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Merlin - Never Gonna
Not sure if I need to apologise for this one or not...
Title: Never Gonna
Genre: Modern AU, Slash, Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~4,000 words
Warnings: mild descriptions of injuries
Synopsis: Sometimes Arthur’s co-dependency comes in handy. In which there is a crash, talk of biscuits, and a lot of snow.
Author’s Notes: Sorry for the slight Rick Roll via fic. Maybe.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
“He’s a prat,” Merlin announced definitively. “A self-centred, egotistical, arsehole...”
“Prat?” Morgana finished helpfully from the driver’s seat. She flashed him a quick grin before returning her attention to the road and asking, “So why do you keep taking his calls?”
“I...” Merlin started, but did not know how to finish. He crossed his arms in front of him and looked out the window at the icy white world streaming by.
“Is it because, even though he is a self-centred, egotistical, arsehole of a prat, you still kind of love him?” Morgana guessed.
Merlin glared at her, but knew his silence would be damning, so he eventually managed, “I do not.” Too bad it didn’t even sound convincing even to his own ears.
His mobile chose that moment to ring, and he once again cursed the fact he had left it out the week before and the prat in question had reset the ringtone that he still had not figured out how to change back. He flipped it on as much out of instinct as to stop the dulcet tones of Rick Astley, only to hear said prat enthuse, “Merlin! Hey, while you are out, could you pick up some biscuits? Not those tasteless whole-grain-whatever things of yours, but those chocolate ones?”
“Arthur,” he sighed, ignoring Morgana’s sniggering off to his side. “I am going to a symposium, not a Tesco.”
“Of course,” came the tinny, yet still clearly placating, reply. “I meant on your way back from your Simpson-thing.”
“Symposium,” Merlin automatically corrected. “And this is a two day event, meaning you will have to fend for yourself, biscuits and all, for two whole days on your own.”
He could picture the resulting pout as much as hear it. “Two days? Come on...” Arthur wheedled. “Surely nothing about dusty books can hold your attention for two days when you’ve got me waiting for you at home, baby...”
“Please do not call me baby,” he muttered. It was not that the word was a breaking point, or some magic incantation that got Arthur whatever he was after this time. Quite the opposite, really. Merlin despised that little term of endearment, and it usually made him shut down completely instead of give in. He would have thought Arthur would have realised this by now but, then again, the man was not known for his aptitude at reading people, so there was that.
He was about to go off on him and tell him not only where he could purchase his special little biscuits himself, but where he could shove them once he did, but found the mobile removed from his grasp and suddenly in Morgana’s own terrifying hands.
“Look you overbearing arse, we are going on this little weekend getaway to get away from you,” she began, already making Merlin hold his head in his hands. “The poor boy needs a break and the chance to use that impressive brain of his on something other than explaining the big words in those comic books of yours. We might be back Sunday night. We might not. I might find him some hot young thing from Spain to take his mind off your idiocy and help him see the light and finally get a real boyfriend and not some mindless jock who thinks footie is the be-all end-all of the world.”
With that, she tossed the phone over her shoulder and into the back seat, safely out of reach of either one of them. Merlin could still hear Arthur’s protests, which meant his phone was both still on and not actually damaged. Well, he could hear them, right up until Morgana cranked up the techno music she had on the stereo to block him out.
“Morgana,” he chided, but his heart was not really in it. The fact he was laughing at her antics probably gave him away. She was the one who said he needed a break, and he was starting to believe the wisdom of her ways.
“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, but not taking her eyes off the curve she was currently negotiating. “You chose to be with him, I’m stuck by blood. At the very least we can both choose to shut him up at times, yeah?”
Merlin was tempted to agree, even though he swore he heard a familiar squawking trying to shout over the pulsing beat. Instead, something else entirely came out of his mouth as a lorry attempting to negotiate the same curve in the opposite direction slipped on the ice and careened straight for them. He heard the screech of tyres and the crumple and shearing of metal and felt himself tossed against the inside of the car, the safety belt cutting painfully into his skin as it tried to hold him in place.
The car kept sliding, carried by the momentum of the lorry, grinding against stone and ice. The world swirled around him, a kaleidoscopic mess of whites and greys and metal and snow, and, as his head smacked against the window he swore he heard the squawking still echoing in the background, only this time it seemed to be only a single word over and over again.
He opened his eyes not even remembering having closed them. His head throbbed hot and blazing against the blessed coolness of the glass, and it took him a moment to realise that his temple was pillowed on shards, and the coolness was from the snow seeping through. He tried to push himself up and away from the sharpness, body protesting even the slightest of movements, not surprised to see red tingeing both his vision and the white beneath him. Something brushed against his face, almost tickling his over-sensitised skin, and he turned his head to find Morgana’s dark curls resting against him.
