Britain Boys, Part 6/10
Aug. 29th, 2011 07:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nyxelestiaThe Blesseds finally made their demands two days later, when Merlin was recovering from the collar, giving him only one more day to be sedated without the collar before it went back on permanently. Merlin’s breathing was stronger and he wasn’t so pale, so Arthur counted that as a definite plus.
“Money?” Arthur asked when Tom Collins walked in that night. “You go through all this trouble just to get money?”
“Did you see how much we demanded?” he asked sardonically, eyeing the sleeping boy next to Arthur, before gesturing to the telly. “Also, have you considered just watching the stupid cartoons? We got this thing to shut you up but if you keep annoying me I’ll get rid of it.”
“Couldn’t you just rob a few banks for that much money?” Arthur asked, ignoring the man’s threat. “Why go through all this trouble.”
“Let’s see,” Collins said, holding his hands out to his side as if they were scales. “Plan for and gather several professional robbers, personnel, security bypasses, weapons, data, cars, carriers, and safehouses for several bank robberies…or get the security information and handful of personnel for just two kidnappings and one hostage situation?” He moved his hands up and down, weighing them. “Multiple strenuous bank robberies, one easy double-kidnapping hostage situation, several robberies, one hostage situation. It would take several dozen people to rob enough banks. We have three people here to deal with you. Hmm, which will get us the most money with the least amount of cost for us?”
Arthur sighed, deflating as the cold, harsh, and inhuman logic of that hit him.
Then he stared in surprise when his eyes landed on a suspiciously phone-shaped bulge in the man’s pocket.
“Don’t bother,” Collins said, catching Arthur’s sight with malicious glee. “It doesn’t get a signal here, or anywhere else. We can barely get a signal in the other office. Even if you do steal it, it’s useless to you.”
That was…not encouraging.
The man smirked down at Arthur, who glared up at him, before Collins knelt down to examine Merlin, ignoring the way Arthur kept clutching protectively at the unconscious sorcerer. He nodded as he said, much to Arthur’s dismay, “When the collar goes on tomorrow it stays on.”
“But-”
“He’s fine,” Collins snapped, low and dangerous, smirking as he saw Arthur flinch back away from him. “The collar goes back on tomorrow.”
And with that he got up and left.
Only when Arthur could no longer hear the man’s footsteps did he relax his grip around Merlin, turning to switch the little telly back on and watch the news.
Even the combination of his father’s fortunes and whatever money the Prime Minister could scrounge up wouldn’t cover the Blesseds’ demands. They had to know that, right? Even if Father gave up everything he had and Hunith Emrys managed to somehow convince enough of Parliament to just sign out half of the government’s money, neither of which could or would happen, they still wouldn’t be able to pay the Blesseds’ demands.
Arthur watched them replay the chilling video, where Tom Collins’ voice played out demanding what might as well be half the British budget in return for the boys’ safety. He held onto Merlin almost desperately as he listened to the broadcasters come to their final conclusion, completely oblivious to the fact the ones they were talking about were watching.
The Blesseds weren’t after the money.
They just wanted to kill Arthur and Merlin.
He switched the telly to stupid late night shows after that, before turning it off and lying down, head on Merlin’s chest and ear pressed to Merlin’s heart, willing himself to sleep, while letting pieces of a plan start to drift together in his head.
~*~
“He took it off?” Merlin asked, surprised, barely keeping his voice low, still feeling ill apparently.
Arthur nodded. It had been a day and a half since he realized they were doomed to die, and a day since Merlin’s collar came back on fully, and the sedatives had just worn off.
“Yeah,” Arthur said. “And, listen – he used a digital key or something to open it, explains why there’s no latch or anything. You enter in numbers to open the collar, and our birthday is the password!”
Merlin’s eyes widened. “That’s…”
“We can’t wait to be rescued,” Arthur said. “The demands they’re making are impossible. It’s not all up to our parents, and even if it were- a lot of people on the news are already saying it: the Blesseds didn’t kidnap us for money, they are just going to kill us.”
