Chapter Text
Another twig snapped underfoot, ringing out like a gunshot. He startled, barely stopping himself from jumping at the noise. His body went rigid for a beat, before he continued his mechanical trek forward. In that moment, it felt like even a flinch would be too loud.
His breathing was the only sound. Though low, the sound of it felt suffocating. Usually he would be reciting poetry about now, or else recalling half-remembered wives’ tales. Such would be to pass the time, and also because he genuinely liked to share his thoughts aloud. To make some sort of idle chatter. And yet, something told him not to.
These woods feel… off, Arthur.
He paused. It had been quiet for far too long, but now it felt tense. The world stopped with him, and the silence suddenly felt forced. Like the words had rushed out, and now everything was rushing in to fill the gap, pressing into them from all possible angles. It was an acknowledgement that felt all too damning, too akin to preparing the chopping block.
“What, you mean like the Dreamlands or-?”
No.
Arthur knew, of course, that there was something very wrong with where they were. The light didn't feel quite right on his skin; the wind made no sound where the leaves should have rustled, should have swayed. Everything was much too still, yet charged with an unmistakable energy. Like there was something waiting just beneath the skin.
Well of course there was. They had stumbled upon a ritual in an New York apartment building and somehow ended up in a forest that certainly wasn’t Central Park. It would be more surprising if there wasn't something sinister ready to pounce at the drop of a hat.
How exactly they’d gotten here was more of a blur than Arthur was willing to admit, frankly. It felt too akin to some of his darker days, before Parker had pulled him out of that drunken spiral. He could only piece together little chunks. They’d just learned about the meeting of the Order, and how it wouldn’t be for another month or so. He’d gotten it in his head that he should get back into P.I. work to tide them over, and then Marie had mentioned… well she had a friend- or maybe it was someone she’d just met? And they had mentioned an old family heirloom being stolen: a rather ordinary knife with little real value. Arthur had thought it a bit sinister for an heirloom, but he had not room to be picky with his cases when all his Arkham connections were either dead or estranged.
He and John had tracked the knife back to a flat not a few streets down from the client’s house. Odd for such a big city. And that’s where his memory begins to fail him.
He remembers a chant emanating from around the room, pulsing in his head. Then there were horrible, guttural growling noises. The smell of mold and decay filling his lungs. It was dizzying.
John was saying something, but his voice faded in and out like crashing waves. There was a scream- or a howl? He fell at some point in between. Then the feeling of something wet spraying his clothes, and the choking scent of blood washing over every other sense.
Then they were here.
“More like Marie's home, then,” Arthur said, with a weary sense of finality.
John gave a hum at that. Not denying, but not entirely certain. I'm not sure, Arthur. Something about this place feels different, but not in any way I can place. It's almost- well it feels somehow heavier than it should, like-
“Like something is watching us.”
The underbrush was growing thicker now, forcing him to lift his legs at odd angles to avoid tripping. They had been walking for a while now. As they went, the concept of any escape from these woods grew all the more distant. At least it didn't seem supernatural in its endlessness; just exceedingly rural.
The warmth of light was fading as the sun began to sink, and John did not answer.
Arthur huffed a bit, continuing to trudge between the trees. “I don't think it's hunting us, whatever it is. At least not at the moment. If it was, then why let us get this far?”
The man's pace quickened, perhaps unconsciously. It made each step louder, but what did it matter if they were the only things making noise out here to begin with?
I don't know, Arthur, maybe it's toying with us. Maybe whatever is in these woods wants to see how far we can get before it rips us to shreds. John's words ended in a growl: imposing, threatening, and so utterly worried in a way that he couldn't voice in fear of something worse answering. And maybe he was right. They'd met more sadistic beings before. But then again, they'd beaten them all the same when push came to shove.
“Then suppose you're right, John.” Arthur was feeling a bit wound up at that point, “Suppose there's something lurking in the shadows, waiting to swoop down and eat us at some unknowable threshold. What would you have us do instead, then? Wait here for it to catch us? Hope it gets bored and leaves?” His pace had not once stopped, not faltered as his legs cut the way through grass and vine toward an end he couldn't see.
