[Merlin] Experiencing Slippage Into the Future 2/3

[shamera]

Previous

“You didn’t read it.”

Morgause was very clear in her disappointment, and Arthur found himself bristling.

“I assumed you would tell me what I needed to know.” He snapped.

“You have the file. Morgana tells me that is is sitting on your desk.”

And at this, Arthur found he had had enough. Enough with the secrecy and the hiding, because he just wanted to find his sister and then go back to his normal life where people didn’t feel the need to act like some stupid novella secret agents. Techmages or no (and he still wasn’t ready to believe that Morgana had out and gotten herself up-links for techmages without seeing it with his own eyes), he wanted the truth.

“And how does she know that? How do I even know you’re telling the truth and not just some- some international spy pretending to have my sister?”

Morgause gave him a pointed look, lowering her cigarette. “If you had read the report, Pendragon, you would have known exactly how I know that.”

It wasn’t a point he wanted to argue at the moment. He hadn’t read the report. He hadn’t read it because of the look on Merlin’s face after he had decoded it, and he hadn’t even touched the tablet since then because it felt like some kind of betrayal to do so.

He raised a hand to his face, rubbing at the spot between his eyes and willed himself to calm.

“You know what it says. I’m counting on you to tell me.”

Morgause gestured to the muscled man who guarded the room, and the shadowy figured nodded before he stepped out and shut the door firmly behind himself. Then she took a breath of smoke and exhaled slowly up into the air.

“You’re more honourable than I gave you credit for.” She said. “I didn’t believe Morgana when she said that you wouldn’t read it. Most men are too curious for their own good, even when that curiosity encroaches on someone else’s wishes.”

On Merlin’s wishes.

“Well, I’m not like that.” Arthur said. “So if you knew that I wouldn’t read it and still wanted to talk to me, then tell me what the hell is going on.”

She gave him a considering look, one that made him sit up straighter. It was a few seconds before she flicked the end of her cigarette, having come to a conclusion.

“You’re in the middle of a web, Arthur Pendragon. You are sitting here in front of me because Morgana asked you to sit here in front of me. I am here talking with you because I am not one to deny her anything unreasonable.”

Arthur’s brow raised. “You need to speak clearly.”

Morgause took another breath of smoke.

“Category-10s. It was a project started well over a quarter of a decade ago. Programs developed on the best computers the world has seen so far.” She paused dramatically. “The human brain.”

Arthur nodded. That wasn’t unheard of. There were quite a few people who offered their minds to solving problems nowadays. It was still a radical practice and there were quite a few who lobbied against it and called it an invasion of the human brain, but it was fully consensual. The people were well paid and their minds well taken care of. It wasn’t a shock.

“The first subject was a young woman named Nimueh. She had rather... unusual talents. She was the first one who displayed a sort of... power, almost. While her brain was altered, instead of going to sleep like most subjects would, she became more animated and aware.

“According to the case file, she would interact with the doctors and scientists around her and speak with them like old friends. And soon enough, they were all friends.”

She blew out another breath of smoke, and Arthur fought the urge to twitch his nose and cringe back.

“They almost didn’t catch it. They all grew so fond of her, recalling shared memories of what brought her into their lives, all of it backed up with digital files stating she had been the godmother of one of the doctors, that she had gone to school with another. But back then, they also wrote down and printed all their information. It took a while, but they started seeing discrepancies. The old files said that she had no family. Said she went to school out of country. Said that by all rights, the first time she had met any of them had been in the laboratory.

“I suppose you could say that in most ways, she was the first techmage. Her brain retained a connection to the Network that allowed her to alter its data naturally and immerse herself in the lives of the people around her, altering even their memories until she wrote herself into their lives.”

Arthur drew a sharp breath, not noticing his own actions as he leaned closer to hear more. Morgause smiled thinly.

“Their second subject was much younger. A little girl. When the scientists found out that some people, a minuscule percentage of the population, had the ability to connect to the Network effortlessly, they went out in search of those individuals. Techmages, as you know, implant multiple up-links in order to establish a connection with the Network that can not be attained by the average person.”

Morgause tilted her head, flipping her short curls out of the way to reveal two metal pieces at the base of her skull, and Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

Techmage. She was one as well.

She didn’t react to his discomfort in the slightest. “Some people, however, don’t need up-links. Not really. I tell you this in good faith, Arthur Pendragon, because Morgana tells me that you will not turn on us.”

Us, she had said.

“She’s my sister.” To Arthur, that explained everything, but he elaborated for Morgause’s sake. “Even if she chose to be a techmage, I wouldn’t condemn her.”

Morgause’s smile widened slightly.

“Good.”

She reached below the table and pulled out a thick file. Paper. The folder must have been at least two inches thick, crooked and filled with what looked like printed photographs.

“You did not read the file to spare your friend’s sensibilities.” Morgause said. “But in this case... you are not reading the file he decoded, are you?”

She tapped her finger on the files, using her other hand to put out her cigarette.

“Read it now.”

-

Category-10.

Subjects, the file called them. Subjects 01, 02, 03, 04, and a recent addendum of Subject 05.

Morgause’s eyes glittered gold in the light as Arthur read.

-

It took well over two hours. Two hours of staring at the photographs, the charts, the graphs, and reading through the files. Morgause waited, perfectly patient and staring carefully at his changing expressions, the entire time.

Even decoded into a language he could understand, it was hard to decipher the meaning. The files made everything sound clinical, like the subjects were nothing more than a theory rather than living people. It was filled with experiments and hypotheses, with detached statements of a subject’s physical growth in recent years.

Physical growth. Arthur had to stop reading there and close his eyes, just concentrating on his breathing. Children.

Subject 02 had been implanted with a growth program. A probability program that encompassed anything anyone had previous tried to create. Behind the fancy words and technical terms, Arthur could see what they were trying to do.

A method to predict the future.

It had been unstable, but promising. The Network contained billions of messages, billions of coded string about what was happened, where people were going and what they were doing, about world changes and politics and the economy. Put that all together and a child’s brain was used as a program to work out what would happen the next day, the next week, the next year.

Except that little girl had nearly gone mad with the information.