Merlin paled, but stoically just said, “So we need to escape.”
Arthur nodded.
“Knowing the password is helpful,” Merlin said. “But how do we get the key in the first place?”
“…you said the collar keeps the magic inside you, right?” Arthur asked. Merlin nodded. “So can you do magic inside your body?”
Merlin frowned. “It doesn’t really work like that, but…” He turned in his seat and flopped back on the pallet, shutting his eyes and concentrating.
“…well?”
Merlin sighed dejectedly and shook his head, opening his eyes and looking up at Arthur. “I can…I can make things move faster and slower – um, Will says that’s my metabolism? – but that’s it. It’s not even actual magic, just a side-effect of magic that the suppressor doesn’t deal with.”
Arthur frowned as he dropped onto his stomach next to Merlin, the two boys turning on their sides to face each other. “So swallowing stuff to enchant is out of the question…”
“You said he sedated me?” Merlin asked. This time, Arthur nodded. “Metabolism has to do with that, right?”
“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “I’ve always been pants at science and things.”
“I think it is,” Merlin continued.
“So that means…?”
“If I make my metabolism fast enough, I can make it wear off, faster than normal.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “So you can be awake with the collar off!”
“I won’t have much magic, though,” Merlin said. “I spent half the afternoon in that magic-suppressing room at the homeless kids’ center and my magic wasn’t working properly until the next morning.”
“Damn,” Arthur said. That would be problematic. “But you’ll have some, right?”
Merlin nodded. “I don’t know for sure, I could probably lift some things, make some lights, nothing serious or helpful. That’s how it was after that teen-center thingy. This doesn’t seem like a helpful plan…”
Arthur thought.
“He…he had the key with him when he came to put the collar back on, but he didn’t take it out, didn’t even touch it. I think he just keeps them in the same place or something.”
“So what are you thinking?” Merlin asked.
“You fake ill again,” Arthur said. “A while from now, so it’s believable. You get your metabo-thingy going as fast as you can so when he sedates you, it wears off a bit before he comes back. He keeps a sharp eye on me when he does but he won’t be looking out for you – you can levitate the key or just move it or something, somewhere safe when he puts on the collar. He leaves, we get you out of it, you unlock the door, and we run.”
“And then?”
“We wing it,” Arthur said bluntly. “Maybe find a phone, find out where we are, just run as far and fast as we can.”
Merlin nodded. “I think – I think in a week, he’ll definitely believe it if I ‘become ill’ again…sooner than that, actually, because I may actually be sick by then. But in a few days, maybe, they’ll believe it, after last time.”
“Good,” Arthur said.
“What do we do until then?”
“…turn his short temper into carelessness,” Arthur said. “If he gets so mad that he gets careless, it’ll be easier for us to escape.”
“…but also more dangerous,” Merlin said, reaching out and gently brushing over the bruise on Arthur’s jaw.
“We’ll be fine,” Arthur said curtly.
Merlin nodded. “I…I don’t like the plan. But I suppose it’s all we’ve got.” Then he yawned, long and filled with almost-squeaks. Even if the collar’s effects and the sedation had worn off, he was still suffering the consequences. “Almost good plan and almost good night.”
Arthur nodded, suppressing a yawn, himself. “We’ll need to sleep a lot before, get our strength up and stuff.”
With that he curled around Merlin, his head on Merlin’s chest like he’d been doing for the last several nights, as they went to sleep.
“…you know I’m not actually sick anymore, right?”
“Shut up.”
~*~
For the next few days, Arthur kept trying to help Merlin feign ill again, and they both had to reshape their plan once they realized that Merlin was becoming actually ill again.
Merlin didn’t think he felt his illness any more than during the night once they remade their plans.
For the first time in ages, Merlin fisted his dick under the blanket, biting his lip as he tried to think of pretty people and the feeling of his own hand on himself.
And he tried not to scream when he could only get hard, but not finish. Why was this so damn hard? Maybe it was the knowledge that they were being watched. That did make things…weird. But Merlin wasn’t sure he could wait until the morning trip to the loo. But if he couldn’t get himself off by then, anyway-
“Again?”