He blinked to clear his vision, still seeing double but at least he was now able to identify just what each double was. They were at an angle, Morgana hanging limply in her seat, caught by her belt. He reached with tentative fingers to check for a pulse and let out a shaky breath of relief when he found one. She was unconscious but alive, and that was all that was important right now.
His side of the car was crushed against something solid, likely the recently ploughed snow or more of the rocks or possibly both, and the other was dented, but he could see the grey sky through the cracked glass. The windscreen was folded in on itself, safety glass desperately trying to cling together though several pieces had already rained down upon him. The music had stopped and he had the presence of mind to reach for the keys even though he was fairly certain the low rumble in his ears was not from the engine.
The noise did not stop, but faded in the background as he tried to concentrate on his greater surroundings. The main road seemed off in the distance to his right somewhere, but also a bit above them. He vaguely remembered the steep shoulder and guessed they now lay in the rut to the side. If he squinted, he thought he could see the very edge of the top of the lorry, laying on the tarmac and letting off a great deal of smoke and steam. He had no idea if the driver was safe, and neither did he know if they were the only two vehicles involved. He thought they were on a fairly empty stretch of road but, then again, he also thought a trained driver would know well enough as to how to take a turn on a snowy day, so there was that.
What worried him was that there was no way of telling if help was on the way. If the driver was unconscious, or worse, there would be no report and no sending of emergency vehicles. If no one was around to see them, the same situation applied. The giant carryall Morgana called her purse was spilled about the wreck, lipstick and hair ties and books everywhere, and he supposed he could search for a phone, though it would likely take time to sort through the mess.
A glance to Morgana and he decided he had more important worries right now. She was so very pale, and still not moving in the least. He tried calling her name, and swore he saw the faintest flutter of her eyelashes, but nothing more. She was at the oddest angle, and he feared she was trapped in some way, maybe even bleeding out slowly without his knowledge, dying right there next to him while he sat and did nothing but shiver in the cold worming its way in and wrapping itself around them both.
He knew there was not much he could do, but he had to at least try. With shaky hands, he undid his belt, hissing as the harsh fabric slid across him. His left side ached, with the pain centred in his temple and forearm, radiating out to encompass his shoulder and neck. He ignored that for now and shifted slightly in his seat, trying to get a better view of his friend. He saw she had blood on her side, staining her pale blue jacket a dark purple, but it did not seem like a lot, at least not yet. He was worried about her legs as she was twisted into the most awkward of positions and they appeared pinned between the pedals and the dented metal.
He reached for her, but paused when he registered a noise. It was his name, both shouted and muted at the same time. For a moment he hoped it was rescuers on their way to find them, though he could not begin to think how they knew what to call him. After a frantic look around, he realised that, no, there was only the smoking lorry and no sign of anyone or anything else.
He heard it again and thought maybe Morgana was waking, muttering something under her breath, but her lips did not move and he could still hear her shallow breaths over the words.
He heard it once more, this time followed by profanity and something that sounded suspiciously like, “Oh for – Leon, try Morgana’s mobile and see if there’s a response!”
His sluggish mind put two and two together and finally realised it was Arthur, still on the line. Morgana had tossed the mobile behind her but did not turn it off, and now Arthur, glorious, prattish Arthur was within hearing range, if only via the wonders of modern technology. “Arthur?” he tried, ignoring the slight tinkling buzz that came from somewhere around his feet.
“Never mind, I got him!” Arthur called, followed by, “Merlin! Can you hear me?”
“Obviously I can hear you; that’s why I’m talking to you,” Merlin replied, rolling his eyes. The action ignited a new wave of pain in his head and reiterated the fact that he likely had a concussion amongst his numerous other injuries.
“Cheeky little thing, so you must be fine,” Arthur commented, voice only slightly calmer now. “You didn’t answer, so I was beginning to get worried.”
Merlin ignored the commentary and focused on the important things for now. “Not fine,” he corrected, wondering why his throat hurt to talk at a volume loud enough for Arthur to hear. “There’s been an accident.”
“Gathered that much from the all the crashing,” Arthur replied. Merlin managed to look enough behind him to see the mobile nestled in an old blanket, miraculously in one piece. “How bad was it and where are you?”
“Don’t know where we are,” Merlin admitted. He remembered a curve, and ice, and that was about it. “Morgana’s hurt. She won’t wake up and there’s blood, both hers and mine.”