The air was growing steadily colder now. John had described the sun peering in from between the leaves when they first arrived, but that had been some long hours ago. With his sleeves rolled up, what leaves brushed his arm slowly grew to feel like ice on his skin.
John didn’t respond immediately. It was unclear if he was thinking of an answer, or just giving him the silent treatment.
When John spoke, he sounded thoroughly exhausted. As if he had been the one to walk what must've been a good few miles at this point. As if he had pushed his way through hours of rough travel in an, admittedly, very poorly chosen suit. I don't know, okay. But it's getting dark, and soon I won't be able to see anything coming, whether or not it makes an effort to hide.
Arthur's pace slowed once more, and he sighed. Any frustration washed out in a single breath, leaving only a bone deep tiredness.
“No, no you're right, John. We should- we should find somewhere to rest, get out of the open. Until morning at least. We can come up with a plan then, since it seems walking hasn't gotten us much of anywhere. And besides, who knows how far these woods go?” For all Arthur knew, they'd just been walking in circles for hours. Of course, he trusted John. For the most part. He trusted him to point out any obvious landmarks. But this place was dense with plant life, and the difference from one trunk to the next probably wasn't enough to remember where they'd been.
John hummed, seemingly in agreement, and Arthur began to turn his head to give John a better view of their surroundings.
His voice evened out into a low drone as he began to narrate. Our surroundings look mostly the same as when we first got here. The trees are old oak, stretching and intertwining as they reach up into the sky. They're leaves are fresh and green with the life of spring. Years upon years of bramble sit thick on the forest floor, untouched by hoof or shoe trodden step. Light from the setting sun casts the forest in deep oranges and reds. It looks unwelcoming; if you were to die here, these woods would watch impassively as you rot.
The man gave only an off put hum as he kept stumbling forward. John sighed. Arthur I don't think- wait, go back a bit.
The urgency worried him a bit. After months of being targeted by eldritch monsters, he'd come to expect something grotesquely horrific anytime John urged him to take a closer look at something. Despite his better judgement, he asked, “What, is there something there?”
There was a brief noise of frustration before he answered. Nothing, just turn to the left a bit- no your other left Arthur! Just a little- there! There's a large, sturdy tree about ten steps ahead. It has some thicker branches near the base. If we're careful, we could climb a good ways off the ground and maybe-
A scoff left Arthur's lips on impulse, “You expect me to sleep in a tree? Jesus, John. Will it even support my weight?”
Arthur, I know you haven't been able to look at a mirror in a while, but you're less than skin and bones at this point.
He interrupted with a sound of offense, “Well that's hardly- !”
John quickly continued before the excuses could derail them. I don't see anywhere else we could shelter for the night, and it's getting dark. We could continue walking, but I won't be able to see much longer unless we use the lighter.
“No, no I don't think that would work well in such an open area,” Arthur acquiesced, and began to move forward.
He continued as he walked forward, barely avoiding tripping on a large root, “I still don't know about sleeping up there, though. Are you sure you're not just doing this because you want to feel tall?”
John seemed to get very defensive at that. What, no! Don't be stupid Arthur, I just want to have a good starting distance from anything that might be waiting to get us while you sleep. With any luck, I'll be able to wake you up before they can reach us!
Plus. He continued lower, and somewhat petulantly. You never let us climb anything fun unless we're running from something.
Arthur stopped after ten steps, and sure enough, lifting his arm brought his sleeve to the rough face of the trunk. He ran his hand over the gnarled bark, looking for any available foothold. When he found one, he wedged his shoe in and began to heft himself up onto one of the lower branches.
“Yes, well,” he grunted a bit, moving onto the next limb, letting John guide both their hands with his, “We'd just have to hope I didn’t roll off in my sleep then?”
