Archive of Our Own ^beta

Arthur wakes somewhere else clutching a dagger.

He was clean.

He felt lighter. Like rope had been tied to each of his limbs, chaining him to a single point and he’d finally been unbound.

“John?”

“Arthur!”

“John!” Arthur took a moment to stand. Wooden floor. Heavily polished. Metal stool in front of them. Some kind of bar? “Where are we?”

Music started playing, a little more discordant than when he was last here. Piano heavy and overbearing, drowning out everything else. But still, the Waylay.

“We’re at the Waylay John!” Arthur takes a moment to scan the room for John. He laughs in delight. “We’re at the Waylay!”

He slumped into a nearby booth, barely questioning why the layout seemed so familiar.

“It looks like some kind of bar, Arthur. Much less rundown than the ones we’ve seen.” John hesitated. “Or rundown in a different way? This one has a much more frantic air to it, as if everyone’s been startled.”

Arthur leaned further back in his seat, moving his eyes in what he hoped were helpful directions.

“It’s very clean. The bar is a comfortable size, big enough for a small stage, but not much else. It looks far nicer than most places we’ve been.”

“That’d be the Depression, John.” He was safe. They both were. He fiddles with the dagger in his hand.

“What do you mean by frantic?”

The dagger is still wet.

“Glasses are arranged haphazardly. The ones at the front placed without any care, while ones further in the back are placed neatly. Patrons talk in hurried whispers, eyes darting nervously, while their companions lounge drinking slowly from their drinks. It’s a half-made scene, Arthur. No one can decide what to do.”

“Does the music seem to be getting-?”

“More like hands slamming on keys? Yes.”

A knock interrupts their conversation.

“Mr. Lester?”

Both jump.

“There’s a waiter next to us. Their hair sticks out as if they’ve been tearing at it. Their uniform a- they frown at us, looking very irritated. I think they can hear-”

“Mr. Lester, the Manager would like to speak with you.”

Arthur pauses for a moment, remembering his last visit.

The waiter has no patience for him.

“Arthur! The waiter has taken our arm and is dragging us away. They're leading us down a hallway. It feels familiar." The waiter dropped Arthur's arm. "They’ve stop to grab a dark colored bottle from the wall.” A drink for their meeting?

“Familiar?”

“Doesn’t it feel like we’ve been here before?”

“Two doors away?”

“...Yes.”

The waiter unceremoniously opens the door, hands the bottle to John, and pushes them in.

The door closes with an unceremonious thud.

“A man in a white suit sits with his back against us at a desk. The nameplate says The Manager. Behind him are several corkboards covered in various papers with string haphazardly strung between. I can’t make out what they say.”

Arthur makes his way to the seat in front of the desk, resigned that he somehow already knows this place.

“Arthur the man turns around. He’s- he’s-”

“Hello, boys!”

Heavy curtains fall across the corkboards.

“Can’t have you seeing my plans, can I?” He spies the bottle in John’s hand and plucks it out. “And you brought me a gift, how nice.”

“Kayne!” Arthur starts.

“No!” The Manager’s voice fades into something less manic. Still very close to Kayne’s voice, but as if it was somewhere he used to live and had since started gaining the accent of wherever he’d moved to.

“No no no no no.” He takes a swig from the bottle. “You must be mistaken.”

John and Arthur sputter for a bit while The Manager watches.

“Look we’ve got maybe,” The Manager checks a nonexistent watch, “no clue and I need you to shut up and listen.”

“You’re Nyarlathotep.” Arthur clutches the dagger tighter.

“Give the boy a prize.” He takes another drink. “Yes. Obviously. Now-”

“Another version.” John adds.

“Glad everyone’s on the same page here.” The Manager eyes Arthur’s dagger. “As you live and breathe. Somehow. Ever figured out why you kept doing that?”

“Kayne-”

“Great less explaining to do.” He starts pacing around. “Crab cake? I’m practically overflowing in them. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Arthur hesitantly takes one.

“Wonderful. So quick recap. You, Arthur Lester, and you, John Doe, have been here before. Several times. I’ve been helping you.” He winks at John. “Just a little.”

“Why?” John asks.

Arthur had taken several more crab cakes and was attempting to eat enough to make up for months of starvation. It’s wasn't working, but points for effort.