There was a new tone to Arthur’s voice now, one Merlin almost did not recognise, as he demanded, “How bad? How bad are the injuries?” There was something in the background Merlin could not quite get, followed by a much quieter Arthur telling someone who was probably Leon how to track Morgana by the fancy mobile she was gifted with by their father at Christmas.
Merlin hoped that meant they would be sending help as there was still no sign of an ambulance or police yet. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the accident, or how long he had been out of it, but he knew time was of the essence and they needed help sooner rather than later. He told Arthur what he knew of their injuries, and listened to Leon fighting with a computer in the background and then calling for an ambulance on another line while Arthur kept up a running stream of words, some of which managed to make sense and some that had no meaning at all.
He wanted to hear Arthur better, to hold on to a silly little piece of plastic and wires and think of it as a connection to the real world and the help that was hopefully on the way. It was behind him, he could see it. It was just out of reach now, but maybe he could get it with a little bit of manipulation. He reached for the lever to recline his seat and could not help the holler that came from what he knew was only slight resistance against his hand.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur shouted across the line.
Merlin gave himself a moment, letting the bright lights behind his eyes fade and his breathing get a bit more under control, ignoring Arthur’s continued yells until he could form the words to say, “Was trying to reach the mobile. Think my arm is broken.” He did not want to look beneath his sleeve, afraid of what he would find, and he really hoped Arthur did not ask him to do so.
There was a commotion in the background and then Arthur’s voice was back on the line. “Forget the mobile, just try to breathe, baby,” he instructed.
“Not your baby,” Merlin recited by rote.
“Sure you are,” Arthur replied, trying to aim for suave and collected and failing by a mile. “You’re my baby and you are going to let me take care of you. I’m going to hold you and keep you safe and feed you those ridiculous biscuits of yours and...”
“And never leave?” Merlin guessed, not that he particularly wanted him to right about now.
“And never leave you,” Arthur confirmed.
Merlin felt his lips twitch into a smile even though he knew Arthur was not able to appreciate the gesture. He shivered as the wind cut in to his little crumpled shelter, and winced as his injuries flared at the subtle tightening and release of his muscles. “It’s cold,” he admitted, wondering why his words sounded slurred and sluggish. His head drooped slightly and he caught sight of the blood on his shoulder and wondered if that had anything to do with it.
“You’re fine,” Arthur insisted, and Merlin wondered how he could know since he wasn’t there. “Help is coming and should be there soon,” he continued in the same soothing tone.
Merlin shivered again, which made him wince again, which made his side protest again. “Glass is broken, snow’s getting in,” he explained.
Maybe it was the knowledge that help was on its way, but he found it harder and harder to stay focused and awake now. His eyes kept wanting to close, and the white was so painfully bright anyway, or at least it seemed that way. He looked to Morgana, so pale and not even shivering. Her lips were turning blue, though from the cold or lack of oxygen from some unseen injury, he did not know.
“Need to get warm,” he muttered, trying to figure out how he was going to do just that.
“Try to imagine me there with you, holding you tight,” Arthur told him. It was cheesy and cliché and so very Arthur. “Better yet, the both of us are snuggled up next to a fire, wood crackling and roasting marshmallows and sipping chocolate.”
“Or I could just grab the blanket,” Merlin countered, earning a huff of frustration for his troubles. There was so much background noise around Arthur that he technically could not be certain the huff was directed at him, so he chose to ignore it.
He leaned back as far as he could in his seat, wary of trying the lever again. It was not quite enough, so he twisted in a slightly less painful way and reached across himself with his good arm, managing to snag the release and flop the seat back. It took a moment for the resulting dizziness to pass, but his fingers soon brushed the soft material so it was entirely worth it. He tugged it closer and crowed in triumph, right up until he heard a muted thump of something hitting the floor and he remembered just where the phone had been nestled.
“Arthur?” he tried, cringing at the lack of response. He bit his lip at his own stupidity. He just hung up on his boyfriend. Arthur was going to kill him.
Figuring he might as well make use of the boon he had earned with his sacrifice, he shook the blanket out one-handed and spread it the best he could over both himself and Morgana, using care to tuck it around her where he could reach while he desperately hoped it was enough.
He jostled her accidentally, and she moaned at the movement. “Shh,” he soothed, and she seemed to settle. “Just trying to keep us warm.”
The additional words had the opposite effect though, and her eyes blinked open, only to widen further when she saw where she was and just what condition she was in. She flailed and managed to knock his already aching head and do something to herself that made her make the most interesting of noises before falling limp again.
