise. He turned to John with his nose scrunched up (it may be stuck like that with how often he found himself disgusted). "Are you fucking purring?"

John snapped his eyes up to meet his, the sound halting. Arthur was already fast asleep in his arms. John sheepishly ducked his head, hiding the embarrassment. Instead of answering his question, he nodded at the book still in his hands. "Do you like it?"

Yellow dropped his gaze to the soft, worn leather. Did he like it? If he didn't, he would have put it back by now, right? He huffed, asking his own question instead of answering as John had. "What were you arguing about?"

John stiffened, glancing down at Arthur to ensure he was still asleep. "You… you heard that?"

"Just the screaming." Yellow fidgeted with the book, suddenly feeling very nervous under John's eyes. "He would have tossed me to the wolves before forgiving me over an argument like that."

John's eyes were full of so much emotion that it was hard to find the dominant one. Yellow was accustomed to telling what emotion creatures were feeling within seconds; it was a necessary skill that was needed to manipulate people as well as The King did. But John wasn't human, and he'd always had a harder time telling what other gods were feeling. They hid things from you, showed you layers that were fabricated or unimportant to distract you.

He didn't get the feeling that John was doing that.

"He should have," John finally muttered, wrapping himself further around Arthur.

With a start, Yellow recognised the emotion: guilt.

Anger coursed through Yellow's veins. He huffed. "Were those his bones?"

"You saw that?" John squeaked.

"Bits and pieces. I saw bones, felt your rage, heard his screams, but that's all." Yellow picked up a stick and hovered it in the flames, watching as the wood burned and flaked off. "You hate him?"

"No!" John took a breath and continued more quietly. "No. No, I love him. He's my partner. I… I was angry at him, yes. But without Kayne… I never would have… it wasn't me. I only want him safe."

"Why did he forgive you?" Yellow tossed the stick into the pit and grabbed another one, fussing with the smoke and drawing shapes with it to keep himself under control. "What made you care about him?"

John slumped, thinking long and hard about his answer. "Because… because we're a good team. Through his eyes, I was able to see a different perspective. I met someone… a woman named Lily. She's… she's the closest thing I have to a mother. She taught me kindness; she was there for me when no one else was. Because of her… and Arthur, I learned to care about people, to share the kindness they had given me. Being Arthur's eyes made me appreciate how much beauty there is in the world around us.

"Would I have found that without Arthur? Maybe. I think a part of… us, the part that was me, always wanted to see beyond Carcosa. Why else would we step through that portal?

"But, Arthur… he cared to… for some ridiculous reason, he wanted to be friends with the lying, malevolent voice in his head. And… I guess, after a while, I just liked the sound of that. He cared about me. He was genuinely concerned about what I thought and what I felt. And that, that made me care about him, too.

"But, I've done an awful, poor job of it. Had we been in separate bodies when we met, I don't think we would have become friends, partners; one of us too stubborn and the other too afraid. Just before we were torn apart the first time…" He paused, flicking his eyes to Yellow briefly. "… in Carcosa, I was sure he'd never speak to me again. I'd said something awful, the kind of thing you don't get to take back. And he was so stupid, driving that dagger into his neck, trapping us both. Even though I knew that wasn't what he meant to do, I was still angry. I was so angry. And I… did a lot of things I regret. When I made that deal with Kayne to get back to him… I told myself I wouldn't fuck it up this time. I wouldn't disappoint my… I wouldn't disappoint Lily, and I wouldn't hurt my friend again."

Yellow watched as John placed his left hand over Arthur's heart. He drew swirling patterns on one of the rocks with the end of his stick. "Did you?

"Yes, many times."

"So, why keep trying? If it's not working—"

John shook his head. "To err is human. I've fucked up, but so has he. We're both fucking up as we learn how to be human. But it's worth it."

Yellow looked back into the flames. They were both learning, were they? It had… bothered him that Arthur hadn't even tried to be friends with him. Not that he had wanted it. But it was clear that he hadn't cared about Yellow the way he had with John, and that irked him. He'd been treated as lesser, someone to be used and tossed aside unless he said or asked anything that might be useful or that gave Arthur hope that John was near.

The art and poetry and the mountains he'd enjoyed during that time had not been enough to be worth the prison that was Arthur Lester.

And John was saying the same thing about Carcosa: it was a prison. That the city hadn't allowed him the type of fulfilment he was looking for. That art and love and humanity were what John craved above control and power.

That art was made by humans who were easily controlled by their emotions. They lashed out and hurt just because they wanted others to feel their pain or because they wanted power to never feel pain again. And John was saying all of that was worth it. That the good, no matter how far and few in between it is, was worth it.

Yellow laughed cruelly. He slammed the book shut and tossed it back by John's bag. "That's fucking bullshit."

"It isn't," John growled.

"If what you're saying is true, that you want to be human because it's worth it, then why are you still brandishing the yellow sign?"

John dropped his eyes to the necklace around his throat. He huffed and ripped it from his neck, chucking it into the forest. "It keeps coming back no matter what I do with it. One of Kayne's jokes, I'm sure."

"Arthur is adorned in the colour yellow. Don't lie to me. You clearly haven't let go."

"Gold. It's gold."

"What's the difference?"

"What's the difference between the two of us?" John grunted, adjusting the blanket around Arthur's shoulders.

Yellow didn't answer. He continued staring at the fire. Fire couldn't be controlled or belittled. It would never be helpless in its situation. It was free to rage and flare to its heart's content. It could burn and destroy, and no one could fault it for its nature.

He envied it.

"Can I tell you one of my favourite poems in that book?"

Yellow just snorted, picking up another stick.

John took the silence as permission and started reciting anyway. "Whose woods these are, I think I know.   

His house is in the village, though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep."

Yellow hummed, rotating his head to stare at John, who was also lost in the flames of their campfire. His one fond memory of Arthur danced across his mind. "Arthur said that once. 'Miles to go before I sleep.'"

John lifted his head, suddenly very interested. "He told you that poem?"

"No. Only you get that privilege, apparently," Yellow snorted. "He just said that last line. We were… we were sneaking around the outside of Larson's mansion. He kept shooting down all my suggestions. You had made them before, and they hadn't worked out. So, he made his way to the trim of the windows. It was raining, and he had to make a particularly hard jump. He muttered that right before."

"He likes doing that." John's smile lost its sad hue. "Using poetry seems the best way to motivate him in difficult situations."

Yellow huffed. That was useless information to him. This conversation had only served to make him more curious about John. He wasn't exactly as Arthur had described him, but he wasn't as different as Yellow had thought. "So, you don't miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Carcosa. Being The King in Yellow."

John was silent once more, this time staring at what little sky he could see through the trees. Yellow could have sworn he saw golden tears in his eyes. "I miss the security of knowing what I was doing. I miss feeling like I wasn't constantly fucking up. I miss the rush of power. But do I miss how I got it? The bloodshed, the lies, the terror, the manipulation? No. No, I don't."

John dropped his gaze back down, resting his chin on Arthur's head. He levelled Yellow with a serious gaze, a frown tugging at his lips. "You can keep Carcosa. All I want is a life on earth, free to explore and learn… and maybe watch a film."

Yellow huffed. "You'll regret that."

"Maybe. I don't think so."

Yellow shook his head and turned away from him, lying down with his back to them. They were silent after that. Yellow didn't even notice when he drifted off to sleep for the first time.

He didn't dream, and it seemed like only a moment before he was opening his eyes to Arthur's humming. Yet he knew he had slept because the uncomfortable forest floor had worked aches and pains into his muscles, locking them tight to his bones.

Yellow blinked to clear the sleep from his eyes. The forest was still the same dark, menacing place as it had been hours before. It was almost like no time had passed at all. He sat up, rubbing the strain from his arms and stretching them until they felt loose again.

Arthur was sitting in front of the fire, holding his hands up to its warmth. His humming, while cheerful, was not a tune Yellow recognised. John was snuggled up by his side, an arm still slung around Arthur's hips in his sleep. He was bundled in both of their blankets.

"He's a blanket hog," Arthur chuckled.

Yellow startled when he saw that Arthur was already looking at him, despite him giving no sign that he'd woken up. Except… he wasn't looking at him; his eyes were focused somewhere just to the right of him.

"It's a good thing he considers me a blanket, or I'd have frozen to death by now."

Yellow waved his hand in front of Arthur's eyes. Then he flipped him off, just because he could. He didn't react. "You're blind again."

"Yes," Arthur sighed, a resigned look pinching his brow. "It seems today wasn't a lucky one."

Yellow rolled his eyes, tucking his blanket back under his chin; John wasn't alone in feeling chilly. He was glad he also had his cape to keep his back warm. He looked like a blob of blankets with horns. He was half-tempted to roll over and pretend to go back to sleep until John woke up, but Arthur was already talking again; he was always talking.

"So, how far is it to, to Carcosa?" He dropped his hand, resting it against John's shoulder.

Yellow thought about ignoring him. He was blind; how would he know if he'd gotten up and wandered away? He could keep his footsteps quiet.

"Yellow?"

He sighed and searched for the tug on his soul that told him where his city was. (He was begrudged to admit he only knew he could do that because Kayne had told him. It was his 'one hint'.) "Not far. Only a couple of days at most."

Arthur hummed, absentmindedly running his fingers through John's hair. John murmured something and rolled into the touch. "How will we find the play when we get there?"

"So many questions," Yellow sighed, irritated and rolling his eyes. "The play isn't in Carcosa. It's in Yhtill."

"Yhtill?" A worried frown pinched his brow.

"John didn't use any of his waxing prose to tell you any of this?" Yellow adjusted the jewellery on his horns and around his neck; it had shifted while he slept, tugging uncomfortably.

"Uh, no. No, I don't think he… remembered," Arthur sighed. "Or maybe he preferred not to remember."'

Yellow felt a small rush of pride and power surge through him, knowing that he had knowledge that Arthur didn't. He sat up a little straighter, a little prouder even if Arthur couldn't see him. "Carcosa is a city of the dead and those who would rather be dead. All cities will eventually be Carcosa. The first of those cities was Yhtill. When they died, the story of their demise was written and that became the play, The King in Yellow. It trapped them in its pages, forcing them, and The King, to relive that night over and over again for aeons. The King has to enter the city to claim it as an extension of Carcosa, speak his lines, and end that rendition of the play. It's rather annoying."

"So, where is Yhtill now if it became Carcosa?"

"It shows back up somewhere on the edges of Laki Hali, and once the play is done, Carcosa moves to that spot. Another reason you wouldn't have been able to just stumble upon it the same way, you need to find Hali to find Carcosa."

"Fascinating." Arthur stirred the fire, the sticks and char collapsing in on themselves and sending up a plume of dust. "Grand. So, we get you to Yhtill before the end of the play's next rendition and—"

"And reclaim that which is mine. Yes."

"And what will happen to John?"

Yellow huffed and fixed a glare on John. It was always about him. "He doesn't want it. He'll be fine."

Arthur sighed, dropping all the tension from his shoulders. "Do you… did you remember all this before or—"

"No," Yellow hissed. "When you had Kayne give me amnesia, I did not remember the inner workings of Carcosa."

"When did you start to remember?"

"Why do you care?" Yellow snapped.

Arthur frowned, opening his mouth to argue back, but shut it and took a deep breath instead. "I was just… curious."

"It's about John again." Yellow puffed, throwing the last stick into the fire and listening to the quick pops it made. "You want to know what he remembers, what he's not telling you. Well, I won't tell you either. So stop asking."

"Fine." Arthur made it all of ten seconds before opening his mouth to ask another question. "You said The King has to enter the play. How does that work if—"

"Jesus fucking Christ." Yellow scrubbed a hand down his face. God, he wished John would wake up so Arthur's full attention wasn't on him anymore.

Someone must have granted his wish because John started breathing heavily, his hands flailing about in his sleep. A whimper fell from his lips, drawing Arthur's attention.

"John?" Arthur turned over, placing his hands on the sides of John's face, smoothing his hair back. "John, darling, you're having a nightmare."

John's hands grabbed onto Arthur's arms, his breath stuttering and eyes flying open, wet with golden tears. "Arthur!"

"Here, right here. Are you alright?"

Yellow scrunched up his nose. Thank God Arthur had been mean to him; that was preferable to something like 'darling.' Ew.

John nodded as Arthur helped him sit up. "Fine, fine. I just… it was… nothing."

Yellow turned away from the scene, but not before his eyes caught sight of the necklace dangling around John's neck. Somehow it had come back, just like he said. He scoffed, chalking it up to Kayne, and started to fold his blanket, to have something to do that wasn't watching them be sickening as they touched foreheads.

He stayed quiet as they finished cleaning up camp. It felt like a cold bucket of ice had been poured into his veins when Arthur stomped out the fire. Even with all its ferocity, fire could still be squashed out as if it had never been there to begin with.

The march through the forest, cold and uninviting, was mostly quiet. Yellow— mostly— kept his grumbling to himself. His leg ached less today, but he noticed John limping more than usual. (And to his surprise, John muttered a few complaints of his own that Arthur sighed at.) Arthur managed to ask only five questions an hour instead of the usual twenty.

The forest felt like it would go on forever, but after three hours, between the breaks Yellow and John needed and hiding from the creatures when the stars went dark, the trees finally parted. They stood at the top of a hill that led down into a vast sea, a city gracing its shore.

"Fucking finally," Yellow muttered.

John, wanting to include Yellow just as much as Arthur in his description of the city, half-turned his body so his words would float back to him. It was as if he thought by the power of his words alone, he could finally get Yellow to understand what he had been saying.

"The city in front of us is magnificent. It sits on the edge of a large sea, its surface split between that of water and cloud. Docks harbour numerous ships, some sitting low in the water, others floating in the air suspended by brightly decorated balloons and tethered only by a rope. The docks fade into a marble wall that encapsulates the rest of the city, guarding it on all sides. Every few feet is a rounded pillar capped in a glowing bronze that houses guards, their silver armour glowing in the light. The buildings themselves are comprised of spires and grand globes, sharing the bleached-marble and brilliant bronze, with some supports made from turquoise framing their corners. The streets are paved in onyx, absorbing the stars' light as if it were devouring it. Two giant statues guard a stone bridge that leads to the main gate. Its presence is imposing, but it also shimmers like it could slip away at any moment, like a mirage."

John watched Yellow out of the corner of his eyes. He was frowning, always frowning. But it seemed like he was rotating John's description in his brain. He could almost hear the retort, 'it's just a city', but Arthur beat him to it.

"Is it a mirage?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, does it seem… does it seem friendly?" Arthur asked as he nearly stumbled down the hill; John's hand on his back was the only thing keeping him from tumbling headfirst.

John hummed, returning his full attention to Arthur so he didn't trip again. "I don't know, Arthur. It seems like another merchant town, although much bigger than the last one. The bridge is down, and people with carts make a steady stream going in and out of the city."

"I wonder if this was where Kore's merchant was going. We could have ridden all the way here," Arthur huffed, following the pressure of John's hand around a rocky patch. "Well, I suppose it's best we didn't. Is Yellow still with us? I haven't heard him complain in a while."

"Of fucking course, I'm still here," Yellow hissed, cursing as the rocks slid under his feet. "Even if I did decide to break our deal, we have to go in the same direction. Where would I have gone?"

"Anywhere you'd like."

"Honestly, you wait until now to check in on me?" Yellow snarled, grateful to have an excuse to complain. "What if I were hours behind you?"

"John's watching out for you. He wouldn't have left you behind." Arthur took John's hand as he helped him down onto the flat ground of the path.

"Then why even ask where I am?"

John reached out to help Yellow down. Yellow rolled his eyes and swatted his hand away, taking a confident step forward. He yelped, immediately slipped on the loose rock and fell on his ass. John tried very hard not to laugh, but couldn't help the deep, smug rumble that emanated from his chest.

Arthur turned at the familiar sound of John's cruel chuckle. "What happened?"

"Don't fucking laugh at me!" Yellow shouted, drawing looks from a few passersby. He stood and roughly wiped the dirt from his clothes. His ass and elbow stung from where they had collided with the ground.

"Did you…" Arthur's lip quirked up, a laugh bubbling in his throat. "Did you fall?"

Yellow's face burned, and he wanted to crawl under a rock or rip their lungs from their bodies, rending their laugh from the source. "That is so fucking close to breaking your one condition."

"Whatever," Arthur snickered.

Yellow damn near bit John's hand when he offered it again. He stumbled, but made it to the bottom just fine, shoving John's shoulder as he did so. "Asshole."

"You're the one being stubborn," John chuckled again, returning to his spot by Arthur's side as they made their way through the open gate.

A fresh breeze carrying the scent of salt and petrichor wound through the city. There were more people here than they'd seen before; more than Arthur would have thought would lead normal lives in the Dreamlands. Unlike the last town, there was a greater variety of species of people walking around. The city itself seemed shaped to accommodate them all; tall doorways with doors sprouting several sets of doorknobs along their entire height were just one example. Much of it seemed like it was built as an afterthought; the crude, makeshift wood clashed with the marble and turquoise.

The streets were packed, forcing the group to stay close together so as not to get lost. Which wasn't a problem for Arthur and John, but Yellow felt like an annoying, petulant child with how often he had to yank on John's waist cape to get them to slow down or turn down the right street. They needed to go through the city, not stop and marvel at every stall or striking piece of architecture, and John's annoying habit of turning every sight into poetry for Arthur was slowing them down.

At long last, they finally found their way to the docks John had spotted, the sea lying bare and turbulent before them on one side, and on the other, rolling, drifting clouds.

"Well," Arthur sighed, "what do we do about this?"

"We could—"

"Obviously, we go around," Yellow huffed, glaring at the miles of stretched sea and wondering why they had stopped to gawk again.

"Go around? Are you mad?" Arthur quipped. "That'll take days if not weeks!"

"Then we had better get moving," Yellow snarled, following the street along the water as it led back to the desert on the far end of the city.

"So, we have to cross a body of water, big deal," Athur huffed, chasing after him at John's direction. "Stop being dramatic."

"Dramatic?" Yellow ducked underneath crates that were being unloaded from one of the airships, cursing at the people swinging the ropes. "Do you know what lives in the waters here? Nightmares!"

"Arthur, careful!" John hissed, yanking Arthur away from the edge of the dock before he could tumble into the rolling sea below. "We should stop, regroup—"

"The more we stop, the longer it takes to go around!" Yellow bumped shoulders with a small, weasel-looking dock worker and jumped when they snarled at him, their sharp teeth bared.

"Don't be ridiculous! We can hire a boat—"

"Arthur—!" John warned, immediately getting cut off.

"If you don't want to do it my way, then fine! Wait around here for your stupid boat. I'll meet you on the other side if you make it!" Yellow shouted over his shoulder, the end of the docks finally in his sight.

"We're not going to leave you, Yellow! What—" Arthur tripped, cursing as John caught him before he could faceplant into a stack of crates.

"Just fuck off! I have—"

Yellow yelped, running face-first into a tall man disembarking from one of the balloon ships. The first thing Yellow noticed was the glow of his cerulean eyes. He took a step back, straightening his clothes and posture, and trying not to look frightened. "Out of my way."

"Oh! What a tone, what a tone." The man spoke, fixing those divine, mischievous eyes on Yellow and making him feel very small indeed. A grin split across his face. "That's incredibly demanding, though I wouldn't expect less from you, King of the Dreamlands."

"I…" Yellow glanced back, feeling only slightly better to see John and Arthur right on his heels. Somehow, being acknowledged as The King wasn't as comforting as he thought it would be; not when he was still too weak to live up to the name. He cleared his throat, summoning every ounce of regality his human voice had. "We were just passing through."

The man's eyes swivelled to John, surprise dropping his grin, but only slightly as if he'd never felt the emotion before. The shock carved into his face, creasing features that had long since been smoothed out. He wore loose, deep blue and seafoam robes that flowed around his body like they were made from the clouds above. His boots matched his hat, exaggerated like they were more of a costume than practical wear; the hat was complete with a large, shimmering blue feather sticking out from the side. "My, my, how interesting… everyone assumed you were hibernating again."

John flinched as the man's eyes landed on his; his whole body tensed, lungs seizing as he prepared for a fight. This god did not radiate the same comforting energy that Kore had given. Where Kore was warm, inviting, and safe, this man was as cold as the sea he reflected and as distant as the clouds he descended from.

His hand on Arthur's waist tightened, a warning on his lips that he almost spoke aloud.

Arthur instinctively pressed closer to him, just as tense about the situation; his head tilted toward the conversation, ears picking up on the slightest of noises that might indicate he'd have to move quickly. His hand hovered over his gun, wishing he had a more effective weapon.

"And here I thought one of you was a pain in the ass." The man chuckled darkly, eyes flicking between the two of them before he swept into a grand bow not meant to show respect, his hat almost falling from his head. "Kuranes, King and current Chief God of Celephais, at your service. Though you already knew that."

