Summary: Merlin's nightmares are getting worse and when a chance encounter has Arthur rescuing him, it sets off a chain of events that makes Merlin questioning everything he thought was real.
Beta: many thanks to winterstorrm for Brit-picking and to kathyh for being such a kind and thorough beta. All errors are mine.
Notes: based on a brilliant picture by sandrainthesun on livejournal. This originally had more slash in it but I toned it down for ff.n
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No credits have changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.

Throat raw with screaming, he couldn't stand up, was already sinking onto the damp earth, his father's failing body held close. Behind him, distantly as if unreal, as if a world away and none of his concern, a scatter of noise and impossibilities, he could hear swords clanking, sharp sounds, and Arthur grunting with effort. Merlin knew the prince was trying hard to drive them back, cursing at Cenred's men as he went.

But it didn't matter now.

His fingers wet with blood, the hot warmth already cooling in his hand, and the smell of iron and crushed earth and sweat was clogging his mouth but he had to breathe, had to keep his father alive somehow.

Just one more moment.

In a wild effort, Merlin shook his head, told his father no and no and Balinor kept whispering things he needed to understand but he didn't want to hear it - wasting the precious moments, the desperately needed seconds to dredge up the spells, speak the words and save him. But he couldn't find them, his mind searching, searching and he wanted so badly but the spells skittered away, just out of reach.

And then it was too late. A long sigh and his father slumped into death and he couldn't believe it, kept trying to stanch the blood, bring him back with shakes and entreaties and disbelief.

He was drowning in tears and he couldn't let Arthur see but his father was dead and it was his fault, always his fault. And he couldn't breathe, couldn't….

Merlin shot up in his bed, his chest still vibrating with grief, his face wet with tears; his throat hurt as if he'd been shouting. Perhaps he had. The dream had been so vivid, just like all the other dreams that he tried to forget, all the others that had haunted him most of his life.

Blinking away the remnants of heartache, he lay back down again, still trying to catch his breath, already knowing what he needed to do and yet trying to ignore it.

In the dark recesses of his room, the clock was flashing 3:47 in green and black. As he stared at it, the colours bled into 3:48. It was quiet outside his window, although in the distance, he could hear the ever-present buzz of east London traffic. It might have been relaxing once, long ago, even exciting, but now it only reminded him of everything he'd lost.

For a while, he watched the shadowed movement of curtains, slowly drifting back and forth in the air, hoping to find a kind of peace and for once an untroubled sleep. But finally he gave up as he always did and started up his computer.

It was already after five before he blinked again. There was growing birdsong and the rumble of lorries outside and the sound of footsteps crossing the street, distant laughter as the drunks finally stumbled home. Ignoring everything else, he looked down at the screen, knowing before he did what would be there.

Every moment, every pain-filled breath was vividly described, as if what he'd felt haemorrhaged onto the computer screen. He had to admit that it was beautiful in the flow of language, the colour and sound and smell of it all seemed to leap off the page and he shivered, hating every word he'd written.

Yet, it was the only way he knew how to cope with the dreams. No matter the drugs they'd forced on him or the talks with endless sympathetic psychologists or the therapies, nothing else had worked. Writing it down was the only way that had given him even the semblance of peace.

The bloody irony was that it also helped pay the bills.

But he wasn't even going to think about it, not now. He needed sleep, a few hours rest, hopefully without the nightmares returning. He was exhausted enough without Gaius's nagging him about it or trying to shove disgusting medicines down his throat in a futile attempt to help him.

If luck was with him, he'd wake refreshed and smiling. If luck was with him, the nightmares would disappear and he'd finally be normal.

Then again, he didn't believe in luck.

The sharp clatter of the shop's security gate finally woke him.

Bleary-eyed, he looked around, saw the sun streaming through the curtains, heard the sounds of traffic, and excited shoppers' voices, an amused hello and muted conversation rising up from the street. A typical Saturday, he'd heard it all a hundred times before.