Merlin saw her chest move as a sign she was still breathing, and then saw the growing stain on his own shoulder as his head wound had apparently decided it was time to gush with the abuse it had received. As the white around him seemed to fade to grey, he swore he heard someone promising that they were never going to desert him.
He next opened his eyes to the sound of voices, only they were not tinny or muffled or in the least familiar. The white was still to his left, smudged almost pink and accented with sharp angles of stained glass. To his right was the obnoxious purple of the blanket still draped over Morgana and partially over himself. The voices came from outside their little shelter though, and it took him a moment to make sense of the bright mosaic that he saw through the shattered windscreen.
The rescue workers had arrived.
His next memories were an amalgam of instructions and noises and pain. He held the blanket over both his face and what he could reach of Morgana while they broke through the remainder of the windscreen to get to him. Heavy tarps were placed over the sharp edges and he was pulled out and belted to some trolley-like thing that may or may not have had actual wheels and wrapped in layers far heavier than chenille.
Morgana was trapped, they explained as he was carried up to the roadside, and they needed to cut her out, but wanted him away from the possibility of sparks and shearing metal. There was a medic with her to make certain she was stable and stayed that way, and they promised him that she seemed to only have a broken leg and a severe concussion, though they could not tell for certain until they managed to get her free.
He was given something that made his head feel fuzzy and he had the distinct feeling that he was going to pass out again. He felt something get tucked into his hands and heard someone ask if they could make it stop already, and then he did not really hear or feel anything at all.
He did not remember being placed in the ambulance, nor did he remember the ride or the visit to A & E replete with x-rays and bone setting and casting and a lot of other things that he was quite certain were quite unpleasant, so at least there was a positive side to whatever they gave him.
His next cognisant memory involved the smell of antiseptic, the scratchy feel of slightly rough sheets, and the annoyance of his left arm immobilised from just below his elbow to just past his wrist. “Awesome,” he groaned, the sound of his own voice setting off a reverberation in his skull.
There was a shifting to his side and the squeak of a chair against linoleum that made the earthtone colours of the room dance before his eyes for a moment before he managed to look to his right and find the source of the commotion. “You’re awake!” Arthur breathed. Merlin would have commented about him stating the obvious, but he looked so worried and dishevelled that he just could not bring himself to do so.
“Yeah,” he agreed instead. “Though I rather wish I was not.” He shifted against the too flat pillow and felt new and interesting aches awaken. “How is Morgana?”
“She might need a pin in her leg, but that’s the worst of it aside from some damage to her ribs,” Arthur promised. “Banged up like you, livid about the car, and having some interesting words to say about the incompetence of lorry drivers. Dad’s with her now, promising her practically everything if she just stays okay.”
“And you?” Merlin asked. Morgana was Arthur’s sister, he highly doubted the blithe response was the only emotion Arthur was feeling about the whole thing right now.
Arthur reached out his hand and let his fingers rest against Merlin’s uninjured wrist. Through the warmth of the touch, Merlin swore he felt the faintest of trembles, something reinforced when he glanced up to see a haunted look in the other man’s eyes. “Just really glad you are okay,” Arthur answered after far too long of a pause.
Merlin tried to give him a reassuring smile, but did not know how successful he was at the attempt. “Why don’t you go check on Morgana, see how she’s doing for yourself?” he offered. As much as he wanted Arthur with him right now, he knew his attention was divided, not that he faulted him in the least. It was his family, and he deserved to know how his thankfully living relatives were doing versus hanging out to hold his boyfriend’s hand, no matter how much said boyfriend really wanted said hand to be held.
Arthur shook his head. “Dad’s giving me updates and Morgana doesn’t want anyone seeing her with her hair all knotted like that anyway,” he shrugged. “Besides,” he said, shifting closer, “I do believe I made a promise about never letting you go.”
At that, Merlin snorted out a laugh despite the pain. “That damn song has been in my head since you called, you know,” he commented. “I think the medics threatened to smash the phone at one point before one of them figured out how to turn it off. Please change it and never, ever program that in again.”
Arthur smiled, real and true, and offered Merlin a quick kiss on his knuckles before promising, “Anything you want, baby.”
“Not your baby,” Merlin responded on instinct.