John searched his memory, but the name didn't ring any bells. A glance at Yellow showed he was also drawing a blank; had they really cared so little about those around them that they couldn't remember a name?

Arthur had told him recently that he wore his emotions plainly, that nothing was hidden in what he was feeling from the crinkle of his brow to the pull of his lips. He and Yellow must share that trait; Yellow's brows were pinched comically, and there was an obvious pout of his lips.

"Really?" Kuranes chuckled, leaning back on a tower of crates and whistling low. "You really don't remember me?"

"No," Yellow asserted. He felt like he should bow back, but was certain that that knowledge came from Arthur's memories about how kings worked and not his own.

"You don't remember visiting my city? You don't remember her? Pretty little thing, my Daisy. She was my partner, my dearest friend. And you don't remember her?"

"No," Yellow's voice wavered that time. It was the wrong answer, he knew it was. But what could he do with so little information? If his memories were anything to go by, Daisy was long dead, either through the pits or to time. He tried to sound more threatening in his next sentence; his reputation was at stake here. "I require passage through your city."

Kuranes sneered, a glint entering his eyes. "And if I say no? Will you threaten to make me choke on my own liver? Peel my toes layer by layer? Break every bone in my body until I beg for mercy? Or are you trying to bribe me with this one? You know we don't deal in trades anymore."

Despite his words, his eyes still raked over Arthur, lingering longer than they should have. John growled, baring his fangs at him and taking a half-step forward to shield Arthur from the cerulean gaze that dared to suggest he was nothing more than a bargaining piece.

Arthur tensed, John's body language cuing him into action. His palms were sweaty as he settled them over John's, trying to keep his claws from puncturing his skin.

"Ha!" Kuranes rolled his eyes and jumped up from the crates. "You always were the most possessive bastard I knew. No, I won't help you. Find your own way home and get out of my city."

"Please," Arthur jumped in, not quite liking his lack of control over the situation. He didn't need this man pushing them into going around. They didn't have the time to get lost. "Please, we're in a hurry. You want these two out of your hair, fine. We'll go. But, if you could, do you know of a boat for hire or—"

John really hoped they wouldn't be stealing a boat in broad daylight again.

"Ah," Kuranes' eyes snapped to Arthur's, a genuine smile on his lips for the first time since they'd met. "A fellow Englishman! Delightful! What's your name, friend?"

He shouldered past Yellow, holding his hand out for Arthur to shake, wiggling his fingers when Arthur didn't respond.

John dipped his head, stage whispering into Arthur's ear, maintaining eye contact with Kuranes in case he tried anything funny. "He's holding his hand out for you to shake, half an arm's length in front of you, chest height. He seems genuine."

"Oh, uh," Arthur straightened his posture, somehow managing not to bump Kuranes' hand, giving it a firm shake. "Arthur. Arthur Lester."

Kuranes grinned, holding his hand for far longer than necessary. He studied Arthur's eyes closely, noticing the yellow hue still clinging to his pupils. "Fascinating. I suppose I'm surrounded by Kings today."

"Er, no, not— not entirely. I'm human—"

"So was I. Once. You, my blind King Arthur, are no longer. I can see it in your eyes. What was and what is and what will be are one in the same here in the Dreamlands. You may have been human when you started this, but just as I have, you have changed." Kuranes slid an arm around his shoulder, effectively pulling him away from John. "Tell me, what part of England are you from? I, myself, am from Cornwall—"

"Cornwall isn't really—"

"You were asked about a boat!" John snapped, speaking over Arthur. His nose wrinkled in disgust— not unlike Yellow's— and his hands curled at his sides, claws digging into the soft flesh of his palms.

"Or, preferably, a way around the water," Yellow added, his arms crossed and teeth bared in half a snarl. This man was irritating to say the least, and the hustle and bustle of the docks was too loud, grating on his ears. The air tasted too much of salt, the humidity too heavy.

"Demanding, demanding, de-manding!" Kuranes clicked his tongue. "I haven't decided to help you, and yet you're still making demands. I should have you both tossed out of here."

"Listen," Arthur shot his companions a look as he ducked away from Kuranes' arm, "I would— we would be eternally grateful for any help you could provide. We're trying to get home—"

"Home? Where is home?" His accent was heavier than Arthur's, but it seemed diluted, like it was a memory of an accent.

"Oh, uh, back to Earth, to, to England—"

Kuranes wrapped his arm around Arthur's shoulders again, resting his head against Arthur's casually as if he were nothing more than a wall; he was tall, but not John tall. "Well, in that case, I suppose I can be convinced to help you, King Arthur. However, I won't have any captains available to help you across until tomorrow."

Yellow grumbled, yanking his cloak closer to him when a dockhand stepped on it and nearly choked him. "There's no way around that would be faster?"

"Got somewhere to be, little king?" Kuranes chuckled darkly. "Here's a little tip for you: don't let someone know how desperate you are. But to answer your question, no. You'd sooner find the entrance to the City of the Gugs before you made it to Carcosa."

"What defines tomorrow here?" Arthur asked before Kuranes could revoke his tentative help. He wished he would stop touching him; he reeked of ozone and fish.

"Every third indigo star." Kuranes reluctantly released his hold on Arthur to take a rope from one of the dock hands to secure the ship down. While he was busy, Arthur took several steps back, scampering back to John's side and nearly yelping at the immediate, sharp dig of claws into his skin. He swatted at John's hand until he released the pressure. A current of worry buzzed sharply under his veins. Of course, John had grown as a person, but he still did not wear jealousy well, and flashes of an axe swam behind his unseeing eyes. Arthur patted his hand reassuringly, soothing the spot he'd swatted at.

"Though, of course," Kuranes whirled back around, his robes fluttering through the air, "my help doesn't come for free."

"Oh." Arthur's heart fell a little. It was to be expected; they couldn't keep running into completely selfless beings anywhere, let alone the Dreamlands. "Of… of course. We don't have much, but—"

"I highly doubt two fractions of The King in Yellow don't have much. But," Kuranes purred, rolling his tongue, "I'm not interested in money, my dear King Arthur."

"It's just Arthur—"

Kuranes spoke over him, his hands clasping together dramatically as he pointed two fingers at Arthur. "But you? Oh, I'm very interested in you."

"Then we aren't interested in your help," John growled, pulling Arthur a step back and glancing at Yellow in hopes he'd do the same. "He is not something to be traded."

"You misunderstand me, King in Yellow Number Two—"

"My name is John—"

"His name is John—"

"That name only belongs to me—"

"Wow," Kuranes chuckled, holding his hands up defensively, "I didn't know I was in a choir. Listen, I don't deal in prisoners, that's your thing… if I recall correctly."

His eyes narrowed, turning dark as he planted them on Yellow. His nose twitched like he was about to snarl at them before he shook his head. "No, all I want is a conversation. I miss home. You seem to have been there more recently than I. Would you be kind enough to regale me with stories of home in exchange for passage over the Cerenarian Sea? Would that be alright, Arthur?"

Arthur shivered at his tone; it was clear that no one else's input was welcome. His voice dripped over him like it was trying to burrow under his skin, and it made his brain fuzzy. He wanted to press back into John's arms, where it couldn't reach him. He steeled himself, keeping his voice as even as possible in the sway of dizziness. "What would a conversation entail?"

Kuranes' grin widened, and John wanted to slit his throat. "There's an inn here in town, I could take you—" his eyes slowly slid over the others at John's warning rumble and Yellow's irritated hiss— "all of you to. I'll get these two a room and dinner, while you and I chat downstairs. You'll all have a warm meal and a place to stay until my captain can take you across. All I ask is that you be mine for the evening. Do we have a deal?"

Arthur felt nauseous, like he wasn't being truthful when he said all he wanted was a conversation. It was still hard to think, but a meal, a safe place to stay, and help across the sea was too much to pass on. His fingers itched to reach for John— to see if he'd squeeze his hand and tell him he was making the right decision. "Yes, that—"

"Arthur—"

"Wonderful!" Kuranes whooped, his arm once again around him, steering him toward town. He waved to someone on the boat, and they rushed to finish whatever it was he had been doing. "This way, I'll be your guide to Arctic Canal, the finest inn in the city."

"Wonderful," Yellow muttered mockingly. He rolled his eyes as he fell in step with John, who was still growling under his breath, following them more like a predator stalking prey. His eyes were locked on the arm that was now sitting on Arthur's lower back, and Yellow would bet that he was thinking of tearing it off with his teeth like he was. (Not because he cared in the way John did— hell no— but because the guy was annoying and he was distracting Arthur from going around the damn sea!) "He's not paying attention— we could shove a spear through his lungs."

John's eyes flicked to him for a second, his mind allowing him to indulge in memories of an axe and a barn. Arthur did not belong to this man; he was not his for this evening or any evening. He was—

John took a deep breath, crossing his arms and letting his claws sink into his flesh to push the thoughts away. "Don't tempt me."

Arthur didn't belong to him either. He was no longer the possessive king that Kuranes believed him to be. He'd show him (and Arthur) that he had changed. He could put his trust in Arthur to believe he had no reason to worry. Besides, Kuranes could never be closer to Arthur than he had, than he was.

John tugged at his bracelet, the one that matched Arthur's. They were going to be fine.

Yellow couldn't help the small chuckle that hit him at John's words. For all his talk of humanity and being good, John still entertained their darker inclinations; they weren't as far apart as Arthur had made them seem.

Exhaustion was starting to weigh on Yellow's bones. All these emotions and how they affected his entire body (anger making him hot and tense, fear freezing his insides and making his blood run cold, sadness making him feel heavy and tired) were draining. This was yet another detour they might not have time for. But, he couldn't deny that he was excited to sleep again, if only so he could get his energy back and wake up feeling better than he did right now.

"Why do you want to go around?" John asked, keeping his voice low as his eyes lingered on the two in front of them. He felt a little better when he saw Arthur turn around, trying to find them, before Kuranes stole his attention again, yapping about his city and how he'd dreamt it. Talking with Yellow would be a good distraction from wanting to pull his teeth out one by one.

Yellow paused, fidgeting with the bracelets on his arm (he'd noticed they were the same gold as John's, but his were a more intricate style) as he examined the city passing by. There were people of all shapes and sizes rushing about like today was their last day alive, and it was imperative to finish whatever task they were focused on. Some were built to swim, some to fly, some not even humanoid, but all shared the same frenzy. John had been right about the buildings; they were grand, possessing a beauty he wouldn't have noticed if not for John's words. It seemed he also needed John to show him just how deep the world's beauty lay; perhaps that was why Arthur preferred John as his eyes.

They were coming to a large, circular area, streets jutting off in every direction, and buildings curving as if the wide open circle was nothing more than an afterthought. Yellow sighed. "I don't like the sea."

"Why?"

He hesitated again, knowing John wouldn't be satisfied with a vague answer but unsure if he wanted to give him more than that. "I can't… You don't remember what lives in the waters here?"

John hummed, briefly taking his eyes away from the objects of his adoration and abhorrence to shake his head. "No. Well, vaguely but… not as many as I used to know."

"The few that you do know of should be enough to tell you why I don't want to put myself in a fragile human body, anywhere near them." Yellow spotted people dancing near a tall building on the far end of the circle. He was surprised to see a human woman playing a jovial tune on the piano as they jumped and kicked along.

John smiled softly, but there was a shade of fear in his eyes, too. "Arthur and I will make sure you get across safely. We've dealt with plenty of monsters before in his fragile human body."

"And how many times has he died?" Yellow took a breath, feeling guilty at the look of grief that passed over John's face. "Why… why do you care?"

He left the 'about me' unsaid.

John also took a breath, glancing around the crowd and muttering under his breath like he wasn't used to not sharing his thoughts about their surroundings. When his eyes met Yellow's again, Yellow flinched at the genuineness in them.

"It isn't… just one feeling. I look at you, and I feel a mix of emotions I haven't been able to… dissect until recently. You represent a part of me I'd rather forget, someone I know longer want to be. I look at you, and I'm still angry with you." John dodged around a crowd that cut between them, trying not to lose Kuranes at his fast pace.

"In your pursuit to get me back… I watched you break Arthur's bones for the simple crime of saying he loved me while I could only sit and watch… My first friend was tortured simply because he wanted to protect me, protect us both. And then you… you threw me back into the Dark World because I no longer fit in your world and I—… Then there was New York, and Noel. You tried to kill my second friend just because he was in your way. You haven't stopped hurting me and the people I care about. You—" John pulled back, remembering every unhelpful argument he'd had with Arthur. Yelling and slinging blame at Yellow wouldn't take the hurt away or change the past. He sighed, forcing himself to relax before continuing.

"Because of that, the part of me that was, is angry, was happy to see you in a human form, forced to see things my way. But… there is a bigger part of me that only wants to show you kindness."

"Because you think it will make me understand? That I'll change?" Yellow sneered, taking a step away from John and nearly bumping into a small bird-like creature that screeched at him.

"No." John shook his head, lowering his voice as Kuranes and Arthur slowed down. "I hope that you will, but that's not why. You aren't just a part of my past, you're… entirely your own. I understand what it's like to not feel like yourself. To struggle with who you were and who you are. To want… to need help to claw your way to who you want to be. I want to help you in any way I can, and being angry with you won't do any good.

"And, despite everything, you are… the closest thing I have to what humans would call a brother. I feel that, despite our differences… we are similar, at least in that regard. I feel close to you in a way I don't with others, and I want you to have the choice that I had. I care because I couldn't walk away without trying to give you that choice and…" He sighed again, his claws drawing blood. "And without making sure that you weren't something I wanted to return to."

Yellow didn't answer right away. He didn't know how to. John wasn't anything like he thought he'd be, and once again, his words had left him feeling warm— a different warmth than the one brought on by anger. He wasn't sure he liked the way it wove under his skin. He kicked a rock, feeling satisfied when it clicked off a cart. "Whatever."

John sighed, returning his attention to Arthur and Kuranes. Jealousy flared, making him see red, when he saw that Kuranes' hand was still on Arthur's lower back. That was his spot. He could imagine Yellow's suggestion clearly; there were fishing spears all over this street at booths, in barrels, on carts. It wouldn't take much to lift one and carve that stupid grin off his face.

He took a deep breath, focusing his emotions as Kore had taught him, so he didn't accidentally grab onto anything. He would not repeat his mistake with Oscar, no matter how annoying this guy was. Or how… touchy.

Arthur could hear John growling; better than whatever Kuranes was saying. With every boast about how he dreamt this city or thought of a particular building or how he'd governed since becoming the god here (every word clearly said to put himself in opposition to the two behind them), Arthur was tempted to just let John loose on the guy. Maybe he'd get his own stab in there, too.

Arthur didn't trust this guy to be his eyes, and it wasn't just because he'd already tripped over rocks and raised stone that John would have noticed. He had a feeling Kuranes was using him. He just couldn't figure out what for. He'd dealt with his fair share of clients during his time with Parker, who had talked exactly like him; all of them wanting fame, power, an ego boost, something. He was sure Kuranes was no different.

His back burned where Kuranes' hand was settled, and he wasn't entirely sure if it was just his discomfort or John's eyes drilling a hole through them. Kuranes reminded him of Kayne with his touches. As if the touch was made to show power, fabricated to build trust, and nothing genuine. It was enough to make him want to gnaw his arm off at the shoulder while John cheered him on in the background.

He could hear a piano playing not far ahead, and he was busy trying to dissect the tune when John interrupted them, breathing excitedly. "Arthur, there's a piano."

Kuranes seemed annoyed at the interruption that had caught him midsentence, but Arthur couldn't have been more grateful. "A piano?"

John grinned smugly, taking his place next to Arthur again, embellishing his narration a little to show Kuranes just what a bad job he had been doing. "I believe it is the inn that stands in front of us, built from the same impressive marble as the rest of the city. The trimming, large awning, and crossbeams are all made from onyx, distinguishing it from the buildings around it that use turquoise. People are gathered in the square, well, circle, in front of the building. Some are dancing, some are enjoying a meal, and some are simply chatting amongst themselves while they casually enjoy the music. The piano lies on the open deck, and a human woman in a sea foam dress is playing the joyful tune—"

"Ah," Kuranes interrupted, making John snarl lowly, "looks like Madame Duncan is entertaining again. Do you play, Arthur?"

Arthur paused, debating how much more he wanted this man to know about him. But John had sounded so eager, and it had been so long since he'd been able to play for him properly. And he had never gotten the chance to really play for Yellow. "Er, yes, yes, I do."

"Wonderful!" Kuranes cackled, clapping his hands on Arthur's shoulders and steering him toward the piano. "Madame—"

"I know you aren't about to interrupt my song," Madame Duncan said without pause in her song. "You can wait til the end, Kuranes."

"But, Madame, we're in a bit of a hurry—"

"Your siren song can't fool me. Patience is a virtue, little king." Madame Duncan tapped away at the keys, a smirk on her face. She turned to Arthur. "Do you know any dancing tunes? The people here like to dance."

"Oh, yes, not as jovial as yours—"

"I wrote this myself. You need something to do while you're stuck in a dream. Something to provide hope."

"R-right." He bowed his head at her as her song came to an end, and she vacated the bench for him.

"Play from the heart, that's all they want." She muttered as she walked away.

"Sorry, who?"

"No matter!" Kuranes chirped, leaning against the piano. "Play!"

Arthur sighed, adjusting himself on the bench, eyes searching the endless darkness of his eyelids for some semblance of John, before he shook his head at how ridiculous he was being. He settled his hands on the keys, feeling for where he was, and began to play.

John buzzed with nervous energy, his fingers drumming against his thighs. The tune he was playing was in an upper key, keeping it upbeat enough that the dancers hardly had to change their rhythm, but it was still sombre in the way he knew Arthur's music to be. He was enthralled, watching Arthur as much as he was listening. It was magical, seeing the concentration on his face, the way nothing existed but him and the piano and the story of the music. Every chord, every note that floated through the air made John want to join the dancers, to sing the poetry he knew, or to write new ones. Or simply lay his head on Arthur's shoulder and close his eyes so all that existed was their hearts beating in time with the notes. He couldn't wait to get home and listen to Arthur play every day.

Yellow wanted to punch something, preferably Kuranes for forcing this situation. He wanted to cry and scream and dig the notes out from under his skin. He'd heard the piano before, had briefly watched from Arthur's skull as his fingers moved over the keys while he berated him for every negative feeling he'd forced on him, for keeping him from being who he was supposed to be. But, as he listened to the melancholic jaunt of notes, he wasn't so sure he knew who he was or what these feelings were. John and Arthur's words about humanity were burned into every chord, searing his lungs as tears threatened to carve into his face. Every beat was like a dagger continuing to berate him, to tear him down and show him that power in all its forms was meant for everyone but him.

He needed to get back to Carcosa, to music and plays that made sense; to poetry that made him feel formidabe, commanding, someone… someone not to be fucked with. He was so tired of feeling small and scared. Something warm trailed over his cheeks, and he violently brushed it away; water. He was crying.

Fuck.

John bumped Yellow's shoulder with his own, a few of his own tears wetting his eyes. "Music is beautiful, isn't it?"

"No," Yellow huffed, still wiping at his eyes.

"Bravo! Bravo!" Kuranes cheered as the song came to an end. The crowd joined him, stomping their feet as they clapped, some even whistling.

"Oh, uh, thank you," Arthur called to the crowd as he got to his feet, shaking Kuranes' hands from his shoulders as he did. All that accomplished was Kuranes' hand settling back on his waist.

"A song like that deserves a toast." Kuranes' voice was low, sultry, and unnerving. Arthur was growing dizzy again, and it was hard to think. "But first, let's get your… friend a room."

"Friends, plural," Arthur protested, stumbling as the man propelled him inside. He wished John and Yellow weren't being so quiet so he could step away toward them, but he was lost in swirling darkness and haze of blurry thought.

Yellow scrubbed his eyes as Arthur was led away from them. He glanced at John. "If you don't kill him, I will."

"If he wasn't our only option…" John muttered gravely, choosing not to finish his sentence. It's not like this man was Oscar; they had no personal friendly relations with him. It's not like Arthur would be mad at him for getting rid of him. At least, not terribly so. He shook his head and went inside.

Yellow sighed and followed him into the dimly lit inn. There were more tables in here than outside, but far fewer patrons. He could count maybe ten or so idling around, chatting or eating or playing some strange game with darts and sticks. The light came from candles fixed to the walls, reflecting off the marble and the floor to make the place seem as if it were dimly glowing.

Briefly, he wondered how John might describe it if he weren't so busy planning a murder. Kuranes had steered Arthur toward the back of the building, where a bar took up most of the area. A spritely person with wings for arms and clawed talons for hands was scribbling something in a ledger as Kuranes talked. They looked like some kind of harpy, owl hybrid and wore little clothing; just a sash slung round their hips. Their feathers were ruffled like they'd been there a long time and hadn't had time to brush them out.