The limb under them let out a long creak, and John led him swiftly to the next. I won’t let you fall, Arthur. He paused, considering for a moment. Well, not off the tree. I can't promise anything once our feet touch dirt again. We fall a lot, like at least once every other day.
“I-” Arthur gasped a bit, winded from the exertion, then continued with a breathy chuckle, “That's very kind of you, John. I would like to say though that most of our falls weren’t my fault.”
And since I'm so kind, I'll ignore what you're implying there.
The branches were starting to become thinner. But, as John insisted in a very unflattering manner, each still held his weight. As he reached for the next one, his hand was redirected somewhat to the right. “I still don't think I'd be comfortable resting up here for the night, but we'll at least have a better vantage point for now,” he braced his foot hard against the trunk and heaved himself up again, “If nothing else, you might be able to spot us a- well a village, or a clearing of some kind. Hell, we might not be far from the edge of the woods all together!”
He reached for the next branch, but something caught and his arm didn't go as far up as it should've.
Fuck! Arthur, our bag! It got looped on a branch!
Suddenly, Arthur felt himself trying to correct his balance as he leaned too far forward, tipping without anything to brace against. His arm flailed wildly. For a split second, he felt the rush of air past his ears; the familiar plummet of his stomach, soon to be followed by the rest of his body. He was falling. He was falling out of the fucking tree.
Then he was stopped with a violent jerk. The abrupt change in momentum felt like a punch directly to the sternum. His left shoulder flared with a sharp, tingling pain, wrenched back in its socket against the full weight of his body. Legs still planted firmly on solid wood, he was left stretched out dangerously over the open air, chest parallel with the ground.
“Fuck! Fuck, John you-!” Arthur was panting harshly, head spinning, heart beating out of his chest; yet there was some soft awe as he got out, “You caught us.”
Yes I-. He sounded almost as winded as Arthur did. I did. I caught us.
The two were silent as they righted themselves on the limb, save for some heavy breathing. There was a small struggle as they untangled their bag from where it had gotten stuck. John ended up just breaking the twig off, then shaking it out of the strap. Then they simply sat there for a moment, maybe two. Crouching precariously on the wood.
Finally, weary and done with life, Arthur asked, “How much farther to the top, John?”
The answer was hesitant, and if Arthur had more energy to actually listen, he might’ve said it was apologetic. Just a bit farther now. Let's just focus on climbing until we get there.
“Right,” and with a sigh, he began to heave himself up once more, “right, let's go.”
So they continued to scale the tree. Working functionally as a unit, they slowly developed a rhythm; John moved first and Arthur followed. It was like the steps to a dance they'd done a million times. They weren't in sync. They probably never would be. But they pushed through together, despite every stumble along the way.
As they approached the top, they had to maneuver through many more smaller branches and twigs. Leaves brushed across Arthur's face, and he was sure some had gotten stuck in his hair at that point. Finally, head breaching the uppermost layer of foliage, there was a gasp from someone who didn't have to breathe.
Oh, Arthur. That sound of awe in his voice was not unfamiliar, yet it still stirred feelings in Arthur that he refused to stop and analyze.
He carefully asked, still winded from the climb, “What is it, John?”
From where we stand I can see out for miles. Vast plains of rolling hills stretch past the horizon, covered in dense tree growth. It almost gives the appearance of leafy waves, layered green peaks rolling out before us. Some distance further, a mountain range cuts through the clouds. In the fading light, I can see what looks like a storm slowly brewing not far off. Everything is painted in a deep crimson as the sun lowers in the sky, ever steady. The moon is already out. It's big, bigger than I've ever seen it. Soon it will be a beacon of light as night settles in.
I can’t see a clearing from here, not even the one we first arrived in. I can't see any signs of a town, either.
Arthur sighed, accepting the information easily, though not with any joy, “Yes, there wouldn’t be one, would there. We wouldn’t be so lucky,” he paused, continuing in a more dejected manner, “Is there anything else of note? Maybe a river or lake in view?”