Of course, he was late again. Gaius was already opening up downstairs and Merlin wasn't there to help him. Shoving on faded, really-should-be-washed jeans and a relatively clean shirt, scrubbing his face with icy water and hurry, he skidded past the now-cold eggs and congealing bacon Gaius had left him in the kitchen, then rushed down the stairs, two at a time, and into the back of the shop.

Gaius gave him a look.

It wasn't the first time he'd been late nor would it likely be the last but he tried to show his contrition with a small grin and a shrug.

Gaius just gave him another look and added a put-upon sigh for effect.

"Sorry, I know. I know I should have been here sooner but… well, I had another bad night and…." He trailed off, suddenly wary of the concerned gaze. What he didn't need was more of those nasty mixtures Gaius loved to make. Putting on a bland, I'm-innocent face, he said quickly, "I'm fine, now. I am. Really, don't worry about me."

Obviously he fooled no one, least of all Gaius. But they both knew that there was little to be done. So the old man merely nodded and shooed him off, telling him to go eat and come back with his hair combed and presentable as he had a business to run and appearances did make a difference.

A wider grin and a nod and he settled in for the day. There were deliveries to make, and when he was finally back in the shop, smiles to give when customers came in for their potions and crystals and hopes that only the magic of belief could bring.

How a learned man like Gaius ended up in a small store in the dodgy end of East London was beyond him. Once a physician and now a purveyor of dubious medicines and New Age rubbish, barely making ends meet, the old man seemed happy and his customers were certainly satisfied. But Merlin knew that magic was a myth, something that only happened in fairy stories. How someone who'd gone to university could believe otherwise just boggled the mind.

Not that he'd say anything when Gaius would go on and on about gifts and destinies and magic. His great-uncle had been more than kind in taking him in after his mum died and even now, he often waived Merlin's rent when jobs became scarce or when he was having trouble with the dreams.

At least the silver lining in all that was that his writing was beginning to pay off a bit. A short story here, a longer piece there and it almost made the nightmares worth it. Almost.

But it still wasn't enough to live on. So Merlin helped out at the shop and later once it was closed, worked as a glass collector at the Dalston Superstore.

The pay there was okay and sometimes the exhausting work only intensified his nightmares but he got free meals, a drink or two on the sly and it was so energizing that he didn't care. The pulsing music, fashionable crowds and fluoro flashes, the excitement sometimes made him feel alive, in a way that reality could not. That it was a gay bar had nothing to do with his looking forward to the evenings; the crowds were a great mix of straight and gay and everything in between but he wasn't looking for love or lust or even anonymous sex, not while his nightmares made his life so unbalanced.

He couldn't seem to stop hoping, though. It was stupid, really absurd for him to even think about finding someone at the club and he'd had enough arguments with himself over it. His job might consist mostly of picking up after the customers and washing the endless dishes but his heart refused to pay attention to reality. Even now, with the latest nightmare still haunting him, he was yearning for more than endless nights alone.

The club's grumpy doorman was already at the entrance, turning away those who didn't meet his exacting standards, and the lines were long enough, posh gits and their hangers on, over-the-top twinks and underage idiots interspersed with the usual crowd. The typical Saturday night.

He wasn't late but the manager gave him a glare anyway and then a shake of his head. Merlin smiled back, nodded then grabbed the first of the many trays and started piling up dirty dishes and mostly empty glasses, swiping the table tops as he did, just trying to stay ahead of the mess.

It worked mostly but as it got later and later, the crowds became almost unmanageable. He wasn't exactly light on his feet and there were times when he narrowly missed dropping the whole tub of dishes on the floor as he pushed and prodded his way through the mass of bodies.

Hot, sweat sticking to his now food-stained shirt, his arms shaking with effort, he'd hoped to get through the night without any collisions. But he didn't believe in luck and for once it would seem, luck didn't believe in him either.

He was watching the dancers jumping about, twisting around, joyous and energetic, the flashing colours and the electro sound pounding through him. Off to one side, near the bar, something caught his attention. A blond head, a face that looked disturbingly familiar, a smile that he knew far too well.