Subject 03 was another girl, younger than the previous. The photographs of the girl made her out as a scared child with wide eyes and a constantly terrified visage.

Her information had been blacked out. Pages and pages of information, the lines all blackened with the occasional word left alone but never enough to translate even a single sentences.

Terminated, the files said.

Subject 04 had been a young boy. They called this one Project Emrys as if there was something special about him other than the fact that he was the first boy they used so far.

The writer of the reports had been unnerved. Scared.

Subject 04 displays extraordinary ability far beyond previous Subjects, the papers displayed. Recommended termination.

Except they hadn’t killed the little boy, but continued the experiments. Further experiments which were blacked out just as Subject 03 had been blacked out.

And at the very end was Subject 05.

Created for the sole purpose ‘for the termination of Subject 02 and Subject 04.’

The pictures within showed a teenage boy with with dark hair and cold blue eyes staring into the camera lens.

Still a child. All of them; children.

He couldn’t believe it. It didn’t even seem real, but rather something straight out of a cheesy comic book. Human experiments with children? Powers and the ability to predict the future?

But Morgause looked as serious as even when Arthur turned the last page.

Children.

“What,” He asked, working his way through his vocabulary to pick out the words. “Does this have to do with me?”

He wanted to say that he didn’t believe it, that it must have been some elaborate hoax because things like that didn’t happen, because it was like the government covering up some alien crash landing or secretly taking over the human race via their up-links. There were laws against that sort of thing. Rules. Common decency.

But he couldn’t say that he didn’t believe it, because Morgause certainly looked like she believed.

She drew out another cigarette and lighter, the flame surprisingly bright in the room, enough for Arthur to startle at how his eyes had adjusted to the dimness.

“Nimueh.” She said. “Nimueh was recommended to the program by a friend of hers, one who was trying to help her because she couldn’t seem to control her own up-link. It would send her information in her sleep, apparently, and make her forget things while she was awake. Her friend hoped that by having that part of her brain, the part connected to the Network, used as a supercomputer, then the rest of her brain would be left alone and she would finally be able to function in normal society again.

“Her friend’s name was Ygraine Pendragon.”

Out of everything (children and powers and government conspiracies), Arthur had not expected that.

Morgause took pity at his shocked expression.

“Didn’t you know? Uther Pendragon was the one to fund the program, as a favour for his wife. It was supposed to help people like Nimueh, the rare point zero zero zero zero one percentage of people who had troubles with their up-links, troubles that would cause them to retreat from their lives because they simply couldn’t function anymore.”

She leaned in close, her breath smelling of smoke carrying an undercurrent of wine.

“That was how all of this started. Then Ygraine died, and Uther blamed Nimueh. No one knows what really happened, but the program became one that would be beneficial for the development of mankind rather than to help those in need.

“Things changed. And, Arthur Pendragon, you’re right at the heart of it all.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No. No, my father wouldn’t have done this. Or he would have told me. If he did, he must have had a reason. It must have been- there must have been a purpose. This isn’t what you’re saying.”

Morgause leaned back again, eyes glittering as she took another breath of smoke. “I thought you would say that.”

She reached for another file, hand slowly as Arthur tensed, and gave him a smirk, palms open to show that she wasn’t reaching for anything dangerous. This folder was thin, with barely anything in it at all.

“Subject 02 and Subject 04.” She said, and flipped open the file.

On one page was the proud and haughty expression of a young Morgana staring defiantly and wildly at the camera, and on the other side was Merlin, looking as small as Arthur remembered from when they met as children, huddled into himself.

-

“Do you know what Category-10 means?” Morgause said before he left, blowing smoke into his face. “It means that they can get into your head. They change the memories of the people they meet, until you don’t know if they’re real or not and your best friend may all of a sudden be replaced with them.

“Morgana may be your sister in your mind, Arthur Pendragon. But you didn’t grow up with her. And Merlin may be your friend... but you certainly never met him as a child.

“You’ve never met either of them, really.”

-

Merlin was waiting outside for him, looking tired. Looking the same as he had looked in that picture, only older.

The man Morgause had casually ordered out of the room was hovering over him protectively, taking in the tense atmosphere between the two of them with a frown.

“It’s okay, Perceval.” Merlin said with a strained smile. “I know Arthur.”

But do you really? Arthur wanted to ask. His throat all but closed up in remembrance of the files. Of the photos.

Merlin was more than just a techmage. Morgana was more than just a techmage.

They can change the memories of the people they meet.

Seeing the muscled man now (Perceval, Merlin had called him), Arthur was starting to realise the truth of that statement.

“You know him?” Arthur heard himself ask, voice deceptively calm.

Merlin nodded, a quick bob of his head. “Yeah, we were... we went to school together. Uni.”

You don’t know if they’re real or not.

“You never said where you went to school.” Arthur remarked casually. “But you disappeared from my life twenty years ago.”

“Mom moved.” Merlin’s eyes were sharp now, dark blue and calculating. It was something Arthur had failed to notice before, hidden under the veneer of being a clumsy, innocent fool. “And you never asked.”

Thinking back, Arthur had never really made friends as a child. He had acquaintances. He had colleagues. He had never thought about it, but the little boy he had met under a tree when he was eight years old had been the closest and fondest memory he had to associate with as a friend.

Your best friend may all of a sudden be replaced with them.

“Yeah.” Arthur found himself agreeing. “Yeah, I forgot to ask. Sorry about that. Should have done so before.”

Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to think better of it. He looked toward Perceval, and then asked Arthur, “So did you find your sister?”

No. Instead, he had found more questions than he had before, and answers he never wanted to know.

All he wanted to do was find his sister, drag her back kicking and screaming so that Guinevere and Lancelot and Leon wouldn’t worry anymore, and then go back to his normal life.

His life was uncomplicated. Boring. Nothing exciting really happened, unless one counted business mergers and shouting at his employees. His biggest secret had been how he wanted to be a knight as a child rather than a businessman.

Arthur’s life was uneventful.

“Yes.” He said, as if that wasn’t a complete lie. “I found her. So, you know, thanks. For helping me find her. That’s done and over with now. I guess that’s it.”

And he walked away, leaving behind a confused Perceval and a strangely silent Merlin.

