Chapter Text
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Beatrice asked suddenly, and John watched her hold up four fingers.
Arthur blinked. “Wha-” He frowned. “I’m not playing this game.”
Four.
“Four.” Arthur said.
“You just said that-” Beatrice huffed. “That’s cheating, he told you.”
“I’m not sure what you expected me to do then, I can’t see it.”
“Hmph.” Beatrice said, and she took a few steps before sitting down on the steps of her porch.
Arthur leaned against the railing, scratching at the wood with his finger. “...what did you tell them, anyway? About where you were? About who I am?”
“Not much,” Beatrice said. “Just that we wandered around a bit, you kept me out of trouble. I didn’t say anything about the tavern, or John Crops, or-” Her face looked sour. “...or Maggie.”
Arthur nodded, apparently unable to think of anything suitable to say back. John tried not to be hurt that Beatrice refused to look at him, and failed.
“...I’m sorry,” Beatrice nearly whispered. “I was mean, and I ran off, and I almost got you-”
“Beatrice, no,” Arthur said immediately. “I’m…I’m the one who’s sorry. You were upset, and I did nothing to help you. I shouted at you, scared you, and…well. You weren’t wrong, either. I hadn’t been telling you the truth about what was going on. I’m sorry.”
Beatrice didn’t say anything for a moment, pulling her coat closer to herself. “...I met John. Kinda.”
“Oh?” Arthur asked, sounding surprised. “How’s that?”
“I came back and saw you all unconscious and stuff,” Beatrice said. “And saw your eyes were open a little bit, and followed me. Your left hand was still moving and could make gestures.”
Arthur didn’t say anything, and neither did John, too scared to break the silence.
“Um…” Beatrice wriggled. “Can you tell him I said hi? John, I mean?”
Arthur chuckled, breathy and light. “He can hear you.”
“What?” Beatrice looked confused. “How does that work? You share your hearing but don’t share anything else?”
“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted. “The entire arrangement is still something I’m getting used to, honestly.”
“Well…” Beatrice said, looking like she wanted to ask more questions, but resisting. “Um…hi John.”
...hello, Beatrice.
John was so nervous it hurt, his hand twitching slightly in spite of itself.
“He says hello.” Arthur said, sounding like he felt just as awkward as John.
“Thank you…” Beatrice trailed off for a moment before she steeled herself. “Thank you for holding my hand in the storm. I was…” She wiped at her face, her voice becoming choked. “I was scared, really scared, and cold, and I know you were scared and cold too, but you were still trying to help me and protect me, even though I was mean to you. It…it meant a lot.”
I… John faltered, entirely unsure how to respond. Arthur, please tell her I was just as scared, and she helped me too. Thank her. Please.
“...he says thank you to you too,” Arthur said softly. “Sounds like you were very brave, Beatrice. We couldn’t have made it without you.”
“I saved the puppy too.” Beatrice said.
“What?”
Um, don’t worry about it Arthur, it’s not important-
“There was this big monster dog,” Beatrice said, gaining a bit more steam now that she got to talk about her accomplishments. “And he told me I had to kill it, and I said no way, and I stuck a stick down the monster’s throat, it barfed up a Black Turtle, and here-!”
The puppy stuck its head out of Beatrice’s coat, still bundled up with her. It looked at Arthur curiously, and yipped. “I still don’t know what to name him-oh, right, you can’t see. I’ve got a little puppy, he’s white with red spots around his back and face-”
“John usually does the describing for me, you don’t have to worry about it,” Arthur said, and John could hear concern in his voice. “Um, who told you that you had to kill it-”
Arthur, don’t freak out-
“Some weird monster guy called Kayne.”
“WHAT?!”
The puppy whimpered again, and Beatrice winced. “I-it’s okay! I outsmarted him!”
“You…” Arthur sputtered, and John could tell he wanted so badly to rage, but didn’t want to scare Beatrice. “Jesus Christ, you met…?! He’s the one who sent me here in the first place!”
“Oh.” Beatrice frowned, and tried to look casual, though John could see the nervous look on her face as clear as day. He decided not to relay it to Arthur. “Well…he was annoying. Super rude, even, but it was fine. I handled it.”
“Handled it-oh my God,” Arthur shook his head. “God, I…I’m so sorry. That’s…that’s not something anyone should have to go through. Much less a child.”