Not that I can see, no. Though, any rivers that might be there are most likely hidden under the density of the forest. We’re surprisingly close to the mountains, though. In fact, looking closer, I think I can see… Oh. Oh! Arthur there’s- there’s a castle on the mountain!
“What?” was the only response he could give, quiet and dull, yet astonished and disbelieving in one.
Yes, I can make out the distinct spires and branching turrets, though I can see why I didn't notice it earlier. It sits on the side of the mountain, on a small plateau. It looks almost as if it was carved out of that very rock. It’s grander than even Larson’s mansion by a wide margin. The build of it is entirely unlike anything we've seen, Arthur: medieval maybe, but very well-maintained.
John paused then.
Or… maybe not yet old enough to need maintenance.
Arthur’s hand gripped tighter to the branch it rested on. “No, that’s not possible John. I know there are some more traditional countries out there, but none would have such a building this deep into the forest. To be in such condition, it would need to be closer to a city or town.”
And the other possibility?
His voice was more openly defensive than he would like, but he was just so damn tired to think about this shit and be pleasant, “What, so you’re saying we’re in medieval Europe then? With knights and the renaissance and- and the fucking plague!”
The response was surprisingly calm. I’m not saying anything for certain, just that it’s a possibility we should consider. I lived in the Dark World, where so many realities beyond ours collide. I was put there, accidentally, by a random group of humans with a book that I wasn't even tied to! It stands to reason that something with the right powers, the right knowledge to wield, could use that purposefully to-.
“To bring things across,” Arthur finished gravely.
Exactly.
In the resulting silence, Arthur thought of the possibility. The wind, still eerily silent, pulled gently at his hair. Now that the sun had fully set, the air was rapidly cooling his skin. And he truly let himself wonder. All that time spent dead set on his mission, driven by the goal of stopping Larson, of righting whatever horrible wrongs were committed. None of that would be possible if they were stuck in a different world, and in the distant past no less. He thought about all of this, and he thought about John’s recent weirdness. His insistence on tracking down the Order. And he found that at this point, he didn’t care.
When he began to speak again, it was with the worn but steady voice of a man ready to move on, “Well then, that’s one possibility,” he released his grip from the branch he was leaning on, “Another is that we were simply moved in space to somewhere with some important, historical castle. Either way, it’s probably our best bet at finding out where - and possibly when - we are.”
Right. I-. There was a shuffle that had John pause in confusion. Arthur, why are you sitting on the edge of the branch? I can't see the castle anymore!
“But you remember where it was enough to get there?” He didn't seem to be paying much attention.
Yes? But why are- Arthur!?
John was cut off as the man in question slid off the edge and fell down to a lower limb. He landed solidly, though not cleanly, scraping up both their arms. John grabbed desperately at the bark under his hand, and kicked out wildly with his foot, more just in shock than with any goal in mind.
What the fuck Arthur!
He puffed out a tense breath, and settled for mild indignance as he continued to scale his way down the tree without input from his eyes. “Well I'm not going to sleep in a tree, John! Not when we have literally any other option available.”
The being in question was left following Arthur's lead now. Gone was their once comfortable rhythm, replaced by mad scrabbling for purchase, always a step behind.
Okay but Arthur- I- could you stop fucking falling for a second!
The man chuckled, “Oh, but I'm on a roll! Plus, I want to get down as soon as possible so we can start toward the-” he grunted in pain, his leg hitting another branch as he caught himself on the trunk, “the castle. How far did you say it was?”
He answered quickly and dismissively, concentrating more on physically reacting to catch them as Arthur continued making their way down. A few hours walk at least. But we shouldn't be traveling in the dark like this! We can't avoid whatever's watching us in these woods, and I sure as hell don't want to face it on its home turf, in the middle of the fucking night!
Yes, he had thought about this. And again, he found, he didn't care.
“And I can't face it while asleep! The question isn't whether or not we'll have to fight whatever beast lurks in these woods, because we both know our luck with that,” he heaved himself down one last time, and landed on solid ground with the crunch of twigs underfoot, “No, the question is if we'll be ready when it decides to fucking show itself.”