“Ah!” Merlin jerked at the sound of Arthur’s voice, releasing himself to turn halfway towards the other side of the pallets. Arthur was pushed up on his elbows and nonchalantly gazing at Merlin’s crotch.
He smiled, amused. “Want me to take care of that?”
“Arthur!” Merlin hissed.
“I know, I know, we’re being watched,” Arthur said, flopping back into his thin pillow. “But they’ve already seen us once, anyway…and you’re, um, frustrated. They’ll watch us no matter what we do…so why not-”
“I’m not giving anyone a show!” Merlin said scathingly, trying not to remember the tone of Collins’ voice as he’d mocked Merlin about this very thing.
There was a tense beat of silence.
“It’s not a show, Merlin,” Arthur said, slow and careful. “It’s…taking care of yourself. Nature’s call and all that? Not just for pissing.”
“Sod off,” Merlin said, curling in on himself. At least he could feel himself going soft. “Wait until we get home if you want to wank someone off so badly.”
“What…” Arthur frowned. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“You.”
“Merlin – I don’t…I just – I want to help.”
Merlin snorted, and tried his best to shove the chants of queer, queer, queer witchboy from his head.
“Merlin-”
“Leave me alone.”
There was a long, tense silence.
“…I just want to-”
“Don’t!” Merlin shouted, scooting away from Arthur.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, hurt, and Merlin felt a pang of guilt. It wasn’t really Arthur’s fault, was it? Merlin wasn’t sure if it was his own or Collins’, but…probably not Arthur’s, at any rate.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, quiet and a little more even. “Just…please, leave me alone?”
“Yeah,” Arthur said, and Merlin heard the rustle of blankets as Arthur tucked himself back in for sleep. “Good…good night.”
“Good night,” Merlin said.
He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t.
~*~
“Wake up!”
Merlin groaned awake, about to beg Mum for five more minutes, before the voice registered as Tom’s, and he shot up, scrambling back until he hit Arthur’s still-waking form.
“You know the drill,” the man said, shoving the newspaper at them. “Hurry up, this one’s late as it is.”
Merlin nodded as Arthur pushed himself up, and he and Arthur stood up, holding up the newspaper between them, making sure the date was clearly visible. Arthur frowned as he probably noticed Merlin was running a fever again, hair damp with sweat, but didn’t say anything.
“That’s it,” Tom said, fiddling with the camera.
Behind the paper, Arthur grabbed Merlin’s sweaty hand, but not before folding Merlin’s fingers under his so one was sticking out, the middle finger, in front of the paper, Arthur putting his own at an angle to it. Just as they had planned. Both boys schooled their features into one of blank calm, hoping the defiance would shine through in their eyes. They were the ‘Britain Boys’, as some newscaster had called them, and they weren’t going to be controlled by anyone.
He hoped.
“C’mon, boys, time for the money shot,” Tom said snidely, snapping the photo quickly, before practically running out the door, muttering to himself about the time and oversleeping.
As soon as they heard the lock click and the footsteps fade away, he and Arthur broke apart laughing.
Later that day, they watched delightedly at the news report of their gimmick.
“…it’s obvious from Merlin’s paleness and fever and Arthur’s bruise that the boys are still going through a serious ordeal,” the newscaster in question said. “But it is also clear the boys’ spirits are as strong as never before, seen in both their overtly defiant expressions in today’s photograph, and the covert V they made in it.”
And there was the picture, with the bright red circle around where they used their two middle-fingers to make a V-sign, flipping off Tom without him even realizing it in his rush. That was why they picked today to do it.
“University students around the country have shown their support for the boys by gathering together to display the sign amidst vigils and marches in their support.”
Arthur gripped Merlin’s hand as the camera cut to a scene with hundreds of students at one uni march-vigil thing, holding hands as they sang songs of support and chanted. He and Merlin grinned at each other at the chants of “Stay strong, Britain Boys!” rang out across the country, at least according to the newspeople, which flickered between several universities showing similar scenes, most of them chanting the same thing.