It couldn't be.

It had to be a mistake, a delusion brought on by sweaty bodies and noise and darkness; for a breathless instant, it looked almost as if it was his - he wouldn't say it was Arthur because that was ridiculous. After all, his dreams weren't real, no matter how they made him feel. Not real, never that.

Still he couldn't move, just stood there, staring at him. A woman with purple-streaked black hair, face hidden from view, leaned in impossibly close and Arthu… the man smirked at her, shaking his head, just as a bearded bloke behind him, rugged good looks and achingly familiar, whispered into his ear. He pushed them both away, laughing at some joke lost in the music. Obviously friends having a good time.

It was insane. Merlin was insane and he knew Arthur and yet he'd never met him, never would meet him nor any of his posh mates. It was impossible. Obviously, the memories were confusing him, muddling his mind, and seeing Arthur like that, so close and yet so completely out of his reach, just made things worse.

He'd never felt so alone.

Throat catching, he turned away, hoping to finish his shift and get out of the club before he did something incredibly foolish.

But luck was a bitch. Forgetting the tub of dishes heavy in his hand, as he twisted around, he knocked into one of the club patrons, and it slipped from his grasp, spilling everything, the remnants of food and drink all over the man's scruffy boots.

Already babbling apologies, he knelt down, picking up the broken glass, encrusted plates, dumping them back into the tub as quickly as he could with one hand and trying to wipe at the boots with his other.

"Shit, those were expensive boots, you fucking arsehole."

Bloody hell. He knew that voice.

It was Valiant.

He hunkered down, didn't respond, just kept picking up the pieces, hoping that the man would get bored and move on to torment some other poor sod. But this was just not his night.

"Of course, it's the half-wit. Let you out of the loony bin, did they?"

When he didn't answer, Valiant kicked out, send Merlin sprawling into the mass of writhing bodies. The tub of dishes skidded past him and several patrons had to sidestep in order to avoid it and him, grumbling loudly as they did.

Merlin scrambled after the mess and as other customers closed in behind him, Valiant was lost in the crowd. Still hunched down, he picked up the last of the glasses and hurried away, hoping to avoid another argument with the bloody git. He didn't want his boss to have an excuse to fire him. He needed the money.

After that, he managed to stay in the kitchen, washing up. He wasn't hiding, not exactly, just making sure that he'd not cause trouble for the club. He wasn't so much of an idiot that he'd confront Valiant. The man had mates just as savage as he was and Merlin's bruises from his last encounter with them had only now begun to fade.

It was nearly closing time when his boss finally had had enough and sent him home. The run-in with Valiant had shaken him and he kept dropping things, much to everyone's annoyance. He knew it was a miracle he still had his job so he wasn't about to argue for a full shift, merely nodded and turned away.

Putting on his jacket, he slipped out the back, pulling a large bag of rubbish with him and tossing it into the bin in the alleyway. It was quieter there, only the muted sound of music pulsing through the walls, and his own footsteps, nothing out of the ordinary but the weekend smell of rotting food and sick and stale beer, the glint of broken glass littering the ground.

There was no sign of Valiant.

Merlin had escaped this time.

Letting out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, he headed home.

At the club entrance, the lines of people clamouring to get in had vanished along with the grumpy doorman. A few smokers were still hanging there, talking quietly among themselves, but they paid Merlin scant attention and he didn't recognize any of them anyway. A couple came out, laughing, half-drunk on booze and music, stumbling down the street and for a second, he could still hear the techno beat blasting away inside. But the door swung shut and as the two walked away, it grew quiet again.

It was very late. The stores were all shuttered. Somewhere in the distance a bottle smashed, making him cringe, turning to look behind him to see if there was danger but it wasn't close and he didn't see anyone else. Even the smokers had gone.

Usually he didn't mind the semi-quiet; it wasn't like Ealdor but he'd gotten used to the ever-present buzz of distant traffic and it was kind of peaceful in a way. But now he was jumping at every shadow, feeling ready to bolt for home and hide under the covers.