“It’s okay,” Beatrice said, smiling a bit now. “It’s not your fault. ‘Sides, I’m pretty tough.”
Arthur chuckled. “You’ve certainly proved that.”
John was quiet, and wished once again, that he could speak through his own voice into the world. It was odd. Besides the vague desire for his own body (not that he really knew how to go about that) he had never wished he could speak to someone personally. Unless it was to yell at them.
But he really, really wanted to speak to Beatrice. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to say.
Though there was one thing he wanted to say.
Arthur, tell… He trailed off for a moment. Tell her that she saved us. Please. And…that her brother’s death wasn’t her fault.
Arthur winced. “John…”
“What’d he say?” Beatrice perked up.
Arthur hesitated. “He said…he said you saved us-”
Beatrice grinned brilliantly. “Well, I know that-”
“-and that your brother’s death wasn’t your fault.”
Beatrice’s smile vanished in an instant, and she pet the puppy absentmindedly. “...oh. Um…right. I told you about that.”
“Your father filled me in on the rest of the details,” Arthur said quietly. “I’m…I’m so sorry, Beatrice.”
Beatrice was silent for a long moment, staring off into the snowy forest. It was dark, the night swallowing up anything that lay beyond the warm light of the home’s lanterns.
But within the lanterns, nothing seemed quite so awful anymore.
“...it…it was my fault, though,” Beatrice said, her voice wobbly. “I didn’t…I asked for him to keep me company, I was…I was just so lonely and scared, and I knew I might get him sick too, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even…”
Fire and earth, John thought suddenly, remembering the witch’s prediction Beatrice had told them about. Fever and burial.
“Beatrice,” Arthur said gently. “That absolutely wasn’t your fault.”
“But I-”
“Listen to me,” Arthur said urgently. “John and I have seen…we’ve seen a lot of cruel, evil people. Too many. People who have killed.”
“Like…” Beatrice wiped her face. “Like Kayne?”
“Like Kayne,” Arthur said. “And you…you’re not one of them. You’re not a killer. What happened to your brother was absolutely not your fault.”
“...that almost makes it worse,” Beatrice said. “That…that it was no one’s fault. That it happened for no reason.”
“...I suppose there is less comfort in not having anyone to blame,” Arthur said. “But it…maybe it happens the opposite way too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe if bad things can happen for no reason, good things can happen for no reason to.”
Beatrice looked thoughtful. “...maybe.”
There was silence for a long moment, before Beatrice glanced back up at Arthur. “Um…Kayne said something else too-”
“Anything Kayne says is a lie.” Arthur said shortly.
“Oh,” Beatrice said. “So you don’t have a dead daughter, then?”
John made a sputtering noise, despite having no mouth, and Arthur choked.
You don’t have to tell her if you don’t want too, I don’t think-
“No, I…” Arthur paused, and then sighed. “No. That’s…that was true.”
“Oh,” Beatrice nodded sagely, looking Arthur up and down. “That makes sense, actually. You act like a dad.”
“Do…do I?” Arthur said, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Sure,” Beatrice nodded, smiling slightly. “I don’t think you ever stop being a dad. Even if your kids aren’t around anymore.”
“Hm.” Arthur said, looking away. His voice sounded choked. “I…I never considered that.”
In a moment of reckless emotion, John reached his hand out, and took Arthur’s right hand silently. After a second of terrifying stillness, Arthur’s grip readjusted to more comfortably hold his left.
“Can I, um…” Beatrice sounded embarrassed. “Can I see John’s hand?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
“Can I see your hand?” Beatrice asked. “Please?”
...why?
“He asked why.”
“Just wanna.”
It wasn’t a very satisfactory answer, but with great hesitation, John reached his hand out, and Arthur turned back to face Beatrice. After a moment of staring, Beatrice took his hand, examining it carefully.
(The last person who held his hand was Maggie, choking and dying, and her grip had been like iron, and it hurt, and even as John squeezed back he knew it was useless, and he was so afraid that Beatrice might turn to feathers if he touched her again-)
Beatrice’s hands weren’t icy anymore, and he could feel the calluses that the Highwayman had described back in the tavern. She turned his hand over, examining the lines on the palm, nodding to herself.
She did not die.
“Mhm,” She said, tracing one of the grooves. “Mhm. Right. I can’t read palms.”
Arthur barked a laugh. “Were you trying to?”
“A little,” Beatrice admitted, and John chuckled. “I dunno what any of them mean. Can John play piano too?”
“No,” Arthur said. “In fact, he was having quite the moment at the vegetable people party.”
Arthur, shush. Shut up.
“Oh, yes,” Arthur said, ignoring John’s toothless growls. “Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so panicked before at the thought of little more than a performance-”
John wrenched his hand out of Beatrice’s, and clapped it over Arthur’s mouth. Arthur said “mph!” with more drama than was necessary, and Beatrice giggled uncontrollably, which was the ultimate goal.
“Guess that’s why you wouldn’t let me be your partner,” She said. “You have John, and all.”
“Well,” Arthur said, pulling John’s hand away. “Normally, I’d let you on the team. You’ve more than proven yourself by now. But we can’t stay here. John and I have other business to attend to far off elsewhere. And I think your family needs you here.”
Beatrice was quiet, looking thoughtful. “...yeah,” She said. “I guess you’re right. I’m the funniest one, after all.”
“Should have gone into comedy instead of acrobatics.” Arthur said.
“Maybe,” Beatrice said, and John saw her smiling. “Maybe.”
*** *** ***
“Miss,” Arthur said the next morning, downright embarrassed with the amount of fussing that Mary was doing. “I really don’t need all this-”
“Nonsense!” Mary said, and he felt her straighten the coat she had gifted him. “I’d never send a guest out into the cold without proper clothing and a good meal for later.”
“It’s not that cold anymore.” Arthur said weakly, but couldn’t deny he was grateful for the extra warmth.
He was standing on the family’s porch, and John had told him the sun was rising over pristine snow. The children in the house were all asleep, save for Beatrice, of course, who was watching with her parents as Arthur was given his bag back, stuffed to the brim with supplies.
“Be careful out there,” Adam said. “Stay on the path. You’ll find your way out.”
“You sound awfully confident.” Arthur said.
“Well, I am.”
“I can’t…” Arthur swallowed, fighting to keep his emotions in check, though this was more kindness than anyone had shown him in perhaps years. “I can’t ever imagine how to pay you back for your hospitality-”
The earrings! John said suddenly. Arthur, the earrings the tavern keeper gave you!
“Oh!” Arthur said, fishing around in one of the smaller pockets of his bag. His finger pricked slightly when it ran into something slightly sharp, and he pulled out the pearl earrings he had been given as extra payment for Beatrice’s story. “Here. Take these.”
“Where…” He could hear Mary’s surprise. “Where did you get these?”
“They were a payment,” Arthur said, unwilling still to reveal what Beatrice had lost. “Nevermind for what, it’s not important. Take them.”
“We couldn’t possibly-”
“Please,” Arthur said, holding out his hand more urgently. “What am I going to use them for? You need them more, you could sell them. They look fairly expensive.”
“We…” He heard Adam say. “Perhaps we could…use the extra money. For the winter.”
“Take them,” Arthur said. “I insist.”
After a moment, he felt someone take the earrings from him. “Aren’t you just full of miracles?” Mary said, her voice filled with awe.
Adam’s holding out his hand for you to shake.
“Thank you, Arthur,” Adam said, and Arthur managed to find his hand and shake it. “Thank you for everything.”
Arthur just nodded, worried his voice might crack if he spoke.
“Bye, Arthur,” Beatrice said, sounding gloomy. “I’m…I’m not gonna see you again, am I?”
After a moment, Arthur shook his head. “I don’t…I don’t expect so.”
He heard a small sniffle, and a shuffle, and then a surprised noise from John. Arthur, she’s coming at you, arms out, she’s gonna-!
Arthur nearly stumbled back at John’s sudden fear and confusion, only to feel a small pair of arms close around his middle. “Oh.” He said, his voice a bit choked.
After a moment of hesitation, he leaned down, and hugged her back tightly.
“Bye Arthur,” Beatrice said, and then, a bit quieter: “Bye, John.”
“Goodbye, Beatrice.”
Bye, Beatrice.
“...he said bye.” Arthur whispered.
*** *** ***
He’s in the trees, Arthur, John nearly whispered, a little after Arthur had begun the trek away from Beatrice’s house. The Beast is here.
Arthur froze, and took a breath. “...I’m not afraid of him,” He whispered, and then louder: “We’re not afraid of you.”