“We’re strong,” Merlin said, as if those people could hear them. “We’re strong.”
The scene cut to King Uther and Mum, giving a brief press conference together in light of the turn of direction this photo has created.
“However crass their method,” Uther said. “Their embodiment of the British spirit of stoicism and strength is truly heartening in such a dark situation.”
Arthur and Merlin shared a look.
“How much do you think they’ll yell at us for the ‘rude hand gesture’ once we’re out of here?” Arthur asked.
“Either more than ever before or never again,” Merlin said, before they looked back to the telly screen.
“If you can hear us, boys,” Mum said. “Stay strong.”
They couldn’t hear anything else after that, because at that point Collins came roaring in screaming, “You fucking little bastards!”
Heart pumping faster than a hummingbird and adrenaline filling his veins, Merlin scrambled back, dragging Arthur with him.
Unfortunately, it didn’t do them much good.
~*~
The country had exploded in morale and support as pictures of the boys’ photo circulated around, everywhere. Vigils and marches in their name were skyrocketing, sorcerers throwing up magical fireworks while the streets were filled with everyone from toffs to chavs marching side by side. Since yesterday morning, “Stay Strong, Britain Boys!” had somehow been plastered in signs all over the country, written on shirts and skins, created in lights and fireworks, and painted on hastily made banners and hung up everywhere, becoming the temporary, unofficial motto of the United Kingdom. Most of the Commonwealth nations, as well as other random countries like America and Brazil and India and whoever the newspeople felt like talking about, were showing some support derived from this newfound reassurance that whatever happened, the boys must be all right.
That took a turn for the worse just this morning. Even as they nursed their aching bodies, they were glued to the screen as newscasters again and again replayed the clip of Father and Hunith standing next to each other, Father going white as a sheet and Hunith actually crying, just a few tears, at the sight of today’s photo.
Each of the boys’ faces was covered in bruises, and a little blood had still been trickling down from Merlin’s lip in the picture. Their eyes were red and puffy from crying, and their middle fingers were both broken. The only saving grace of the picture was the look of defiance on their faces, but even that was muted beneath the pain.
They spent hours trying to follow the little instructions that came with the two finger-splints Collins had tossed in after the photo, wincing more at each other’s pain than their own, as they watched the cries of ‘child abuse’ and ‘impending murder’ sear across the news screens, half the people encouraging the Britain Boys to stay strong, the other half pleading with them to stop so they didn’t end up hurt even more. It didn’t help that Arthur’s bruise from before still hadn’t completely faded, and Merlin was looking ill, pale, and sweaty again.
Tom Collins was not happy about the way the boys were still defiant in their photos, even if it was only in their eyes.
The next day, they had even more bruises, and only the top half of the picture was seen, the bottom half completely disappeared. Everyone remarked on this, and Arthur held onto Merlin, trying not to be upset that their finger splints flipping off the camera were hidden – though the tops of their fingers were shown, so everyone knew that they were there. Merlin was now visibly ill again, and Arthur knew they would have to act soon before Merlin was too ill for their plan to work.
The day after, the boys had their hands bound behind their back to legs of a chair, the newspaper balancing between them – Collins’ solution to their antics in the photos, though it did little for his own self, likely now sporting a few bruises of his own from the boys kicking out at him. The nation erupted at the sight of them bound for the picture, but luckily interpreted it for what it was – proof that the boys were so adamant to piss off their captors that they had to be tied down for the picture.
In hindsight, though, they shouldn’t have reacted so joyously (at least obviously joyously for the monitoring camera) to that, for within just a few hours of them cheering at the uni kids adding the latest picture to their candle-lit vigil line-up, Tom Collins came in and took the telly away.
That night, Arthur had to swallow down bile as a needle was injecting sedatives into Merlin yet again. His fear wasn’t acted, and Arthur slept with his head on Merlin’s chest, desperate to be reminded that Merlin was alive.