-

Merlin’s tablet was still on his table.

-

He called Guinevere and told her that he would be going back to work the next day, that he was finally feeling better from that freak illness, yeah. He was fine. It was all settled. What about his sister? Oh, that must have been his grave illness talking, because he had been feverish and delusional.

He had Lancelot exchanged a few quiet reassurances, and then he called Leon as well because Leon had been the one to take care of business while he was gone. Leon made sure that his father wouldn’t notice his absence until much later.

He had prepared that much while searching for Morgana.

Searching for eight months.

It was sunset by the time Arthur let his head hit the armrest of his couch, an arm covering his eyes as he refused to look at that slim tablet left on his table.

Morgana didn’t exist.

Merlin didn’t exist.

His father had been right to be concerned over him when he claimed his sister had gone missing.

But then, Uther would have known. He would have known all about it and had let Arthur worry needlessly anyway, had let him waste away eight months of searching for a sister who never existed, whom he had not told all his secrets, and whom he hadn’t argued with over whether or not they could be seen going to school together and being picked up together by the chauffeur.

Morgana probably never shouted at him when he first started dating Guinevere in sixth form, throwing shoes and pillows and books at his head because she just knew he would break her best friend’s heart.

Merlin had probably never tried to steal the snacks that Arthur had arranged to pack for him when they were children, fingers still sticky with chocolate as he tried to pack on an innocent expression.

Morgana hadn’t stood up for him against Uther when he wanted to study law rather than business.

(That was probably why he was a businessman right now. From his memories of Morgana, she would never have let the subject go until she got her way, and Arthur had once been glad because her way usually meant his way as well unless she was fighting against him.)

What somehow hurt the most, though, was the thought that the tree he met Merlin under probably never existed either.

That was, if Morgause had been telling him the truth.

(How would she have lied about that, though? Could she have lied about that?)

Arthur opened his eyes from under his arm and turned his head toward the table.

Merlin’s tablet was still there.

-

Category-10, read the tablet.

It went on to talk about the first subject, Nimueh, whose story was exactly like Morgause had told it.

Arthur turned the tablet over before he got to Subject 02.

And then he threw the machinery against the wall, delighting as it sparked and powered off, nearly denting his wallpaper.

-

He went back to work the next day and tried not to think about any of it. He greeted his secretary absently and escaped into his office, refusing to take messages as he tried to catch up what had happened to the company in his absence.

-

It was a furious message from Gwaine that brought him out of his stupor.

A furious and incomprehensible message littered with curses and phrases never to be repeated in polite company. It was long and creative and colourful, but broken down, quite simple.

Whatever you did to Merlin, Gwaine had written in not quite those words, fix it. Now.

There were further threats about how if he didn’t, Gwaine would fix him.

But just that simple message brought it all crashing down on his head.

His father condoned experiments done on children. Experiments that turned children crazy. Experiments that ended with their deaths. Their terminations.

That’s when he brought out his vodka, downing shot after shot until his thoughts were fuzzy and everything was once again manageable. The alcohol made his thoughts fuzzy and pleasant until he found that yeah, sure, he could deal with this situation.

And then he left a message for Merlin.

Sorry for leaving like that, he tried to type out, although it may have been one long slur of auto-corrects. But I just found out that my father may be an arse. And you didn’t exist. And I think you just found that out, too, so it must have been just as hard for you. Maybe harder.

He wasn’t too certain on the details, but Arthur was pretty sure that he passed out after that sitting at his desk, with a tiny sliver of alcohol still in the bottle on the table.

When he woke up again, it was early morning and he was under a blanket and his head was honest-to-god trying to murder him.

He moaned in pain, trying to turn his face away from the sunlight just starting to creep in through his blinds and whimpering as each movement sent a spike of pain through his head. It had been far too long since he had drank like that- must have been since school, since the past several years he had only partaken alcohol in moderate amounts. Never anything that got him pissed out of his head.

A shift in movement that wasn’t him prompted him to open one eye blearily, cursing whoever managed to break into his apartment because the bastards had managed to pick the perfect time when Arthur couldn’t have kicked their arses. He would just have to glare weakly at them while they stole all his electronics.

The blur of movement came closer to him and put down a glass of water on the table; the quick clink managed to reverberate through his head painfully. The glass fizzled softly, evidence of the medicine he kept in his cabinets in case of hangovers.

He raised his eyes blearily.

Merlin frowned from where he stood, and looked far too calm and awake for that early in the morning.

“It’s your own fault for drinking like that,” He said, and picked up what little remained of the large bottle of vodka. A bottle that had been full the previous night.

He nudged the glass closer to Arthur’s face. “Drink it. You’ll feel better soon enough.”

Arthur lifted his head slowly and reached with one hand to grab clumsily at the glass, grateful for the cool smoothness under his hand even as he struggled to down it all in one go.

Merlin just watched, expression indecipherable.

“You know,” he said conversationally when Arthur dropped his head back down into his arms and waited for the medicine to kick in, “People normally stay away from writing messages when they’re drunk for a reason.”

“Oh, yeah?” Arthur mumbled into his arms, uncaring if his words were distorted. “Why’s that?”

Because that had been the only time he managed to gather enough courage to say sorry.

“Because messages are never written well when drunk,” Merlin replied. “And auto-correct makes sure you send something entirely different than what you were trying to send. Unless you really were trying to tell me something about your father’s arse, and harder.”

That garnered a response from him, as Arthur jerked at the unwelcome mental image and lifted his head again to glare with reddened eyes at Merlin.

“I did not send that!”

“I have the message saved.” Merlin said sweetly. “If you ever want to read it.”

Arthur just shut his eyes tightly at his own humiliation. “And you’re here to make fun of me for that?”

“No. I came because I thought you would want to talk.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Merlin’s response was softer. “You wrote ‘sorry.’ And I know you, Arthur.”

The headache was slowly dispersing, enough for him to reply coherently.

“You don’t know me.” His voice was guttural, on the verge of being rankled. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? You don’t really know me, and I don’t know you. Not at all.”

He looked up again. “Did you put that memory in there on purpose? So that I would trust you? So that I would let you lead me to Morgana?”