“Do you want Kayne to end all of reality and take us with it?”

“No.”

“Well neither do I.” Another swallow. “You’ve ruined my plans, but maybe it’s for the better.” He hums. “Not really sure to do with all the pieces, but I can make it work.”

“What do you want from us?”

“A distraction.” He looks over at Arthur. At the plate loaded with crab cakes that was looking rather empty. “I’m cutting you off the crab cakes.”

“Are you sending us back, then?” Arthur frowns at John’s question. Or the lack of crab cakes.

“Me? No.” He laughs, less restrained than it could’ve been. “Why would I send you back? Kayne should be taking care of that; it’s why we have to hurry.”

“Hurry?”

“Kayne’s going to be reviving you any second now. He’s gotten very attached.” Pointed look at Arthur’s throat. “Wouldn’t have let you back in, but” he shrugs, “couldn’t really stop it and figured you’d like the break.”

“Can’t you do anything else?” Arthur begs. “Couldn’t you send us to the dark world or-or”

“Could I? Yes. Should I? I’d be giving myself away.” He offers Arthur back the crab cakes, possibly to console him. "Practically am already with this stunt."

The Manager turns to look over at his corkboard, flipping up the curtains.

He empties the bottle.

“You still have the lighter?”

Arthur blindly fishes it out of his pocket, an expression of shock crossing his face when he realizes it is actually still with him.

John takes it from him, examining it.

“Good. Good. I’d hoped, but with the way things have been going,” The Manager slumps back in his chair. “Thought I’d check.”

“Why?” Arthur takes it back from John. “I’ve had this for years. And before that it was at the apartment. It’s just a lighter”

“Was just a lighter, Mr. Lester. Now it’s a little more.” He waves vaguely as if that means something.

“What is it?”

“That’s not the right question. What it is – doesn’t matter, but what it does–” The Manager pauses his half-song. “What it does probably won’t be much use to you.”

“Then why-”

“Because I’m working off an old plan, Mr. Lester, and you can probably still find some use for it. Set Kayne on fire if you really want to.” He hums to himself and goes back to corkboard. “Could only do it once,” he shuffles various papers around. “How about this, when the time is right, which you’ll know, you do me a favor and set Kayne on fire.”

He considers the board for a moment.

“Maybe stab him first,” another look, “if you can manage that.”

He looks back to Arthur’s hand, dagger awkwardly held next to the lighter. John’s hand inching toward the lighter.

“Don’t do it too often, he’ll eventually catch on that he’s keeping you alive. And then whatever internal crisis is happening over there-” The Manager cuts himself off to laugh, growing more manic by the second.

“Arthur, he’s been staring at the dagger and your neck for several minutes. His eyes flit to something else, but keep returning back to you. I think he’s-”

“Now John, there’s no need to speculate. Just a warning. Whatever crisis Kayne is having, isn’t going to last forever. And as soon as he figures out you are at the center of it, you’ll be dead. And there goes my distraction.”

“I mean I’d have to get rid of my replacement yous, slightly less professional, but still ready to get the job done, and put you in their places. And then who would distract Kayne?”

The Manager shakes his head. “No, it’s much better this way. Much easier to work with.”

“So, you want us to just go back,” Arthur says, voice near tears, “pretend none of this ever happened, and wait.”

“Well, I’d prefer you entertain him a little bit. Give him something to focus on. Get his mind off of that little crisis he’s having about you.” He tries to take another drink of the bottle and finds it empty. “Keep it interesting." The Manager opens a drawer to get out a second bottle. "Stab him somewhere else.”

He sighs. “Just stop it with the dying thing and we should be fine.”

Arthur’s neck starts bleeding as several chunks of meat fall off.

“Ahh. Looks like you’re going back.”

“Please.” Arthur tries. “We’ll do anything. Just anywhere else.”

The Manager looks directly at Arthur. “Just you being here has put me in jeopardy. And yet, I gave you a break, I gave you some crab cakes, you got to relax. I just need you to wait a bit. Go back to what you’ve been doing.”

“Fuck, he’ll be excited to see you. Confused. Work with that.”

Arthur starts falling apart completely.

“And boys! I better not see you back here again.”

The Manager uncorks the new bottle.

Maybe this could work.