~*~
Part 7
“Money?” Arthur asked when Tom Collins walked in that night. “You go through all this trouble just to get money?”
“Did you see how much we demanded?” he asked sardonically, eyeing the sleeping boy next to Arthur, before gesturing to the telly. “Also, have you considered just watching the stupid cartoons? We got this thing to shut you up but if you keep annoying me I’ll get rid of it.”
“Couldn’t you just rob a few banks for that much money?” Arthur asked, ignoring the man’s threat. “Why go through all this trouble.”
“Let’s see,” Collins said, holding his hands out to his side as if they were scales. “Plan for and gather several professional robbers, personnel, security bypasses, weapons, data, cars, carriers, and safehouses for several bank robberies…or get the security information and handful of personnel for just two kidnappings and one hostage situation?” He moved his hands up and down, weighing them. “Multiple strenuous bank robberies, one easy double-kidnapping hostage situation, several robberies, one hostage situation. It would take several dozen people to rob enough banks. We have three people here to deal with you. Hmm, which will get us the most money with the least amount of cost for us?”
Arthur sighed, deflating as the cold, harsh, and inhuman logic of that hit him.
Then he stared in surprise when his eyes landed on a suspiciously phone-shaped bulge in the man’s pocket.
“Don’t bother,” Collins said, catching Arthur’s sight with malicious glee. “It doesn’t get a signal here, or anywhere else. We can barely get a signal in the other office. Even if you do steal it, it’s useless to you.”
That was…not encouraging.
The man smirked down at Arthur, who glared up at him, before Collins knelt down to examine Merlin, ignoring the way Arthur kept clutching protectively at the unconscious sorcerer. He nodded as he said, much to Arthur’s dismay, “When the collar goes on tomorrow it stays on.”
“But-”
“He’s fine,” Collins snapped, low and dangerous, smirking as he saw Arthur flinch back away from him. “The collar goes back on tomorrow.”
And with that he got up and left.
Only when Arthur could no longer hear the man’s footsteps did he relax his grip around Merlin, turning to switch the little telly back on and watch the news.
Even the combination of his father’s fortunes and whatever money the Prime Minister could scrounge up wouldn’t cover the Blesseds’ demands. They had to know that, right? Even if Father gave up everything he had and Hunith Emrys managed to somehow convince enough of Parliament to just sign out half of the government’s money, neither of which could or would happen, they still wouldn’t be able to pay the Blesseds’ demands.
Arthur watched them replay the chilling video, where Tom Collins’ voice played out demanding what might as well be half the British budget in return for the boys’ safety. He held onto Merlin almost desperately as he listened to the broadcasters come to their final conclusion, completely oblivious to the fact the ones they were talking about were watching.
The Blesseds weren’t after the money.
They just wanted to kill Arthur and Merlin.
He switched the telly to stupid late night shows after that, before turning it off and lying down, head on Merlin’s chest and ear pressed to Merlin’s heart, willing himself to sleep, while letting pieces of a plan start to drift together in his head.
“He took it off?” Merlin asked, surprised, barely keeping his voice low, still feeling ill apparently.
Arthur nodded. It had been a day and a half since he realized they were doomed to die, and a day since Merlin’s collar came back on fully, and the sedatives had just worn off.
“Yeah,” Arthur said. “And, listen – he used a digital key or something to open it, explains why there’s no latch or anything. You enter in numbers to open the collar, and our birthday is the password!”
Merlin’s eyes widened. “That’s…”
“We can’t wait to be rescued,” Arthur said. “The demands they’re making are impossible. It’s not all up to our parents, and even if it were- a lot of people on the news are already saying it: the Blesseds didn’t kidnap us for money, they are just going to kill us.”
Merlin paled, but stoically just said, “So we need to escape.”
Arthur nodded.
“Knowing the password is helpful,” Merlin said. “But how do we get the key in the first place?”
“…you said the collar keeps the magic inside you, right?” Arthur asked. Merlin nodded. “So can you do magic inside your body?”
Merlin frowned. “It doesn’t really work like that, but…” He turned in his seat and flopped back on the pallet, shutting his eyes and concentrating.