It was ridiculous to think that Valiant was waiting for him. More likely, he'd found a bird to shag or got drunk and passed out somewhere; it had been hours, after all, and Valiant wasn't known for his patience.

Yet as he turned back toward the flat, in the split-second between that thought and agony, the fist smashing into his cheek seemed almost inevitable.

Merlin staggered back, pain exploding across his face, and Valiant was swinging at him again. Ducking, the fist missed him by a hairs-breadth but there was Dagr and Ebor, the bastard's shadows, appearing out of the doorway next to Gaius's shop, grabbing at Merlin's arms, one of them pulling hard, twisting him around and as he struggled, Valiant got in another punch, this time into his gut.

Ebor, fuck him, was laughing and then he kicked at Merlin's leg, trying to get his own sick pleasure by trying to force Merlin down and as he stumbled, falling hard on one knee, there was more pain, a universe of it when Dagr, still holding his arm, pulled up hard. Wire-sharp agony, shooting straight through him and up into his brain.

He must have screamed, well as much as he could without breathing and his vision was already growing black around the edges. Dagr was saying something, echoes of profanity and contempt, as he yanked again, laughing at Merlin's frantic attempts to escape the pain.

"Hold him, Dagr," Valiant said. "I'm not done with him yet."

But the bully was as stupid as he was ugly, and mouth open, when Valiant moved closer, Dagr loosened his grip, his other hand shoving at Valiant, snarling as he said, "Fuck you. I'm still having my fun."

Ebor wasn't paying attention to the other two, focused instead on his own brand of entertainment, went to kick Merlin again. Frantic, he jerked out of Dagr's grasp somehow. There was another blaze of agony; his arm was now all but useless at his side, but at least the kick missed his gut, instead scored along his ribcage, more pain but nothing compared to his shoulder and aching head.

"You little shit," Valiant shouted, pushing Dagr aside. Then grabbing Merlin, dragging him up, he punched him again, hard across the mouth.

Blood sprayed out and his eyes streaming with agony and tears, he couldn't see anything, couldn't do anything, collapsing back to the pavement, waited for more pain, more cruelty from these bastards.

In the distance he could hear them laughing, talking about what else they'd do, arguing as to which of them would split his head open, and find out if there was anything inside.

The darkness was calling him, black-edged agony already tunnelling in but terrified as he was, as he looked up, it wasn't Kingsland High Street he saw. There were trees and stonework and horses, Valiant clothed in chainmail, his shield writhing with snakes, Ebor and Dagr in hard leathers, looking for all like thugs in some crappy costume drama.

Oh, god, he was having another vision and he was going to die from it this time.

He couldn't stand it, wanted to make it stop. Words echoing in his head, nonsense words, words he knew and didn't know and as Valiant raised his gloved hand, Merlin's world turned bright. Somehow, somehow the bastards were flying backwards towards the trees, shield spinning off into the distance, chainmail and leathers morphing back into dirty jeans and torn hoodies.

When he blinked again, the three of them were looking a little dazed, as if they'd hit the wall behind them hard and only now realizing it. Merlin flinched back. He knew that they'd be on him again in a second and he had nothing left, no energy, no words, just nightmares and one final agony.

He didn't expect rescue. Too many people were afraid of Valiant and his scum friends; he was on his own.

But from behind him, a remembered voice, shouting at them to stop or he'd make them stop.

It couldn't be.

Arthur was there. Not the Arthur of his dreams but the man from the club, and behind him, getting out of the taxi, the other bearded man, and the woman he'd been dancing with. Leon and Morgana.

As he tried to blink away some of the confusion of how he knew their names and why they were there, Ebor and Dagr were already dusting themselves off, nonchalant and exuding the kind of stupidity for which they were known, that they thought they could take on the newcomers with ease. Valiant, on the other hand, was sizing them up, weighing the odds.

The woman had her mobile out and was already giving someone their location and a second later, another taxi drove up and more people got out. Gwaine and Percival and Elyan and Merlin had no idea who they were and why he knew them and didn't know them and it would have been fascinating to figure it out if he wasn't in such pain.

