Chapter Text
Nothing died in the Dark World. It was a chaotic cesspool of misery and suffering. Ancient gods and monsters. Machines of alien intellect. Beasts and people and all of them screaming. Rending each other. Devouring each other. Infinite Earths crushing and choking and fighting for room.
He had tried at first. Even when he realised where he was. Where the King had banished him. Even when all his nightmares were realised.
The entire world was the stinking pit of despair this time, and John was alone.
Even Arthur at his worst would have been a balm.
And he had looked.
Arthur, his neck gushing blood thrown into a place of ice and snow.
He had to be here. Somewhere. he had to be here.
But there were too many things in his way. He tried to leave those doomed to an existence as topsoil for the strong alone. Even tried to help them, but they were torn apart and remade so easily and he started to hate them for it.
And then he started to not even hate. They were nothing. Dirt. You don’t pay any mind to dirt, and you don’t feel guilty for stomping on it. It was only a speck on the path forward.
John became everything he didn’t want to become. Became everything he feared.
He became the King.
But he was afraid, he was so afraid, and he was alone. He could bear it if only he wasn’t alone.
And then… then he saw him.
Pulled out of a blood rage as he made creatures that would fight him crawl and bow and break and worship his glory. He looked up and there he was, facing away from him.
A human. Tall and slim. Strawberry-blonde hair slicked back by pomade, its natural curl trying to break free at his ears.
He didn’t notice the black suit, he didn’t notice the bloodied hands.
“Arthur!” he roared.
And the man turned.
The King recognised him like he would his own face in the mirror, so he still didn’t see the red flags.
And he was too consumed with his instinct. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tear him apart, or hold him, or flood his essence into the tiny form and bind them together so that they could never be parted again. He—
Arthur was grinning. A toothy smile that didn’t suit his face.
“Oh, do you like it?” Arthur asked coyly. It was his voice, but there was something… off.
The King in Yellow stopped short.
Arthur stretched out his arms and spun around to show himself off. “I worked on it all night!” Arthur boasted chipperly. “I know, I know, it’s not really accurate. Black isn’t his colour, and I couldn’t find the right shoes.”
He noticed Arthur’s bare bloody feet.
Arthur ran his hands down his waist, trim, but not hollowed from starvation. “And the diet I would have to go on to slim down to his size! I just couldn’t do it. It’s UNHEALTHY.” Arthur laughed.
“Kayne,” he realized as the creature continued to laugh at him.
“Bingo!” Kayne threw up his hands in jubilation, shaking them excitedly. Arthur’s face too manic. Too smiling.
“I will splinter your soul across eons you despicable creature!” the King in Yellow screamed. How dare it use that face. How dare it mock the—
“Why, Hastur, is that you?” Kayne asked. Arthur’s head tilted in fascination.
He had the creature under him now, pinned down. He wanted to crush it. He wanted it to writhe and cry and beg. He would show it his power. He would make even this trickster god worship the muddied hem of his cloak.
But Arthur’s body didn’t move or struggle, and his face didn’t look the least bit concerned.
He looked… bored.
“And here I was expecting dear old John.”
“Stop talking like him.” He shook the damnedable thing with all his might.
It looked affronted. “Absolutely not! You know how hard his accent is to get? It’s not quite English anymore. Too long in the states, but not long enough to over take it. You have no appreciation for my craft, you know that, John?”
Everything in the King’s being shivered. That lilting accent. That name. His n—
“I am not John. That name means nothing to me, and you—”
Arthur’s hand, vice like, suddenly gripped the appendage that had been holding him down. The King stuttered in confusion at the pain. He tried to pull away, but the hand didn’t let go.
“Darling,” Kayne sung with Arthur’s throat. “I think you might be confused here.” Arthur’s eyes blinked and they became a shining gold.
“Let–let go!” the King snarled.
“But I’m your friend,” Kayne pouted with Arthur’s lips. “The… only friend you have right now.”
The King in Yellow bared his teeth and roared in Arthur’s face.
Only a graceful eyebrow was raised in response. He felt the grip around him squeeze tighter. He hissed.