"And if you could take two of those meals up to one of the rooms—"

"How many rooms again?" The person rolled their eyes, exasperation in their tone.

"Two. I'll take the other two meals at my usual table. Thanks, love." Kuranes moved to steer Arthur away again, pressing a key into his hands. Arthur ducked out from under his arm, pressing against the bar.

"I don't understand why John and Yellow can't eat with us. I need John—"

"My dear King Arthur, calm. I simply want you to tell your stories… uninterrupted. I assure you, they will be well taken care of, and you will be able to join them shortly, if you still want to." Knowing Arthur couldn't see him, he winked mischievously at Yellow and John. "As you can tell, The King and I haven't really gotten along in recent years. I prefer to relive tales from home without his influence."

Arthur frowned, turning to where he hoped John was. "What do you—"

The rest of his sentence died on his lips. He didn't want Kuranes to get the wrong impression of his and John's relationship; he didn't want him to think that John controlled every decision or was forcing him in some way. The last thing he wanted to do was give him any more reason to hate fragments of the king. But, with it being so hard to think, he really wanted assurance…

John saw Arthur's struggle, and as much as he wanted to slit Kuranes' throat, he shoved the instinct down. He sighed; this was his chance to prove to Arthur he had changed, that he could handle these situations better now. He could keep control and not lose his shit or manipulate Arthur into killing someone. "It's fine, Arthur. I want to rest anyway."

"Oh," Arthur's frown deepened, somehow comforted and discouraged by that answer. "Alright. Well, uh, did you— did you want to sort out the room—"

"Oh, they have their own room." Kuranes tossed a key to John, who felt pretty proud when he caught it effortlessly. "One for them, and one for you… to use however you see fit."

"Okay." Arthur struggled not to huff. He didn't like the undertone of Kuranes' voice; it made him want to hoard John all to himself and let him scrub Kuranes' touch from his skin. "Could you— could you give a moment, Kuranes? Just to hand over my stuff so they can take it upstairs."

Kuranes was silent for a long, horrying moment, and suddenly Arthur wasn't too sure this would be worth his help at all. Then he nodded. "Yes, my table is in the far right corner by the stairs. Don't keep me waiting."

"Thank you." Arthur waited until Kuranes' footsteps had faded before turning to John and Yellow, slowly sliding his bag off his shoulder.

"Arthur, I hate that man—"

"I hate him—"

They spoke at the same time, making Arthur chuckle. The further Kuranes got from them, the easier it was to think.

"I don't think he's particularly fond of the two of you either, or I wouldn't have to have this conversation alone—"

"I don't think he wants just a conversation, Arthur. Not with the way he looks at you," Yellow warned.

"How… how was he looking at me?"

"Like how John looks at you," Yellow snorted, rolling his eyes at the two. "I, for one, am glad to get away from him."

"Oh," Arthur stuttered, passing his bag over, his fingers brushing John's. A nervous tingle rose in his throat at the brief reminder of the last inn they'd stayed at; John's body against his own, his lips breathing into his mouth, his hands roving his skin. Suddenly, Arthur didn't care for conversation, much less with Kuranes. "Well, I'm only interested in conversation. That was the deal. Will the two of you be alright?"

"We'll be fine. Will… will you be okay?" John asked with a comforting, warm hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I can— I can flex some authority or—"

"I'll be okay, John. A couple of stories and I should be right up." Arthur pressed the key into John's hand, letting his touch linger just a bit and relishing in John's sharp intake of breath. "I… assume Yellow wouldn't want to share… but I'll leave the room situation up to you."

"Okay," John inhaled, face warm from the tone in Arthur's voice. "Okay, Arthur."

God, Arthur wanted him to say his name again. He wanted…

John guided him toward the stairs, his hand heavy on Arthur's shoulders.

"Arthur, over here on your left!" Kuranes called like the tolling of an execution bell.

Arthur rolled his eyes to the ceiling and let out a deep sigh. "Coming!"

"Arthur, wait," John murmured, cradling Arthur's face in his hands. He made direct eye contact with Kuranes before kissing Arthur hard. Arthur gasped under him, dizzy with the force of emotions. John purred, biting his lip as he pulled back to smirk at Kuranes. He heard Yellow gag and say the word ew, but didn't turn to look. "Okay, see you soon."

"Right," Arthur stuttered, face hot as he awkwardly patted John's bicep before heading toward the table. He managed to walk over without bumping into anything, settling into the seat across from Kuranes, desperately trying to shake off that kiss.

"You two seem friendly," Kuranes snipped, taking a sip from the mug in front of him.

"Oh, uh," Arthur stuttered. Damn it, John. "Yes, we're… friends."

"Hmm," Kuranes huffed, setting his cup down a little too hard. "I grew up in Cornwall. Where did you live?"

Arthur sighed and began answering his questions. He tried to keep his descriptions and stories short to not divulge a lot of personal information, but long enough to satisfy Kuranes' curiosity. But he kept pressing and jumping in with his own childhood stories before Arthur could even finish. He overexaggerated every minute detail as if they were nothing more than a grand fairytale he could barely remember.

Arthur was grateful when the food was finally brought over, so he had something to distract himself. (He wondered if Yellow and John liked it, or if they also thought the biscuits were too dry.)

Arthur had to fight to keep his expression neutral every time Kuranes reached over to squeeze his shoulder, or brush their knuckles, or tap his wrist. After an hour, he was about ready to make his excuses to leave when Kuranes' foot brushed against his calf, and he stopped him with an odd question.

"Do you have a wife waiting for you in Carcosa?"

Arthur nearly choked on his drink. "I'm sorry?"

"You're escorting the pieces of The King home. What they choose to do with you is none of my business. I'm simply asking if there's someone there that you're returning to." Kuranes' eyes glinted under the light.

Arthur desperately wished for John's (or even Yellow's) eyes. Kuranes slid his foot over Arthur's ankle and calf, slowly, making his hackles rise. Yellow might have been correct. "Er, no. No, I don't. No one… like that."

Kuranes hummed, scooting closer to Arthur. "I did once. Her name was Daisy. She was… my everything." He sighed before continuing. "She could make you laugh at anything, even a joke you'd heard a million times. I'll never forget her smile, the way her nose would crinkle, and how she'd squeeze her eyes shut like the force of her laugh was too much to contain. My heart belonged to her in every sense of the word. Not a day goes by that I don't miss her with every fibre of my being."

Arthur swallowed as Kuranes trailed a finger up his arm. "What happened to her?"

"The King in Yellow. She was a musician, a damn good one. The way she worked a violin was heavenly. He spirited her away to Carcosa, and I never saw her again."

"Did you go look for her?"

"Of course," Kuranes growled. "I begged on my knees in front of The King just for him to toss me in those prison pits of his. I searched every cell for her before I escaped. She wasn't there."

"I'm… I'm sorry. I can't imagine how that would feel." Arthur did know how that felt. Every time he lost John, he knew how that felt. But Kuranes' voice was dipping low, and his hands were still touching him.

That low, musical tone returned to his voice as he brushed Arthur's hair back. "I ask again, who do you belong to, King Arthur?"

"I…" His brain grew fuzzy again, like he was in a trance. It was hard to think. Belong was a strong word, and he wasn't sure he liked how Kuranes was using it. He didn't belong to anybody… but he did belong with John. They worked together; they were a team. "I don't belong to anyone."

Kuranes chuckled darkly, and Arthur jumped as his fingers smoothed over his neck, grazing his dagger scar and the tender bruises John had left. "Then where did you get these?"

His face flushed red at the memory of John's teeth sinking into his flesh. He scooted back, his back hitting the wall at the end of the booth, trying to shake the haze from his mind. "I don't think that's any of your business."

"Really? If I had to wager a guess, it would be the half of The King that acts like I've just stolen his favourite chew toy." Kuranes' laugh was haunting, with echoes of madness chiming in it.

Arthur held his hands up to push him away when his lips pressed to his ear. Why was it so hard to think? Kuranes' hand loosened his tie and slid along his collarbone under his shirt.

"It would bring me great joy," Kuranes sang, "to take something precious from The King in Yellow."

Arthur shoved weakly, fighting the trance over him. "I think you've misunderstood what I agreed to."

"You're the one who told me you don't belong to anyone. I don't see a ring, or any other items The King loves to decorate his consorts in, meaning you are as free as you wish to be, no?" Kuranes' hands fell to Arthur's thighs, tapping a rhythm there.

"Not when you're messing with my head." Arthur shoved again, the haze making him weak.

"Daisy didn't get a choice to leave either."

"Stop!" Arthur shoved again, loosening him enough to roll out from under him and scuttle to the other end of the booth. He could feel the silence that settled over the inn and the weight of eyes on them. "Daisy would be ashamed of who you've become. And I… I don't need a ring to prove anything. John and I— I don't owe you an explanation, and I thank you for your help, but I'm going to retire to my room… alone if you don't mind."

Kuranes sat back, his eyes darkening, but he dropped the musicality in his voice. "I could refuse to help you, you know. Turn you back out on the streets and force you to go around."

"Then do it." Arthur rose to the challenge, adrenaline hitting him hard now that the haze was gone. "What would Daisy think of you then?"

After several beats of silence, Kuranes sighed and sank back into his chair. "You're making a mistake. The gods of this world are awfully cruel to what they love, crushing it before they learn to appreciate it."

"If they're cruel, what does that make you?"

"I'm not from these lands, remember?"

"Could have fooled me," Arthur scoffed as he turned for the stairs, nearly running for them. He needed to scrub his touch from his skin, maybe there was a bath around here somewhere—

"Arthur?" John's relieved sigh came from the top of the stairs. "I heard shouting. I— oh!"

Arthur tackled him in a hug, burying his face in his neck, breathing him in. This was better; John could erase every trace of Kuranes just by being near him. He could drown him in his presence like some kind of unholy baptism, and Arthur's body would never remember anyone else's touch.

Maybe his mind was still affected by whatever had happened… "John."

"Yes, Arthur?" John returned the hug in full, holding Arthur as tight as he dared, peeking over his shoulder down the stairs. Kuranes was at the bottom, pouting and glaring at him. John growled and flipped him off before taking a deep breath to calm down.

That was a mistake, because all he could smell over Arthur's skin was sea salt and ozone. "Arthur, I can smell him on you. What did he—"

"Nothing—" Arthur gasped as John's claws gripped him hard. "I left. Where's our room?"

"Over here." John's hand returned to Arthur's back, and Arthur could have wept with the relief it brought to his body. John unlocked the door, ushering Arthur inside before closing it. "What hap—"

Arthur cut John off, pushing him against the door, and pressing up on his toes (John really was very tall) to wind a hand through his hair to pull him to his lips. The effect was immediate; all anxiety fled from his body, and everything was right with the world again. He sighed, his other hand wrapping around John's shoulders to haul himself closer, leaving barely any weight on his toes at all.

This was all they needed to prove anything.

John wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist and back, keeping him steady as they swayed with the rhythm of their lips. It had been so easy to keep his powers in check since leaving Kore's city, so when he felt a sharp tug of panic come from downstairs, he knew it had to be Arthur. He was trying so hard not to tug on the thread between them; frantic worry and boiling possessiveness and heavy want were clogging his chest, and he didn't know who it was coming from.

Any worry about Kuranes was swept away from him as Arthur's tongue spilled into his mouth. Of course, someone like that couldn't take Arthur away from him.

"Arthur?" He stumbled as Arthur pulled him away from the door. His nerves were buzzing as he started to lose his train of thought, the carts uncoupling and drifting away on different tracks, the rails blurring together; the only one that remained in focus was the one carrying thoughts of Arthur— his lips, his teeth, his hands, his breath ghosting along his flesh. "Arthur, what happened?"

"He was being a prick," Arthur huffed back, ignoring John's giggle as he tripped on the corner of the bed.

John's giggle was cut off as he was shoved down onto the bed, the air knocked out of his lungs. He felt that thread of possessiveness tug at him as Arthur's hands trailed over him, adjusting how they were sitting, and pulling every thought of belonging to the surface of his mind in a jumbled, confused mess. "Arthur—?"

"Ask me who I belong to," Arthur breathed, shucking his jacket off and throwing it in a random direction before attaching his teeth to John's throat.

"W-what?" John stuttered, jumping at the contact. His heart threatened to break his ribs with how hard it was beating. His hands fell to Arthur's waist, claws anchoring him there as Arthur's teeth worked his skin. He's been trying so hard to keep these possessive feelings down, and here comes Arthur demanding they be dragged to the surface. Was he supposed to curb his jealousy or not?

Arthur hummed against his throat, not wanting to break away from John to answer him until he was satisfied with his work. Pride welled in his chest at John's whimper when he rolled the flesh just above his collarbone between his teeth and bit down hard before soothing it with his tongue.

He worked his way up the other side, leaving marks as scattered as the stars on his clothes as he lost himself in the symphony of gasps and tinkling jewellery as John trembled beneath him. As much as he tried to distance himself from religion, to spit on its name, and divorce the ideas from his mind, it seemed he still felt that same desperate need to belong to a god that others felt, though he was the only one who could say for sure that his god loved him back.

He nibbled at the juncture between John's ear and jaw until he was satisfied that Kuranes would be able to see him on John's skin in the morning. He pressed his lips to John's ear, just as he had done to him earlier that day, and shivered at the answering dig of claws. "Kuranes says I don't belong to anyone. Ask me if I think the same."

John didn't think Arthur was tugging on the thread on purpose, but that didn't change the fact that he had, and all of John's carefully held back worms of jealousy and possession washed over him. At least he didn't have an axe in his hands. John caressed Arthur's back, letting his claws drag across his skin hard enough to be felt but not enough to draw blood or injure. "Who do you belong to, Arthur?"

"I'm yours." Any hesitation Arthur felt about voicing this between them was washed away by John's understanding. John felt the same and that was enough to soothe his soul. "I'm yours, John, all yours."

"All mine," John growled against Arthur's lips as he was pushed back, Arthur crawling on top of him to press their bodies together. His hands grasped at Arthur's shoulders, cursing his shirt for being in the way of letting him leave his own marks. John hated to admit that Kuranes was right, but he did still hold The King's possessiveness, even if it had changed tunes. "All mine. And… and I'm yours."

"We belong together," Arthur affirmed, wedging his leg between John's, stomach turning molten at the moan it drew from him. He trailed his hands down from John's neck, across his chest, searching for the buttons to his ridiculously flowy shirt. "We don't need anything to prove it."

John sighed, pressing up into Arthur's touch, thoughts now completely muddled and fuzzy. "He wants proof? I'll fuck you in front of him if he wants fucking proof. I'll show him that I'm the one who knows you best. I'll kill him for even daring to touch you—"

"John," Arthur muttered, kissing his cheek to calm the feelings he'd drawn out; too far and they might tip into something dangerous, "the only man you need to worry about is the one on top of you."

"Yes, Arthur," John purred, claiming his lips once more, love and adrenaline rushing through him. He tried to remember if he'd felt this light-headed and untethered the first time they'd attempted this. Arthur's hands on his body felt as if they were a ghost's. When he blinked his eyes open, it was almost as if he were seeing double; the ceiling was large, two squares overlapping and blurry.

"John?" Arthur pulled back as John grew still under him. "Are you alright?"

John grumbled something, his hands weakly pushing him back but still clinging to his shirt. "Stop…"

"Stop? I'm sorry, did I—" The door slammed open, and Arthur jumped away from him. "Jesus Christ!"

"Fucking stop… fucking!" Yellow shouted, clutching his head. His face was red and curled in disgust as he leaned heavily against the door frame. "Keep your fucking hands off each other until I am far, far, far away from you… Ew."

"John?" Arthur turned to where he thought the other was, off by about a foot. He had pressed himself against the footboard, hand halfway to his gun. He allowed himself to relax at Yellow's voice. "What—?"

John sat up slowly, clutching his head as his vision tried to pick a set of eyes to settle into. "Oh, that's what was happening."

"You. Are. The. Worst." Yellow snarled, flipping him off. "Don't make me go through that again."

He slammed the door behind him, muttering angrily to himself as he stomped back down the hall.

John froze, looking to Arthur, expecting him to be upset or worse and instead found him chuckling. "What?"

"Of all the times I've been scared for my life, that had to be the most frightening one. I thought he was going to kill us for sure." Arthur was now laughing so hard he had to brace himself against the bedpost, his other hand covering his smile.

"Oh," John sighed, nerves still shaking his hands. He didn't see what was so humorous about the situation, but Arthur's laugh was so beautiful. "I'm sorry, I— Maybe if we… I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, John." Arthur scooted forward, hand searching for him. John took it, guiding it to his face and leaning into the touch. Arthur smiled again, placing a kiss on his temple. "No expectations, remember? You told me that. If we can't… get physical, that's fine. I don't need—"

"You want it."

"You don't?"

"No, I… I do. That's why I… I just feel… sorry."

"Well, don't." Arthur stood up to turn off the light and lock the door before returning to him. "There are other ways for us to get his touch off my skin."

"How?" John asked, as Arthur tugged his jacket and their shoes off. Arthur settled back over his chest, this time tucking his head under John's chin and curling around him. "Oh."

They tangled together as much as they physically could, holding on so tight it was almost painful, and yet, John still ached to be closer.

"Arthur?"

"Hmm?" Arthur answered, rubbing his back.

"Sometimes I… I don't mean to sound as if…" John buried his face in Arthur's hair. "I wish I were… still in—"

"Me too," Arthur sighed. "But then we couldn't do this."

"Mmm. I wish the forms I could switch between were this one and the one that allows me to be in your head."

"Wouldn't that be too perfect? Kayne would never give us exactly what we want," Arthur lamented.

"He already has." John tugged the blanket up around their shoulders. "You're exactly what I want."

"Oh, John," Arthur hummed as he slowly started drifting off. "Me too."

Yellow stood outside the door to John and Arthur's room, deciding if he wanted to knock or burn the whole thing down. It was pitch black outside, which meant the third purple star was about to rise. If he wanted to leave and go around, now would be the time. His leg was healed now, so he could make decent headway before they awoke and found him missing. The last thing he would want is them catching up to him and trying to change his mind.

That's if they would even care to follow him. They could still get on the boat and get to Carcosa before him and be home long before he arrived.

Arthur and I will make sure you get across safely. We've dealt with plenty of monsters before in his fragile body.

Yellow muttered angrily and paced the floor. What should he do? Something bad would happen if he got on that boat; he could feel it. But he didn't want to be… alone. And he was on a deadline; Arthur was right in saying it would take too long on human feet.

"Fuck." He yanked on the door handle, and the door didn't budge. "Oh, now they lock the fucking door."

He knocked. And waited. He knocked harder when they didn't answer. And he was about to kick the door down by the time Arthur finally opened it.

"Yellow? What—" He blinked, blearily as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"If you want to make the boat, we need to get going." He tried to keep his face from curling in disgust at the bruises on Arthur's neck. He should have just fucking left.

"Oh. Oh! Right, yes, thank you. John!" Arthur moved back into the room, leaving the door open. Yellow huffed and leaned against the frame to wait. "John, get up."

John groaned and shoved the pillow over his head. He grumbled something that was muffled by it.

"What?" Arthur leaned over him, straining to hear.

"Tired," He grumbled again.

Arthur snorted, "C'mon, princess, up. Yellow's going to leave without us." He turned to find the jacket he'd tossed yesterday.

"You can see today?" Yellow asked as he watched Arthur move with more precision and direction.

"Ah, yes. I've got about—" Arthur grunted as he heaved John's bag onto the bed to pack it up— "seven feet before I can't see anything. John!"

He ripped the blanket off the bed. John shivered, throwing the pillow at him before rolling over. "Fuck off!"

Arthur sputtered as the pillow hit him in the face. He grabbed it from the floor and whacked John's shoulder with it. "Get up, you donkey. We're going to be late."

"Late? For what?" John murmured, finally sitting up. He snatched the pillow back and threw it at Arthur, missing this time.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Arthur walked away to put his shoes on, "the boat, you twit. We would have slept through it if not for Yellow."

Yellow felt a smug grin tug at his lips before he squashed it. What was he doing, getting excited at the thought of being helpful? He wasn't John. He huffed, wishing they would hurry it up. The sooner they got on that boat, the sooner they could get off.

Once John was fully awake, Arthur led them downstairs. He wasn't sure if they were even going to receive help. Regretfully, for some, Kuranes was waiting at the bar, chatting with the person from the night before.

He frowned when he saw John's hand on Arthur's back, and the frown deepened when his eyes caught sight of the fading bruises on John's neck. John gave him the world's biggest, suggestive grin when he figured out what he was looking at. Arthur looked like he owned the Dreamlands with his matching grin. Yellow felt like he was watching the world's stupidest pissing contest.

All of this only lasted a few seconds before Kuranes brought his mask back up, hiding the subtle curve of anger on his brow. His smile looked as if it were moulded of plaster. "Morning! I was about to think you weren't going to make it."

"Bit of a late start, I'm afraid," Arthur teased, digging a playful elbow into John's side.

"We're here now, if your help is still being provided?" John was snippy and impolite, but, to his credit, not as hostile as he was yesterday. There was a distinct lack of growling and gnashing teeth from him and Arthur.

"Yes, I'd prefer The King in Yellow out of my city," Kuranes huffed, finally dragging his eyes away from Arthur.

"Great, can we leave then? The faster we get out of here, the better," Yellow grunted, heading for the door.

Kuranes clicked his tongue. "For once, little king, we agree. Come, I'll take you back to the dock and see you on your way."

They followed him outside, and Arthur was once again shocked by how accurate and beautiful John's descriptions were as they walked through the paved streets. The ancient, dream city was bustling with life, just as John had said; merchants, passersby, trademen, and families all crowded the streets to accent the marvellous buildings. It was hard to imagine that someone like Kuranes had been the one to dream it into existence.

Of course, this was the dream of a child who loved swashbuckling pirates and dirty back alley escapes. Arthur wondered what kind of cities he would dream of as a kid and what he would dream of now. They would be vastly different, so he supposed Kuranes could have a pass.

They stopped at an intersection of roads as a merchant hauling a large cart of cages crossed in front of them, going only as fast as the crowd would allow.

Yellow peeked over Arthur's shoulder, staring into the cages. A pair of glowing, sickly yellow eyes met his, and he nearly jumped from the wrath and anger reflected in them. They belonged to a large crocodilian creature that had three equally large ram-like horns protruding from its head. Its teeth were too big for its mouth, hanging like sharpened stalactites curving over a cliff. It rumbled low in its throat, gnashing those dagger-like teeth, and Yellow got the distinct impression that it would take great pleasure in rending his flesh from his bones.

The cart hit a bump, crawling to a stop right in front of them. Yellow counted at least twelve pairs of those glassy eyes on him. Their stare prickled his skin, making the hair on his arms stand and his heart push adrenaline through him. They could probably tear an arm off in one bite. The thought made him take a small step closer to John; he didn't want to imagine where these creatures were being shipped to.

Kuranes, who had been impatiently tapping his foot, rolled his eyes and approached the cart to bang on the splintering wood. "Mind moving for us, love? We're kind of in a rush."

The driver rolled her eyes and pointed to the crowd writhing in front of her. "Doin' me best, sir, but I can only move so much."

Arthur glanced around, spying multiple alleys sprouting off from the main road. "Couldn't we go around?"

Yellow snorted, muttering under his breath, "Now he wants to go around."

"This is the fastest way back to the docks. These alleys don't connect to another major street." Kuranes slapped the cart again, the noise agitating the creatures as they started to move about, thrashing their thick, bludgeoning tails.

John huffed, pulling Arthur a step back from the cages. "Those don't look very stable."

Kuranes shook his head, pouting like a child, and cupped his hands around his mouth, his voice unnaturally amplifying and gaining musicality. "Could I get you all to kindly move! Let's go! To the side of the road!"

The creatures snarled, thrashing their heads, rattling their cages, and whipping their tails around; the bangs and twhacks echoing menacingly off the surrounding marble. A low hiss emanated from their throats like a snake's warning as they swiped at their bars. Whatever siren effect Kuranes was using was clearly angering them again.

"You should stop before they get angry," Yellow told Kuranes, who simply snorted and ignored him to continue shouting at the crowd.

"Hey!" Arthur huffed, tapping Kuranes' shoulder. "Look at what you're doing. Listen to—"

"I'm getting people out of the way."

Yellow took another step closer to John, damn near reaching for his free hand like a frightened child. "John? Should we—?"

"I don't know." John glanced at the creatures and then at Kuranes. Before he could formulate a better answer, Kuranes slapped the wagon again. A creature on the bottom of the pile rammed the door to his cage, the tip of its horns catching on a latch and popping its cage open, which caused the entire stack to fall in on itself. For a moment, everything was deadly silent as the splintering wood and clanging metal settled. They snarled and hissed and writhed. As they slithered from the pile in all directions, people screamed, overloading Yellow's ears.

He froze. Distantly, he heard John and Arthur calling to him as they scrambled to get away from the scene. He couldn't move past the pounding of his heart in his ears, his veins too cold, eyes too fixated on the purple glint of teeth barreling at him. His mind was terrifyingly blank as the crowd surged around him.

"Yellow! Fucking move!" John screamed, slamming his shoulder into him and knocking them both to the ground just in time to avoid one of the charging creatures. Most of the crowd had dissipated from the main area, but one stray person stomped on his hand in their rush to get away. Yellow cried out, scrambling back toward John, who yanked him up, shoving him toward a nearby alley. "Move!"

"John! John!" Arthur shouted, panicking as Kuranes tugged him in the opposite direction.

"Arthur! The docks!" John answered, grabbing a nearby spear for defence as the creature that had charged at Yellow reared up onto its back legs. "Head for the docks!"

The creature lunged, and John slashed it across its nose, clipping one of its eyes. It howled, slamming back on all fours as it swiped the blood away.

Yellow's vision swam as his breathing turned shallow, fear closing his throat.

"Go!" John growled, pushing them down the narrow alley.

Yellow finally found the command that made his legs move, running as fast as he could in the direction John had pushed him. He nearly froze again when he heard the rapid thumps of the creature's footsteps close behind them, its head lowered like a battering ram.

John placed a firm hand between his shoulder blades, propelling him forward. "Go, go! Go!"

Their legs were pumping at a speed almost too frantic to keep up, and yet they still only just managed to exit the alley in time to avoid the charge; the echo of three horns slamming into the marble wall in front of them was a deafening crack. Yellow covered his ears with his hands, eardrums ringing, whimpering as tears fell from his eyes.

The alley had exited back onto the main road, just on the other side of the cart. (They could have gone around!) The civilians on this side had already vacated, leaving one creature huddled by the truck, its maw tearing into the driver with an almost glee-like mania, blood running down its reptilian chin in rivers, disappearing as it splashed against the dark onyx. Yellow gasped, scampering back and running straight into John.

"What are you doing? Keep moving!" John tugged them to the side, pushing them down the hill and into another alley. It didn't escape him that Yellow was freezing just like he had with the ghoul; all he could do was keep pushing him until he got his brain working again. At least here they could see.

The creature chasing them lost interest, turning its ire on the one chowing down, the scent of fresh blood drawing its attention. Their hisses and gargles faded as they slipped into another alley. "Where are the docks?"

"You don't remember?" Yellow screeched, his brain finally catching up as he navigated the twisting, narrow streets.

"I wasn't exactly paying attention," John uttered. The screams grew distant, almost like background buzzing, the further down they went.

"Of course you weren't. You were too busy contemplating where to start eviscerating Kuranes." Yellow turned down a street ridden with toppled boxes and jumped over the first few, only to come face-to-face with a furry woman standing over a child who was nursing a wound on his leg.

Her wide, green lemur eyes met his, wild and frightened. She was holding a gun, pointed right at him. The shout rang loud, surely drawing some of the creatures' attention. There was a mirror behind her, and Yellow barely processed the pain as he watched his dark blood splatter on the stark white marble behind him. His frightened, angry eyes glared back at him, just as wrathful and haunting as the creature's had been. "Do I look like a fucking monster to you?"

She didn't get a chance to respond as John tugged him down the rest of the alley. "Are you alright?"

"No! She fucking shot me!" Yellow hissed, following John toward the docks; they could see them now, the people here just as frantic to get everything on their ships and leave before the creatures could catch up.

"She was scared," John protested, keeping a hand on Yellow's shoulder as he searched the crowd for dusty blonde waves or a billowing tan coat or honey brown eyes.

"And how did she think I felt?" Yellow pouted, the pain pushing past the adrenaline, spreading through his nerves like fire. "Can you fix me?"

"After I find Arthur and we're safe on the ship." He stood on his tiptoes despite already being able to see well above the majority of the crowd.

"We won't be safe on the ship," Yellow muttered. He felt a pang of worry hit his chest as he watched John pace and bite his lip. Despite all the pain he was in, he felt compelled to place a hand on John's shoulder. "He'll be here. It takes a lot more than that to kill someone as annoying as Arthur Lester."

"We're going to fucking die!" Arthur spat as one of the creatures lashed out, catching his arm just above his elbow. He shoved Kuranes' hand off his shoulder once more as they turned down an alley ridden with the creatures, their jaws stained with blood as they hissed at a high volume. "Get your hands off me and follow my lead!"

"You can't fucking see!" Kuranes snarled, tugging at Arthur's coat once more, dragging them out of the way of one creature and directly into the path of another. "Why would I follow a blind man?"

"Are you mad?" Arthur grabbed his shoulder and all but threw him down a street as the creature skidded past where he'd been standing. Arthur hefted a spear from the ground and threw it into the side of the creature. It roared as blue blood gushed from the wound. "Do I look fucking blind to you?"

"What? But yesterday—"

"Different day!" Arthur scuttled backwards, tipping a tower of crates behind him to seal off the alley as they ran. "You are going to get both of us killed! So just shut up and listen to me."

"Last I checked, I was the god between the two of us!" Kuranes yelped, grabbing Arthur's coattails as they dipped around corners and slithered out from the grasp of claws.

"And I've bested gods. None of that matters!" Arthur fumed, dragging them to the edge of an overhang and jumping down to the street below before yanking them under an abandoned merchant tent. "Why were you transporting these things in the first place?"

"Ow," Kuranes whimpered, rubbing his ankle as he leaned against the wall. "I wasn't… I don't approve everything that goes through the city."

"I thought you… never mind." Arthur rolled his eyes, peeking out from the tent to make sure they weren't being chased. Once the coast was clear, he stepped onto the abandoned street and picked the direction he thought the docks were in based on the blobs he could see in the sky. "This is your fault anyway."

"My fault? I just told you I had nothing to do with—" Kuranes yelped again as Arthur pulled them into an alcove to catch their breath as a creature thumped by on the street above. There were a lot more of them than he remembered seeing on the cart.

"You should have listened to Yellow and stopped aggravating them!"

"Really, they should have been caged better."

"You're impossible. I can't imagine what Daisy saw in you." Arthur checked the street again before taking off. "Forget it. We don't need your help. I'll get John and Yellow, and we'll go around."

Kuranes deflated a miserable look crossing his face. "Docks are this way. Let's just get you out of the city so I can deal with this mess."

"Why do you still want to help?" Arthur huffed, following where he'd directed. The screams of the crowd had faded, whether that be because they had found safety or if all the creatures' mouths were full of sinew. Arthur was glad for the salt of the sea filtering out the tang of blood in the air. "It can't be just because you hate The King in Yellow."

Kuranes was quiet for a few feet. The ground turned to the water-soaked wooden planks of the docks before he answered. "You're right. Daisy wouldn't be very proud of the person I've become. And you've reminded me of that. I would be remiss to let a piece of home… someone so like Daisy, go by without attempting to help this time."

"This time?"

"Arthur!" A tall, black and golden hue started running for him.

"John!" He cried, dashing for him, bag thudding against his hip as he brushed past frantic people. They collided, nearly toppling each other over, and caught themselves in a crushing hug.

"Fuck, John," Arthur chuckled, running his hands over John's back and shoulders to make sure he was real. "I wasn't sure—"

"I know. Are you—" John swallowed the rest of his anxiety, breathing shakily as he pulled Arthur away enough to check him for injuries, hands roving everywhere Arthur would let him. "Are you alright? They didn't hurt you?"

Arthur carefully kept John's attention away from the cut on his elbow; he was still carrying the weight of Yellow's injuries. He didn't need to worry about Arthur's, too. He returned the gesture of checking for marred flesh. "No, no, I'm fine. Are you?"

"I'm fine," John sighed, pulling him into another hug. "We need to stop separating."

"It was easier when you were a voice and a left hand. Hard to leave you behind that way." Arthur chuckled, pulling away as he heard Kuranes' footsteps finally catching up to him. He ignored them as he saw Yellow clutching his shoulder behind John. "Yellow? Are you alright?"

Yellow's gaze flinched up, surprise colouring his face. He looked around him as if Arthur could have possibly been talking to anyone else. He shook his head, pulling his blood-covered hand away from his shoulder. It was still steadily oozing. "No… I… I don't know."

Arthur dug in his bag for one of the rags he'd stashed and held it out. Yellow took it hesitantly, like he still thought it could be poisoned. "Use this, we'll get you patched up on the boat."

Kuranes nodded, smiling sadly at John. "Let's get you on that ship out of here so I can handle this kerfuffle." He led them down the dock in a hurry, slipping between the rushing people.

A person who looked similar to the person from the inn was securing the sail on their small boat. They had long brown hair that was braided and tossed over their shoulder. A pale green sash was slung around their hips, a utility belt housing many pockets, keeping it in place. As the group approached, their feathers ruffled, and they looked ready to gut Kuranes on the spot.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You didn't tell me I was transporting gods."

"Anya, love, a passenger is a passenger, and you're all going the same way." Kuranes waved off their concerns, sending a cautionary glance behind him. Smoke was rising from somewhere near the inn.

"You know full well that's bullshit," Anya grumbled as they climbed out of their boat and held out a hand. Kuranes reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch. By the way it clinked into their clawed palm, it was filled with coins. They stuffed it into the bag on their leg and turned to give them a once-over.

Arthur was about to hold out his hand for them to shake when they tossed their braids over their shoulder and stomped their talon-like feet before motioning for them to board. "There's a first aid kit on the helm, don't bleed all over my boat."

Kuranes whooped and gave another overdramatic bow.

"It's been abhorrent, Kings of Yellow and England. Arthur, I'm terribly sorry for the trouble I've caused, and for your sake, I sincerely hope none of you find yourselves in my city again. Good day!" He spun on his heel and was gone before they could even get on the boat.

"Good riddance," Yellow uttered, accepting John's help into the unsteady vessel.

"I agree. Nothing but trouble, gods," Anya tutted, working on untying the rope that secured them to the dock. "Alright, listen up. I have three rules. One, you stay out of my way. Two, don't touch anything. Three, stay out of my way."

"You said that one already," Yellow pointed out.

They frowned at him, the feathers on their nose crinkling in a way that mirrored his own disgruntled expression. "Then it must be very important. You're free to sit near the bow. We'll cast off soon."

The ocean spray was frigid as it burst around the boat, coating their skin in a fine, dewy mist.

Yellow hated it.

The salt stung his wound as John dug around in it, searching for the bullet that was wedged in it; Arthur had told him not to heal the wound over it, or he'd have more problems later. His claws dug into the wood underneath him, keeping him tightly anchored to his seat as he whined and complained about the pain.

At least Arthur wasn't yelling at him to shut up this time.

His teeth ground together hard at each bump and dive the boat took over the waves, and he found himself quietly grateful for John's steady hands. He wanted to ask John to just use his powers again and get it over with, but he didn't want to push his luck with John's (and Arthur's) grace. And… a small part of him didn't want John in more pain.

"If you splinter that wood, I'll toss you overboard," Anya threatened as they moved the sail in a new direction, nearly tossing everyone from their seats.

Yellow growled, but removed his hands and curled them into his cloak instead. It wasn't an empty threat. His cloak kept the dew off his skin, but provided little warmth as the spray dampened it.

"Don't move too much," John muttered, tender hands repositioning his shoulder. "I don't want this to hurt more than necessary."

Yellow huffed, but complied. In an attempt to stop thinking about the pain, his mind turned to the reason it was there; the lemur woman in the alley— the fear in her eyes as she was prepared to stand her ground until her last breath; the mirror behind her reflecting everything she had a right to be scared of.

He used to relish in that kind of fear, used to laugh joyfully as he pulled it to the surface and brought every nightmare to life. He was everything that proved that fear was justified. It was powerful knowing nothing could touch him while he had every effect on someone else. He was used to bending anyone to his will to get whatever it was he wanted. This fear of someone else doing that to him was something he's never entertained until… Arthur Lester.

"I can hear you thinking, Yellow," Arthur teased, holding a cloth for John.

"No, you can't," Yellow huffed, glaring at him and hoping it held its usual intensity even if he wasn't actively angry.

Arthur chuckled. "You've gone unusually quiet. Something on your mind?"

"No," He snapped, stifling a whimper as John extracted the bullet, dropping it onto the cloth Arthur was holding.

"I… I think I've reached my limit on this power. I can't get it to work." John pouted, dabbing the area around the wound to clean up the blood. "I'm sorry… should I… should I stitch this?"

Arthur leaned over to inspect the wound and shook his head. He put the cloth down and picked up more bandages to hand to John. "No, it's not deep enough. Just clean and dress it."

"Okay. This might sting," John whispered soothingly.

Yellow hissed and cursed in response. It was odd hearing a voice so similar to his hold a tone he never would.

Do I look like a fucking monster to you?

There was a pit in his stomach, and it bothered him that it was bothering him. He wore the colour yellow and all its emotions well— that mirror was his proof. That's what he wanted, right? He wasn't John.

He was Yellow.

"I'm a monster," he whispered, keeping his eyes glued to the deck.

John and Arthur went frightfully quiet, and even the sound of tools halted. They shared a look; he could tell they were sharing a look. He tensed, prepared for the backlash, for the affirmation, ready to defend his position. He could feel the burning need to protect his identity boiling on his tongue.

"Do you want to be?" John asked, delicately bandaging his shoulder, his eyes focused on the task.

Yellow's well-prepared argument died on his tongue. He glanced up and found Arthur carefully listening to their conversation, but refraining from offering his opinion. "Yes…"

"Okay." John nodded, taking a piece of tape from Arthur to secure the bandages in place. He hesitated before dipping his head to place a kiss on the bandage. "There, now it will heal faster."

Yellow made a distressed noise, almost pushing him back. He wanted to fight, to scream, to lash out. He didn't want this easy acceptance. His fingers dug into his shoulder as he clutched the bandage. "You're not disappointed?"

"Do you want me to be disappointed?" John returned all his tools to the first aid kit, and Arthur clipped it shut and got up to return it to its spot.

"I… I don't… I don't know." Yellow averted his eyes, not wanting to know what emotion was glinting in John's eyes. He was distracted as Arthur stumbled as the boat crested a wave. Anxiety took root in his lungs as it looked like, for one horrifying second, he would topple overboard. He didn't, catching himself on the rail. "Your human is going to fall in."

John ripped his gaze away to check on Arthur, allowing Yellow to sit in silence for a moment more. Where did he fall between the two of them and The King? He liked John; he felt like home in a way that made him uncomfortable. Did he want to be like John just because he liked him? Or could he be like John and be a monster?

A low, bubbling noise caught his attention, freezing him in place. He leaned over the side of the boat, blinking at the reflective water. An ethereal green light rolled beneath the waves, but it was almost washed out by the blue star's light above. He had to squint really hard to make sure it wasn't his eyes playing tricks on him. Yellow startled and looked up. The blue star was the one in the sky; it would be dark soon.

"Just be careful, Arthur," John scoffed in answer to a conversation Yellow hadn't heard. "We should— Yellow?"

Yellow ground his teeth together in fear, his claws once again digging into the wood on his bench. This boat was not big; it wouldn't stand a chance against whatever was down there. "We need to go faster."

"What do you—?"

"Don't you see it?" He hissed, leaning away from the edge and the light keeping a steady pace with the boat.

"See what… oh." John, the idiot that he was, leaned over the edge to get a better look. "What is it?"

"I don't know, and I don't care." He stood, moving to the center of the boat and clinging to the mast. He stomped to get Anya's attention. "Does this thing go any faster?"

"Patience, Yellow, we'll…" Arthur cut himself off when he turned and saw John enraptured with something below the waves. "John?"

"Arthur, there's something following us," John muttered, reaching his hand toward the water. It was frigid as it parted around his hand. "It's far below, but it's following us fairly closely."

"I'd move that hand unless you want to lose it," Anya grumbled, peering into the water next to him. "Sarcomoloch."

"Sarcomoloch?" Arthur repeated, a hand squeezing John's shoulder to pull him away from the edge.

"Flesh demon. Its light entrances its victims so they won't notice being stripped to their bones in seconds." Anya snapped their fingers in front of John's eyes. He flinched, backing away from the light. "The short one is right, we need to move. Human, grab a paddle and start rowing on the right. Big guy, the left. Little one, you're with me on the mast. We need to drop the second sail."

"On it," Arthur muttered, not thrilled about being bossed around. But, he preferred to err on the side of not being eaten.

"You want me up there?" Yellow huffed. "Absolutely not."