Merlin thinned his lips in consternation. “Do you really think that, Arthur?”

“I don’t know what to think.” And the statement somehow carried more venom than he thought it would. “I suddenly find out that everything I’ve known was a lie- that I don’t have a sister. That my father isn’t just dabbling in politics, he’s conducting experiments on children. That my mother had something to do with this. That you’ve... I don’t know you at all, do I?”

“You do know me.” This time, Merlin cradled the near empty vodka bottle in his hands, looking lost. “I don’t know how, but I think you might know me better than anyone. God, Arthur, I don’t know. How I can swear to you that I didn’t know, not until I read that file?

“You want to know about me? We met when I was six, yeah? I moved away, attended school in Ealdor. My life was pretty boring. I remember... uneventful things. Birthday parties, struggling with my studies.” He gave a half shrug and sat down across from Arthur, although he kept his eyes on the table. “Uneventful things. I met people. Made friends. Didn’t really do anything all that important. Found out I was good at getting information from the Network. Very good. Good enough that people could accuse me of being a techmage even though I don’t have the up-links.”

And his expression looked so pained. “You were right the first time. I don’t have any up-links. Not a single one. I never found that odd, not really, not until you pointed that out. I wondered, you know, I wondered why I didn’t find that odd. I guess now I know why.”

Arthur stayed quiet, digesting this.

“And then... and then I read that thing. I read it, and everything just started making sense. Things I didn’t want to make sense of. I had such a boring childhood. But then I remembered another childhood. Maybe another life, because that’s what it felt like- just as real, but... not, at the same time. Or maybe even more real than my childhood.”

Arthur’s hand was tight around the empty glass. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear about it. He could still convince him that that it was some elaborate prank, played on him by Morgana because that was the type of person she was. Because it would be just like her to erase her own existence to spite their father. She would have dragged Merlin into this and made friends with Morgause to falsify the records, because only a techmage could do something like that.

Maybe the two files were a coincidence.

Maybe Guinevere was cruel enough to deny her best friend’s existence.

But no. Not that. Never that. If anything, he knew Gwen, and she wasn’t the type of person for pranks. She always smiled and gave it away, and she would never have been as cruel as Morgana because she had always been the one to reign Morgana in-

No. That wasn’t true, either.

He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know.

“What do you remember?”

Merlin was quiet, staring at the grooves on the table, fingers tapping along the bottle in his hands. For a while, Arthur didn’t think the other man would say.

“Not a lot.” Merlin admitted. “Flashes, more like. Feeling like I was asleep for most of it. I remember my dad- the dad I had in, in my other childhood I guess, I remember him staring at me. He wore white, and he looked. I don’t know. Pained. He said sorry a lot. Only to me, not to anyone else that I could hear. But it’s fuzzy.

“I think when I really woke up, or at least, I don’t know, woke up like I remembered things more clearly- I think he was already gone. Something had happened, and he died. I think. He died, and I woke up.”

Arthur stared at him. He couldn’t imagine having two sets of memories. It was bad enough trying to decipher through one set, although perhaps it was easier with two because it would be easier to say one set was fake and one was real.

“There was a kid,” Merlin continued, oblivious to Arthur’s thoughts. “Named Will. I remember him from school. In Ealdor. He was my best friend, and he moved away after school and I never heard from him again. But in the other memories, he.”

Merlin swallowed heavily, looking reluctant to speak now. But he continued. “I think he was an intern. Younger than the other people there, anyway. He didn’t know what was going on. He was the one who got me out when I woke up.

“I watched him die, Arthur. I watched him die, and God, I don’t know. I want to say that he just moved away. I want to say that, but I can’t find him on the Network, and I can find anything on the Network. I don’t want to search through the deceased. But I can’t find what he’s doing now, where he’s living. And I’ve looked. You know how fast I can find things, and I’ve been looking for him for months. Months and months.”

He sounded young, and hurt, and more confused than Arthur felt if that was possible. Only it was possible because Arthur hadn’t thought of it like that, to have people he knew and loved dead and hoping that they might not be due to an error in his own memories.

“So I didn’t know.” Merlin concluded, looking reluctant to say any more on the matter. “Not really, even if I did at the same time because I kept searching for Will, and because I told you that you really shouldn’t go meet Morgause.”

“You really thought that if you said I shouldn’t do something, I would stop?”

Merlin huffed out a bitter laugh. “Okay. Point to you, but I held out hope.”

“Merlin-”

The memory was there all of a sudden, something that had been on the edge of his mind until now, slamming into him like a sledgehammer. Arthur sat up straight, his hangover completely forgotten over the course of the conversation as it slowly dulled to a more socially acceptable level.

“Subject 05- there’s someone out to kill you-”

Merlin didn’t look panicked enough about it as he shrugged lightly, “Yeah. Mordred. He’s, yeah, he’s not the type to really wait around. That’s what I came here to tell you. I told Gwaine. I told him as much as I could, anyway, not everything because that just puts him in more danger. He thinks that I should take myself off the grid. Lay low for a while and see what happens, because I’m sure that’s what Morgause is doing for Morgana.

“You didn’t meet her, right? Actually meet Morgana. I don’t think Morgause would let you, since you could be a spy from your father or compelled by Mordred or something.”

Arthur gave him a careful look. “I met you.”

“Doesn’t matter. Could be that you’re trying to get me and Morgana both at the same time, and you wouldn’t even know it. That’s how Mordred manages to evade Morgana’s Sight, you know,” he hesitated. “The... probability program, I guess. To try and predict the future.”

“You know an awful lot for someone who didn’t remember.”

“I get information fast.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, feeling defeated. “And me? What am I supposed to do? Why even tell me these things? What am I expected to do? I’ve nothing to do with this, yeah?”

Merlin was giving him a careful look.

“Arthur, you’re-” He cut off, frustrated. “You’re Morgana’s brother. You’re my friend.”

“Yeah? And who’s to say you didn’t just target me for your weird memory swiping bullshit because my father happens to be Uther Pendragon, huh?” He couldn’t seem to stop the raised pitch in his voice, the climbing anger. “Who’s to say that this isn’t one giant scheme for some kind of revenge by turning me against my father? How am I supposed to trust what you say now, huh? Can you at least tell me that, Merlin?”

Merlin’s face was pale and pinched in the face of Arthur’s acrimony.

“You know,” He leaned back, looking for all the world like he was withdrawing into himself. “What you remember about when we were kids... I remember that, too. Just as clearly. Maybe more, since I don’t know how clearly you remember that. Don’t you think that I believe it happened?”

And the hangover was gone now, gone to leave only the bitter taste of disappointment in Arthur’s mouth. “That makes it worse! You’re just- you’re changing someone else’s memories without even trying to. That’s more than an invasion of my mind, Merlin, it’s something you have no control over so you might do it again and again and how the hell would I know the difference? From what you’re saying, how the hell would you know the difference?”

“I can’t know the difference. How could I? This is messing with my brain too.” Merlin tried to muffle his sigh, and set the bottle down in the table gently. “But you don’t have to worry. I just wanted to tell you. Because you should know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I told you. I’m going off grid for a while. And you need to go back to your life, especially since you don’t want to be involved in this, all of this. I’m sorry. You’re right, you shouldn’t have been brought into this but you were. I don’t know how to fix this, Arthur. But I don’t want to make it any worse, so I guess this was me coming to say good-bye.”

Arthur tensed up. “You can’t just leave.”

“What else can I do? You said it yourself- you don’t want to be involved.”

“I don’t, but I am involved now!” Arthur snapped. “You can’t just walk away and disappear when I find out about all of this.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Merlin’s voice was raised as well. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay because that would make things worse. And now you’re saying I can’t leave, either.”

Arthur slammed a fist down on the table, rattling his glass. “I don’t know!”

“Well, I can’t wait for you to find out if you know. Arthur-” Merlin cut off, looking very much like he had something important to say but couldn’t get the words out properly. Arthur stared, ignoring the dull throbbing in his temples as the medicine made its way through his system.

The silence was tense and awkward.

“...Nothing. Never mind.” Merlin finally said, and looked away. Arthur could feel a sharp pang of disappointment. Merlin was still keeping information from him. Secrets.

The other man stood up, the chair making a loud screeching noise against the floorboards as he moved, although Merlin didn’t seem very affected by the sound.

“I should go. I just-” he turned his eyes downcast. “Goodbye, Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t move from where he sat, still feeling the edge of grogginess and pain from his hangover, his muscles still aching and his head still somewhat fuzzy and dim.

Merlin stopped at the door for just a moment.

“For what it’s worth... I don’t think my brain made it up. Us meeting as kids. I’m pretty sure that was real. It’s the only thing that feels real to me right now.”

And he was gone before Arthur could formulate a reply.

-

It took two days.

Arthur cancelled his appointments and made the appropriate excuses, this time something about a vacation out of they country. He wasn’t too sure of it himself. He just wanted to make sure that people wouldn’t come looking for him when he needed the time to figure things out. He even left a message for his father, delayed for a week to reassure the man that his son was alright, and to please leave him alone and give him so time to himself.

He didn’t quite remember phoning Gwaine up, or of the tense conversation thereafter. There had been name-calling and shouting with a few threats mixed in. By the end of it, Arthur had come out with an address and a demand that he contact Morgause first and to stop calling Gwaine because if they were going to talk, it would be best face to face.

True to form, mere minutes after he had finished packing his essentials, Perceval showed up on his doorstep to collect him and lead him to a new place where Morgause was residing, again out of the way and looking all too shady.

She didn’t bother saying much thing time, instead staring hard at him even as he glared back, and handed him a list of instructions.

Don’t speak with people. Don’t use his up-link. Don’t stray too far away.

And most importantly, wait.

The list spoke a little of Mordred and what the boy could do, as well as the fact that Morgana would do her best to warn them should she foresee something happening.

When Arthur finally showed up on Merlin’s doorstep looking as regal as he ever did, Merlin only looked mildly exasperated.

Arthur counted that as an improvement.

-

The first week on the run and Arthur could scarcely believe that life as a fugitive would be so boring. Merlin managed to fake the records of him leaving the country to go somewhere sunny (Arthur never bothered to really look) on vacation. Gwaine visited from time to time, but there had been no communication with Morgause. She stayed silent on all lines, and Arthur could barely contain his urge to check the Network for any sign of her existence. But he didn’t.

‘Under the radar’ apparently meant doing nothing at all, because the consensus was that they were not to leave the safe house unless absolutely necessary, not to access the Network, and not to contact anyone.

It was, all in all, a complete bore.

If nothing else, Arthur had wanted to stay with Morgana. She was his sister (at least in his mind), and had been missing for well over eight months. He wasn’t ready to stay with-

With-

Merlin.

It was awkward, especially considering the way they had parted before. He felt as if he didn’t know the other man all that well (which was the truth, but somehow not true as well because Merlin’s presence felt as familiar to him as breathing), but Morgause had insisted that the two of them stay close together unless they wanted to be found out by Uther and then by affiliation, having Morgana found out by Uther.

It all made much more sense when Morgause said it than when Arthur thought about it. Actually, it didn’t make any sense at all to him, but with the urgency that had come on with finally finding Morgana, Arthur found that he couldn’t argue.

It didn’t mean that he had to like it.

“You changed,” Merlin had accused him after the first day when Arthur had ordered him to clean up after himself rather than leave the kitchen in a mess.

“Of course I have. I grew up.” Had been Arthur’s response, because everyone changed, especially after they grew up. Everyone except for Merlin, it felt like. It didn’t matter how mature the other man was or how intelligent, he still felt like the same senseless idiot from before. But Arthur was well too aware that no one stayed the same, even if they pretended to.

And Merlin had plenty of reasons to pretend.

They had argued and shouted for the first five days, unused to someone else in their living space and having to compromise. Arthur had raged about how Merlin left a complete mess everywhere he went, and Merlin had griped loudly about having to clean up after Arthur so much that he could stand to leave some of his own (minor, he claimed) messes around.

Arthur had thrown things. And then Merlin refused to speak to him rather than shout back, and that was nearly unbearable, especially since they weren’t to speak with anyone else. That meant there was no one Arthur could complain to.

It ended with him in the kitchen now, struggling to remember what Merlin had liked on his sandwiches. It had been two decades, and Arthur hadn’t been the one to make those sandwiches in the first place so he had a perfectly valid reason to not know.

“You don’t have to stay.” Merlin had said right before he left the room, not even having the decency to slam the door behind him. It would have made Arthur feel better if he had slammed the door, because at least then it would have been anger and that not subtle hurt behind everything he had been saying.

Of course he had to stay, Arthur thought angrily, putting a little too much force into spreading jam on the piece of whole wheat, the soft bread dipping under the force of his knife. Of course he had to stay. Morgana was his sister, and it really didn’t matter if that was true or not because he believed it to be true, and that was all that mattered to him.

His memories mattered to him, and that included those childhood memories he had sitting with Merlin underneath that thrice damned tree they had cut down. It included the explosive rows he had with Morgana whenever they couldn’t see eye to eye (and that happened frequently).

If those were all fake, what did that make him?

He could understand where Merlin was coming from- but no. He couldn’t. Not really. Arthur had just found out that some of his truest and most vivid memories were completely fake; he had reason to be upset, and reason to lash out.

Admittedly, he thought guiltily, not at Merlin. It wasn’t truly Merlin’s fault (even if it was), since Merlin’s memories were just as fake as his.

This meant they had never met under that tree, after all.

Maybe that tree had never been there.

That thought was somehow... depressing.

He smashed the two pieces of jam covered bread together, not caring to see what kind of jams he had slathered on before he threw it on a plate. Without bothering to wipe the blade, he used the same jam knife to cut the sandwich in half, remembering how they had shared as children.

(Or not. They never met as children, after all.)

He grabbed the plate and stepped toward Merlin’s room, making sure that he made enough noise that the other man wouldn’t be able to miss him.

He knocked, and waited.

“What do you want?” Came the indignant response, and it sounded as if Merlin was at the other side of the room.

“Look, I’ve got food.” Arthur paused. That didn’t sound quite right, but it was all he could really do, seeing as there was no way he was going to apologize because then that might somehow justify Merlin’s moping, and he didn’t want to do that. “Open up the door, will you?”

He stood there awkwardly, shifting his weight from side to side until he finally decided screw this because it was embarrassing trying to make amends, but then there was the soft sound of shuffled footsteps and the door opened just an inch. Just enough to see a sliver of Merlin’s face glaring out at him.

The look managed to raise Arthur’s hackles again despite telling himself he wouldn’t rise to the bait this time. It was just that somehow Merlin managed to get under his skin easier than most people (or maybe more than anymore. Arthur certainly had never been as irritated or frustrated with anyone like this before in his life, and he was stuck living with Merlin until Morgause contacted them again because they couldn’t give anything away to Mordred and he was starting to wonder if it was all worth it).

Merlin must have caught his expression, because he looked less than impressed.

Arthur caught himself, and swallowed down his pride. “So, can I come in?”

Merlin looked down at the plate and made a face. “I’m allergic to strawberry.”

“It’s not strawberry jam.”

“Yes, it is!”

“I’m the one who made these sandwiches, so no it’s not.” Not that it mattered he hadn’t looked at the labels of the jams he had filched from the fridge. “Besides, who has strawberry jam if they’re allergic?”

“This isn’t my flat and Gwaine was the one who packed everything-”

“That man adores you, he’s not going to put anything potentially dangerous in this place.”

Merlin pursed his lips, but didn’t deny that statement. It was hard to when Gwaine really had dropped everything on the spot to set up a network of safe houses when Merlin had confessed the need to hide.

“Fine.” He opened the door to his room wider to invite Arthur into the pristine bedroom. “But you don’t get to complain about the movie choice.”

He really did try not to, but Arthur ended up complaining. He stopped complaining, though, when Merlin finally decided that fine, the movie was absolute crap, and then starting splicing in new scenes together.

Which, Arthur had almost said before he caught himself just to stare at Merlin’s moving hands and almost glowing gold eyes, should have been impossible. But it wasn’t, of course, not for Merlin who had undisputed access to everything over the Network.

It took mere minutes for Merlin to dub over the movie with another soundtrack and edit not only scenes, but add fan made videos to create an entirely hilarious outcome that Arthur forgot all about the frightening power of techmages (of Category-10s, his mind whispered) and started laughing harder than he had in years.

And Merlin ended up really allergic to the strawberry jam on the sandwiches.

-

Three days, one panic attack, and several shouting matches later, and it felt like the two of them had lived together forever. Enough that Arthur could almost pretend he really had known Merlin all his life, and that little boy who tried to rescue a kitten from a tree had never moved away.

“It’s impossible to live up to him,” Arthur confessed on one occasion where the two of them had settled in with a beer and a plate of chips, an absolutely ridiculous movie on in the background. Merlin had been quiet, listening to him attentively as Arthur waved a chip around like a scepter. “He- he just has these impossibly standards, you know? And it doesn’t matter what I do, or even what’s physically possible. Every time I do something good, something amazing, he just looks like he expected it from me all along. And then every time I’m not the best, he just- he looks so disappointed.”

He slumped. “I hate that look.”

Merlin nodded sagely, and not for the first time, Arthur wondered if the both of them were a little drunk. Not enough for slurred speech, but still enough that... well, he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t have said anything of the sort aloud if he wasn’t drunk.

“You should do what you want.” Merlin agreed, and rolled over on the couch even as Arthur blinked up at him from where he sat on the floor. “If you don’t want to take over the business- don’t! If you don’t want to take over the business... uh. What did you want to do again?”

“I want to be a knight.” Arthur murmured into his drink. “Ride horses, fight with swords-” He brandished his chip fiercely. “-And save damsels in distress. Princesses.”

“High expectations.” Merlin commented lightly.

“No higher than my father’s.” He leaned closer to the couch. “Even my name! I mean, sure, there must be plenty of blokes named ‘Arthur’, but me, I’m the one who’s actually supposed to somehow live up to my namesake. King Arthur, you know? But of business. Because I can’t be a knight.”

“Better than ‘Merlin’.”