“Yes you are,” Arthur smirked. He offered another kiss and squeezed the wrist beneath his fingers just a tiny bit tighter for a moment as he said, “Now try to get some rest. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
As Merlin let his eyes close of their own volition, he realised that yeah, he probably would be, and he did not think he was going to mind at all.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: Never Gonna
Genre: Modern AU, Slash, Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~4,000 words
Warnings: mild descriptions of injuries
Synopsis: Sometimes Arthur’s co-dependency comes in handy. In which there is a crash, talk of biscuits, and a lot of snow.
Author’s Notes: Sorry for the slight Rick Roll via fic. Maybe.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
“He’s a prat,” Merlin announced definitively. “A self-centred, egotistical, arsehole...”
“Prat?” Morgana finished helpfully from the driver’s seat. She flashed him a quick grin before returning her attention to the road and asking, “So why do you keep taking his calls?”
“I...” Merlin started, but did not know how to finish. He crossed his arms in front of him and looked out the window at the icy white world streaming by.
“Is it because, even though he is a self-centred, egotistical, arsehole of a prat, you still kind of love him?” Morgana guessed.
Merlin glared at her, but knew his silence would be damning, so he eventually managed, “I do not.” Too bad it didn’t even sound convincing even to his own ears.
His mobile chose that moment to ring, and he once again cursed the fact he had left it out the week before and the prat in question had reset the ringtone that he still had not figured out how to change back. He flipped it on as much out of instinct as to stop the dulcet tones of Rick Astley, only to hear said prat enthuse, “Merlin! Hey, while you are out, could you pick up some biscuits? Not those tasteless whole-grain-whatever things of yours, but those chocolate ones?”
“Arthur,” he sighed, ignoring Morgana’s sniggering off to his side. “I am going to a symposium, not a Tesco.”
“Of course,” came the tinny, yet still clearly placating, reply. “I meant on your way back from your Simpson-thing.”
“Symposium,” Merlin automatically corrected. “And this is a two day event, meaning you will have to fend for yourself, biscuits and all, for two whole days on your own.”
He could picture the resulting pout as much as hear it. “Two days? Come on...” Arthur wheedled. “Surely nothing about dusty books can hold your attention for two days when you’ve got me waiting for you at home, baby...”
“Please do not call me baby,” he muttered. It was not that the word was a breaking point, or some magic incantation that got Arthur whatever he was after this time. Quite the opposite, really. Merlin despised that little term of endearment, and it usually made him shut down completely instead of give in. He would have thought Arthur would have realised this by now but, then again, the man was not known for his aptitude at reading people, so there was that.
He was about to go off on him and tell him not only where he could purchase his special little biscuits himself, but where he could shove them once he did, but found the mobile removed from his grasp and suddenly in Morgana’s own terrifying hands.
“Look you overbearing arse, we are going on this little weekend getaway to get away from you,” she began, already making Merlin hold his head in his hands. “The poor boy needs a break and the chance to use that impressive brain of his on something other than explaining the big words in those comic books of yours. We might be back Sunday night. We might not. I might find him some hot young thing from Spain to take his mind off your idiocy and help him see the light and finally get a real boyfriend and not some mindless jock who thinks footie is the be-all end-all of the world.”
With that, she tossed the phone over her shoulder and into the back seat, safely out of reach of either one of them. Merlin could still hear Arthur’s protests, which meant his phone was both still on and not actually damaged. Well, he could hear them, right up until Morgana cranked up the techno music she had on the stereo to block him out.
“Morgana,” he chided, but his heart was not really in it. The fact he was laughing at her antics probably gave him away. She was the one who said he needed a break, and he was starting to believe the wisdom of her ways.
“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, but not taking her eyes off the curve she was currently negotiating. “You chose to be with him, I’m stuck by blood. At the very least we can both choose to shut him up at times, yeah?”
Merlin was tempted to agree, even though he swore he heard a familiar squawking trying to shout over the pulsing beat. Instead, something else entirely came out of his mouth as a lorry attempting to negotiate the same curve in the opposite direction slipped on the ice and careened straight for them. He heard the screech of tyres and the crumple and shearing of metal and felt himself tossed against the inside of the car, the safety belt cutting painfully into his skin as it tried to hold him in place.
The car kept sliding, carried by the momentum of the lorry, grinding against stone and ice. The world swirled around him, a kaleidoscopic mess of whites and greys and metal and snow, and, as his head smacked against the window he swore he heard the squawking still echoing in the background, only this time it seemed to be only a single word over and over again.
He opened his eyes not even remembering having closed them. His head throbbed hot and blazing against the blessed coolness of the glass, and it took him a moment to realise that his temple was pillowed on shards, and the coolness was from the snow seeping through. He tried to push himself up and away from the sharpness, body protesting even the slightest of movements, not surprised to see red tingeing both his vision and the white beneath him. Something brushed against his face, almost tickling his over-sensitised skin, and he turned his head to find Morgana’s dark curls resting against him.