“…well?”
Merlin sighed dejectedly and shook his head, opening his eyes and looking up at Arthur. “I can…I can make things move faster and slower – um, Will says that’s my metabolism? – but that’s it. It’s not even actual magic, just a side-effect of magic that the suppressor doesn’t deal with.”
Arthur frowned as he dropped onto his stomach next to Merlin, the two boys turning on their sides to face each other. “So swallowing stuff to enchant is out of the question…”
“You said he sedated me?” Merlin asked. This time, Arthur nodded. “Metabolism has to do with that, right?”
“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “I’ve always been pants at science and things.”
“I think it is,” Merlin continued.
“So that means…?”
“If I make my metabolism fast enough, I can make it wear off, faster than normal.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “So you can be awake with the collar off!”
“I won’t have much magic, though,” Merlin said. “I spent half the afternoon in that magic-suppressing room at the homeless kids’ center and my magic wasn’t working properly until the next morning.”
“Damn,” Arthur said. That would be problematic. “But you’ll have some, right?”
Merlin nodded. “I don’t know for sure, I could probably lift some things, make some lights, nothing serious or helpful. That’s how it was after that teen-center thingy. This doesn’t seem like a helpful plan…”
Arthur thought.
“He…he had the key with him when he came to put the collar back on, but he didn’t take it out, didn’t even touch it. I think he just keeps them in the same place or something.”
“So what are you thinking?” Merlin asked.
“You fake ill again,” Arthur said. “A while from now, so it’s believable. You get your metabo-thingy going as fast as you can so when he sedates you, it wears off a bit before he comes back. He keeps a sharp eye on me when he does but he won’t be looking out for you – you can levitate the key or just move it or something, somewhere safe when he puts on the collar. He leaves, we get you out of it, you unlock the door, and we run.”
“And then?”
“We wing it,” Arthur said bluntly. “Maybe find a phone, find out where we are, just run as far and fast as we can.”
Merlin nodded. “I think – I think in a week, he’ll definitely believe it if I ‘become ill’ again…sooner than that, actually, because I may actually be sick by then. But in a few days, maybe, they’ll believe it, after last time.”
“Good,” Arthur said.
“What do we do until then?”
“…turn his short temper into carelessness,” Arthur said. “If he gets so mad that he gets careless, it’ll be easier for us to escape.”
“…but also more dangerous,” Merlin said, reaching out and gently brushing over the bruise on Arthur’s jaw.
“We’ll be fine,” Arthur said curtly.
Merlin nodded. “I…I don’t like the plan. But I suppose it’s all we’ve got.” Then he yawned, long and filled with almost-squeaks. Even if the collar’s effects and the sedation had worn off, he was still suffering the consequences. “Almost good plan and almost good night.”
Arthur nodded, suppressing a yawn, himself. “We’ll need to sleep a lot before, get our strength up and stuff.”
With that he curled around Merlin, his head on Merlin’s chest like he’d been doing for the last several nights, as they went to sleep.
“…you know I’m not actually sick anymore, right?”
“Shut up.”
For the next few days, Arthur kept trying to help Merlin feign ill again, and they both had to reshape their plan once they realized that Merlin was becoming actually ill again.
Merlin didn’t think he felt his illness any more than during the night once they remade their plans.
For the first time in ages, Merlin fisted his dick under the blanket, biting his lip as he tried to think of pretty people and the feeling of his own hand on himself.
And he tried not to scream when he could only get hard, but not finish. Why was this so damn hard? Maybe it was the knowledge that they were being watched. That did make things…weird. But Merlin wasn’t sure he could wait until the morning trip to the loo. But if he couldn’t get himself off by then, anyway-
“Again?”
“Ah!” Merlin jerked at the sound of Arthur’s voice, releasing himself to turn halfway towards the other side of the pallets. Arthur was pushed up on his elbows and nonchalantly gazing at Merlin’s crotch.
He smiled, amused. “Want me to take care of that?”
“Arthur!” