Title: When We Die in a Dream, We Wake Up.
Fandom/Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, Disturbing themes
Word Count: 1,151
Summary: This is pretty much a rewrite of ester_inc's Arthur/Eames fanfiction, Disconnected, that I wrote for school (that's why it has so many weird words in it). Mental Hospital AU. All credit for the idea/storyline goes to ester_inc.
Author's Note: I don't actually like this. XD

"What do you mean, it won't wake him up? When we die in a dream, we wake up!"

The man, Eames, had very early on charmed his way into the hearts of the staff at the mental hospital. With his confident swagger, sinewy figure and the air of quiet dangerousness that always seemed to surround him, it wasn't hard to imagine him in a casino, both as a croupier, dealing out the cards, and as a gambler, hanging with the scurvy crowd, betting away it all.

The staff's lenience on him was clear. He was allowed free reign of the building, he was granted rights to go to the latrine without having to be supervised, and the hours on his schedule, which, for other patients, was normally tight and packed with activities, walks and certain times to take medication, were loose and flexible, leaving him much free time with which he did whatever he wished.

In return, Eames took his medicine with no complaints, treated all the other patients with a sort of philanthropy (even though he didn't need to) and was a positive influence on them, and never took advantage of the hospital. It all ended up working out in a — kind of — staff-patient collaboration.

However, he was attached personally to no one.

None of the other patients begrudged Eames for his good treatment. Instead, they found themselves spending time with him often in the commons room — card games and board games, mostly, and even sometimes chess, whenever some of the more stable patients felt up to it.

If only observed from the outside, it was difficult to see the reason why Eames was in a mental facility. He had no obvious pathology at all, yet there was still an atrocity that he had performed to get there. A horrible, irrevocable act that even the staff sometimes forgot that he had ever carried out.

It was easy to forget that James Eames had killed three people in cold blood.

x.x.x.x.x

When the new patient rolled into Eames' wing on a squeaking gurney, Eames dropped everything and devoted all his time to the man. No more socializing with the rest of the patients and playing puzzles and board games with them, and no more heart-to-hearts with the head psychiatrist about the doctor's former life as an auctioneer (a rather bad one, anyway, who couldn't get anything sold and didn't talk nearly fast enough).

The name of the new patient was Arthur DeLacey. He had a dark head of hair, pale skin, and a long, delicate neck. Arthur reminded Eames, easily, of a cormorant.

Arthur didn't like to be touched. Arthur didn't talk. But he looked at Eames like he knew him before, and Eames found himself also inexplicably drawn towards the other man, seeing something familiar in him, something comfortable, something that felt like home.

Eames was always curious about Arthur's history. Since Arthur never said a word, Eames had never gotten a reply when asking about his former life. What calamity had caused Arthur to become like this, this whittled-down, frail, shadow of a man?

x.x.x.x.x

Eames and Arthur always took daily walks along the hospital corridors, Eames talking and Arthur listening.

Arthur always seemed to have his eyes intent on Eames; staring, alert, instead of what they looked like when he first came; blank, uninviting.

Many times, during their walks, Arthur lagged behind Eames, walking even being a strenuous task, his slow pace not able to keep up with Eames' quicker stride.

So Eames slowed down for him, and eventually Eames gently took his hand, and Arthur didn't pull away. Instead he stared, transfixed, at their entangled fingers, as if this was something he had known before, this was something familiar, but he didn't know what it was.

x.x.x.x.x

Eames and Arthur spent every waking moments of their day together, whether it was walking around the hallways or playing a card game in the commons area.

Many times, while they played, Arthur would nervously roll a red die on the table, over and over and over again, his eyes confused, as if he had once known what the outcome had meant, but he didn't know what it was anymore.

Eames would take his hand and lay it on top of Arthur's, and one time, he said, "My little fishing bird, if you wanted me to, I would kill for you. Please, tell me what's wrong."

But Arthur had just averted his eyes from the die on the table and made eye contact with Eames, both hopeful and disappointed, and the look on his face said, close, but not close enough,and Eames didn't know what to do.

x.x.x.x.x

The hospital staff worried about the relationship between the two men. Eames' fixation on Arthur was odd, and neither of them would get better if this continued.

So when Eames became frantic when Arthur started ignoring him, and got violent while demanding to know if the hospital had changed the man's medication, he was locked in his room, alone, his privileges revoked for a day.

x.x.x.x.x

Every night, Eames snuck quietly into Arthur's room and laid next to him, the two of them just…peaceful. He wasn't supposed to be there, but he couldn't stand being away from Arthur even for a second, he didn't want the syndicate to take him away.

One night, Eames turned to Arthur, kissed him on the forehead, and said, "I'll take you away from here, and you will be mine, all mine, and we will be together, and we will be happy."

And Arthur, voice cracking from disuse, said, "Yes."

It was the first time Eames had ever heard him speak.

x.x.x.x.x

Getting out of the hospital was harder than getting into Arthur's hospital room, but Eames managed. Not only because Eames would do anything for Arthur, but also because Eames had, in his past, learned how to kill.

In the end, he had broken the necks of a few guards who probably wouldn't survive, but it was okay, because he knew that they were not real, that the only real one there was Arthur, only Arthur, and he made a promise to him, a promise that he would take them both away, and that they would be together for all time, happy, and peaceful, and safe.

Eames always kept his promises.

x.x.x.x.x

This time, Eames thought, this time, I know I'm right.

Eames glanced down at the man standing beside him, and something in Arthur's eyes told him that they were doing the right thing, that both of them knew that they were going home.

He kissed Arthur's temple and placed the gun there, and he said, "It's okay, darling, it's all just a dream. It's okay, Arthur, we're going to go back home." Eames pulled the trigger.

"It's okay, darling. We'll just wake up again." And he closed his eyes and sent a bullet through his own head.

~~~ fin ~~~