He blinked to clear his vision, still seeing double but at least he was now able to identify just what each double was. They were at an angle, Morgana hanging limply in her seat, caught by her belt. He reached with tentative fingers to check for a pulse and let out a shaky breath of relief when he found one. She was unconscious but alive, and that was all that was important right now.
His side of the car was crushed against something solid, likely the recently ploughed snow or more of the rocks or possibly both, and the other was dented, but he could see the grey sky through the cracked glass. The windscreen was folded in on itself, safety glass desperately trying to cling together though several pieces had already rained down upon him. The music had stopped and he had the presence of mind to reach for the keys even though he was fairly certain the low rumble in his ears was not from the engine.
The noise did not stop, but faded in the background as he tried to concentrate on his greater surroundings. The main road seemed off in the distance to his right somewhere, but also a bit above them. He vaguely remembered the steep shoulder and guessed they now lay in the rut to the side. If he squinted, he thought he could see the very edge of the top of the lorry, laying on the tarmac and letting off a great deal of smoke and steam. He had no idea if the driver was safe, and neither did he know if they were the only two vehicles involved. He thought they were on a fairly empty stretch of road but, then again, he also thought a trained driver would know well enough as to how to take a turn on a snowy day, so there was that.
What worried him was that there was no way of telling if help was on the way. If the driver was unconscious, or worse, there would be no report and no sending of emergency vehicles. If no one was around to see them, the same situation applied. The giant carryall Morgana called her purse was spilled about the wreck, lipstick and hair ties and books everywhere, and he supposed he could search for a phone, though it would likely take time to sort through the mess.
A glance to Morgana and he decided he had more important worries right now. She was so very pale, and still not moving in the least. He tried calling her name, and swore he saw the faintest flutter of her eyelashes, but nothing more. She was at the oddest angle, and he feared she was trapped in some way, maybe even bleeding out slowly without his knowledge, dying right there next to him while he sat and did nothing but shiver in the cold worming its way in and wrapping itself around them both.
He knew there was not much he could do, but he had to at least try. With shaky hands, he undid his belt, hissing as the harsh fabric slid across him. His left side ached, with the pain centred in his temple and forearm, radiating out to encompass his shoulder and neck. He ignored that for now and shifted slightly in his seat, trying to get a better view of his friend. He saw she had blood on her side, staining her pale blue jacket a dark purple, but it did not seem like a lot, at least not yet. He was worried about her legs as she was twisted into the most awkward of positions and they appeared pinned between the pedals and the dented metal.
He reached for her, but paused when he registered a noise. It was his name, both shouted and muted at the same time. For a moment he hoped it was rescuers on their way to find them, though he could not begin to think how they knew what to call him. After a frantic look around, he realised that, no, there was only the smoking lorry and no sign of anyone or anything else.
He heard it again and thought maybe Morgana was waking, muttering something under her breath, but her lips did not move and he could still hear her shallow breaths over the words.
He heard it once more, this time followed by profanity and something that sounded suspiciously like, “Oh for – Leon, try Morgana’s mobile and see if there’s a response!”
His sluggish mind put two and two together and finally realised it was Arthur, still on the line. Morgana had tossed the mobile behind her but did not turn it off, and now Arthur, glorious, prattish Arthur was within hearing range, if only via the wonders of modern technology. “Arthur?” he tried, ignoring the slight tinkling buzz that came from somewhere around his feet.
“Never mind, I got him!” Arthur called, followed by, “Merlin! Can you hear me?”
“Obviously I can hear you; that’s why I’m talking to you,” Merlin replied, rolling his eyes. The action ignited a new wave of pain in his head and reiterated the fact that he likely had a concussion amongst his numerous other injuries.
“Cheeky little thing, so you must be fine,” Arthur commented, voice only slightly calmer now. “You didn’t answer, so I was beginning to get worried.”
Merlin ignored the commentary and focused on the important things for now. “Not fine,” he corrected, wondering why his throat hurt to talk at a volume loud enough for Arthur to hear. “There’s been an accident.”
“Gathered that much from the all the crashing,” Arthur replied. Merlin managed to look enough behind him to see the mobile nestled in an old blanket, miraculously in one piece. “How bad was it and where are you?”
“Don’t know where we are,” Merlin admitted. He remembered a curve, and ice, and that was about it. “Morgana’s hurt. She won’t wake up and there’s blood, both hers and mine.”