There was silence.
No song? John asked.
“No song,” The Beast said, sounding reluctant. “None for you.”
He’s hunched along the trees, hiding from the sun. He looks so much smaller now, Arthur. Just a shadow, nothing more.
“You can’t touch me,” Arthur said. “You can’t touch either of us. You can’t have us.”
“As if I’d want you.” The Beast snarled.
The pure, useless venom in the Beast’s voice made Arthur smile. “Sour grapes.”
“What?!”
“Nothing,” Arthur said, turning to face where the Beast’s voice was coming from. “You can leave now. There’s nothing left for you to say to us.”
“I have come to offer you peace, one final time,” The Beast said. “What awaits you back home is more hardship. More monsters. More pain and grief. And you know this. You know you are walking towards a new hell. Perhaps into a deeper circle than this one.”
Arthur frowned. “...I know.”
“And you don’t have to,” The Beast said. “Give me the fragment. I can erase it all. I will lift you out of these woods and into somewhere better, away from the heartbreak and depravity. You will never want, never desire, never end, if that is what you choose.”
Arthur. He’s lying.
“I know,” Arthur said, placing his gloved right hand on John’s left. “I know he’s a liar. The only way out of these woods is through.”
The Beast snarled. “You are a fool, Arthur Lester. You are both fools, utterly and completely.”
“The Woodsman didn’t kill me,” Arthur said. “Perhaps you ought to worry about your own before you worry about mine.”
He flinched, Arthur!
“I did not,” The Beast snapped. “My only regret is that I will not be able to watch the powers that be render you limb from limb, tear that useless piece from your mind-”
My name is John Doe.
“It is not!”
“If I didn’t know better, Beast,” Arthur said. “I’d say you were getting desperate.”
The Beast snarled like a dog, but Arthur didn’t flinch.
“...fine,” The Beast snapped. “Leave. You will only find more pain on the other side of the Unknown. I will find more souls to collect.”
“Not always,” Arthur said. “Someone will see through your lies, Beast. And it’s going to happen sooner rather than later.”
“What are you, a prophet?”
“No,” Arthur said. “Just a Wanderer.”
He heard the Beast hum, almost thoughtfully, though it was laced with rage. “...leave, then. Enjoy your sorrows; present, past, and future.”
“You don’t scare me,” Arthur said. “You don’t know what’s coming. And I’m not quite as afraid to face it as I was.”
Silence.
He’s gone, Arthur, John said, sounding amazed. He ducked into the shadows, and…the world, it’s…it’s melting away, almost like a streaking watercolor painting.
Arthur held completely still, terror suddenly shooting through his veins like fire. What if the Beast had tricked them, one final time, and this was the end? Sent to the Dreamlands, or the Dark World, or someplace new altogether?
And then he heard people talking.
Arthur! John said, sounding shocked. We’re in an alley, next to a busy street, we…oh my God, Arthur…it’s Arkham! We’re back in Arkham!
Arthur took a shuddering breath, fighting to keep himself from breaking down into relieved tears. “Oh, Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ, we…fuck. Fuck.”
I know, John said. I know. Take a moment. Breathe.
Arthur reached out blindly until he felt the wall, sliding down against it and taking several deep breaths. He could hear the busy street of his home, people milling about, completely unaware of the man and his seeing-eye-god on the edge of a breakdown from relief.
It’s afternoon, John said, his voice as quiet and soothing as it could be. The sky is gray and cloudy, and there are a few snowflakes around us. Frost covers some of the pavement, and the air is still. No one will bother us while we’re here. We’re safe.
“Do you…” Arthur took a shuddering breath. “Do you think the Beast was right? About there being nothing but more pain and suffering?”
...no. I don’t think so. At least, not all of it. It’s like Adam said. Beauty in the in-between.
“...joy in the Unknown.” Arthur whispered.
...we’re not done, though. There’s still so much to do.
“...I know.”
But… Arthur felt something-or rather, someone-grab his hand gently. But we can do it.
Arthur squeezed John’s hand back. “Yes. We can.”
He stood up on steady legs, and brushed himself off. He took one final steadying breath, not letting go of John’s hand.
Into the unknown?
Arthur nodded. “Bravely and confidently into the Unknown.”
And Arthur Lester and John Doe stepped back into Arkham.