“Stop it—”
“Why should I? Didn’t our Mourning Dove teach you manners?” Kayne tutted. “I suppose he didn’t. You picked up all his cursing and none of his proper English etiquette.” Arthur’s body rose and try as he might, the King couldn’t prevent it. He tried to lash out with his other limbs, tried to twist them around the damned creature, but a gentle slap sent untold pain coursing through him.
His breath hitched as the roiling sensation echoed through his very soul.
"Why are you here?" he demanded.
“The Dark World? The pit of churning chaos? The final resting place for things like you?” Kayne asked, still using Arthur’s voice, Arthur’s accent, and Arthur's mouth. “This place you fear more than anything else? Why, this is practically my summer home. My favourite restaurant. When I visit, the red carpet rolls out. You’re in MY town now, baby!”
“Fuck you!” the King yelled.
“Brilliant!” Arthur’s eyes alighted merrily. “That’s it old boy. That’s the John I know. You didn’t forget! After all, you promised never to forget, didn’t you?” Arthur’s eyelashes fluttered.
“TAKE OFF HIS FACE!” he couldn’t stand it anymore. “TAKE IT OFF NOW!!!!” The King in Yellow’s form swarmed and his hatred burned.
“Johnny!” Kayne gasped in mock scandal. “We haven’t even had two dates and already you’re asking me to take it all off? You’re moving far too fast.”
The King in Yellow lashed against the thing, trying to tear at its skin. Trying to remove its mask. It dared to make a mockery of him. It dared!?
But Arthur’s body only danced between his strikes, even twirling under the limb he still held on to with an iron grip.
“La, la, la, de, da,” Arthur’s voice sung. “Shall I provide the music? He has a good singing voice, doesn’t he? I can’t forget the night I met you… that’s all I’m dreaming of–” Kayne crooned, dipping himself against one of the attacking arms and sliding out of reach just as quickly. “And now you call it madness, oh but I call it love. That’s our song. Yours, his, mine. He sang it on the boat for you, didn’t he? Such a sweet little songbird, our Arthur.”
The King–he tried not to think of it. The gentle lap of water as they rowed the small boat out through the mist. Arthur’s baritone intimate and pleasing.
He had liked it. Just like how he liked when Arthur played the piano.
“It makes me want to stick him in a little cage so that I can hear his song all day—”
Arthur would hum, or tap his fingers. There was always a melody under his skin, straining to be released, but Arthur so rarely shared his music.
He knew why, but he wanted… he had always wished for just a little more.
“Do you remember?”
The King startled. He had stopped his attacks and now Arthur’s face was inches from his hood.
He was finally able to rip himself away, backing up.
“You promised you would remember,” Kayne insisted, his faux-urgency heating the King’s anger back to a boil.
“I have!” he snapped.
Arthur’s head moved to glance around at the still twitching bodies of the things the King had tortured into worshipping him. They were smears of what they once were. They couldn't make noises, and yet everything they had left was dedicated to exalting him.
“Hm, well, I think you’ve been distracted, honestly,” Kayne said, mimicking Arthur's exact tone of disdain that he had always hated. “I thought you only had eyes for him—or is it that you only had his eyes? AHAHAHA!” The unnatural laugh burst and he didn’t know how he could have ever mistaken the thing as Arthur.
“He doesn’t matter,” the King insisted. “He never did.”
“What’s that? Arthur Lester doesn’t matter?” Kayne gasped. “Oh,” he groaned. “If only I could convince myself of it. He shouldn’t be so captivating, should he? There are prettier. Smarter. Sweeter. Angrier. Deadlier. A whole galaxy of humanity to choose from. Yet it’s him, it’s always been him, hasn’t it? God it’s embarrassing. I just don’t know. There’s just something about that boy that has my hearts aflutter. He makes my teeth itch. I know you understand—”
“STOP TALKING ABOUT HIM!” He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand to think about Arthur.
He had to be dead. Dead and buried somewhere in this world where he would never be able to find him.
Arthur’s eyebrows raised, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ of surprise. “Oh… oh I see… Oh!” He was grinning madly again, backing up, making room between them as if his delight would explode. “Oh! You think? Oh no. You. Do you? Oh, John.”