Valiant was smarter than he looked. He must have realized that he was outnumbered and he glared down at Merlin, snarling, "This isn't over, Emrys."

Then he shoved at his idiot friends, and cowards all, they ran into the darkness.

For a moment, Merlin tried to breathe, relieved that it was over, then lay back down on the dirty pavement, wanting to sink into the cement, and forget everything. He hurt so badly, his shoulder felt like nerves shredding every time he moved, and he could taste blood in his mouth. It was too much, just too much to fight any more. The pain, the confusion, the endless nightmares. He just wanted peace.

"Stay with me." The man, Arthur or whoever he really was, wouldn't let him alone. "Stay with me."

Purple-streaked hair brushed against his cheek as she leaned down and Morgana said, "He looks bad. He needs to go to hospital. I'll call for…."

"No! Don't! No hospitals, no!" Merlin was frantic. He'd had enough of hospitals. They'd put him in the mental ward again, make him take drugs to suppress the dreams. No matter what they called it now, half-way homes or care units or… he'd not do it again. He'd rather die. "Please, Arthur, don't."

A gentle touch, sweet perfume lingering and she said, "You could have broken bones or be bleeding inside. You need to see a doctor." She stood up, looked toward the blond. "Arthur, he needs medical attention."

That the man was named Arthur was irony enough but even close up, he looked like the man of his dreams, even smelled like him. The idea made Merlin's head throb or was it the pain of a cut mouth and battered body; he wasn't sure any more.

Arthur knelt down, looked him over. "She's right. You need a doctor, if nothing else than to stop the bleeding and fix your shoulder."

Merlin wanted to shake his head but even that hurt. Instead he said, "My great-uncle's a doctor. He can… he's in the flat upstairs." He pointed to the entrance then winced as he moved a little too fast. "Gaius Blaise and I'm Merlin. Just tell him… just…." Breathing through the pain that threatened to overwhelm him, he said, "Please, Arthur, no hospitals."

He must have heard the desperation in Merlin's voice, must have understood just how afraid he was, even after being beaten half to death. Arthur turned to the tall bearded man. "Leon, find this Doctor Blaise and get him down here. I don't think we should move… Merlin is it?... right now."

Leon nodded, rushed over to the flat door and let himself inside. Merlin could hear the man hurrying up the stairs and hard knocks above them.

"Leon and I can take care of this. Gwaine, could you please take Morgana home? It's late and I know she has plans for tomorrow." When she started to protest, Arthur just cut her off. "Not now, Morgana. Yes, I know you can fight better than any of us, you could probably terrorize the whole of East London with your mere presence but if things go south, I would prefer to know you are safe."

"Arthur, I didn't know you cared," she said, mocking and sarcastic. Another time, he'd have enjoyed their little snide remarks to each other. Instead he just wanted her to go. Every breath was agony and their arguing was taking what little strength he had left.

Then Gaius was hurrying toward him, his old physician's bag in hand. Kneeling down, his breath hitching as he gazed at Merlin - he must have looked a fright, and he said, "Merlin, what happened? Can you describe where it hurts?"

Grabbing his shirt-sleeve, pulling him closer, Merlin tried not to cough as he said, "Everywhere. That fucker pulled out my arm, Gaius. God, it hurts. And he… they kicked me in the leg, punched in the… stomach, my face."

The old man was touching him, along his cheek, where his arm would have met his shoulder but now was just a fire-storm of pain, his abdomen. "Does it feel like anything is broken?"

"No, but please Gaius, no hospitals, please." His heart was racing, fear sheeting through him and it was almost more torment than his shoulder. He couldn't go back, not again. "Please, no."

Arthur's concerned face frowned down at him and then turned, puzzled, toward Gaius. "He said that before, about the hospital."