"You won't fall," Anya retorted, already halfway up the mast. "Get up here."

"Say that again, like you aren't lying to me," Yellow muttered, grabbing the pegs and shakily following after; they had better get away from this thing quickly.

John glanced back at the water to check on the light. It was closer now, and, strange though it may be, the light didn't illuminate the creature under it. He couldn't see anything but the bluer-than-blue lake reflecting the star's light, and the strange green glow under its waves. There were no other signs of life in the depths. John slowed his paddling, once again leaning toward the light.

"John."

He startled, looking over to Arthur, who was staring at him. He'd also slowed his paddling to keep from oversteering without John's help. "Arthur?"

"Eyes on me, John. Don't get distracted." Arthur gestured to the paddle again, waiting for John to start rowing before he joined. "What are you most looking forward to when we get back?"

"I…" John half-turned back to the light before snapping his focus back to Arthur. "I want to go see that movie we missed in New York."

"Well, then I hope it's still playing." Arthur eyed John's side of the lake as the green glow started to illuminate the wood of the boat.

"You'll take me?"

"Yes, I did promise to once everything was settled." Arthur's arms were already getting sore. He panicked as John started to turn his head again. "Do you remember the play Yellow was talking about?"

"Yes, most of my memories have come back. The longer Yellow and I are close together in the Dreamlands, the more the gaps fill in." John saw the worry on Arthur's face and resisted the urge to look at the glow. "The play is how The King spreads his influence in the mortal world. Reading it wouldn't be advised."

"Not even a little at a time?" Arthur attempted to joke.

"Arthur, if you wanted a piece of The King to bring you to the brink of madness, you wouldn't need the play."

Arthur ignored the shiver that ran through him as he always did when John used that tone of voice. "Fair point."

Yellow scoffed as he clung to the mast like a koala, struggling with the knot on his rope. The boat hit another wave and dipped, nearly throwing him into the waves. "Fuck this! I'm getting down."

"Untie the sail, and we can both go!" Anya hissed, clamping their sail closed. "I can't let this go, or we'll veer off course. Stop being a baby!"

"I'm not a baby!" Yellow hissed, claws scratching gouges in the wood. "But I'm going to fall straight into the fucking thing's mouth! I can't swim!"

At his words, John accidentally turned and locked eyes with the light that was directly under the boat. Big, bulbous eyes bugged out at him, hunger staining the black pools. Rows, and rows, and rows of jagged teeth curved in a wide mouth that hung open at the jaw. The green glow came from a long, arching antenna that held a blob of glowing ooze on the end.

John's vision blurred as he grew dizzy, boat and creature overlapping in his eyes. His grip on the paddle slipped, and it fell into the depths below.

"John!" Arthur shouted. "Fuck, John!"

"Shit!" Yellow yelped, clutching his head as his vision doubled, swaying with the boat as the creature undulated in the water. The teeth glinting in the green glow made frightened tears fall from his eyes. "John! Back away from the fucking thing!"

"Untie the fucking sail!" Anya shouted.

"I'm fucking trying!"

Anya glared down at the creature and their boat. They watched as Arthur abandoned the paddle to run over to John. They scoffed and dropped the sail. "Fuck this."

They jumped, flapping their wings, and circling around the boat. "Go for its eyes. Good luck!"

"Hey! What are you—" Arthur was cut off as the wind caught the dropped half of the sail, yanking the boat to the right.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Yellow scrabbled for the wood, unsure which set of hands were his, his grip too weak. The creature rammed the boat, and Yellow's fingers slipped. He barely had time to scream before the cold water was closing over him.

The chill snapped him back to his own body, the overlap between him and John ending. He slammed his mouth closed as salty water assaulted the back of his throat. Fear propelled his limbs as he desperately kicked and clawed at the water. His lungs burned as hot tears joined the endless expanse around him.

The blue light from above was rapidly fading, leaving the waters pitch black. In the dark, it was easier to see the bobbing green light as it steadily grew closer to him. Those hideous abyssal eyes were trained on Yellow's struggling form as its thick, serpentine tail propelled it forward, its giant maw a void of unhinged teeth.

He worked his limbs harder, near sobbing as he only managed to keep himself from sinking further. With the light gone, Yellow was all turned around, down was up and up was down. He'd lost where the boat was. His lungs couldn't take it anymore, and he gasped, choking on water.

He was going to kill Arthur Lester for not going around this stupid sea.

He went numb, limbs slowing as he sank. He thought he heard a splash somewhere to his left. Suddenly, hands were smacking and grabbing at him. He weakly tried to bat them away, and they snuck under his arms, pulling him up as legs kicked against his in their attempt to get them out of the way. Yellow's vision faded in and out; the last coherent thing he saw was the eyes of the creature right under them. He used the last of his energy to kick at them before losing himself to the lack of oxygen.

"C'mon!"

There was a painful pressure on his chest.

"C'mon, Yellow!"

Air burst into his lungs, making him choke as he spat up water. He heaved, falling on his side.

"Thank god! John! He's breathing! Get to the wheel and try to keep it steady!"

Yellow's lungs were on fire, the salt from the sea scratching behind his eyelids and tearing into his alveoli. He dragged greedy, shaking breaths into his ragged lungs as he clung to the deck and a pair of hands.

"It's okay… it's okay, Yellow, just breathe…" Arthur's voice was trembling, almost as if he were crying. "Are you okay?"

Yellow spat one last mouthful of water onto the deck before pushing himself to sit up. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

"Oh, thank god." Arthur sobbed, yanking Yellow into a tight hug.

Yellow squeaked, grabbing Arthur's shoulders to push him away. Arthur's shirt was drenched, and he smelled like the sea.

"I thought… fuck, I thought we'd lost you."

Yellow sniffled, the fear overwhelming him again. "You… you saved me?"

"I couldn't…" Arthur sobbed, holding him tighter. "I couldn't let you drown."

Yellow allowed himself to hug back, crying as the adrenaline worked itself through his body. "I didn't think you'd care if I… if I…"

"Of course I fucking care! I—" Arthur was cut off as the creature rammed the boat again, a sickening crack resounding across the waves.

"Arthur!" John called from the helm. "I can't steer this thing with the sail fucked up!"

"I'll get it! Just keep aiming for the shore!" Arthur shouted, pulling away from Yellow. "Hold onto something."

"Wait!" Yellow cried as Arthur jumped to his feet and ran for the mast. Tears were still pouring down his face as he searched for anything nearby that was anchored down. He wrapped himself around a bench, clinging so hard his limbs almost went numb.

Arthur slipped on the ladder rungs as he climbed the mast, cursing his wet clothes. It was a good thing he was used to navigating without light, as the purple star still hadn't shown itself yet; the creature's antenna circling the boat was the only light visible.

The top of the mast was wobbly, unbalanced as the boat rocked back and forth. He kept one hand carefully wrapped around the mast as the other tugged at the knot around the sail. It was wound tight, the rope clinging to itself as hard as he was clinging to the rungs.

"Arthur!" John shouted as the boat was bumped again. "The boat can't take much more!"

"Fucking hell, just keep her steady, John!"

"We might have to swim for it!"

"Fuck that!" Yellow hollered.

"Yellow can't swim!" Arthur yelled back at the same time. He finally got the knot free, but the rope caught in the sail's cloth. He cursed, letting go of the mast and stumbling across the beam, his wet shoes slipping on the wood. The creature hit the boat again, and he flailed for the rope's tail, catching it just before he could fall. A scream tore from him as his hands ripped down the rope, burning like hell as he swung in the air. "Shit!"

"Arthur!" John and Yellow screamed.

"Are you okay?" John almost abandoned his post at the wheel to catch him.

"Fine! Fine, stay where you are!" Arthur grunted as he hauled himself up the rope, knuckles turning white. He scrambled back onto the mast, refusing to let go of the rope even as he untangled it from the sail.

"Arthur! It's coming back!" Yellow shouted, his hands slipping on the bench as water splashed onto the deck.

Arthur yanked on the sail one final time, and it unfurled right as the creature hit the bow of the boat. He slid down the rope, pieces of skin peeling off. It didn't reach all the way down to the deck, and he fell the last few feet, landing hard on his back.

"Arthur!" John yelped, taking a step away from the wheel.

"I've got him, just steer the boat!" Yellow scrambled over to Arthur, dragging him to the base of the mast; one arm looped around the wood and the other around Arthur's chest, clinging tightly to both.

The wind caught the sail, propelling them forward just as the purple star emerged. John cried with relief as he saw a stretch of land just a few yards ahead of them. He was about to call it out when the creature slammed the boat again, propelling it forward but smashing a hole in the bottom of it. Water gushed and sloshed as it rushed into the hole.

"Fuck!" Yellow whimpered, claws digging into Arthur's side as he held on. "What do we do about that?"

Arthur wheezed, still too dizzy to stand. "Lean! Lean the boat, John."

"What does that even fucking mean!" John fumbled with the wheel as the added weight of the water tugged the boat.

Arthur coughed, sitting up with a grateful squeeze to Yellow's wrist, grabbing onto the mast himself. "Lean away from the hole and back again. Sway, don't go straight, it'll slow the leaking!" Arthur pulled himself up, searching the deck for anything useful. The boat wobbled as John did what he was told.

The creature screeched, a piercing noise that nearly dropped them all to their knees. John turned just in time to see the creature cutting through the water toward them again, gaining a frightening amount of speed. He spun the wheel hard toward the island before sprinting toward Arthur and Yellow. "It's coming!"

The creature collided with the boat, pushing it into the sands of the shallows and ejecting everyone on board.

John thumped against the sand, the air knocked from his lungs. The world spun underneath him, and he had to close his eyes against the sensation. The sand shifted under his hands, stinging as it made micro-cuts. His lungs were still struggling for air as he called weakly, "Arthur? Yellow?"

Yellow groaned, drawing his feet under him. There was a small splash of water as he did so, his knees soaked as he lay half in the sand, half in the water. His ribs ached from where he landed; all of him ached from where he'd landed. The creature screeched again, and he covered his ears.

With another groan, he sat up to watch it descend back into the depths of the sea. He rubbed the water from his eyes and glanced around, spying John farther up the beach, his forehead pressed to the sand.

"John?" Shaking, he climbed to his feet, taking a step toward him.

"Mm, 'm fine. Arthur?" John waved him back, squishing his eyes closed.

Yellow looked around and found him further in the water on his back and unconscious. "Fuck."

He stumbled through the water, dropping down next to him. "Arthur?"

Yellow shook his shoulders; he was breathing. "Hey, asshole. Wake up."

Arthur grunted, stirring slowly as he fought his way to consciousness. He slapped at Yellow's hands as they kept shaking him. "Yellow?"

"Oh, fuck. He's fine, John!" Yellow sobbed and punched Arthur's shoulder. "You're so fucking stupid."

"What did I do this time?" Arthur held his side as he sat up, hissing as his spine popped and cracked.

"You never fucking listen to me! I told you this was a bad idea! I told you we would almost die—!"

"Yeah, just give it a couple more times, and you'll get used to almost dying." Arthur clambered to his feet.

"Get used to it? Get used to it? Are you fucking kidding me?" His tears spilled over, clogging his throat and making it hard to speak. He was angry; why the fuck was he crying? "No, I will not get used to it. When we get to Carcosa, I'll have my old body back, and I won't have to worry about any of this shit again! Not dying, not feelings, not you! I'll be so glad to be rid of you and your stupid questions and your stupid ideas!" Yellow finished, his lungs heaving, face burning. He hadn't even realised he'd been shouting.

Arthur glared, his nails digging into his palms. He scoffed, "The feeling is mutual."

Yellow froze, watching Arthur make his way over to John. Those words should have been a blessing, so why did they hurt so much?

Of course I fucking care!

Yellow wanted to kick himself. He was so stupid. How could he fall for this shit again? Fuck Arthur Lester, fuck humanity, and fuck these stupid feelings. They weren't friends, and he didn't want to be.

"Are you alright?" Arthur placed a tender hand on John's shoulder, his eyes and tone so much softer than when he'd talked to Yellow.

What made John so different? He complained just as much as he did. He huffed and puffed and snorted just as much as he did. He entertained darker notions just like he did. Where was he going wrong?

"Fine," John muttered, leaning up into the touch. "You? Yellow?"

"Fine, grumpy as ever. Do you think you can walk?" Arthur smoothed a hand down John's hair, shaking the sand from it.

"Mmhmm. Just give me a minute. Dizzy." John rested his head against Arthur's shoulder. "You should apologise. He didn't mean it."

"How do you know what he means?" Arthur huffed. Yellow's words had stung. He'd thought they'd made progress in the friendship department. But apparently, their relationship would always be strained.

"He's scared. I always said things to you that I didn't mean when I was scared."

Yellow snorted as he furiously shook the itchy sand from his hair, his jewellery jingling too loud in his ear. He furiously wiped the tears from his face before marching past Arthur and John. "Carcosa is close by. Let's get this over with."

"How close?" Arthur asked only to be ignored. He rolled his eyes as he helped John to his feet. "Alright then, your majesty. Lead the way."

There was another lake in front of them, thankfully one they wouldn't have to cross. Its waters were darker, as if it were more of a black hole than a lake. Yellow yanked Arthur away from the edge and muttered something about him never learning shit, and doesn't he know there are dangerous creatures down there?

In Arthur's defence, he was staring at the strange reflection of Carcosa and Yhtill, each city lit by its own twin sun. Beautiful, black stars hung in the sky, and their impossible reflections were what drew Arthur in.

"Lake Hali," John whispered, also getting lost in the beauty of the sky; he'd never taken the time to admire it before.

"Finally, you remember something useful," Yellow muttered, leading the way toward Yhtill's boat dock.

"I know useful things," John protested, dropping his eyes from the sky to throw a half-hearted glare at Yellow. "My memories are almost entirely back."

John wasn't thrilled to have every memory of every horrible thing he'd done return to him, but he couldn't deny that his memories were useful. If they ever ran into another wraith in need of excorcising, he would know what to do. And now, he didn't even have the excuse of pretending not to remember.

"How are the stars emitting black light?" Arthur asked, still fixated on the world around them, even though it was blurry.

Yellow huffed as he rummaged through some bins under the awning of the small boat house. "Again with your stupid questions."

"It's not stupid," Arthur muttered, crossing his arms in a manner that resembled John. "Black stars don't make any—"

"The Dreamlands don't make sense to humans." Yellow kicked the wooden bin away, toppling over its contents of rotten fruit and burlap sacks before moving on to the next one.

"What are you looking for?" Arthur questioned, adjusting his bag. It was amazing that they hadn't lost them.

"Robes." Yellow peeled the top off the next crate, dropping the lid to the ground. "Here we go."

"Robes for what?"

Yellow only scoffed.

"The Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign," John answered, his eyes locking on a boat that was making its way through the water toward them. "They signal the arrival of The King."

"Exactly." Yellow tossed a robe at both of them before finding one for himself. "They'll take us right to the center of the play and get us past Cassilda. Once we're at the masquerade, I'll reclaim the throne and take you to the plateau to send you home."

Yellow was tired; he was tired of being tired. He couldn't wait to be free of this body and all its aches and pains. And free of the two people behind him who seemed to cause him nothing but trouble. He would be free and… alone. "Assuming, well, assuming you still want to leave."

The question hung unasked in the air, freezing everyone in place; arms half in the sleeves of robes and breaths half taken. Arthur's lungs nearly collapsed at how fast he sucked in a breath to quell the worry building in his chest. "Of course, we still want to go home."

"We?" Yellow rose an eyebrow. What did he know about what John wanted? It was possible for John to choose him over Arthur.

"Yes, we." Arthur narrowed his eyes, shrugging the robe on. He couldn't help the waver in his voice. "Right, John?"

John coughed, jerking his attention back to the two of them. "You would want us to stay?"

Yellow frowned, flipping his hood up. "I don't want anything. It's your city too. I couldn't stop you if you wanted to stay."

"That's… unusually kind of you," John remarked, face twisting in contemplation.

"Whatever," Yellow huffed, plopping down on one of the crates to wait for the boat.

Fear constricted Arthur's lungs. He wanted to grab John by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. They had a plan! They were supposed to go home, start a private investigator agency, and see a movie. He was supposed to be able to wake up and cook John breakfast without the threat of eldritch creatures scrambling them up for theirs. They were supposed to— "Do you… do you want to stay, John?"

John bit his lip, crossed his arms, and stared at where the water lapped over the pitch black sand. There was a small part of him that jumped at the chance to stay with Yellow. He could be there to help him understand these new feelings, so he wasn't alone with zero answers. They could rebuild their city to be better, to be kinder, more full of life. He could show Arthur all the ways this realm could be beautiful (when they weren't running for their lives). He could even make him a part of The King's court, dress him in the finest clothes, keep him safe and well-fed, and show him all the proper ways to worship his body without any worries about laws or resources.

Or, they could go back to Earth, to a house that would be entirely their own. He could learn how to cook, have Arthur teach him piano, solve mysteries, or watch a film. And he could decorate their house however he liked!

"Would you…" John swallowed, nervously raising his eyes to Arthur's. The worry and fear reflected in them was nearly suffocating; would Arthur still love him if he chose to stay? If he chose to be closer to Yellow? Closer to what he should be? Is that… what he wanted? Would that make him happy? "Would you stay with me?"

"I…" Arthur sighed, trying not to let his heart fall too far. Of course, John would want to stay. Nothing gold can stay. How could he think he'd be anything more than a passing experience for a being like John? Especially now that he and Yellow seemed to be getting along more.

He resisted the urge to start crying. He thought that way because John had told him. (He had told him quite firmly with his mouth pressed to his as they'd shared air.) He belonged with John.

Right?

A small memory floated to the front of his mind. He and Bella had gotten into a fight about something he couldn't remember. Probably something to do with their house, or Daniel, or the wedding. She'd been crying as she stormed for the door to go for a walk. She had been practically out the door when she'd spoken over her shoulder. "I miss when you saw me as a whole person and not some ideal to shape. Your love is suffocating, Arthur."

Any fight he'd had drained from him. He didn't want to do that to John. John had said almost the same thing to him in the mines below Larson's mansion; he wasn't some ideal to achieve, to own. He was a person who would make choices. And Arthur could either support him or leave and hope he came with.

And really, what did he have to offer him on Earth? Who knew how long they'd be gone at this point? Would his and Parker's apartment/office still be there? If they stayed there, how would he explain himself to Parker's family? God, what would he say to Daniel?

It might be best for them to stay here, where John wouldn't have to worry about food or shelter or a job or holding his hand in front of the wrong people.

He took a deep breath, meeting John's eyes again. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"But?"

"But nothing."

"But you would prefer to go home."

Arthur sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, I would prefer to go home where less things that want to eat us and be where I'm more comfortable. But if… if you wanted to, to stay here, in Carcosa, if that is what you truly wanted, I would stay with you. If that's what you choose, I'll support you. Earth isn't my home, not anymore. You are."

John almost started crying. Relief and love nearly overwhelmed him as he swept Arthur into a tight hug. He whispered, "Thank you."

He didn't need the extra confirmation, but Arthur's hands clinging to his shoulders cemented that he actually meant it, even if he had been scared to say it. He gave one last squeeze before pulling away and turning back to Yellow. "Yes, I still want to go home to Earth. I don't think I'd be happy staying here. It's not who I am anymore."

The tension dropped from Arthur's shoulders as it rose in Yellow's.

Yellow was disappointed. They had both meant it when they said they wanted to get away from him. He scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his own arms. "Whatever. Get your robe on so they don't see us."

John's smile fell a little as he remembered the play and what Yellow would have to do. If his memory was to be trusted, he would have to kill Cassilda and take control of Yhtill to assimilate it into Carcosa. It had been done a million times over. The people of Yhtill were mere ghosts now, a whisper of memories of the people they used to be, but something about letting this fate continue to play out made John squirm.

Guilt and shame for their fates weighed on him (and he wondered if it was bothering Yellow too, or if he was taking comfort in the familiar). He hadn't chosen their fate any more than he'd first chosen his own; they had all come into existence through Hastur and Yhtill's prophecy without consideration of the choices they'd make. But it had been him— The King, who had killed them and sealed their souls into this cursed play so long ago.

And Kayne wanted Yellow to cement that pact all over again.

"Are you sure that you want to stay in Carcosa?" John busied himself with shrugging his robe on. They were plain, ivory white robes emblazoned with the yellow sign on the chest and shoulders. Something squeezed his chest when he caught sight of Arthur dressed like that. He'd felt that same squeeze when Barnabas had asked Arthur which god he answered to.

All mine…

"What?" Yellow scoffed, his nose crinkling. "You want me to go with you?"

"You could. We would welcome you. But it's your choice. I… I'm just asking if you're sure."