“Shut up. Shut up!”
“You know,” Kayne mused. “There is another little detail I forgot to add, but it’s easy enough to fix.”
The knife appeared from behind his back.
“NO!” John cried.
Arthur slashed the knife through his throat, blood gushing out of the wound, running down the black suit and soaking in.
The terrible laugh rattled through the air.
“There, that’s better, right? Now it’s obvious who I am, isn’t it?” Kayne spread Arthur’s arms and lifted his chin so that John could really see the damage. How deep the knife had gone. “He's so pretty like this, isn't he?”
The John's form went lax in defeat, his limbs curling in on themselves. He bowed his head.
Arthur was dead, and it didn’t matter how far he fell, or how throughly he tried to erase him from his mind.
It didn't matter how much of John he left behind. Arthur was still there, bleeding out as he abandoned him, hoping the King—the real King would show mercy.
And Arthur didn’t have the right. He didn’t have the fucking right!!
John gave a horrible scream as he forced the knife from Arthur’s hand. “YOU PROMISED ME!” He slammed his limb against Arthur angrily. “YOU PROMISED.”
“Oh now, don’t fret, Honeybear.” Kayne pulled himself up and brushed off his suit with Arthur’s fingers. “Artie wasn’t even thinking of how you would be sent to the Dark World if he offed himself. He thought you would die together. So romantic. Like Romeo and Juliet!” Kayne’s laughter distorted Arthur’s face again.
John drew his limbs back, flinching.
Arthur’s face pulled back into gentle amusement. “Although, I always saw you as Hamlet and Ophelia myself. I’ll let you decide which is which. The depression, the madness, the murderer—oh it even had a tragic suicide!” Arthur’s body squirmed in delight. “How perfect. Oh... but she drowned, didn't she? Well... maybe that's perfect too.” Blood slid down his chin. Blood in his mouth from such a dire wound.
John stared, his rage leaving him.
He curled into himself once again, hiding his form under his tattered yellow cloak until he was only shadow, yet he knew those golden eyes could see him. See everything.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Jesus Christ,”—John flinched—“Finally! You really are slow without him, aren’t you? I guess that’s why he’s the detective and you’re… what are you again?”
“Wh-what?”
“I mean, what ARE you?” Arthur’s face peered at him curiously. Kayne rubbed Arthur’s chin. “Oh, I see. You’re … you're his speck again, aren’t you? The little thread of the King’s cloak, plucked away and thrown into the wastebin of everything for sticking out too much. Where the fuck is my pathos? The audience is booing you right now! My GOD, Sunflower, you can’t even know how disappointed I am!” Bloodied hands ran through slicked back hair, pulling it out of place. “You were living your best life! You were calling yourself John! Do you know how stupid that is? That the lost heart of the King in Yellow, a great Old One built from cosmic madness and deadly inspiration, a thing made of dreams and stardust and it named itself fucking John!?!”
Arthur’s feet moved Kayne into a furious pacing. Back and forth. Arthur would do that when he was thinking. It had always annoyed him. Made him dizzy staring at the ground as Arthur paced back and forth silently.
Kayne stopped suddenly.
“And he. He just… he just called you John and never stopped. John. John,” he repeated in an even more perfect imitation of his voice. “John. John! John!” he yelled, sounding more panicked, his voice high with fear. He choked, blood pooling from his mouth. “John! Promise me! Promise me you won’t forget!”
“He never said that. He never said—”
The pleading stopped. Arthur’s lips pulled into a cruel little smile. “I guess he didn’t,” Kayne shrugged.
“I didn’t forget.”
“But you don’t care anymore either, do you?” Kayne asked. “You’re not John anymore. That's what you said. Why would the King care about Arthur Lester, bleeding out in the snow?—Oh!” Kayne looked down at Arthur’s wrist. Arthur didn’t wear a watch, but Kayne seemed to note the time. “Hm, cutting it close. I do hope he remembers the coin. I did remind him. Well, we still have lots of time. Millenia really.”
“W-what?” John’s voice trembled.
“What?” Arthur’s face looked up in confusion. “Right! Yes! He’s still alive. Well, for now. Losing a lot of blood. Absolutely covered in the stuff! He pulls it off though, trust me. Now red, red really IS his colour.”
“What? He’s—help him. Help him then!”
“Aww, you do care!” Kanye clasped both Arthur’s hands together and squeezed them against his cheek in a facsimile of adoration.
But then they dropped to his sides and his expression became indifferent.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?!”
“Exactly that!” Kayne retorted. “Request denied! What a stupid wish! Touching, but meaningless. You don’t care, Hastur! You don’t care if I save him or not.”
“I—”
Kayne spun for the joy of it. “Or maybe you do. Maybe that heart of yours is still pumping and you do care about your fragile little human. Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t matter, Starshine, either way I won’t be taking your request.”
“Why not?” John demanded.
Arthur’s lips pulled into a childish pout. “I want him to ask me of course.”
“He never would—” John growled.
“Come now, Daisychain, Arthur doesn’t know me yet. Doesn’t know what I am. Doesn’t know to be fucking terrified that I have my eye on him.” Kayne hummed dreamily. “And you, you’re only starting to understand, and only because I’m here, skipping through the yellow tulips of the Dark World as it were.”
Arthur’s hand reached out and adjusted John’s cloak around his shadowed form, smoothing it down. “He doesn’t need to be. Terrified, I mean. Not yet at least. Not until I need him to be, but that’s a spoiler.”
“What do you want?” John asked again.
“Oh, I forgot, you did finally get to the real question, didn’t you? Argh my head. So full of OTHER THINGS that WON’T shut UP!”
Golden eyes glared upward before Arthur’s expression smoothed out again. “Right well. I’m just reminding you that I’m right here,” he backed up and dramatically stretched out his arm toward John. “With the keys in my pocket to Earth or wherever else I want to go. I just have... just a teeny tiny list of chores I need you to get done for me before I can give you a lift back.”
He wiggled Arthur’s fingers. “So? What do you say?”
The King sneered. “I will not be so easily snared by you, wretch.”
Kayne tsked. “You learned so many bad habits from our brave little Lark, didn’t you?” he drew back Arthur’s hand and golden eyes went cold, so cold they became the colour of dried blood.
The King bared his fangs again.
Kayne rolled his eyes, and they were his eyes, although gleaming behind Arthur’s fair eyelashes still.
“It’s cute when he’s stubborn, but it’s not a look I think I like on you,” Kayne decided. He ran his finger down Arthur’s neck wound, pressing it open a little more.
Arthur’s mouth smirked when the King’s eyes were drawn to it.
“I’ll leave you alone then,” Kayne decided. His playfulness left him entirely.
“Just like that?” the King hissed.
Arthur’s shoulders shrugged carelessly. He turned away.
“Wait—” he couldn’t help but call.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want one last look? I did work so hard on it after all.” He turned, but didn’t smile. He stared at the King like Arthur stared in the mirror. Cold and calculating. Someone not to fuck with.
“You will take me back,” the King demanded. “If you’re not lying, you’ll—”
A little grin that was Arthur's. Arthur when he was dissatisfied and pissed off. He had only seen it in reflections and now it was fully turned on him.
“Oh no,” Kayne told him, Arthur’s voice so utterly dry with derision. “You see, you’re a king. Small. Hastur’s discarded thread. I am so much more than a silk doll, and I don’t take orders from sad little monarchs with delusions of grandeur.” Arthur smiled cruelly. “You have to beg me.”
The King threw himself at Kayne, but Arthur’s fingers snapped, and he was gone.
“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! I’LL GODDAMN EAT YOUR SPINE YOU FUCKING RAT!”
But there was no parting laugh. Nothing. Kayne was gone.
“I’ll find you. I’ll find you and I’ll MAKE you get me out of here. Do you fucking hear me Kayne? I’ll make you!”
Snrk-tzzz-raid to love you, but more afraid to loose
Clinging to a past that doesn’t let me choose
But once there was a darkness, deep and endless night
You gave me everything you had, oh you gave me l-zrrrrrrrkrch