There was a new tone to Arthur’s voice now, one Merlin almost did not recognise, as he demanded, “How bad? How bad are the injuries?” There was something in the background Merlin could not quite get, followed by a much quieter Arthur telling someone who was probably Leon how to track Morgana by the fancy mobile she was gifted with by their father at Christmas.
Merlin hoped that meant they would be sending help as there was still no sign of an ambulance or police yet. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the accident, or how long he had been out of it, but he knew time was of the essence and they needed help sooner rather than later. He told Arthur what he knew of their injuries, and listened to Leon fighting with a computer in the background and then calling for an ambulance on another line while Arthur kept up a running stream of words, some of which managed to make sense and some that had no meaning at all.
He wanted to hear Arthur better, to hold on to a silly little piece of plastic and wires and think of it as a connection to the real world and the help that was hopefully on the way. It was behind him, he could see it. It was just out of reach now, but maybe he could get it with a little bit of manipulation. He reached for the lever to recline his seat and could not help the holler that came from what he knew was only slight resistance against his hand.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur shouted across the line.
Merlin gave himself a moment, letting the bright lights behind his eyes fade and his breathing get a bit more under control, ignoring Arthur’s continued yells until he could form the words to say, “Was trying to reach the mobile. Think my arm is broken.” He did not want to look beneath his sleeve, afraid of what he would find, and he really hoped Arthur did not ask him to do so.
There was a commotion in the background and then Arthur’s voice was back on the line. “Forget the mobile, just try to breathe, baby,” he instructed.
“Not your baby,” Merlin recited by rote.
“Sure you are,” Arthur replied, trying to aim for suave and collected and failing by a mile. “You’re my baby and you are going to let me take care of you. I’m going to hold you and keep you safe and feed you those ridiculous biscuits of yours and...”
“And never leave?” Merlin guessed, not that he particularly wanted him to right about now.
“And never leave you,” Arthur confirmed.
Merlin felt his lips twitch into a smile even though he knew Arthur was not able to appreciate the gesture. He shivered as the wind cut in to his little crumpled shelter, and winced as his injuries flared at the subtle tightening and release of his muscles. “It’s cold,” he admitted, wondering why his words sounded slurred and sluggish. His head drooped slightly and he caught sight of the blood on his shoulder and wondered if that had anything to do with it.
“You’re fine,” Arthur insisted, and Merlin wondered how he could know since he wasn’t there. “Help is coming and should be there soon,” he continued in the same soothing tone.
Merlin shivered again, which made him wince again, which made his side protest again. “Glass is broken, snow’s getting in,” he explained.
Maybe it was the knowledge that help was on its way, but he found it harder and harder to stay focused and awake now. His eyes kept wanting to close, and the white was so painfully bright anyway, or at least it seemed that way. He looked to Morgana, so pale and not even shivering. Her lips were turning blue, though from the cold or lack of oxygen from some unseen injury, he did not know.
“Need to get warm,” he muttered, trying to figure out how he was going to do just that.
“Try to imagine me there with you, holding you tight,” Arthur told him. It was cheesy and cliché and so very Arthur. “Better yet, the both of us are snuggled up next to a fire, wood crackling and roasting marshmallows and sipping chocolate.”
“Or I could just grab the blanket,” Merlin countered, earning a huff of frustration for his troubles. There was so much background noise around Arthur that he technically could not be certain the huff was directed at him, so he chose to ignore it.
He leaned back as far as he could in his seat, wary of trying the lever again. It was not quite enough, so he twisted in a slightly less painful way and reached across himself with his good arm, managing to snag the release and flop the seat back. It took a moment for the resulting dizziness to pass, but his fingers soon brushed the soft material so it was entirely worth it. He tugged it closer and crowed in triumph, right up until he heard a muted thump of something hitting the floor and he remembered just where the phone had been nestled.
“Arthur?” he tried, cringing at the lack of response. He bit his lip at his own stupidity. He just hung up on his boyfriend. Arthur was going to kill him.
Figuring he might as well make use of the boon he had earned with his sacrifice, he shook the blanket out one-handed and spread it the best he could over both himself and Morgana, using care to tuck it around her where he could reach while he desperately hoped it was enough.
He jostled her accidentally, and she moaned at the movement. “Shh,” he soothed, and she seemed to settle. “Just trying to keep us warm.”
The additional words had the opposite effect though, and her eyes blinked open, only to widen further when she saw where she was and just what condition she was in. She flailed and managed to knock his already aching head and do something to herself that made her make the most interesting of noises before falling limp again.