Arthur patted Merlin’s arm consolingly. “But you do live up to that name, don’t you? Techmage Merlin. Gods! I think I knew when we first met. How often was I going to meet a Merlin?” He paused to think about it. “Even though for some reason I know a Guinevere. And Lance. And they’re together. Isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious,” The word was slurred into a cushion.

“And we both know Gwaine. Gawaine. I feel like I really should be collecting knights of the round table or something. I want to be a knight. But I can’t be a knight. Isn’t that funny?”

Merlin lifted his head up enough to stare at Arthur with hooded eyes. He reached out and grabbed at Arthur’s wrist tightly. “Maybe you still can. Could. Maybe you were? A knight? Arthur, Arthur, do you really want to be a knight?”

Arthur just shrugged as Merlin finally gave into the urge to bury his face in the pillow. The techmage didn’t lift his head again as he drifted off, and Arthur turned his attention back to the movie playing in the background.

He had no idea what they were watching, but he could feel the distinct warmth of Merlin’s hand still on his arm.

-

They didn’t stay in the same house for long. The first time they had to move, it had been because Arthur had answered a call from Guinevere who shouted at him for endless minutes about how worried she had been when he stopped going to work, even if he left excuses with his secretary about taking an indeterminate amount of time off in order to figure out what the hell to do with this Morgana-doesn’t-really-exist problem (put more delicately, of course. There was some excuse about reoccurring illness and then about wanting to travel and not to worry. The paperwork was all there, provided by Merlin).

Arthur’s expression had been long-suffering when Merlin walked in with a basket of clean laundry, nodding and making the appropriate placating noises at the correct moments.

Quick call, he had mouthed to Merlin at the man’s shocked expression.

Merlin had dropped the laundry and knocked the phone to the ground in two strides, making sure to stomp hard on the small electronic.

“What the fuck-” Arthur managed to shout before Merlin pulled up an interface, looking grim.

“You don’t take quick calls!” And his long fingers were already flying over a keyboard that only he could see, the images reflected in his eyes, lighting them up to a golden colour. “I can keep us off the grid, but only if you don’t lead them to us!”

Arthur felt his breath catch as Merlin looked up with gold in his eyes. “I bought us some time. Maybe thirty minutes before they can trace the call.”

What followed had been frenzied packing as Arthur continued to shout at Merlin (although his heart wasn’t into it) about how expensive his phone had been.

They were barely three blocks away before the sounds of sirens assaulted their ears, and Merlin pulled his toque lower over his brows; gave Arthur a pointed look.

Arthur shut up about his calls being traced after that and stopped trying to placate Gwen and Lancelot about his safety.

Some weeks were quiet. Others, they moved frequently with Merlin coming up with new identities on a whim (nothing that would withstand close scrutiny, but would pass muster at first and second glance) and landing some close calls when Arthur realized that while Uther was perfectly content to lose Morgana’s existence, he was not content with Arthur running off.

There had been more than one instance when the two of them had crammed into a nook against the side of a building, Merlin’s eyes gold as he tried to change documents and records, the scrolling code looking like a reflection in his gaze and Arthur stayed tense and quiet, listening to men ordering a thorough search bare meters away and realizing that if they were found... if anyone managed to find them, Merlin would be killed.

For all the yelling and intentional bullying he directed toward the other man, he knew that he wouldn’t let Merlin die.

Merlin or Morgana.

It’s not a game.

No, it wasn’t.

And Arthur would press Merlin deeper into the shadows, breathing out carefully against the shell of Merlin’s ear.

-

Once, just once, Arthur managed to coax Merlin to speak of his nightmares. It had been one of the better nights, where Merlin woke without screams even though he shook and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, curling up into a ball at the edge of the bed.

“I can’t tell what’s real anymore.” Merlin admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as Arthur laid beside him, back to back for warmth and comfort.

Arthur shifted, itching to roll over and confront the other man, but not daring to in case it made Merlin stop talking.

“Your dreams?”

“Yes.” Merlin drew in a long breath. “Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

“What year is it?”

Arthur turned his head, concerned. “You don’t know?”

It was a long minute before Merlin finally shook his head, dark strands of hair barely moving on the pillow.

“No, I really don’t anymore.”

-

Arthur hadn’t meant to fall asleep that afternoon, head in his arms over a pile of reports and questions that he wasn’t supposed to answer. Questions from his father, questions from Guinevere, questions from every damn person he had known in his life before Merlin had entered it.

It was just as well that he ended up in the cafe down the street, anyway.

“Have you figured it out?”

Arthur turned his attention back to the young man sitting in front of him, away from the busy streets outside. Mordred was young, probably still in his teens with wide blue eyes that could have been deceptively innocent had it not been for how cold they were.

He looked like Morgana. He looked like Merlin. Arthur wondered if all the chosen participants looked related. Merlin had told him about Freya and Nimueh before, and they were supposed to be pale skinned, dark- haired, and bright eyed as well. He wondered if they were designed to be cold and beautiful.

Maybe they were related. How they hell would he know.

“You’re Mordred.” Arthur said, voice as calm as ever even though he knew he shouldn’t be calm. His eyes darted around the cafe, glad to know that it was one that had been close to where he lived as a child. Nowhere near where he was now. “And this is a dream.”

“Not a dream.” It was a voice, yes, but Mordred’s mouth didn’t twitch. In fact, the boy looked as eerily still as a painting, sitting with his hands by his sides and a steaming cup of tea before him. Those blue eyes were striking; chilling. “The Network. You’re very well protected, Arthur Pendragon. I couldn’t talk to you until now.”

“The Network doesn’t look like this.” It was strands of information, downloads and uploads, messages sent and received. It was a sort of augmented reality, not the cafe around the corner.

“It does for us.”

Everything looked real. Felt real. He could feel the dig of wood under his palm, the cold varnish and the thin napkin by his fingers.

“You mean for the Category-10s.”

Mordred’s expression shifted into something predatory and interested. It took barely a moment for the boy to deduce where he had gotten the information from. “Morgause.”