"Yes, he would." The old man nodded and then looked up past Merlin to someone behind him. "I have a table in the back of my shop that I can use to examine him." He reached into one pocket, pulled out a set of old-fashioned keys, held one up, "Here is the key for the gate." Then holding up another, he shoved the lot into Leon's hands. "The larger one opens the door. There's a leather stretcher hanging on the wall by the back door. Bring it."

Two men hurried past but Merlin ignored them, was panting, trying to breathe out the pain. With every beat of his heart, it seemed to be getting worse. "My shoulder, it hurts so much. Can you… I think it's… hurts."

"It's dislocated." Gaius wasn't looking at Merlin but towards Arthur. "Can you hold him down?"

For a moment, Arthur looked ill but then he nodded sharply and put his hands on Merlin's other shoulder and under his arm, steadying him. "Ready whenever you are."

Merlin didn't want to see what Gaius was about to do. He knew it was going to hurt, probably worse than anything he'd ever felt before and in a way, it was easier to watch Arthur leaning over him, looking so steadfast and true; he'd had a lifetime of gazing into those blue eyes, now filled with compassion and dismay and yet ever determined to see it through.

He felt more than heard Gaius say, "Merlin, I'm sorry." There was a steady warmth on his injured arm, growing shards of pain stabbing into his shoulder and hands, across his skin and into the spasming muscles as it was lifted, slowly rotated up, torture as Gaius pushed and pulled, feeling for the socket, as he forced Merlin's arm above his head.

And there was an unendurable moment, he was shaking uncontrollably, and as the bone popped back into its socket, black and red shredded him and such pain that he couldn't help but arch up, screaming. But Arthur kept holding onto him as he tried to breathe, sobbing at the memory of it.

Still spilling tears and obscenities, but even as he cried out, recognized the agony, it was already settling down into shudders and a kind of aching release. He slumped, feeling the cool of the cement under his back, breathing easier for it.

"Better?" Gaius's worried face was still watching him, assessing his reactions. "Once we get inside, cold compresses on your shoulder. I can't give you much for the pain, in case of bleeding and perhaps hydromorphone or one of the other opiates but then there are hallucinations associated with it at times and we know that you have…." He trailed off, muttering to himself, then as the two men returned with the stretcher, he said, "Ah, at last. Do you think you can slide onto it?"

Merlin just nodded and as Leon and Percival laid it next to him, he slowly moved, careful not to jostle his arm, onto the leather stretcher. He hated feeling so helpless but he wasn't about to argue with Gaius, not with Arthur watching.

It also didn't help his dizziness to be carried like some kind of meat, feeling off-kilter as the two larger men lifted him up and started walking through the shop, swaying with each step - or the embarrassment that he was beginning to feel every time Arthur glanced his way. He should have been stronger than this, able to take the pain somehow or at least not been so stupid as to get beaten up by that bastard, Valiant.

"If necessary, we will go to the A&E for x-rays. You may have broken bones. No arguments, Merlin."

He hadn't been listening, instead watching and pretending not to watch Arthur as Gaius swept his potion table clean and he was gently laid down on it, the leather stretcher still under him. The agony of his shoulder was subsiding a bit but the deep bruises and cuts across his skin were not exactly pain-free, either. He knew things might be broken, too, and the A&E would have equipment and pain killers that Gaius didn't have available in the shop.

But when he heard Gaius mention the place, his fears started up again. They'd treated him before with drugs and accusations and even though one part of him had recognized that they were just trying to help, another part of him was screaming for them to leave him the fuck alone.

He wouldn't make a fuss, not with Arthur studying him so closely, but he'd be damned if he'd go back, no matter how much pain he was in.

Gaius might be an old man but once he had a patient, he was all efficiency. He shoved an ice pack onto Merlin's shoulder. "Twenty minutes on and then in three or four hours another twenty minutes."

While Merlin gingerly held it in place, the old man pushed up his dirty t-shirt and was already painfully prodding at his abdomen, nodding goodbye to Leon and Percival, thanking them even as he was shooing them out of the shop.

It was embarrassing to be half-naked in front of this Arthur. In his dreams, he'd seen him nude, both them tangled beneath the sheets, sharing laughter and lust and love. But only in his dreams, not this reality of bruised flesh and pain.

