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"In the Dreamlands, he decides who is allowed to leave or stay. He decides who is allowed to live," Noel swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, "and who is allowed to die."
The room was quiet, holding its breath, waiting in suspension for something to break—for Noel to break.
Hugging his knees on the couch, John buried his face from view. Arthur, forced to stand in the doorway to the kitchen, looked downright murderous. The kid always did when he was afraid.
"Who?" Oscar asked as he inched closer, closer, hand outstretched, a begging request in his eyes.
"The King in Yellow." Noel's hands trembled and his breaths turned sharp. His legs buckled—Yellow silk and gold jewellery sprayed with his red, human blood, a predatory growl in his head—and he stumbled backwards into the corner. He slid down, legs sprawled in front of him.
"Kayne ruined him," Arthur said. "You are safe now, so drop—"
"But he's not dead!" Noel yelled and hated how he lost control of everything so quickly.
"Noel. Everything is fine," Oscar soothed and crouched down. "Just talk to us?"
"There is no way to know if he's dead or alive," Arthur said sternly. "It's pointless to speculate, unless you plan on going back to find out?"
"Don't antagonise him, Arthur," John growled.
"Who said I ever left?" Noel scoffed.
"You got out," Oscar said emphatically and moved closer again, unafraid. Brave, or foolish? Or was Noel so pathetic he was no threat, despite—
A giggle broke out from his empty chest. It built and built, a breathless and shrill noise, until his eyes teared up. He'd gotten so much shit in the trenches for giggling like a child when he was scared; He moved the knife from his left to his right hand so he could cover his mouth.
They all looked disturbed.
"…You bartered for your way out," John said, a look of realization on his face. "What did you pay?"
"Whatever they wanted as long as it got me out." He heaved a deep breath—thick parchment signed with his blood, sharp smirks and a handshake—His body was too quiet, too still, too cold, too empty. He looked upon Oscar and took comfort in him.
"Noel. Answer the question," Arthur commanded.
"Everything I left behind was forfeit to the king."
Oscar's hand came upon his knee, thumb rubbing back and forth. Arthur hissed for Oscar to get back.
"And what did you leave behind?" Oscar hushed.
"Rags. Blood and shit, I suppose," he snorted, "and what he took from me to make me obey."
"Like…?" Oscar asked breathlessly, eyes flickering down to the knife resting across his lap.
Noel smiled grimly. Actions speak louder than words, and this could not be explained with reason. He put the knife tip over his chest, braced with both hands and pushed the blade in between his lungs.
They all screamed. Arthur darted towards him, John flinched violently, and Oscar's hand closed around his wrist in a futile effort to stop him.
Hands pulled him from the corner to the middle of the room. He collapsed on his back, lungs frozen in pain as Oscar drew him closer with anguish.
"No, no, no!" Oscar keened frantically as Arthur ripped his shirt open. "Christ, Noel, why?"
John was on the floor too, Noel met his wide-eyed gaze. He was hyperventilating; the poor man reacted bad to violence. Noel got that, John had seen so much.
He felt bad about scaring them. He hadn't felt much lately, but guilt he could feel?
"Wh—What the hell is this?" Arthur asked, touching the great scar on his chest.
Noel's chest spasmed as he inhaled.
"What in the name of—" Oscar leaned back, horror dawning in his face.
"Be a doll and pull that out— Ow, fuck! Kid!" Arthur roughly yanked out the knife and pressed it under his throat.
"Where's the real Noel? Who are you? Kayne?"
What Arthur thought a cut throat would do, Noel didn't know. He sat up and got a few nicks on his neck—what's another one?—and pushed Arthur's hand away. He committed Oscar's face to his nightmares.
"He took out my heart and I wasn't allowed to die, not until I told him what he wanted to know." Thick blood seeped down his chest like molasses.
Oscar made the Sign of the Cross and spoke under his breath:
"Are you a demon?"
Somewhere in the Dreamlands his heart broke. Every ounce of energy left him at once.
"No. I'm still me. Oscar? Please." He reached out for him, but Oscar flinched back.
"A hollowed," John gasped, eyes unseeing. "You're hollowed out. I remember now."
"I'm still alive because he's still alive to force me to be," Noel slowly climbed to his feet. "That's how I know he's still out there."
Arthur shot up and put himself between Noel and the others. He tried and failed to not feel hurt.
"So you're saying you're, what? Immortal?"
"Fuck, I hope not."
"Even a bullet in the head wouldn't do anything?" Arthur asked and surreptitiously moved his hand to his holster.
Noel rubbed at the numb spot on his right temple.
"No. … Arthur. It's still me. I always was like this; when we took down the Order—"
"You survived the bullet in your neck…"
"I wouldn't have."
Arthur looked conflicted. Poor bastard finally thought he was done dealing with unnatural powers, and Noel had proved him wrong. Arthur shook his head.
"Get out."
"Can we talk about this?"
"Noel, just go," Oscar said from the floor. He couldn't even look at Noel. "Please?"
Noel felt more aching emptiness than ever before. He swallowed, throat tight again.
"Anything for you, angel." He put on his trench-coat, and left.