Yellow thought about it, genuinely thought about it. He pouted. "What would we do about Kayne? He'll toss me into the Dark World if I don't claim Carcosa's throne."

"We've dealt with Kayne before." Arthur smiled at him, and it made him queasy. "We'd stop him."

The feeling is mutual…

Yellow scoffed. For some reason, the melody of that piano haunted him. He thought of everything he'd seen on Earth: the dancing, the mountains, the dazzling snow, the art, the music, and he shook his head. Earth was a nice place to visit, but… "No, no. I can't stay in this body forever. It isn't me. This is my home."

"Understood." John nodded, quickly flicking Arthur's hood up as the boat docked.

A group of people wearing robes like theirs disembarked, filing into two neat lines, their hands carrying a lit torch each. They all wore pallid masks, keeping their eyes trained straight ahead. Yellow took a deep breath, falling in step behind them; John and Arthur followed, with Arthur tripping and nearly toppling his row like dominoes.

"Won't they notice we don't have masks or torches?" Arthur hissed, clearly still unused to not speaking to John with others around.

"They're just ghosts. As long as we don't draw attention to ourselves, they won't notice anything is different from the night they died," Yellow replied from in front of him.

"Oh."

They fell into silence as they entered the city and climbed the winding roads to the palace. The city was beautiful, buildings decorated in splendour. The palace glittered as if it were a star all on its own. The plants seemed to thrive, growing tall and sprawling and bright, adding to the life that still echoed in this place.

Arthur leaned over to John. "Is Carcosa as pretty as this?"

John glanced around as if he hadn't also been admiring the scenery. A stubborn part of him still felt a little bit of pride for Carcosa. "Carcosa is far more enchanting. Each building is draped in jewels and lavish stained glass. The King in Yellow is a god of the arts, and his city reflects that in every stone. Yhtill is pretty, but it doesn't hold a candle to its sister city."

"Will we have time to see it before we leave?"

Yellow, as irritated as he was that Arthur seemed incapable of shutting the fuck up, nearly beamed to hear John describe their city that way. "Yes, we'll have to walk through it to get to the plateau."

"Will we have to climb all those god forsaken stairs again?"

"Why? Not used to it by now?" Yellow chortled.

Their conversation was cut short as they heard voices coming from up ahead. Their procession stepped into a large courtyard adorned with stone statues and towering plants. A circle of cobblestone benches lined the perimeter, looking out over the city and the lake. A strange figure at the front of both lines had stepped forward and was talking to a human woman who stood tall and proud. She wore a bright emerald dress swirling with gold accents. Her dark brown hair was tied in a thick, braided bun on top of her head; the only thing weighing it down was an intricate silver crown.

"What is the meaning of this torch-lit parade into the gardens of my palace?" Her voice was regal, commanding, and it had the knights at her side freezing as though they were about to receive a scolding.

Arthur leaned over to whisper with Yellow. "Who is that?"

Yellow rolled his eyes. "Queen Cassilda. Don't let her see you. She's one of the few who would notice if something were different. She's seen the sign."

"The sign?"

"The yellow sign."

Arthur rocked back on his heels, trying to peer around at the cast of people playing roles they'd accidentally carved for themselves.

"Now, who are you?" Cassilda's voice once again carried to the end of the garden.

The stranger stepped forward. "Truth am I. From the city of a great king to a new home come I."

Cassilda tilted her chin, a weary light in her eyes as she scanned the group. The three of them ducked their heads to avoid her gaze. "So, you are an ambassador?"

"Truth am I. From the city of a great king to a new home come I."

"'Tis passing strange that we weren't expecting you."

A younger woman with Cassilda's chin and a small tiara wiggled her way up to stand next to her. "But you know how bad the roads are now, mother. Maybe the message didn't arrive."

"Blah, blah, blah, many messages," Yellow muttered under his breath, each word memorised. Now that they were here, he was anxious for this to all be over with. And these people always talked for far too long.

Arthur, although curious about the conversation Cassilda and the stranger were having, found his tired gaze wandering. On a bench directly to his left, he spotted a thin book bound in ratty, yellow leather. The more he looked at it, the more his fingers itched to hold it, and the more curious he got about what was inside. A faint, dull buzzing started in the back of his mind as if it were radio static; the signal getting clearer the more he reached for it.

A sharp tug on his other arm yanked him back into the line. He whipped around to see John grimacing and shaking his head. He mouthed, "Don't. Play. Madness." before straightening his posture so Cassilda wouldn't notice the disturbance.

"You will be presented at Court during the festival tomorrow, and I shall receive you there." Cassilda was telling the stranger.

They nodded. "Objections none have we. Rest need we."

Cassilda nodded at one of the guards. "Take the ambassador and his party to the Summer Wing. I don't care who you have to wake up, but make sure that our guests here are comfortable."

"Yes, my Queen." He motioned for the procession to follow him.

Arthur kept his head carefully turned to the ground as they passed the Queen, her critical eyes passing carefully over each of them. He thought he saw a hint of… sadness, desperation in them before her daughter caught her attention again. As they passed the last guard, he tilted his head and made direct eye contact with Arthur. A wide, crazed smile was plastered on his lips.

"Have you found the yellow sign?" He whispered. A gong sounded in the distance, dark and foreboding.

"What?" Arthur stopped, confused.

John tugged his arm again. "Don't listen to him, Arthur. You'll get sucked in and end up a ghost of Carcosa."

"All who have seen the yellow sign belong to Carcosa." The guard cackled.

"What's wrong with him?" Arthur stumbled to catch up, shaking John's grip from his robe as he did so.

Yellow turned and glared at the knight, sending him scuttling off to join the rest of his brigade. "Long grow shadows in the minds of men in Carcosa."

"But… but we're in Yhtill."

"Yhtill is already Carcosa. The King is already here." John pointed to a banner that hung from the balconies of the palace. It held the same sign as their necklaces, as the robes on them now. "This place is built on madness and deceit, Arthur. Don't dig too deep, or you won't be able to get out again."

Arthur huffed, a million more questions on his mind. As they were escorted into the palace halls, he remembered how The King had tricked him with Frank, with Adam. He remembered both John and Yellow's first words to him. The whole point of anything The King did, including this play, was to get him to abandon his critical thinking and open him up to his influence; it was just how he worked.

Had worked.

Both John and Yellow were warning him not to engage, keeping him carefully shielded from the negative consequences of where they came from. Now all he had to do was listen to them and get home safely.

They were all so exhausted that within minutes of being shown to a room, they were asleep.

John woke as he always did, tangled in Arthur's limbs. He sighed, pressing closer to his back and burying his face in his neck as he slowly gained consciousness. His fingers were tingly as he worked his left hand out from under Arthur to creep up his chest, seeking out his heartbeat. This was his favourite old habit from sharing a body; he liked the steady reminder that Arthur was, in fact, alive in his arms.

He stayed that way for a while, basking in the warmth and closeness as Arthur got some much-deserved rest. As he was running his hands over his arms, his fingers brushed a cut above his elbow. He frowned, but before he could inspect it further, the door opened.

John bolted upright, nearly collapsing on his half-asleep arm.

"Relax. It's just me." Yellow waved him off, dropping a pile of clothes at the foot of their bed. "I scrounged these up for Arthur, so he can blend in. Your outfit is fine, but you'll both need to wear the masks. I need to find a way behind the stage. It would be so much easier if I could still bend the walls."

"Wait," John carefully detached the rest of him from Arthur's back, surprised that his moving hadn't woken him. He leaned forward, kneeling at the foot of the bed and gazing up at Yellow. "Don't kill them. Don't play Kayne's game."

Yellow narrowed his eyes. "I thought you understood."

"I do. Just… just don't do it this way. We can find another way to get you back into The King's body. We can—"

"Easy for you to say when you can take off the mask." Yellow scoffed at John's confused frown. "Yeah, don't think I've forgotten about that. Honestly, at first I thought you just wanted to keep that form all to yourself. Even if that's not true, it's easy for you to say whatever you want when you have everything. You're waving down at me from golden balconies that have only one ladder, and Kayne's standing at the bottom.

"Even if there were another way, I don't care. These people are ghosts, living out a play we designed. Who cares if they die when they've already died a thousand times?"

"I do."

Yellow crinkled his nose, grinding his teeth together. "Nothing I do is ever going to be the right decision in your eyes. Fine, I've made my peace with that. I know who I am. I know The King I'm going to be. Nothing you say is going to change my mind. Not when I'm this close to home."

John's heart sank as Yellow turned away from him and strode toward the door. He grabbed the handle and hesitated just long enough for a traitorous spark of hope to flicker in John's chest.

Yellow huffed and shook his head. "I'll see you at the masquerade."

And he was gone.

John sighed, glaring at the floor like it had been the one to push Yellow away at a crucial moment. He had been so close; he'd been so close every time and every time Yellow threw it back in his face. He understood what Yellow was going through; he really did. And maybe if he were better at communicating, he wouldn't be failing him.

He jumped at the hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Arthur whispered, his voice raw with sleep.

"No, you… you didn't." John leaned into the touch, tempted to drop his head on Arthur's shoulder. After a moment, he did, curling into Arthur's side like an overly clingy cat.

Arthur hummed a small tune, the hand on John's shoulder moving to pet his hair. "You tried, John. You can't blame yourself for trying."

John sighed, turning his head into Arthur's neck, careful not to cut him with his horns. "I'm not upset that I tried. I'm upset that I failed."

"You didn't fail. Sometimes… I've learned that, sometimes, people make choices you don't agree with. If you care about them, you have to love them through it. You have to be there for them even when you think they're making the wrong choice, when they're fighting themselves, or they'll never feel like they can choose anything else. You and Yellow may not see eye to eye on this, but he'll remember that you cared enough to try."

"When did you get so wise?" John hummed, sneaking his arms around Arthur's waist.

"When you were patient with me," Arthur answered, kissing his temple.

"…He cried when you were playing the piano. Later, up in the room, he told me that he regretted not appreciating art more." John let out his breath slowly before untangling from Arthur. "The masquerade will start soon."

"Oh. Right. And what happens at this masquerade?" Arthur blinked, resisting the urge to rub his eyes raw. He could only see splotches of undefined colour today; it was dizzying.

"Cassilda will start descending into madness after she sings her song and The Stranger reveals the start of the prophecy. Those who have seen the sign will start to see Carcosa on the horizon. Aldones, Cassilda's brother, will trick her into… getting rid of his niece and nephews. Cassilda will then challenge him to a duel, during which, Yellow will show up to punish everyone for their lies and deceit and claim Yhtill as the seat of Carcosa's throne."

Arthur hummed again, breathing in John's warm, amber scent. "Sounds rather dramatic, doesn't it?"

"It's a play, Arthur. One meant to drive creative types to the brink of hysteria in a vain attempt to uncouple its intent. Of course it's—"

John stopped at Arthur's tiny giggle. "Oh, you were joking."

"Yes. I was." Arthur laughed as he kissed John's left knuckles before stretching his back, popping the soreness out from between his joints. "What did Yellow bring?"

"Clothes for you, masks for both of us. We'll need to blend in."

"Right, well, if it's too many layers, you're going to have to help me," Arthur muttered weakly.

John looked into his eyes; they were unfocused, drifting between objects with no real direction. He sighed, leaning forward to kiss each eyelid. "How much?"

"Just colours."

He hummed, "Don't worry, I won't let you wear anything silly."

Arthur huffed a small laugh, his hand still clinging to John's shoulder as if it were going to kill him if they weren't touching. "Well, now I'm worried."

"I said not to be." John stood and rummaged through the pile Yellow had scavenged, presumably from the other guest rooms.

"What are—"

"I'm looking for… there's nothing in gold here." John frowned.

"You want me in… in yellow?"

"No. I want you in gold." John's hand shook as he reached out to trace the tie on his neck. "I've grown attached to the clothes Kayne gave us… we match. Yellow can have the colour, but gold, this one, this is mine."

"Oh," Arthur stuttered as he slowly undid his tie, letting it fall to the bed before starting on the buttons of his vest. "Well, does… is there anything with gold highlights?"

"Hmm, oh, I'll… I'll look." John returned his attention to the pile of clothes, his face burning. He muttered under his breath as he tried to gather his thoughts. He'd helped Arthur undress before; this was nothing new, nothing special.

John held the different shirts up to Arthur's shoulders, checking the patterns and the styles against his skin tone. A flowy, loose-collared, shimmery blue poet shirt caught his eye. It had sprawling gold vines crawling over the chest and arms. "This one."

Arthur laughed his nerves away as John's hands slid the shirt over his skin. He ignored the way John's breath hitched. After the shirt was in place, John tossed him some pants before looking for the masks Yellow had mentioned. Once he was all put together, he held his arms out and gave a half-hearted spin. "Well? How do I look?"

"Beautiful," John breathed. His hands cupped Arthur's face, tracing the edge of his cheek where the mask ended. Green light streamed in from the window, blazing the gold embroidery and making him glow.

Arthur blushed, his hands shakily grabbed John's wrists, not to push him away, just to hold him there. "Flattery."

"It's true." John leaned their foreheads together. "Can I kiss you?"

"You don't always have to ask," Arthur muttered, following the gentle tilt of John's hands. "Yes."

"I want to," John whispered and then kissed him hard and slow. There was no rush, no hurry, no end goal, only a desire to feel close and convey his tender feelings.

Arthur whimpered, sliding his hands down to clutch at John's elbows, keeping himself steady against the dizzying kiss. He nearly melted when John dipped his tongue in his mouth like he was trying to climb back inside him. John sighed, biting Arthur's lip as he pulled back.

"You're… you're getting really good at that," Arthur groaned.

John muttered an acknowledgement, the praise running straight to his head as he kissed along Arthur's jaw. His hands trailed down his neck, resting against the hollow of his throat. The skin was soft as he pressed his claws into it, not enough to hurt, just enough to be felt.

"I spent so long mad at this scar," John murmured, dipping his head to place a kiss over it, "But now, all I feel is love. Complete reverence over the scarifice this meant."

Arthur's fingers dug into his flesh, hauling John closer as he nibbled at his neck. "I wish I could see it, your cathedral."

"No, you don't. It's a place of nothing but pain and misery."

"You built a place of worship from my bones, John. Even in all your anger, all you could think to do with pieces of me was to build a home. Regardless of how that came about, I think it would be a sight to behold." Arthur tugged John back to his lips, kissing him with just as much care and warmth as he had. It left him shaking, trembling as he struggled to breathe past John's mouth without parting from him.

John wasn't the only one with a tendency to be possessive; Arthur Lester was very, very greedy.

John groaned against Arthur's lips, dizzy from the lack of air; the light-headed feeling made him remember his promise to Yellow. He pulled away, weak, and nearly caved to the disappointed whine Arthur let out.

"John."

John pressed their foreheads together again, keeping their mouths a safe-ish distance apart. Their masks clinked together awkwardly. John could barely see Arthur's eyes as they were concealed by the mache and his drooping eyelids. "Arthur—"

Arthur shivered, tugging insistently on John's elbows.

"—we're going to be late for the masquerade."

"Oh," Arthur muttered, disappointment lacing his words. "Oh, ri-right. What are we doing there again? Couldn't we just wait for Yellow to come get us?"

"Arthur," John teased, "we promised. And…"

"And?"

"And what if I wanted to dance with you?"

"Fine." Arthur sighed, finally relinquishing his grip on John's arms. "You're right. Let's go."

"Your shoes are over here."

"Right, thank you."

Arthur couldn't wait to go home. He'd never really liked functions like this, where everyone was all fake smiles and lies to get what they wanted. Parker had dragged him to many of them when a case called for it. He'd told him he needed his British charm to weasel out information. Arthur was ashamed to admit that it took him a while to quit his grumbling and pessimistic attitude to be of any help. But Parker had been right; he was a natural.

He'd be doing fine now and wouldn't mind the fawning conversation and barely concealed back alley deals if John were right next to him. But every time they found a minute to themselves, someone else would pop up and talk solely to John, or ask him to dance, and Arthur would be left alone with anyone who was still waiting for a chance to talk when he returned.

He couldn't blame them, not really. John was beautiful, and he exuded a cheery aura that made him easy to approach and fun to talk to. Arthur was tracking him as he danced with Princess Camilla. John was the only splotch of gold in the room. It was such a beautiful colour.

Surprisingly, he was doing pretty well navigating without John and his eyes. He was holding conversations well and hadn't tripped over anything. Though that might be because he hadn't really left the side of the banquet table except for when a young lady had asked him to dance. (He should have been dancing with John.) Without John to describe the expressions of those he was talking to, he couldn't be entirely sure they were responding well to him. He just had to hope his P.I. skills weren't too rusty.

He had yet to have one conversation with someone where they were genuinely telling him the truth. If these were the only humans John and Yellow had interacted with for millennia, he could see why they had developed such a negative opinion of humanity.

The man he'd been talking to kindly excused himself when Queen Cassilda started singing. Arthur tilted his head toward the sound, the words catching his attention; they were familiar, but he couldn't place where. He jumped when a hand slid around his waist.

"It's only me," John chuckled. He eased the champagne glass Arthur was holding from his hand and set it on the table, lacing their fingers together.

"What are—"

"Dance with me."

Arthur followed the pull of John's hands, falling into step with him. This dance was slower than the last one they'd shared, grand and sweeping like a masquerade would present itself to be. "Got tired of your other partners?"

John chuckled darkly, squeezing Arthur's waist as he twirled them around the room. "You wear jealousy so plainly, Arthur."

"I'm not jealous. Jealous of what? That everyone wants your attention? That you said you wanted to dance with me, and this is the first time all night you've attempted to do so? Why would I be jealous?" Arthur was shocked at how fast a learner John was. He was leading their dance confidently, pushing and pulling and sweeping without any stumbling or stepping on toes. Though he'd been learning all night, of course.

"Arthur," John purred. "You'll have me all to yourself when we get home. Be patient. We can't let them notice anything is different."

"I know."

"And don't act like you haven't had your fair share of admirers. They make it impossible for me to come back to you." John spotted a door to an open balcony. The floor-to-ceiling windows draped in emerald curtains kept it mostly hidden from view, but from what he could see, no one was out there.

Arthur nearly stumbled as John swept them in the other direction. "Please, they're all waiting for a chance to talk to you."

"You might be blind in more ways than one if that's what you think. They look at you like they're starving animals and you're a nice, juicy cow." John swept them out onto the balcony but continued their dance with the muted music.

"I think you have a bias."

"They share my bias."

Arthur snorted a laugh before turning a curious ear to their surroundings. "Why did it get so quiet?"

"We're out on a balcony. I needed a break." What he really meant is they both needed a break, and he was starting to miss Arthur among all the bland, blase conversations.

Arthur hummed, resting his head against John's shoulder as they twirled. "Did you find Yellow?"

"No. And I probably won't before he claims Yhtill," John sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"Does this song sound familiar to you?"

"Cassilda's song. Yes, it was in one of the crates in the city below the hotel."

"Ah, I thought I—"

"Someone is coming," John interrupted, sweeping them to the side to hide behind the layers of curtains. Arthur held his breath as he heard footsteps walk onto the balcony. A moment later, a second pair joined them.

"I've come to arrest you on your uncle's orders. He says you accused him of treason or some damn thing. Against the law, you know, to accuse a prince of the blood of treason." It was a woman's voice. It was deep, conflicted. The sound of clanking metal accompanied every step she took.

There was a sigh from the first set of feet before a man's voice snapped, "That didn't seem to be much of a problem last night when the guard arrested my brother."

"How do you know about that?"

Arthur shifted, standing on his tiptoes to reach John's ear. His voice was barely a whisper, and he hoped John would understand him. "What's going on?"

John leaned down, keeping his voice equally as quiet. "I don't remember much. I never really paid attention. All I know is that this is Prince Thale and Captain of the Guard Alar."

"I saw the whole thing," Thale sneered. He kicked a rock, and it clattered off the balcony, skipping on the streets below. "I saw Aldones dupe my poor, stupid sister into ordering it, and I saw the guard come to the courtyard. Has my uncle duped you as well? Or are you—"

"I'm just obeying the damned orders, Thale." Alar huffed, clicking her sword in and out of its sheath as she shuffled. "So, unless you slip away in the night again, which by the way you're entirely too damn good at, I'm taking you to the—"

"There is more to being a soldier than cultivating the habit of obedience." Thale snarled coldly.

Arthur tapped John's shoulder, making him lean down again. "We should go. If they find us here, they'll know we stand out."

"We can't." John shifted the curtain just the tiniest bit, only enough that it could be mistaken for the wind. He peeked out as the two continued arguing. "There's no way to get past them without being spotted. Camilla will make her way over shortly to interrupt them. When she does, we should head for the second floor."

"Why?" Arthur nearly forgot to whisper, but Alar's rising voice covered him.

"Damn straight. My point is that the guards today have such overpriced and badly made equipment, so little pay, and so little love for this dynasty, that if you take away the 'habit of obedience' they wouldn't have anything left at all."

There was a pause, heavy with barely contained tension. John's grip on Arthur's waist tightened, ready to run if they needed to.

"There's always hope, isn't there?" Thale spoke, hurt wavering in his voice.

"Oh, Thale!" A cheery, feminine voice called.

"There." John positioned himself to watch for their chance to leave.

Thale's voice took on a false happy tone, making him sound plastic. "Camilla. How are you?"

Camilla's footsteps slowed. "I didn't realise you were with someone. I'll catch up later."

Thale and Alar both shouted no, sharing a glance. John dipped his head once more to narrate the scene to Arthur.

"Alar is standing closest to us. Her posture is rigid, her smile nervous. She wears a heavy suit of armour, but carries her helmet at her side. Thale is leaning against the railing. He wears robes similar to those of the Brotherhood. He's been crying. His smile is tight. Camilla stands with a hand still on the door. She's wearing an intricate sapphire dress and white ballroom gloves. All of them wear the same masquerade masks we wear. For now."

"For now?" Arthur nodded, trying to hear the conversation over the rush of blood in his ears.

"No, by all means, stay. I believe you know Captain Alar?"

"Oh, dear." Camilla's voice quaked, and she glanced over her shoulder like she was about to be caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Alar bowed. "Princess Camilla."

Thale's voice dropped an octave as if he were trying to have a casual conversation. "I'm surprised that Uoht isn't here. He usually enjoys all this dancing and capering about. Is he ill?"

Camilla fidgets, pulling at her gloves and biting her lip. "Uoht is, ah, indisposed. No one seems to have seen him since dinner last night."

Thale hummed, sending a pointed glance at Alar. "If no one has seen him—"

A gong sounds like the one from the night before, but no one in the conversation seems to have noticed it.

"—then how do you know that he's indisposed?"

"Well… he must be indisposed if he isn't here, don't you think?"

"That's one theory." Thale glanced up at the sky, watching the twinkling black stars as if they contained all the secrets to his doom.

Alar snorted. "And what's your theory?"

Arthur shifted, pulling himself up to John's shoulders. "My leg is falling asleep. How long do they talk for?"

John shook his head, doing his best to move them further into the curtains. "I don't know. I thought they would have left by now. I'm not familiar with this part of the play. I was always too busy watching what happened inside."

"You can't arrest Thale," Camilla cried.

"I beg your pardon?" Alar scoffed. "I was ordered to do so by a prince of the blood. Dammit, how can I not arrest him?"

"But you love him. Or you did."

"And you don't love your damned brother, Uoht?"

"You're telling me," Arthur laughed, his attention divided, "that you have watched this play for centuries and not once were you curious enough to see where these three had disappeared to?"

"I caught enough of their conversation to understand what was going on," John protested.

"What captivated your attention inside?" Arthur fidgeted with the necklace around John's neck, his thumb tracing the yellow sign. He'd looked at this a lot over the last week. How had he not gone mad?

"The dancing. The music. The stranger interrupts, and when everyone unmasks, it's like the party comes alive. There are two children playing with wooden swords in the far corner. They were always more entertaining than the mediocre conversation and backstabbing of the adults." John peeked around the curtain again to see Alar staring Camilla down, both standing in the threshold and blocking the doors.

"I can remember a time, and dammit, it wasn't that long ago, when you needed an actual crime to arrest someone, not the suspicion that somebody might commit a crime—" Alar was saying as another gong sounded, closer now.

Arthur tuned back out. "It makes sense that you would care for the more childish things."

"What is that supposed to mean?" John reeled away, knocking Arthur's mask askew.

"Nothing. Just that you always find the most joyous things to take an interest in." Arthur placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Oh," John wheezed, any defensive anger fizzling out.

"Would Yellow have the same answer? About not paying attention?"

"I… I think he liked the music. He was humming it earlier." John reached out, adjusting Arthur's mask. "I think—"

"What is that on the far shore? No!" Camilla screeched, now alone on the balcony. She twirled about, pacing and pulling at her gloves; her shoes made frantic clicking noises on the stone. "No, a trick of the dying light. Can I see it? No, I mustn't. Can I deny my very sight? I don't see those soaring towers. I don't see those palace domes. I deny it. I deny it. I deny it."

She sobbed, ripping her hands through her hair, her voice taking on a sing-song quality. "There is no city on the lake shore except Yhtill, our ancient home. I deny those soaring towers, I must disbelieve them still. I deny those ancient domes. There is no city but Yhtill! I deny it; I deny it; I deny it!"

"Your majesty?"

Camilla turned toward the voice, stumbling away from the balcony, still frantically muttering, "There is no city but Yhtill."

Arthur waited a few moments to be sure no one else would stumble onto the balcony. "What was that about?"

"That," John sighed, leading them out from behind the curtain, "is what Yellow and I were warning you about. The Yellow Sign, Carcosa, it drives people mad."

"Then why am I fine?" Arthur asked, taking John's hand as he led them back inside, the chatter almost blocking him out.

"If I had to guess, it would be because of my influence."

"Oh, of course." Another gong sounded, and Arthur tugged on John's hand to slow him down. "What are the gong noises?"

"It means The King is near. Yellow will make an appearance soon. We should get to the second floor." John pulled them across the room, kindly waving away any of the people who tried to talk to them.

"Right, you never answered why." Arthur tripped over a lady's dress, apologised profusely and followed John into a hallway with fewer people.

"Aldones and Cassilda will duel near the end of the play, and you get stabbed far too often for it to be safe down here."

"Right. Well, what—" Arthur ran into John's back as he stopped in front of him. He froze as he heard the sound of wet, smacking lips and quiet moans.

"S-sorry," John stuttered, making awkward eye contact with two women who were blocking the stairs. They were draped across each other, hands buried in their dresses, lips interlocked. They turned to glare at him. "Could we, could we get past?"

They huffed, prying themselves apart to stand aside.

"Thank you." John manoeuvred Arthur in front of him, pushing him up the stairs, and embarrassingly squeezing by the women. "Uh, carry on."

Arthur snorted, covering his laugh with his free elbow.

"What?" John huffed, his voice tight with embarrassment.

"Carry on?" Arthur stumbled on a stair, and John turned to steady him, ignoring his laughter.

"I didn't want to bother them!" He led them across the floor to the railing, where he could have a good view of the masquerade. The party was in full swing again. The brotherhood was nowhere to be seen, meaning the Queen had executed everyone in the prison tower.

Instinctively, his eyes found the two children in the corner. They were having the time of their lives, as usual. "Maybe you were right. We should have stayed in our room."

Arthur raised a playful eyebrow as John reached over to remove his mask for him. Now they were standing out with these things on. "Those people remind you of what we could be doing?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Arthur. You're incorrigible." John turned his gaze back to the party below, fidgeting with his and Arthur's intertwined fingers. "No one lived through this, Arthur. Do you think these ghosts know that they're trapped? Or do they experience that night of terror over and over again?"

"I don't know, John." Arthur tugged his hand up for a kiss, the habit unwilling to leave him. "Yellow might still change his mind."

John only offered a half-whimper in return, dropping his hand to lean on the railing and resting his head on his arms. "It doesn't change that they're already dead."

"Well, I've died quite a few times by now. What makes them different?"

Before John could answer, a guard shouted from down below.

"Make way for the Queen!"

John lifted his head so he could describe the scene to Arthur. "Cassilda has swept back into the room. Her emerald dress has been replaced with a pitch black one that moves like an oil spill around her. An older man, Aldones, her brother, shares her features and wears a matching black sash over his suit. His face is twisted, oozing confidence as if he were trying not to smile. Cassilda throws herself down into the throne at the front of the room, and Aldones stands next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder."

Arthur leaned closer, trying to catch every syllable that fell from John's lips.

"We must be strong, my Queen, in our adversity. Tragedy must temper us to hard, intractable steel."

John continues whispering to Arthur, ignoring the people who bumble about on the balcony behind them. "Cassilda tosses a hand over her eyes at Aldones' words. The party ignores them and keeps dancing."

Cassilda sobbed. "My son is dead. Uoht is dead. And 'twas my order that killed him! My order!"

Arthur's heart sank at the grief in her voice; it was grimly familiar. His hand tightened on John's shoulder.

Aldones repressed a grin. "To be scrupulously fair, sister, it was Camilla's order that sent him to the tower. It is she who is responsible."

"But 'twas I who ordered the prisoners to their deaths," Cassilda wailed.

John glanced at Arthur. "I'm sorry, I forgot—"

"Was it truly her fault?" Arthur muttered, a melancholic frown on his face.

"I… to a degree," John compromised. "It isn't her fault that Carcosa appeared. But she chose to focus on the future too much and missed what was happening around her."

"Hmm." Arthur set his mouth in a thin line, trying to curb the hatred (and by extension, self-hatred) that began to rise within him like bile. "Selfish. Others always suffer when we're selfish."

Aldones frowned as she tossed his hand from her shoulder. He huffed, "Upon my suggestion. It was a reasonable and prudent course of action—"

"Reasonable!"

Aldones continued firmly, "Reasonable. Neither you nor I could know that Camilla had—"

"I don't deserve to live." Cassilda whimpered, falling quiet against the throne.

"Who amongst us does?" Aldones offered, rolling his eyes.

Arthur growled, gripping the railing hard. "Aldones, he's the one they were talking about on the balcony. He manipulated the whole situation. He's the one who doesn't—"

"Arthur," John murmured, cradling his face so he would turn away from the scene and focus on him. "This has already happened. You won't change anything by going on a murderous rampage—"

Cassilda was still lamenting in the background of their conversation. "Uoht deserved to live, deserved a life, and I killed him!"

"I wasn't going to 'go on a murderous rampage'," Arthur snorted mockingly, yanking free from John's grip and stumbling backwards. "I'm allowed to be upset, John. Weren't you just whinging about how these ghosts feel—"

"Whining?" John snarled. "I caused this! It's my fault she was too distracted by Carcosa to do anything about Aldones. Carcosa coming was my fault, Arthur—"

"Would she have done the same thing without Carcosa?"

"That doesn't matter now. Your tendency to get wrapped up in feelings similar to your own is going to get us killed!"

"My getting mad didn't mean that I was going to act on it—"

"How am I supposed to know that?" John hissed. "Last time—"

"Last time, I didn't have you!" Arthur huffed, reminding himself to keep his voice quiet, lest he catch too much attention and disturb the play. Yellow was too close for him to fuck this up. "And I… I hadn't forgiven myself yet. Just like Cassilda."

John sighed, forcing his anger to the side. "I—"

"Did you say you've seen Carcosa?" A wry voice spoke up behind them.

John whipped around to see a priest being escorted by the guard. The priest had forced them to stop, all eyes on them, questioning.

"Uh," John hummed, trying desperately to think of a way to distract them. This was Naotalba, head priest of the brotherhood of Yhtill, and he should have been fighting the guards tooth and nail for breaking the rules of sanctuary and dragging him out of the church.

"No, I said…" His tone lightened, taking on more aspects of The King. "…sequester. As in head priest Naotalba is sequestered in the tower and won't come out."

Naotalba blinked, the disruption of events slowly fading from his eyes. He seemed to remember where he was and resumed attempting to tug his arms from the guards' grip. "Unhand me!"

John sighed with relief as they hauled him away. His voice returned to normal. "That could have been worse."

When he turned back to Arthur, he was still frowning, his hand curled tightly around the railing again. "I… Arthur—"

Arthur was listening to the scene below.

Fake sympathy was plastered on the uncle's face as he once again put a hand on Cassilda's shoulder. "I'm sorry about Uoht. I do grieve for him, and I'm… I'm…"

Cassilda placed her hand on his. "Thank you. And thank you for your counsel. I don't know what I would have done without it."

Arthur sighed, swallowing before attempting to speak again. "I understand what you are saying, John. And I understand why you would think that I would… but I'm not. We're here for Yellow. And to get home. No matter what these… people deserve, I'm not the one who gets to decide that. I was just… angry, that's all."

"I'm sorry, too." John pulled Arthur into a hug, burying his nose in his hair. "You're allowed to be angry."

"Yes, but the anger doesn't provide justification. You taught me that." Arthur took another deep breath, pressing himself close to John's embrace. "And you shouldn't feel bad about this… this phantom masquerade. What's done is done. It's up to Yellow now to decide if he wants to change the outcome."

Yellow watched from his place behind the wall. It hadn't been as hard to find as he thought; the walls had still parted for him as if they were welcoming him home. It gave him a strange sense of peace.

He frowned as John and Arthur hugged up on the balcony, unaware of the rising tension below. John really would go with him. Yellow would be all alone in Carcosa.

Which is what he had wanted.

That's what he wants. He alone got to decide the fate of the city. He would rebuild it, clean the rubble from the destruction Kayne had brought, and make it grander than it had been before. He'd let the prisoners who'd done nothing wrong go, and fill the pits with people who deserved to be there, like Larson, or Aldones. He'd find a balance between being merciless and being kind.

And John wouldn't even be there to see it.

Captain Alar was back onstage, fuming at the Queen and her brother. "Is your majesty aware that the right of temple sanctuary is protected by law?"

Yellow wanted to punch the smug grin off Aldones' face. "The law has been altered."

He leaned against the wall, squishing his arm on the brick. A flower pot sat in front of him, bright yellow, mini-lilies growing from it. He glanced at them and then back up at John. What would it have been like if Yellow had met Lily first instead of Arthur? If he had someone to call a mother, would he feel the same way about humanity that John did? Did he feel that way now?

He glanced out over the party, humming along to the band's tune. Most of the people had stopped dancing when Naotalba had been dragged in front of the throne. Some of them watched the scene with interest, others were pointing at the black stars glittering outside. A worried murmur started among them.

Yellow was surprised to find he did feel a small bit of sympathy toward the ghosts. Even if they were dead now, these fears had once held merit. They were supposed to be safe here, and instead, they had watched as the actions of their beloved monarch had brought about their downfall; had brought him.

He did not relish it like he thought he would.

"But you can't just…"

"I said that's enough."

Alar snarled, bowing her head as she stepped back into line. "The habit of obedience wears thin."

Yellow thought of the times he'd watched plays from afar, thought of the way he'd seen humans laughing or gasping or crying in the audience. Without the threat of going mad, he wouldn't have minded watching this one. Maybe he would build more theaters in New Carcosa.

His eyes once again dropped to the lilies near his feet. He stooped down and plucked one, twirling it in his fingers. John had been wearing one like it when they'd shown up in the church, but he'd lost it when fighting the Byahkee. Maybe he could give him this one as a peace offering for what he was about to do.

Are you sure that you want to stay in Carcosa?

Yes, he was sure. He could bring all the things he liked about Earth here. He could enjoy them without leaving the comfort of his home, without living in a body that wasn't him. Maybe… maybe he could even let John… and Arthur visit if they weren't too mad at him after this.

He'd like that.

"Your majesty," Naotalba pleaded, "I am merely repeating the dogma of the church, as it was in your father's time, and in his mother's time, and all the way back to the time of the first King Thale. The prophecy of Hali—"

"Traitor! You plot to—" Aldones screeched.

Cassilda held up a tired hand. "'Tis enough, Aldones, let him finish."

Naotalba smirked, bowing perfectly. "Thank you, your majesty. I was just going to remind your majesty that your dynasty rules because it is the will of our god that it do so. Hali prophesied a time when it would be the will of our god to manifest himself as the King in Yellow and rule directly. That time now fast approaches. I have no need to overthrow anyone."

"Not fast enough," Yellow muttered under his breath. No sooner than he did, his head started swimming; he and John were once again overlapping, another side effect he was ready to be rid of. He saw the floor and wall beside him, as well as Arthur's concerned face and the edge of the balcony.

A high-pitched, mocking voice laughed through his ear. "Make your choice. To be or not to be King."

He felt John yank back, fear and panic lacing his voice as he frantically muttered, "No, no, no, no…"

It hurt. It hurt that John was so adamantly against everything he wanted to be. But he hissed out a small, 'yes' and blinked. He was back to one set of eyes, one scenery. Although his head now nearly brushed the ceiling and he could see over the balcony despite still being hidden from view.

He could have wept with relief. All the aches and pains he'd felt in his human body were gone, every injury had vanished from his skin, and every limb was back where it belonged. He'd kill Kayne for ever making him forget how right it was to be in this body. Power once again thrummed in his veins, and it gave him such a sense of peace that he didn't even care that it was dulled by John's absence. This was his to command, and he'd do so as he pleased.

Yellow looked down. He was still holding the lily in his hand. Something twisted in his chest as he looked up at John and Arthur. It seemed the aches and pains in his heart still remained.

He turned back to the party as the orchestra screeched to a stop. Oh shit, his lines were coming up soon. Did he even remember them?

"What's going on?" Arthur whispered, tilting his head toward the floor below to catch the noise.

John trailed his hand down Arthur's back as he turned to survey the scene, unwilling to not be touching him in some capacity, especially after their mini-fight. He wanted Arthur to know he wasn't going anywhere; or maybe he was trying to reassure himself that Arthur wasn't going to leave him behind now that he could.

"Thale has stumbled back into the room. He hasn't been seen since his disappearing act on the balcony. His clothes are torn. His eyes are… bleeding sores. He feels his way through the room, unable to see as Cassilda and Naotalba question where he's been."

Thale muttered, his voice echoing in the dead-silent room. "I go from the city gate and look before me, and I see only mounds and tombs and…"

Alar steps once again from the line of guards, a hand held out to him. "Oh, Thale, what happened?"

"I see behind the veil of the world, and it makes me blind."

Alar grunted with confusion, stepping toward him. "But what did you see? And your eyes! Your…"

Thale continued muttering, stumbling toward the sound of Alar's voice. "A battle flag, outside the city gates. Smoke ascends from the faded and ragged banner, and the sound of musketry and cannon comes faintly like a dream of an echo heard in a tomb. It is the last thing I see."

John continues his narration to Arthur, who was holding his breath. "Cassilda has risen from the throne, shoving through the crowd."

"Where did he go? Where did he go?" She wailed.

Alar passed her helmet to the guard on her right. "He left the city."

John pressed his lips to Arthur's ear as the people with them on the balcony pressed forward to look over the rails with them. "Aldones grits his teeth as he continues to stand next to the throne. Everyone else's attention is on Thale. Some of the party-goers flee down the hallways. The walls of the palace are shifting, becoming more like my palace in Carcosa than Yhtill."

"Left the city? But why?" Cassilda reached her son's side, grasping his hand and shoulder.

Alar cast her gaze to the floor. "He was running from me… again. You think he'd learn."

"But Thale, what happened to your eyes?" Cassilda sobbed as Thale pushed her hands off him.

John rested his hands on either side of the rail by Arthur's sides, keeping the party-goers from pressing in on him. "Naotalba has fallen to his knees in prayer."

"Like the first king, Prince Thale is blinded. A miracle!" Naotalba exclaimed in wonderment.

"But who did this? Who is responsible?" Cassilda followed Thale as he stumbled through the crowd toward Alar.

"Ask Naotalba. Ask him. Why has Carcosa vanished? And to where? Why are friends long dead walking through our streets? Whence comes the army at our very gates? Ask the High Priest— you have him here, mother, ask him— for the secret of it is he does not know!

"You small-minded so-called leaders of a withering empire plot and plan for the future in here, and all the while, outside your cosy little battlemented walls, the future is happening. I could not bear the awful beauty now outside the gates." He sobs as he searches blindly for Alar. "I couldn't bear it anymore. Our world is tired to death, and all the creatures in it."

Alar catches Thale in her arms, wiping blood from his face and tucking his hair back. "I'm not tired, Thale. I'm not tired anymore; I've just been alone, playing the part, wearing the mask for so long."

Thale whimpered, clutching her tight. "Centuries, my love. I'll not leave again. I'm so afraid…"

Alar sighed, "I do love you, you damned idiot."

"This goes far enough. Captain, arrest him." Aldones finally budged from his spot by the throne.

Alar squared her shoulders and stared him down. "No, my lord."

"What?" Aldones seethed.

"I refuse, my lord. I am no longer blind and in the habit of obedience."

Cassilda whirled on Aldones, her eyes wild and heated. "Do you propose to arrest my only living son? I should have sent you to the chamber."

Aldones flinches, his eyes scanning the crowd for one last ditch effort to cover his lies. "No, no, of course not. But the Captain here has proved herself… disobedient."

"Better disobedient than disloyal." Thale stood, looking vaguely in Aldones' direction. "The end is here, uncle, and nothing you do postpones it in any way."

Aldones whooped, rushing toward Cassilda, waving his arms wildly. "You see? You see? You should arrest him— he is just another tool of the priesthood."

"I hate this guy," Arthur muttered, gaining a small chuckle from John.

"It's almost over," John whispered.

Thale shook his head, turning toward Naotalba's general vicinity. "The end is here, reverend father, and nothing you do hastens it in any way."

Aldones shouted, "What more evidence do you need? Arrest them both!"

"Arrest yourself." Alar spat in his direction, wrapping her arm around Thale to support him. "Come with me. Let's get out of the city while we can."

Thale dropped his head to her shoulder. "What is the point of running? Of fleeing? We cannot escape Carcosa. We cannot now save ourselves, and I doubt we ever could."

"There is always hope. Didn't you tell me that once?" Alar soothed, guiding him toward the exit.

"I lied. Or I didn't know. Truth is just a phantom anyway." Thale stopped walking, nearly sinking to the floor if not for Alar's support.

"If… if I leave the city, will you come with me?"

"In the end.."

"Will you?" She asked more sternly, heaving him to his feet again.

"In the end, it doesn't matter what we do."

"Come with me then."

Arthur leaned back, whispering to John with a small smile on his face. "Do they remind you of anyone?"

"Yes, Arthur," John purred, elbowing some people out of the way.

"When does Yellow show up?" Arthur asked, head swivelling to listen for him.

"Soon, after the fight." John glanced at the thick crowd and wrapped a hand around Arthur's waist, tugging him away from the rail. "Over here. We'll be run over when everyone flees if we're not by a wall."

"Okay," Arthur muttered, allowing John to tug him through the crowd. "Sorry, I got a little absorbed in the story. I've… I've always loved theatre."

"And yet you refuse to take me to one."

"Films are different. There's so much more… connection in live theatre."

"Don't look too closely at this one, even if you're not reading it, it might still drive you mad. You are an artist after all." John warned, finding a spot near the wall that borders the throne, far away from the thinning crowd.

"Hmm, yes, it seems you do have a certain inclination toward artists."

"I am a god of the arts, Arthur. Artists make the prettiest things when that's all they can focus on." John brought Arthur's fingertips to his lips, pressing a kiss to each one. He raised his voice to be heard over the shouting of the Yhtill royal family. "I am glad we decided to come."

"Oh, what changed your mind?" Arthur breathed, ignoring the implications of John's words.

"Seeing Thale and Alar, really seeing them. I wish I had paid more attention to them than Aldones and Cassilda when I was The King. Hope has always been present here; it just took a different perspective to see it for what it was. I'm glad to have the reminder." John sighed, kissing the inside of Arthur's wrist on his pulse point.

" Well, I'm glad my getting stabbed and ending up in the hospital gave you that perspective," Arthur chuckled.

"I could have done without you getting stabbed."

"I grieve with you, sister." Aldones' voice cut through their conversation. "I—"

Cassilda whirled on him. "Oh, what do you know about grief? Who have you ever lost? Has anyone ever been close enough to you that you would notice their absence? You are cold as night, Aldones, cold as night. Do not pretend to sympathise or empathise with me, you who never cared for anything but my crown.

"My child has died, damn you, and it's not some opportunity for comforting your coveted crown. I would give you the damned thing but for duty. I never wanted it. And now my son… my sons are dead, and all you see is opportunity. Is there no shame in your cold heart, Aldones? None?"

Arthur sighed, unable to unlodge the melancholy that had rooted in his lungs. "Does she win?"

"Cassilda?" John took a breath and tucked himself against Arthur's side, resting his head against his. "Nobody wins this, Arthur."

Arthur adjusted to lean into John, shocked at how fast they had developed such an easy physical intimacy. The thought of someone's hands on him all the time used to make him uneasy. But John's didn't cause that discomfort, and he had adjusted very quickly to keeping his hands on him without getting in either of their ways. "I know, I know. But… does she… at least…?"

"She does win the duel, yes. But she… she's lost herself, Arthur. She—"

"Aldones is her Larson," Arthur sighed. He wanted to ask more, but the people remaining in the ballroom gasped and drew his attention back to the play. The gong sounded just outside the door, its imposing sound rattling his bones.

"Great joy, uncle, for the Yellow Sign is found! Great joy to all who see it! Great…" Camilla cheered as she danced into the room.

"Traitor! You will sell us to the priests and the mob! What price your treachery? What profit your crimes?" Aldones whirled on her, pointing the finger at nearly everyone in the room but himself.

John begins his narration again. "Camilla has entered the room. Her feet are bare, and her dress is torn and dirty from where she's been traversing through town. She doesn't know what's going on, only that Carcosa comes and that she must spread the joy she feels—"

"People are overjoyed when Carcosa drives them to madness?" Arthur interrupted, keeping one ear to John and the other to Camilla's reveal of Aldones' manipulation.

"Some. Some grow frightened of the end and kill themselves to avoid it, unaware that the dead also walk Carcosa's streets. Some don't even know who they were when the madness takes hold. It all depends on their mental state." John cleared his throat to continue narrating. "Cassilda has returned to the throne, depositing her crown upon it before turning back to Aldones as he screams at her."

"If you will not defend our dynasty," Aldones snarled, marching up to a guard and yanking his musket from his hands, "I will."

Naotalba dropped to the floor, covering his head and shouting, "Save us!"

"No!" Cassilda screamed.

Arthur jumped at the sound of gunfire. He reached for his own weapons before John's hands stilled him, continuing to narrate the scene.

"Camilla looks down at the red blooming on her white recovery gown. Terror passes over her face as she crumples to the ground. Cassilda has tears pouring down her face, white hot anger and resignation painting her features."

"So," She growls, "'Tis true. 'Tis all true. After a fashion."

"Cassilda," Aldones pleaded, taking a step back but being stopped by the guards as they formed a perimeter.

"Only 'twas you. 'Twas you who sent Uoht to the tower, to his death. And now…" Cassilda calmly drew her sword, staring at her reflection in the steel.

"Dear sister!"

"To cover your lies…"

"Not true!"

"Aldones. It is you who are the traitor." Cassilda all but spat her words. "You lied to me. You slack-brained piece of human filth. How long were you lying to me? How long? Just today? A week? A year? When have you not lied to me, to all of us?"

Aldones, now shaking, drops the musket, his eyes wildly searching for an exit. He swallowed as his eyes landed on the priest still shivering on the floor. "No! I… I… Naotalba. Yes, Naotalba…"

Cassilda stepped down from the first step, clutching her sword hard, her knuckles white. "What?"

"He bewitched me."

Cassilda took another step. "Try again."

"I… I was mad."

"No." Cassilda stepped off the dais, once again back on the ballroom floor. All the party-goers had flattened themselves against the wall, unable to stop watching the scene before them, including Arthur and John.

"It's not my fault. I…"

"Draw your sword." Cassilda was now only a few feet from him. If she lunged, she could hit him before he could blink.

"But she was a… that is she… ah!" Aldones jumped out of the way of her swinging sword. It caught his shoulder, ripping his sash and drawing blood.

"Murderer! Liar! You have destroyed us!" Cassilda screeched, landing a hit with each word as he scrambled back from the ferocity of the attacks.

"John," Arthur grabbed John's arms when he felt him start to shake. There was so much emotion in the room, it was hard to keep calm and watch without shouting his own opinions down like the crowd was doing. He couldn't imagine how many threads John was fighting back right now.

"Fine." John stopped describing the fight and turned away. Kore had taught him to redirect his energy when it was too overwhelming, so his eyes searched for something beyond the room to narrate instead. "I see Yellow, hiding in the walls just behind the throne. I couldn't see him before. He's… he's The King again, Arthur. He's pacing, well, slithering, as if he were nervous. Maybe he's forgotten his lines. His many fingers are tapping a rhythm on the wall, chipping pieces of brick away. He… doesn't have a mask like I do in that form, it's just a black void… I can't tell what he's thinking."

Cassilda was still wailing below. "Necessary? Necessary? What was necessary? Was Camilla necessary? Was Uoht—" she screamed as she slashed his hip open, "necessary? My children; our future that was your sacrifice, for your anger and your ego. Were all the murders necessary? The lies? The torture— was that also politically necessary? Or did you just enjoy it?"

Arthur shook his head, trying to ignore how familiar Cassilda's anger felt. Being on the outside of the emotion was hard. He wanted to comfort Cassilda, tell her that she made a mistake that she'll carry with her for the rest of her life, but that she should honour her children, as he'd learned. Like John and Mallik had taught him. He wanted to grab a sword and join her, to drive a hole right through Aldones' heart. And maybe he wanted to raise the sword at her for daring to make his mistake of being so god damn selfish. He shook his head again. "No, he isn't The King. He's still Yellow. Do you think… do you think The King, as he existed before, could ever exist again? From either of you?"

John hummed as he watched Yellow fidget with his cloak, the pointed crown on his head, his fingers. They had never done that before. "No. No, the two of us are entirely our own now. Even if I went back, I don't… I don't think I'd be happy. Even if we changed, led with a kinder heart, that's not who I am anymore. I'm more whole now, with you, than I ever was before."

Aldones sobbed, retreating from Cassilda up the steps toward the throne. "I… I only wanted… to save us."

Arthur smiled, kissing John's knuckles. "Do you think Yellow feels the same? About wanting to go back?"

"I don't know. I hope he wants to be happy."

"See how you have condemned us?" Cassilda knocked Aldones' sword from his hand, kicking him hard in the chest. He fell back against the throne. She raised her sword for the killing blow when the gong sounded, loud and in the room proper.

The wall melted away, smoke pouring from behind the throne as the orchestra, as if possessed, played a cacophony of clashing cymbals and horns. Arthur covered his ears, pressing closer to John to hide from the noise and not lose him in the commotion. True to his word, the party-goers were fleeing en masse; had they not been sequestered in a corner, they would have been trampled or tossed from the railing.

Cassilda dropped her sword as she staggered back from the impressive display. Aldones scrambled for it as he dashed away from the melting throne. Cassilda's crown and all the banners of Ythill were gone, replaced by the Yellow Sign and Yellow himself, regaled in a gown of yellow and standing twice as tall as any man.

"Hark! Comes the Yellow King!" A guard shouted.

"Majestic, he glides over the ground to take his throne in lost Carcosa, for he is the king that was and shall be!" Naotalba chants, scurrying up from the floor to kneel at the dais, beside the guard whom they'd talked to in the courtyard. The guard was unimpressed, smiling like someone who didn't know the severity of what was happening around him.

Arthur frowned at hearing words Kayne had quoted. How many times had Kayne watched this go down for his own enjoyment? How many Kings had he forced into deals over this?

Yellow spoke, his voice deeper and richer now. "You have slain truth, and the old lies have triumphed. All shall achieve their desire at our— my court, but it shall avail them nothing." Yellow's tone was shaky, almost uncertain. He glanced at John and decided he wouldn't be doing that again until the play was over; John's eyes held too much hope in them, and he didn't want to see when the disappointment would take over.

Naotalba smirked at Cassilda, throwing his arms in a gesture at Yellow. "Do you see? Now do you see the truth? Your petty power struggles have availed you nothing! Now we shall—"

Yellow silenced Naotalba with a wave, feeling a bit of comfort tingle through his veins that he was able to exercise his power. He spoke to Aldones, "You desired a resurgence and extension of the empire; we say— I say unto you that our empire is eternal, and you shall not see the end of it. Your dynasty has swallowed its children and shall not rule here again. Where has your rationality and certitude brought you?"

Aldones screamed and sobbed as he raised Cassilda's sword to swing wildly at Yellow. His voice grew increasingly hysterical and incoherent. "No! No! It's mine! Mine! I won't be robbed again! I won't let you! It's mine!"

The sword connected with the side of Yellow's robe, ricocheting off it to spin around in Aldone's hand, striking him square in the chest. He fell to the ground, choking and sputtering.

"John?" Arthur pried himself away from the wall, confident that the balcony contained only the two of them now. "What's happening?"

John sighed, tearing his gaze away from Yellow. "Cassilda stares at Aldones, frozen as if she's in shock. Naotalba is whispering to the guard from last night. You can't hear them from here, but Naotalba is shaking with fear and wondering if he should have fled with Thale. He's chanting—"

Yellow lifted a hand to point at Naotalba. "You desired the commencement of a new age; we— I say unto you that I am the new age. Our— My reign has begun, but what need have I for priests when the eternal dead may serve me? Where has your irrationality and certitude brought you? Begone!"

John inhales sharply. "Naotalba falls back, blood oozing from his eyes as he collapses on the floor. Dust rises from his body as—"

"That's plenty, John, thank you." Arthur swallowed, flinching back at the scream that ripped from the priest's throat.

Yellow struggled not to glance at John and Arthur as the scream faded. What was he supposed to do? He could already see the walls around them melting into the familiar ones of his castle in Carcosa. To his surprise, he didn't feel as powerful when dispelling the ghosts as he thought he would. They'd pop up and do this dance again in a few months anyway, but the terror on their faces wasn't as delicious as he remembers it being.

He gestured to Cassilda to say his next line. "You desired survival; I say unto you only that you have survived."

Cassilda frowned, her eyes losing their glassy look as she surveyed the carnage of the ballroom. She lingered on the body of her daughter. She'd never done that before. "I have survived all of my children."

"Was that not your desire? To survive? Or did I misunderstand?"

"But not like this! You've taken my children…"

"Not I. See where your conciliation and indifference have brought you?" At this, Yellow did glance at Arthur. His face was twisted in remorse, whether that be for Cassilda and her children or himself, he wasn't sure. But he didn't see the same malice he had witnessed at Larson's mansion; at least not directed at Cassilda.

"…and I finally surrender. I shall surrender." Cassilda fell to her knees, her dress nearly swallowing her like a black void as she gazed up at Yellow with tears in her eyes.

"Thale was the first… wait, what?" Yellow startled, looking at Cassilda, really looking at her. That wasn't the line. What was she doing?

"I have lost my children a thousand times over because I thought there might be a different outcome. If I just kept fighting you, fighting the ancient prophecy of fate, I could prevent you from coming and undo every mistake I had made. Maybe, this time, if I could stop you, my children would live. But I have never learned, and every time my children have paid for my mistakes. If you, bringer of prophecy and doom, can change, then so can I. I can let go."

"What… what makes you think I've changed?" Yellow paused, an ache of misery echoing hers welling in his chest. He thought he had caused this curse of a repeating play to keep its pages alive. Had Cassilda had a hand in that?

"I hear the way you speak, your heart is no longer in it. Tonight, the first in millennia, you did not relish punishing me for my children's death. And I can no longer punish myself." Cassilda chuckled dryly. "I don't deserve to walk Carcosa's streets, to have a life as they should have had. But if I kept them here, changed the outcome, maybe I could earn being together again, free of this curse."

"You carry all the blame and none of their love," Yellow muttered. It was like he was watching Arthur fall apart in the mansion again. Humans really love to drown in their guilt. Maybe that's why so many turned to gods to absolve it; it was too suffocating otherwise. Could he be that for Cassilda?

He knelt down, getting as close to her level as he could. "Are you frightened they won't forgive you?"

"They would be right not to. I haven't freed them from this curse we created. I've kept them trapped here in this misery, this same night of terror for aeons. What kind of mother am I?" Cassilda bowed her head, her hands shaking as she sobbed.

Yellow sighed, wishing it were John sitting here instead of him. He reached out, cradling her face as gently as he could, wiping her tears away. "The kind who should find her children in the streets of Carcosa and apologise, try to make things right. That's the best you can do."

Yellow had made up his mind. Carcosa would be a different city moving forward. But he was going to do it his way, not John's, not Arthur's. This was his city. He would help those who needed it and punish those who deserved it. (Aldones was getting the pits as soon as Arthur and John were gone.) He would be The King who embraced art and beauty and humanity, while still holding his vicious parts close to him, exercising them only when necessary. But for this to work, he would still have to kill her, and he wasn't sure John would forgive him now that the play had changed. "Let the salvation of Carcosa be upon you all."

Cassilda wiped her tears and nodded, a small, wobbly smile on her lips as she placed her hands over his. "Upon us, oh King, upon us."

John turned away so he wouldn't have to see Cassilda's body hit the floor. "She's gone, Arthur."

Arthur squeezed John's hand. "I take it that wasn't how this normally ends."

"No. No, but… but I think this is better."

Arthur choked back his own tears. He wasn't sure he agreed that giving Cassilda relief in death was the better option— he was so damn glad no one had given him what he wanted when he felt that same melancholic guilt— but she seemed at peace. Yellow has given her the chance to speak with her children again, to apologise to them, and maybe that was worth the price of letting go.

"John?" Yellow stood near the balcony now, staring at them as he fidgeted with his hands.

John squeezed Arthur's hand before holding his out for Yellow. Yellow raised his hand over the balcony, taking it. John's hand was engulfed, only his thumb visible. He raised his other one, cradling Yellow's between them tenderly. "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything," Yellow grumbled, somehow feeling tears on his cloak.

"You listened." John nodded and dropped his hand.

Arthur cleared his throat, keeping his tone light-hearted. "So, I guess this means you're The King in Yellow again?"

Yellow huffed, gripping the rail, and John could imagine his nose wrinkling. After a moment of contemplation, he shook his head. "I'm just Yellow. Come on, the plateau is this way."

Arthur frowned. He'd said those exact words to Yellow before, filled with more vitriol, but still with the same resignation. He jumped at John's hand on his back.

"Arthur?"

"Hmm, yeah, I'm coming."

The stroll through the palace was eerily quiet; the only noise was John narrating and describing the intricate decor of The King's castle. They stopped at a window so he could briefly describe the city streets to Arthur, who was upset at having to miss seeing it himself. Even broken and crumbling, John still found a way to make it seem more beautiful than Yhtill.

"You…" Yellow started as they stared out the frosted glass. He took a deep breath to calm the shaking in his limbs. "You should come visit once I've rebuilt. So you can see what it's supposed to look like. Assuming Arthur can see that is."

Arthur laughed, following him as they exited toward the stairs. "You're going to rebuild everything?"

He huffed when his foot hit the stairs. He thought they were taking a shortcut.

"I want to erase any presence of Kayne from my home," Yellow growled.

"Speaking of," John muttered, looking around, "shouldn't he be making an appearance sometime soon?"

"I'm sure he won't be far behind us," Arthur exhaled.

"Here, we're at the plateau."

"Really?" Arthur glanced behind him as if he would be able to see anything. "That felt a lot shorter than last time."

"I told you I knew a shortcut." Yellow fidgeted with something in his sleeve. "Your necklace is back."

John glanced down and sighed. "I don't think it's going to stay gone."

Yellow held out his hand. John hesitated before taking the chain off and dropping it into the outstretched palm. It took some fumbling with the loops as Yellow's hands were much bigger than the chain was, but he eventually unhooked the medallion from it. It dropped to the floor with a loud clatter. He pulled a small ball from his sleeve and struggled just as hard to attach it to the chain before handing it back.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, his ears tilted toward the noise of jingling jewellery.

"It's… it's a yellow lily encased in frosted glass. It's small, forever frozen in full bloom. It almost looks like a marble statue if not for its colour." John looked up at Yellow and smiled; it was blinding. "Thank you."

"Whatever," Yellow huffed, feeling that comforting warmth bloom in his chest again. He waved his hand, and the portal to Earth opened. "Now let's get you out of my hair—"

"Wait!" Arthur cleared his throat and took a step toward Yellow. "Wait, before we go, I owe you an apology. A real, proper apology."

Yellow hesitated, but dropped his hand to hide his fidgeting lest John describe it. "Alright."

"You were never… just Yellow. You were not only evil, and I was wrong for treating you as such, for making you believe that was your only nature. Both of you are entirely your own, whole in your own right. You both have the capacity for good or evil or any combination of the two. Whoever you choose to be… is up to you. I'm sorry I ever tried to take that away from you… from either of you. And… I am so proud of you for standing up for yourself and forging your own path."

Yellow didn't need to cry, but he did anyway; golden tears slipped from his hood and onto his crossed arms. He turned the words over in his head, and each time he did, he felt some of his anger dissipate. "…Thank you, Arthur. I think… I think that helped."

Arthur nodded, smiling as he stepped back to John's side. "Alright. I'm ready to go. John?"

"Almost." He dug in his bag for his book of poems. Taking a deep breath, he held it out for Yellow. "I'll be able to find more books like this. You should keep this one."

"Oh," Yellow took the book gingerly, holding it to his chest. It was heavy, there kind of heavy he'd carry with importance. Maybe he would invest in a library to display it in. Or maybe he'd just keep it for himself. "Thank you."

John smiled. "Yes, I'm ready."

Yellow nodded, waving them toward the portal. "I wish you luck. John, I hope you get to see your movie."

"Thank you," John clutched the necklace tight. "I will visit… when you're ready."

"Good. And goodbye… for now."

"For now," Arthur echoed, holding onto John's hand as they jumped into the portal.