“I’m dreaming.” Arthur reiterated, because he knew. He had been warned by Morgause that it would be a method Mordred could use to attack him. As long as he stayed near Merlin, he was protected. It was like a force field, she had explained, that would encompass him. Mordred was not strong enough to attack while he was awake, but when he was asleep... he would have to stay close to either Merlin or Morgana.

“She lied to you, you know.” His voice sounded young, even if it was something that reverberated through his skull rather than coming from his mouth. “She’s not Morgana’s sister. You’re not her brother. Morgana and Merlin are my siblings.”

“You’re trying to kill them.” He felt far too calm. That was the most telling thing about this dream; he was far too calm. Felt like he had been drugged, like his emotions were shoved to the side so he could process things logically.

“No.” Mordred was still. “I want them to come home. They’re dying in the outside world.”

Dying.

“They’ll die if they go back.”

“That’s not something anyone can predict. Everyone dies. But they’ll last longer at home. Years, maybe an entire lifetime. Out here, they’re not going to last a few more weeks. They’re already dying. You know this.”

Of course he knew. He watched every day; the lagging reactions, thoughts that took longer and longer to process. It weighed on Merlin, like each thought was sent to an overworked processor and left in queue. It was harder and harder to wake him in the mornings, and his dreams became more and more vivid.

Just like Morgana, Morgause had confided to him quietly that time they met.

Mordred waited for him to respond. The world continued on around them, movement beyond the window and shuffling behind the counters. Everything was blurred like an focused camera, like Arthur was concentrating on something else, which he was.

He wondered how long he could delay his response. If he waited long enough, would he wake up without having to give Mordred an answer? Or maybe this world of his dreams lasted forever, a sort of infinite thought loop created by Mordred. Were Category-10s strong enough to create a world on the Network that could last forever? It could be powered by his brain.

And Mordred was infinitely patient.

“They’re not going back.” It wasn’t as if Arthur would give any other answer. “They’re never going back to that place.”

It must have been the answer that Mordred expected, but that did nothing to quell the hate in the boy’s eyes. “You have no right to decide their fates like that, Pendragon.”

“No,” Arthur responded, slowly, feeling bits of anger come back to him. It felt like a limb slowly waking up, tingling and uncertain. “That’s for them to decide. And they decided. I’m just making sure they get what they want.”

“They don’t know what they want. They’re going to die like this. Morgause may have painted me out to be enemy, but I’m the one trying to save them.”

Arthur took a good look at Mordred. The boy was still, utterly still. Despite the wealth of emotion (and by wealth he meant ‘very little’) in the boy’s eyes, his entire body looked frozen. His lips had never moved through his conversation, not even a twitch.

“No,” he answered slowly. “That’s not saving them. Do you even know what you’re saving them from?”

“Death.”

“By sending them to die?” Arthur leaned forward across the table, feeling the steam of the coffee against his skin. This is a dream. It didn’t matter if everything felt frighteningly realistic. He knew it was a dream, and Mordred was doing nothing to deny that fact. He had been warned about this, and no matter how genuine things felt, it wasn’t real.

This was Mordred’s world; a world so very real but not real at the same time. A world with vivid colours but his emotions pushed behind an wall, muted and barely there. The boy was so very still.

“Mordred, do you even know how to be alive?”

“No.” The answer came too easily. “And neither do they.”

And Mordred moved, his first movements since the beginning of the dream, leaning forward into Arthur’s personal space, undaunted and unflinching.

“Dreams feel like forever, Arthur Pendragon. But they always end. Always.”

-

There were bad days for Merlin as well.

Or, Arthur would admit reluctantly, the days got worse and worse for Merlin.

That was when Arthur starting seeing the signs of what it meant to be Category-10. Or, perhaps, that was when his writings started contradicting what he thought was true.

Went for food run today. Had an argument, didn’t talk to anyone.

His words were simple, but his memories complicated. They argued, yes, but on the food run Merlin had been as cheerful as ever, greeting several people he had known. Known, how? They had just gotten to the latest safe-house, and Arthur had been fairly certain that neither of them knew anyone in the area.

His words had implied a day of awkward silence, but that wasn’t what Arthur remembered. He remembered another argument after their food run, and this time the argument was about the pettiness of dishes (so domestic, he had been disgusted to say) and who had done them the previous day. They had sulked for a good amount of time before Merlin had turned on a movie he knew Arthur liked and Arthur had slowly crept into the room where they both sat and watched it, feeling much better afterward.

He felt like he was missing things.

One morning, Merlin had come from the bedroom and stared wide-eyed at Arthur as if couldn’t believe there was someone else in the room with him.

“What?” Arthur had demanded, unnerved.

Merlin swallowed hard, Adam’s apple moving up and down.

“How are you here?” Merlin asked, voice haunted. “I just.. I just watched you die.”

Those were the days Merlin wandered around the house in a daze, believing it to be several hundred years in the past. Sometimes it was the twentieth century. Sometimes, the fifteenth. Sometimes the twelfth.

He would touch his tablet reverently, awed by the technology in such a simple sheet of machinery. But more, he would stare at Arthur with a haunted look in his eyes, panicking when Arthur disappeared from his sight.

Then there were the days where he appeared perfectly fine, perfectly normal except for tiny things that shouldn’t have caught Arthur’s attention. Shouldn’t, but did.

“Look!” Merlin had called out once when he arrived home, holding up a large and squirming white bundle of fur. “Look! Do you remember her? It’s the same kitten! Do you remember? The one that got stuck in the tree?”

The cat (old and scruffy and looking entirely displeased) glared at out Arthur over the introductions.

“Merlin, what did you-?”

“She’s proof! She’s proof, Arthur, proof that we really did meet as kids. It wasn’t some fabrication, right? I didn’t change your memories!”

The cat yowled, and Arthur couldn’t seem to find the words that would say Merlin, it’s been twenty years. Merlin, there’s no way you could have found the same cat- we’re nowhere near where we met. Merlin, cats don’t live that long. Merlin. Merlin, I don’t care if we never met as children. I care that I know you right now.

Those were the days Arthur dared to write to Morgana, not knowing if she would get his messages or not, but wanting to think that if she was so powerful, then she would already know he was writing to her and wait for those messages.

I don’t know what to do. He typed, and then added a message to Morgause. Hurry.

Next