Merlin saw her chest move as a sign she was still breathing, and then saw the growing stain on his own shoulder as his head wound had apparently decided it was time to gush with the abuse it had received. As the white around him seemed to fade to grey, he swore he heard someone promising that they were never going to desert him.
He next opened his eyes to the sound of voices, only they were not tinny or muffled or in the least familiar. The white was still to his left, smudged almost pink and accented with sharp angles of stained glass. To his right was the obnoxious purple of the blanket still draped over Morgana and partially over himself. The voices came from outside their little shelter though, and it took him a moment to make sense of the bright mosaic that he saw through the shattered windscreen.
The rescue workers had arrived.
His next memories were an amalgam of instructions and noises and pain. He held the blanket over both his face and what he could reach of Morgana while they broke through the remainder of the windscreen to get to him. Heavy tarps were placed over the sharp edges and he was pulled out and belted to some trolley-like thing that may or may not have had actual wheels and wrapped in layers far heavier than chenille.
Morgana was trapped, they explained as he was carried up to the roadside, and they needed to cut her out, but wanted him away from the possibility of sparks and shearing metal. There was a medic with her to make certain she was stable and stayed that way, and they promised him that she seemed to only have a broken leg and a severe concussion, though they could not tell for certain until they managed to get her free.
He was given something that made his head feel fuzzy and he had the distinct feeling that he was going to pass out again. He felt something get tucked into his hands and heard someone ask if they could make it stop already, and then he did not really hear or feel anything at all.
He did not remember being placed in the ambulance, nor did he remember the ride or the visit to A & E replete with x-rays and bone setting and casting and a lot of other things that he was quite certain were quite unpleasant, so at least there was a positive side to whatever they gave him.
His next cognisant memory involved the smell of antiseptic, the scratchy feel of slightly rough sheets, and the annoyance of his left arm immobilised from just below his elbow to just past his wrist. “Awesome,” he groaned, the sound of his own voice setting off a reverberation in his skull.
There was a shifting to his side and the squeak of a chair against linoleum that made the earthtone colours of the room dance before his eyes for a moment before he managed to look to his right and find the source of the commotion. “You’re awake!” Arthur breathed. Merlin would have commented about him stating the obvious, but he looked so worried and dishevelled that he just could not bring himself to do so.
“Yeah,” he agreed instead. “Though I rather wish I was not.” He shifted against the too flat pillow and felt new and interesting aches awaken. “How is Morgana?”
“She might need a pin in her leg, but that’s the worst of it aside from some damage to her ribs,” Arthur promised. “Banged up like you, livid about the car, and having some interesting words to say about the incompetence of lorry drivers. Dad’s with her now, promising her practically everything if she just stays okay.”
“And you?” Merlin asked. Morgana was Arthur’s sister, he highly doubted the blithe response was the only emotion Arthur was feeling about the whole thing right now.
Arthur reached out his hand and let his fingers rest against Merlin’s uninjured wrist. Through the warmth of the touch, Merlin swore he felt the faintest of trembles, something reinforced when he glanced up to see a haunted look in the other man’s eyes. “Just really glad you are okay,” Arthur answered after far too long of a pause.
Merlin tried to give him a reassuring smile, but did not know how successful he was at the attempt. “Why don’t you go check on Morgana, see how she’s doing for yourself?” he offered. As much as he wanted Arthur with him right now, he knew his attention was divided, not that he faulted him in the least. It was his family, and he deserved to know how his thankfully living relatives were doing versus hanging out to hold his boyfriend’s hand, no matter how much said boyfriend really wanted said hand to be held.
Arthur shook his head. “Dad’s giving me updates and Morgana doesn’t want anyone seeing her with her hair all knotted like that anyway,” he shrugged. “Besides,” he said, shifting closer, “I do believe I made a promise about never letting you go.”
At that, Merlin snorted out a laugh despite the pain. “That damn song has been in my head since you called, you know,” he commented. “I think the medics threatened to smash the phone at one point before one of them figured out how to turn it off. Please change it and never, ever program that in again.”
Arthur smiled, real and true, and offered Merlin a quick kiss on his knuckles before promising, “Anything you want, baby.”
“Not your baby,” Merlin responded on instinct.
“Yes you are,” Arthur smirked. He offered another kiss and squeezed the wrist beneath his fingers just a tiny bit tighter for a moment as he said, “Now try to get some rest. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
As Merlin let his eyes close of their own volition, he realised that yeah, he probably would be, and he did not think he was going to mind at all.
Feedback is always welcomed.