Beyond the Neon Trees - Part 6 (Big Bang 2011)

[mightypretty]

Merlin finally makes it to the hospital; after possibly the slowest bus journey known to man; he has to weave through a sea of people crowding up the A&E department. Until a flash of golden hair catches his attention, sat in the back corner, head propped in hands that rest on jerking knees.

“Arthur,” Merlin exhales heavily, practically jumping over the tables and chairs in his way. “Where is she? What have they said?”

“They won’t let me in, I’m not a blood relative.” says Arthur. He makes to stand, probably to wrap his arms around Merlin, but he can see the hesitance in Arthur’s eyes as they dart swiftly around the bustling room - he remains seated. Any comfort from Arthur will have to wait for when they’re in private, it would seem. “We got here about an hour ago. I keep asking but they won’t tell me.”

“What happened? Why were you… Why were you there?”

“I forgot you were working, came round to see you but your mum answered, insisted I come in.”

Arthur stands then, begins a steady pace in front of Merlin. “We weren’t even talking that long, when she started shifting awkwardly, said it was just a stiff neck, but then she was wheezing… and, and she started getting chest pains so I just dialled 999 straight away. She…” Arthur’s voice cracks as he runs a hand through his distressed locks. “She could barely stand, Merlin. But they took her in and - I don’t know; they won’t tell me anything.”

Merlin nods silently, fearful that any attempt to speak will be swallowed by the dry choking sobs that are clinging against his throat, threatening to spill over. Wordlessly, he turns to walk towards the reception desk, praying there is someone on duty who he knows, who may be able to speed things along for him. Unfortunately, there isn’t, and typically it seems everyone has come to Homerton University Hospital to treat their ailments on this Saturday afternoon. In most walks of life, he hates queue jumpers; truly he does, but there’s a nauseous anxiousness humming through his veins, making him desperate for answers. He needs to know what is happening right the fuck now - he’s all she’s got in this world, and he’ll be damned if he’s not there with her through all this. So he sidles up to the side of the desk, leaning over the counter towards the pretty red-haired girl behind it.

“Hi, excuse me; my mum checked in here about an hour ago. She suffered a-a heart attack, I think; please, I just need to know where she is. Its Emrys, Hunith Emrys-“

“Sir, I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait; there’s-“

“Please.” Merlin cuts her off, fingers curling against the cool wooden counter. “Please, this…this is her second heart attack; I just need to be with her.”

The woman’s eyes soften at Merlin’s tone, and she bites the bow of her bottom lip as she takes in the line set to the side before tapping against the keys of her computer quickly. She darts an eye to the two women beside her before swivelling in her chair, turning her back to them.

“She’s in the Edith Cavell Ward, room 5B,” she whispers, a twinkle of a smile as she spins back around, calling for the next in line to come forward. Merlin thanks her quietly, glancing at the map of the hospital.

He flashes a look at Arthur over his shoulder, finds his friend stood exactly where he left him, nervously wringing his hands. ’Come on.’ Merlin mouths, tilting his head towards the Cardiac department, pace rushed, anxious; he nearly trips over his own feet, trainers screeching. Then a steady hand rests on his back, a warm heat searing through his t-shirt right between his shoulder blades. Arthur’s fingers rub over the space gently, clenching in the thin fabric, and Merlin finally manages to catch his breath as they continue walking down the endless corridor.



Merlin’s prepared from last time for the sight that greets him. Various tubes and contraptions are hooked up to his mother, making the most disconcerting of noises. She’s awake though - that’s something. The heavy lids of her eyes are barely open when she tilts her head to the side at the sound of the door.

“My darling boy,” she coughs; voice thin, barely above a whisper. Merlin rushes to her side, perching on the edge of the bed, careful to not dislodge any wires. He grips her hand tightly, biting back tears as he feels it shaking under his fingers.

“God, mum,” he cracks, a solitary tear running down the ridge of his nose.

“Sssh, sweetheart, be brave.”

“It’s not good though, is it?” says Merlin softly, teeth catching his upper lip tightly, turning it a bruising white. He can just about see Arthur in his periphery vision, stood by the door. Hunith reaches up a hand to cup his cheek, wipes stray tears away with her thumb as they continue to fall.

“Everything will be fine… Everything will be just fine.” She murmurs into his hair, futile promises they both know aren’t true.

“I’ll step outside - give you two a moment.” Arthur eventually speaks, shifting towards the door, but Hunith is quick to halt him.

“No, no, you don’t, my dear. Come sit here beside me.“ Hunith says, using her free hand to indicate the orange plastic chair beside her bed. “I want both of my boys around me.” She smiles warmly. Arthur darts a questioning glance to Merlin before stepping past the curtained railing to the other side of the bed. Hunith grips Arthur’s fingers as he lays them atop of her blankets. Nearer under the light, Merlin can tell Arthur’s been crying too; clear crystallised tracks stain his cheeks, the rim of his eyes blistering red. They sit there in silence for a while until Hunith leans her head back gently against the pillows, allowing her lids to drag shut.

“Mum?” Merlin asks, cautiously looking between his mother and Arthur and then towards the emergency nurse button.

“I’m just tired, son.” Her fingers unfurl from both their hands to fold neatly across her stomach. “Just resting my eyes for a bit,” She hums, the steady beep of the heart monitor providing a welcomed calm as it reverberates through the room.

Hunith flitters in and out of consciousness, fluttering her eyes open a crack for a few moments before the weight of fatigue bore down, making them fall shut again.

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The stretch of silence has hung between them for an age, growing more uncomfortable with every tremor of Hunith’s chest rising, every clinical beep the machines around her exude. Merlin moves to sit in the chair beside Arthur, hands wringing in his lap.

“I’m so sorry you have to go through this.” Arthur eventually whispers into the quiet.

Seconds pass into minutes until, with a sniff, Merlin finally replies, “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.”

The heat of Arthur’s body next to him burns deep behind his ribcage. Merlin knows Arthur is trying to be reassuring, comforting, but the words are lacking. The thought behind them is sweet enough, but how can Hunith compare to Uther - one so loving and full of life, the other degrading, cold and hostile? For Merlin, Hunith is more than just a mother; she’s a father, a confidant, a friend, the most amazing woman in his life, and just when he re-found his father, the Gods threaten to take his mother away from him instead. A constant stab of pain jolts deep within him with every glance towards the hospital bed before him, his mother’s wearied figure lying helplessly upon it.

“She’s all I’ve got… Without her, I have no-one. I can’t lose her.” Merlin’s voice catches on a broken cry, one hand clutching at the blanket under his fingers, the other coming to cup over his mouth.

“She’s not the only person you have, Merlin.” Arthur says softly, pressing the side of his knee against Merlin’s thigh. Heat radiates through their jeans as Merlin watches Arthur lift a hand carefully, senses the tension in his palm as he allows it to hover over the bed for a long moment. Merlin holds his breath, waiting to see what Arthur will do, chances a slight peek from beneath his lashes to study the side of Arthur’s face as he eventually lowers his hand, so close to covering Merlin’s own, before he places it beside his instead. Their little fingers brush innocently against each other, the action huge yet insignificant all at the same time. The brief touch is soon broken by a gentle tapping on the door before its pushed open and Doctor Martins pokes his head around. Arthur jolts back instantly, the side of Merlin’s hand cool in its absence - Hunith awakens at the sound, struggles to sit up properly until both Merlin and the doctor aid her.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, eyes scanning over machinery as his pen furiously scribbles across the clipboard in his hands, noting down figures.

“Tired.” Hunith supplies, rolling the arc of her shoulder back with a painfully loud click, “And achy.”

Doctor Martins smiles softly, checking her IV drip. “Any chest pain?”

Merlin and Arthur sit mutely, watching with cautious eyes as the doctor moves around the bed, making sure to double check everything.

“It feels a little bit tight.” She admits, the turn of her lips sliding down, the frown so unnatural on her usually light, breezy face.

“I’ll make sure Nurse Collins ups your dosage of clopidogrel to make you more comfortable.” He nods before turning his head to the side. “Ah, Merlin, would you mind stepping outside with me for a moment?”

Merlin stands, giving his mum’s hand a light squeeze before following Doctor Martins into the corridor.



The half din of their conversation is washed out as nurses, patients and loved ones pass through the ward, alive with chatter and thrumming with energy. Arthur shuffles along in his seat, sitting himself in Merlin’s vacant chair.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Ms. Emrys?” he asks, the feeling of uneasiness refusing to leave the pit of his stomach. Hunith turns her head to him with half-opened eyes, stained with weariness but still warm with love.

“Hunith,” she chides jokingly, a dry chuckle stifled by a heavy cough. “Just look after him for me,” she says, words shaking out of her lungs, chest rising fitfully as she tries desperately to claw back the dry sobs wracking through her body.

Arthur leans across to clutch her hand firmly, throat working over as he swallows back his own pain. “I will, I promise.”

“I know there is a love there between you - much deeper than any brotherly affections…” says Hunith, eyes pooling with unshed tears; she grips his hand tighter. “Give it to him.” She urges, eyes pleading. “Don’t hold back. You’ve both grown up without witnessing it. How special it is when you find that other half… Don’t ever let it go, Arthur.” She shakes her head, eyes locking with Arthur’s.

Sorrow sits deep in his heart, and he realises he is grieving before Hunith has even passed away. She’s been a mother to him when he’s had none, non-judgmental, always forgiving; she’s broken his heart with her kindness, a parental love that overlooks blood. He meets her eyes and finds only her pure belief and hope in him. He wants to live up to it - be the man she is asking him to be - but the thought of doing so is so utterly paralysing. He can’t maintain eye contact any longer and with a flutter of his lashes he casts his head down. He feels Hunith’s cool fingers touch his cheek, her long lithe hand carding through the tufts of blonde fringe dusting his eyebrows.

“Look at what became of me and your father.” She hushes almost silently. “To live without your soul mate is a terrible existence. Be brave, my darling Arthur - for the both of you.”

Arthur tilts his face into the touch, allows her fingers to brush through his hair - like a mother would. He sniffs, breath shaky as he allows the rhythmic coaxing of her touch to soothe him, to numb his senses as he whispers, “I love him.”

“I know you do, my boy, and he loves you,” says Hunith, mouth set in a tragic smile, “and that leaves me with enough hope to let go.”

Arthur’s tears fall freely as he edges further on the end of his seat to wrap his arms around Hunith’s prone figure, clinging to every last memory he can. She holds him back just as tightly, murmurs the same promises of comfort in his ear as she’s done her own son. They offer little relief from the heartbreaking knowledge. When Merlin re-enters, eyes bloodshot, he silently slinks over to the both of them and curls up on the bed against his mother, silent sobs choking out so that the room is filled with their heart-ache.

Later that evening, with Arthur coiled in on himself in the armchair in the corner and Merlin hanging limply from the chair by the bed; head nestled in his mother’s lap, Hunith takes her last breath - she gazes between the two of them with a fond smile, a whispered “Love you” and a silent prayer before her eyes flutter closed for the last time.



It’s fitting that as Merlin steps out of the sleek black car in front of the crematorium, the sun is shining.

The clouds part like the sea, allowing warm rays of light to bathe across the green courtyard of Abney Park Cemetery - searing through the fabric of his dark charcoal suit. For the past five days, Merlin has been living in a surreal numb bubble. When he wasn’t spending the hours fitfully crying tears that never ceased to fall, he was lying in bed - in his mother’s room, just trying to be a bit closer to her. The idea of funeral preparations only entered his mind after Hunith’s friend Anne visited, sat him down with a cup of tea and assured him she could handle it all for him if he wanted. Choosing the coffin, flowers, music, it all felt wrong - he’s only eighteen; he isn’t meant to be picking out this stuff for his mother.

Arthur, Balinor and Helen are an unwavering presence by his side, simply sitting with him, holding him if he needs it. One afternoon Arthur suggested sorting through Hunith’s clothes; Merlin lasted all of ten minutes before he came across the soft cashmere cardigan he had got her last Christmas, the one she had taken to wearing most days. He brought it to his face, inhaled the lingering smell of her perfume before folding his body up on the bed, clinging to the small piece of his mother. On the third day, Balinor and Helen came round to help pack up some of Hunith’s belongings; carefully organising ornaments, tokens into specified boxes. During their quiet work, Balinor placed a heavy hand on Merlin’s shoulder, led him to sit on the couch, Helen coming to perch on the arm beside them.

“We’d like you to come live with us.” He said; eyes round and sincere. Helen reached across to rub the pale skin of his arm, her hand stroking rhythmically back and forth, warm like his mother’s.

“Thank you, but…” Merlin stuttered. “I can’t leave this place… I can’t leave her.” They nod gently, giving his knee a soft squeeze. Helen smiled sadly before returning to the kitchen to pack. His father stayed behind, head tilted, considering, “If you ever change your mind… we want you there, Merlin.”

The words linger still, buried beneath a deepening hurt that has yet to lessen, as Merlin raises a hand to shield his eyes. He gazes up into the clear blue sky above, the first few guests beginning to arrive behind him. “Thanks, mum.” He whispers before stepping inside.

The coffin sat at the front is daunting. The rich mahogany gleams beneath the snow white fragrant lilies that adorn it. The smell is almost overpowering as he steps into the small room, already beginning to fill with distant family members, work colleagues and friends from the estate. Arthur and the lads are huddled together on one side of the pews; Lance offers him a sad small smile. The pretty blonde girl next to him is new, but by the way Gwaine has his arm wrapped around her shoulders, he’s guessing it’s his sponsor and new found girlfriend Elena. They all offer him supportive glances, mouthed words of friendship until he’s brought out of his reverie by a soft touch to his forearm. Swivelling round, he comes face to face with Ms. LeFay dressed elegantly in a simple black dress, a dark matching hat hanging low across her eyes.

“I am so sorry for your loss, Merlin.” She says kindly, acrylic nails trailing across his jacket.

“Thanks for coming, Ms. LeFay-“

“Please, Morgana, you’re no longer a pupil.” She pulls him in for a light hug; the touch is stilted at first but soon melts into a comforting embrace, feeling much like an older sister taking care of a brother. Merlin lets out a deep sigh as he presses his palms into her back, the action making him feel safe.

“If you need anything…” She says pulling back, holding his shoulders the unspoken words of support go unsaid. “Don’t give up on your art, ok? Use it. Let it help you get through this.” She gives him one more gentle squeeze before side-stepping into the rows of seats.

Merlin slowly makes his way to the front, can feel people’s eyes on him as he comes to stand in front of the closed casket, the detailing on the wood simple, classic, just like his mother. He brings a hand to run across the gloss panelling; fingertips trace the etched plaque on the top.

Tapping his fingers across the cool metal for a beat, he turns to sit himself in the front row - empty, vacant, apart from himself. His knees jerk nervously under sweaty palms as Balinor places an encouraging hand on his back from the row behind, the weight a comfort that sits low in his belly. He leans back to flash them a tight smile; Helen bends forward to place a delicate kiss against his cheek.

Then the music is starting, the soft beginning strings of “Ave Maria” peal through the tinny speakers. The congregation stands as the priest enters to begin proceedings; he opens with a prayer, a nod, and everyone sits back down. The brush of a leg against his makes him turn, shooting a confused glance across to Arthur who has come to sit flush by his side. He offers him a sparkle of a smile, teeth glistening white against full red lips. Merlin smiles back, small and shy. He faces forward again; listening to the sermon Father John is giving until he almost jumps out his seat at the touch beside him. Glancing down between them, he shoots a nervous look to Arthur. The tips of Arthur’s fingers are tracing across the top of his palm, cautious, as he darts unsure eyes around the room, before, with a sharp intake of breath, he covers Merlin’s hand with his own.

A half-formed gasp catches in Merlin’s throat as he gazes down at their clasped hands, shoots Arthur a worried look before dropping his voice. “Arthur, what are you doing?”

“Being there for you,” He side-whispers; face impassively staring straight ahead, a fierce resolve in the tightness of his jaw.

“People can see.”

“I don’t care.”

Merlin flexes his hand; the heavy weight of Arthur’s above doesn’t budge. Father John is still talking but his words are nothing but hollow background noise to the heavy thuds of his heart, the thrumming pulse matching Arthur’s as it flickers against his wrist. “Don’t be stupid; think about what this looks like.” He hisses.

Arthur turns to him then, eyes soft and impossibly blue - bluer than he’s ever seen. “If you want to let go, then fine, but I’m not. I’m not ashamed to hold my boyfriend’s hand.” He squeezes it gently. There were probably more words planned, a speech to rival many, but in the end, a simple touch spoke volumes. Merlin’s teeth worry at his bottom lip as he hold Arthur’s gaze. Then he turns his palm. Arthur’s brow furrows in hurt as he makes to move his hand back, but Merlin’s fingers are sliding into the creases of Arthur’s, wrapping tightly. He clings, holds on for dear life as his stomach feels like it’s dropping out beneath him, and Arthur is his safety net - keeping him afloat.

As the sermon continues, Merlin shuffles closer, side pressed completely against Arthur’s, hands firmly clasped together throughout. And after Merlin can barely see through his tears as he reads his eulogy, after he feels like the dryness in his throat will render him wordless, Arthur’s hand finds his when he returns to his seat - warm and sure and everything.



The service is beautiful.

Merlin’s eulogy pretty much leaves the whole room in tears, and as Hunith’s coffin makes its last journey behind the velvet curtains to the melodic riff of “Always” by Bon Jovi Merlin is left feeling entirely drained. However, there is the reception yet to attend, a small gathering of friends in the church hall next door. Merlin goes through the pleasantries, thanks people for coming, shakes hands, kisses cheeks. After Father John declared the service over, Merlin stood to leave, dropping Arthur’s hand only once he absolutely had to, smiling down at an equally beaming Arthur. Once the last of the people left the crematorium, after Gwaine pulled him into a fierce hug with whispered words of ’you bloody handsy bastard’ smirked into his ear with a wink; after Percy placed a heavy hand on his shoulder a silent smile on his lips, his eyes gentle, speaking volumes of ‘I will stand by you and Arthur to the hilt’, Merlin finally allows himself a moment to collapse into the back row and release a deep sigh. The room is empty, save for the overpowering fragrance of the lilies and Merlin stares at the closed purple curtains at the front of the hall.

He just said goodbye to his mother, the only constant he’s ever had in his life. Closing his eyes, he can see her joyous smile behind his lids; the tinkle of her laughter echoes in his ears, and if he breathes deep enough, the classic smell of her Chanel perfume tickles his nose. He doesn’t ever want to lose this - the memories. Merlin can’t bear the thought that one day; he’ll wake up and forget the shade of hazel her eyes were, or the dimple that would sit in her left cheek when she grinned. Yet, he also fears his grief will consume him. Leaving him immobile to cherish each day for what it is. The idea of returning to the flat where they shared all their life is a dread that strikes against his chest. The door creaks open as a figure enters to slide beside Merlin, reaching out a hand. The firm touch on his knee is familiar; he opens his eyes to find Balinor sat beside him, dressed smartly in a simple black suit.

“How are you doing, son?”

Merlin rubs tired hands over his face, kneading at the pressure points over his brow. “Ok, I suppose. I don’t know. How are you supposed to feel?”

“I think you’re handling it grand…” Balinor says kindly, giving Merlin’s thigh a gentle squeeze. “I can see your mother in you. You have her strength. You’ll be just fine.” He says reassuringly and Merlin simply hums, considering.

“I wish I had got to see her one last time,” says Balinor quietly, head ducked low, curls of hair falling across his face. Hunith made it clear when Merlin got back in contact with his father that she didn’t want to see him again. She had no qualms about Merlin meeting up with him, she encouraged it even, but for her, seeing Balinor’s face would bring up too many emotions from too long ago. ’I’d rather keep my memories,’ she said. Though now, Merlin is beginning to wonder whether it was because she did not want Balinor to see how ill she had become - a once so vibrant woman, struck down with constant fatigue. It was a hard sight to bear. A second later, the click of the door resounds in the empty room as Helen pokes her head around before side stepping in. She runs a hand along the back of the pew, across both of the men’s shoulders, walking to the other end and shuffling across beside Merlin.

“Your eulogy was beautiful, sweetheart.” She tells him, neatly folding her legs as she leans back against the bench, twisting her body to face the both of them.

Merlin mumbles out a ‘Thanks.’ They sit in an awkward silence, everything still so new and unsure. The hair on the back of his neck flutters lightly as Helen nudges Balinor in the shoulder across him, the tilt of her head and look in her eye sweetly obvious and not at all subtle.

Balinor coughs uselessly, standing to tug the cuffs of his sleeves down fully. “I’ll go have a word with that Arthur of yours.”

Merlin scoffs as Helen giggles. “He’s not my Arthur.”

“Let him have his ‘protective father’ moment.” She smiles, pressing against Merlin’s side. Balinor gives them a little wave as he strides out, Merlin cringing at the thought of what he’s going to actually say to Arthur when he runs in to him. But then Helen’s leaning into him, baby bump poking at his side. “I’m glad you came into his life… into our life, Merlin.”

Merlin shakes his head. After two months, he still finds it hard to grasp that he is a part of this entirely new family unit now, made up of Balinor and Helen and a little bundle of a baby girl that is soon to arrive. “I’m glad I have you guys… especially now.”

Helen squeezes his knee, leaves her hand there lingering. “Move in with us.” Merlin starts to speak but she halts him with a finger. “You can bring Arthur, you know; the spare room has a double bed.”

Merlin has to clear his throat around the shock. “What? No, no, that’s-why would you burden yourself with the both of us?”

Helen grins knowingly at Merlin’s flailing attempts to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks. She sobers quickly though, turns her body to face Merlin head on. “Me and your father both know how hard it is to get yourself out of a rut… not that we’re saying you’re in one, but I’ve struggled in the past, lived in really… not nice areas. So we want to help. You’re a part of our family now, Merlin… and those closest to you - they become part of our family too.”

Merlin holds her gaze for a moment before sagging his shoulders, sigh heavy. “I don’t-I don’t think I can stay in that flat. Everywhere I look, I see her… It’s too hard.”

“Then you’ll stay with us.” Helen says simply, curling an arm around Merlin’s shoulders.

A cool gust of air trickles across his skin from the open window, sending shivers through him. He twines his fingers nervously in his lap, hesitant. “I feel like I’m leaving her behind.” He whispers, guilt sitting heavy in his chest.

“I’m never going to try to replace her, ok?” Helen tells him, fingers running up and down his arm. “She must have been the most amazing woman to have brought up such a loving son like you on her own.”

“I know you’re not, which is why it just makes things even harder… It’s all just really confusing right now.”

“I know, sweetie.” Helen soothes, running a hand over the top of Merlin’s head. He rests it against her shoulder, and they stay like that for a moment, calm, the early evening sunset casting the room in an orange hue.

“You know, I think me and your mum would have got on.” Helen whispers quietly, a strange lilt to her voice as if she’s struggling to hold back her emotions too. Merlin considers her words, her unwavering caress as she strokes his hair, so achingly familiar.

“Yeah, I think you would have.”



The reception - which Merlin finds way too weird to say because he feels he really shouldn’t be drinking or laughing or socialising a mere few hours after saying goodbye to his mother - is in full swing. People appear to be having a good time, though again, Merlin’s unsure whether that was the aim of the whole event. Either way, the room is getting too claustrophobic for him; the endless condolences and comforting hands are lovely but all too meaningless. Wordlessly, he slips out the side door into the night, the late July heat making the air stick humid. The grass bank surrounding the venue is crisp and dry underfoot, starving for water under this unusual British summer drought. Merlin walks further into the clearing until he comes to a large oak tree, standing tall with deep hung branches. Shrugging off his jacket, he lays it on the ground before settling down, closing his eyes and resting back against the solid trunk. These few solemn moments allow him to reflect on things, to try and drink in everything that’s happened in the past few days. The hum of nightlife around him settles his thoughts; leaving him feeling like a very small insignificant being in his bereft state. The sense of loneliness is almost overpowering, even though the hall across the way is packed to the brim of loving, caring friends, even though he may have finally found his salvation from the Holly Street Estate through his newly found father - he is still here, on his own.

“Is this tree taken?”

Merlin looks up straight into a set of twinkling blue eyes. He shuffles over to make room on the jacket so Arthur can take a seat next to him, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, tie hanging loose around his open collared neck. All in all, the sight makes his heart lurch.

“Too much in there?” Arthur asks, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his arms atop of them. He nudges himself further back so he is pressed up against the tree trunk.

“Just a bit,” says Merlin, taking a deep lungful of air. His eyes drop to Arthur’s fingers as they drum a beat upon his raised legs. “You held my hand.”

“I did.”

“In public.”

“Wow, Merlin, really, it was like you were actually there.”

“Stop being a prat…” says Merlin with an eye-roll, jabbing an elbow to Arthur’s side before allowing himself to rest the length of his body into him. “What does this mean then?”

Arthur presses back until they’re pasted together along one side. “I’m not sure.” He answers honestly.

“I’m moving… to Wembley.” Merlin says quietly, chin tucked against his chest, unable to meet Arthur’s eyes, afraid to see the confused hurt in them. “Balinor asked me to live with them and… I’m thinking it may be for the best.”

“Right, ok.”

Merlin doesn’t need to look up to tell that frown lines have burrowed their way across Arthur’s brow, or that the clucking of his tongue is a nervous habit he picks up when he’s upset. “Come with me.”

“What?”

Merlin does look up then, forces himself to turn his head, to hold Arthur’s gaze as he asks, “Helen… Helen said you could come live with them-us-if you wanted?” The surprise on Arthur’s face is expected but still, each second drifts into an even greater awkward silence that sets butterflies to flight in Merlin’s stomach. “I mean, it’s not… I-I want you to come with me.”

“I can’t.” Arthur rasps, and right, so it does seem as if this night could get worse, great. Sensing the change in Merlin’s expression, Arthur catches his wrist in a firm grip. “I want to… You know how much. I want to get off the estate more than anything, but I have my dad; I can’t leave him. He may be a dick most of the time but I’m all he’s got… You get that, right?”

Merlin swallows, nods; he looks down at Arthur’s hand, traces the movement of his thumb as it tracks over his own pulse point. “I’m just scared for you.”

“Scared? Why?”

Merlin tries to pull his wrist away but Arthur just tightens his hold. “You held my hand… in front of everyone. It’s going to get around, Arthur; there are going to be some idiots who will… try stuff.”

Arthur pulls Merlin’s arm closer towards him, draws it across his still raised knees, focuses on the little patterns he’s mapping out on his pale skin. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Yeah, but…” Merlin watches as Arthur’s fingers cause the dusting of hair on his forearm to stand to attention. “I don’t want anything to happen to you… I can't-I can't lose you too.”

His hands stop. “That won’t happen… This, us - people may not get it but that doesn’t matter, as long as we know… We’ll make it work, together, ok?” Arthur is looking at him with such conviction that all Merlin can do is nod, allowing Arthur’s fingers to soothe him as one hand continues its ministrations on his arm, the other running teasing strokes over his knee.

“You know what you said to me, last year, up on the hill?” asks Arthur.

Merlin crinkles his nose in confusion. “I’ve said a lot of things to you up on that hill”

A deep blush colours the tip of Arthur’s cheeks, not alluding Merlin at all to what particular moments he was recalling. “No, it was-you said that when those we love pass on, they turn into stars, looking down on us, guiding us… Your mum will look after me.” Arthur says quietly, hand gripping Merlin’s knee to turn his body in towards his. “She was kind of rooting for us, you know?” Merlin hides a shy smile, curling towards Arthur the remaining distance, to rest his forehead against Arthur’s own.

“I know.” He whispers. They sit like that for a moment, breathing in the wisps of air that coil between them. “I’m just so damn tired right now.” Merlin sighs against Arthur’s lips.

“Stay at mine tonight.”

Merlin casts his eyes up from under his lashes. “Arthur…”

“Staying in that flat on your own… all those reminders, it’s not good for you,” says Arthur seriously. He lowers his legs, draws them out in front of him, tapping the toe of his shoe against Merlin’s ankle. Tilting his head Arthur’s fringe brushes against Merlin’s temple, the tip of his nose nudging against his cheekbone. When Arthur next speaks, the words are mouthed along Merlin’s jaw. “Let me take care of you.”

The heat of Arthur close to him warms Merlin’s skin, has him curling towards Arthur even more. “Yeah, ok.” He whispers into his ear.



It’s gone midnight before the two eventually make their way back to Holly Street. After endless goodbyes and ‘thank you for coming’s’ they eventually managed to leave the hall and travel the short distance back to Arthur’s flat. The lights are off, the house quiet as they enter, stopping just briefly to fetch a glass of water before heading to Arthur’s room, shucking off their clothes and tumbling into bed a tired sated pair of limbs, wrapped only in each other.

It’s well into the afternoon when they eventually rouse; the beams of early evening sunlight warming their skin, encasing them in a hazy half-aware doze. Merlin has his face buried deep in Arthur’s armpit, nose tickling the short strands of hair, while Arthur lays spread eagled underneath. A possessive arm curls around Merlin’s waist, fingers dipping low under the waistband of his boxers at his spine. The emotional stress of the past few days seem to have caught up to both of them as they lay still in their dreamless slumber, unaware of the loud click of the front door, or the stumbled curses until the door to Arthur’s bedroom is flung open and they’re greeted to the angry roar rising deep from Uther’s gut.

Merlin’s the first to move, near clear on leaps from the bed, almost banging his head against a low hung shelf as he reaches for his white shirt, hurriedly fumbling with the buttons. Arthur jumps up too, quickly pulling his trousers on. Merlin is shooting Arthur frantic looks; were they really so clumsy as to not lock the bedroom door? Shit!

“Dad, it’s not-” Arthur starts and is quickly slammed down by Uther’s fist connecting heavily against the now shut door, denting the wood as flakes of white paint cling to his knuckles.

“What disgusting filth is this?” Uther hisses low, threatening. Merlin can see the flickering of his pulse as it strains against his neck, the red flush running down his jaw, disappearing under the seam of his grubby grey t-shirt. He’s stumbling to get his trousers on, almost tripping over in his efforts to pull them up as fast as possible. He’s heard enough of Uther’s tirades to know that this is never going to end well; his instincts are screaming at him to bolt, but Uther is blocking the exit. Still, he won’t leave Arthur alone during this. Merlin is not entirely trusting of Uther when it comes to the treatment of his son, fearful that what has been years of verbal abuse was soon to turn physical.

Arthur shucks on a t-shirt found on the floor, hastily pulling it over his head. “Father, please…”

“I nearly cuffed them both, you know! George and Harry down the pub when they were speaking of my son, my boy, holding the hand… of another man. And now I come back to this?”

“I should go.” Merlin mumbles, head down as he scrambles for his shoes, opting to leave his socks because the seconds are drawing out even longer, becoming more and more uncomfortable.

“No, you don’t.” Uther stops him with a look, the dark set of his pupils blown wide, near black in their intensity, full of so much hate; it halts Merlin in his tracks. “Filling my son’s head with vulgar thoughts, making him do things, trying to make him a filthy queer-- you bastard boy!”

Arthur takes a step forward then, shields Merlin from view as he faces his father, head on. “Hey, that’s enough.”

“I’ll tell you when it’s enough! Look at what he’s done to you! Turned you into a fucking sick fag!”

“Stop it! You don’t know anything!” Arthur yells. His throat feels like sandpaper, dry and red raw, as the words leave his lips.

“I know you have brought shame on me, on this family.” Uther cuts his eyes at them both, draws his shoulders back so he’s even taller, even more imposing, but Arthur is matching him for height, refusing to break the eye contact they’ve been drawn into. “If your mother was alive today, she would disown you.”

Merlin can’t help the disgusted grunt that leaves his lips, wants to reach out a reassuring hand, to comfort Arthur like he did for him yesterday, but he knows the slightest touch or show of companionship would set Uther off even more.

“No, mum would just want me to be happy… to be able to be with the person I loved.”

The silence in the room is deafening, the heavy pants of their breath ringing ragged in the air. Merlin can’t see Arthur’s face, only the deep set of Uther’s as he seethes in rage. Love. Arthur said love, didn’t he? The stupid sod had only gone and confessed his love in front of his father. Merlin has half the mind to whack him over the head. The other wants to draw him close, whisper the same words against his heart. The feeling is mutual; of course it is, but they never got round to actually saying it to each other before, and now, well, now isn’t probably the best of times either. But before he can dwell on it further, Uther has stepped forward, eyes focused directly on him, sending a cold chill shooting down his spine.

“You disgusting vermin - what have you done to my son?” Uther cries, lunging past Arthur to knock into Merlin, arm raised to sling a sickening right hook into the jut of his jaw. Thankfully, the countless pints he consumed - going by the stench of his breath - left his balance shot to hell, allowing Uther to catch Merlin much more lightly on the chin, tumbling them both to the ground. Uther attempts to strike Merlin with a few more punches as Arthur struggles to pull Uther’s solid weight from its intimidating loom. Merlin crowds in on himself, squeezes his eyes shut as flashbacks to nearly a year ago flitter past his lids; memories of lying on cold cement, facing brutality under Myror’s thugs’ hands. Now here he is again, cowering blows from yet another vicious bully. He doesn’t put up a fight, doesn’t make a noise but for the painful gasps as Uther’s heavy punches land firmly yet sporadically against his gut. The sound of Arthur’s angry roar as he finally pulls Uther free rings in his ears, making him flinch at the loud thud that resonates when Uther lands heavily against the chest of drawers across the room. Then Arthur’s standing above him panting, limbs shaking, as he extends his hand in offering to Merlin. He casts a wary eye across to the old man, struggling to sit up in the corner, before clasping Arthur’s fingers tightly and hauling himself up. He staggers at first, teeters against the edge of the mattress but Arthur grips his elbow securely, hauling him against his side.

“That invitation to move in still open?” He asks against his ear, the flutter of his voice nervous, unsure.

“Of course,” Merlin tells him, heart still thundering against his ribcage.

Uther is watching them with a sneer on his face, lips pulled tight in a grimace as he cradles the bow of his arm. “Fucking filthy fags.” He spits. The anger radiates off him in vicious waves as he lies drunk and useless on the floor. Merlin pities him.

“All my life, you have made me feel worthless, like I was the scum on the bottom of you shoe, and all I’ve ever done is try and make you proud, happy. Shit, dad, do you even understand what I went through for you? I’ve risked so much…” says Arthur, the words coated in pain as they travel over his tongue. He glances at Merlin as if gathering strength. “But that’s it. I can't do it anymore.”

“You are nothing. You took away the one thing I loved most in this world.” Uther pushes his back against the wooden chest.

Merlin can hear Arthur’s breath catch in his throat, watches as his knees shake beneath him; he places a steady hand on the bottom of Arthur’s spine, pressing the pad of his fingertips reassuringly against hot skin. Arthur stands straighter then, draws himself taller, stronger, more determined. “Then you finally have what you want, because from now on, you’re nothing to me. You’re on your own.”

Maybe as an act of further defiance or simply a desperate need to keep grounded, Arthur reaches back for Merlin’s hand, slotting their fingers together as they walk out of the flat, side by side, leaving Uther, leaving everything behind in their wake.



Arthur’s shaking when they get to Merlin’s, legs numb; face white as Merlin quickly locks the door and brings him close to his chest, running his hands up and down Arthur’s back, murmuring soft words of affection. The flat is quiet and still as their ragged pants make the air hotter around them, the beat of their hearts racing against each other’s chests. Merlin’s fingers curl around the nape of Arthur’s neck, twining the short strands at the base. He allows his lips to tease against Arthur’s ear as he whispers, “I love you too, you know.”

The arms around him squeeze tighter, and he can feel the curl of Arthur’s lips against the cut of his jaw before they pucker and leave a lingering kiss there. “We should get moving.” Arthur says reluctantly. “Before dad goes and runs his drunken mouth.”

Merlin releases a heavy sigh, allows himself to rest his forehead against Arthur’s for a few lingering moments before they eventually pull apart. With two large black duffel bags, Arthur ventures to Hunith’s room while Merlin goes to his own, throwing in the few essentials he needs. They’ve spoken to Balinor on the phone, listened as he instantly insisted on driving round to pick them up - no argument. He told them to gather everything precious; the rest they would collect in the next few days. Pulling open his chest of drawers, Merlin’s so engrossed in grabbing a handful of socks; the sharp slice across his finger causes him to gasp a curse under his breath. Removing his hand, he notices the brightly coloured post it note tucked away at the back of the drawer. Sucking his paper-cut finger into his mouth, he pulls out the note and almost breaks into a sob at the token it’s attached to. He stumbles back to the bed before collapsing down upon it, heart stuck in his throat.

Don’t ever give up, my darling boy. Keep love in your heart and it’ll help you to fly. I am always with you to guide you.
xxx

Tears shine behind glassed eyes as Merlin strokes a thumb over the flow of his mother’s handwriting, lingering over the kisses at the bottom. He pulls the note free from the familiar small wooden toy it’s attached to. The curved arch of the dragon’s back moulds beneath his hand perfectly. Merlin swallows the lump in his throat as he tucks the figurine that his father crafted so long ago carefully into the bag between t-shirts. He then picks up the pink note, reads over his mother’s words once more, wipes away at the stray tear that tumbles down his cheek as he places it neatly in the pocket of his wallet, keeping it safe and close.

---
--
-

A couple of hours later and the majority of stuff has been packaged into boxes, the few precious mementos and tokens kept sacred in the bag Merlin is zipping up. Looking around the flat, the walls feel sparse without the photographs Hunith loved adorning them. With the last bag plonked at their feet, they stand together in the hall, Merlin’s eyes raking across the flat, trying to memorise every last inch of the place he called home his entire life.

Arthur is in front of him, wrapping a casual arm around his waist, drawing him close. “I’m going to nip back and grab some stuff,” Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur’s finger presses against his lips. “He’ll have gone back to the pub now, drowning himself in liquor; I’ll be quick, I don’t need much… That’s if he hasn’t trashed it all.”

Merlin shakes his head, the tufts of his hair dancing across Arthur’s temple. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to lose a parent too.”

“I think we both know I lost him a long time ago, Merlin.”

They stay there for a moment, just enjoying each other’s closeness. Merlin’s hand reaches up to run across the back of Arthur’s neck. “Okay, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Yeah,” Arthur hushes as he tips forward to press their lips together. The kiss is soft, gentle, a familiar touch that sends warm hope shooting through his veins.

“We’re going to be ok, you know,” says Arthur, reluctantly pulling free of Merlin’s safe hold to head towards the door.

Merlin smiles, adjusts the strap of the bag on his shoulder as he takes one final look around the near empty flat. His hand sneaks into his pocket, clutches the wallet tucked deep against his thigh before his eyes fall back on Arthur standing in the doorway. After all his hopes, prayers, dreams of finally breaking free of the clutches of this estate, he never imagined it’d be like this, without his mother, supported by his father, but most importantly, with Arthur by his side. It isn’t perfect, not by a long stretch, but it is salvation. It’s happiness, and if Arthur keeps looking at him like he is now, Merlin’s pretty sure it’s all going to be okay.

-fin-



Part 7 {Epilogue}