When Gaius pulled off Merlin's trainers and it looked like he was going to undress him further, examination or not, it was just too much. He hissed at him to stop, eyes widening as he flicked a look in Arthur's direction. He could feel his face flushing and Gaius, not as oblivious as he seemed, turned to the other, said, "Thank you for helping Merlin. It might have ended differently if you had not come along when you did."

"Just glad that I could help."

Arthur seemed reluctant to go, was still looking at Merlin as if he wanted to say something else. But with Gaius staring at him, using that damn eyebrow of his as a weapon, Arthur gave up, bowing slightly in defeat and then as he started for the door and his still waiting taxi, he said, "I'd like to check back tomorrow, see how he's doing?"

"Assuming nothing is broken, he should be able to receive visitors by evening." Gaius looked up, frowned slightly. "And your name?"

"Arthur Pendracan. I live on Richmond Road, a couple of miles from here."

Merlin could feel Gaius twitching at that, his hands betraying him, almost as if he'd been trying to figure something out and only now realized what it was. "Any relation to Uther Pendracan, head of Draca Enterprises?"

Arthur looked surprised. "My father. Do you know him?"

"I did know him once. You were maybe three or four last time I saw you, fighting with a plastic sword, I believe, insisting you were King Arthur of Camelot. Very forcibly, too, I might add." Gaius gave him an indulgent smile. "Yes, well…," Now it was Arthur who seemed embarrassed. Shrugging, steadfastly not looking at Merlin, he said, "I outgrew that whole King Arthur nonsense years ago." "I'm sure you did." Gaius pushed at Merlin's ribs and he let out a yelp as the old man's fingers dug in. With a worried scowl, his voice growing distant, no longer paying attention to Arthur but rather trying to find every bruised spot on Merlin's body, he said, "Thank you again for your help. I think you probably saved Merlin's life tonight." Arthur sent one final glance toward him, his eyes lighting a bit and with a slight smile, he said, "Any time." And then Gaius and Merlin were alone.

"Bloody hell, did you have to try and take off all my clothes in front of him? I thought I'd die of embarrassment."

Even as he was yelling at Gaius, the pain was flaring again, his shoulder, his leg, his increasingly tender face and now there was a kind of sharp twinge in his side but he ignored it as best he could. Arthur had been standing there, close enough to touch and Merlin kept remembering things that were just not true but oh, he wished they had been. And it was obvious that Gaius didn't understand anything of what he was going through.

It just wasn't fair.

"I have to assess the damage and I can't do that through those filthy jeans. Or we can do this at the hospital. I'm sure they would be less understanding than I am," Gaius said calmly, standing there with arms folded and a determined frown on his face. "Now where does it hurt? And don't bother telling me that you are fine when it is clear you are not."

"I'm fine."

Of course, that turned into an argument with Gaius putting his foot down and a final compromise that satisfied no one. Merlin was allowed to go upstairs to his own bed, not lie there in the cold dark of Gaius's shop if he was able but come morning, Merlin would go to the A&E for x-rays and further assessment.

Gaius could be stubborn but Merlin was even more so. It didn't matter that his shoulder was on fire or that it hurt like hell to put one foot and then another onto the stairs, to gather enough energy to pull himself up the long steep climb to his own room but at last it was done. Gaius fussed and pushed pillows under him and helped him clean the blood off his face; he didn't dare look in the mirror, especially with the old man clucking at him.

Finally he was able to get Gaius to leave him alone, for a little while at least and he slumped down in exhaustion. He kept playing images from the fight in his head and Arthur's rescue. Valiant seemed half-mad with fury but Merlin knew it wasn't the end of it. Injured like he was, he'd be more vulnerable than ever and it might be that he'd have to stay out of sight for a while.

He hoped that Valiant wouldn't go after Arthur, though. It seemed that Pendracan could take care of himself but still it was worrying. But Arthur was also surrounded by friends, and Merlin could take comfort in that at least.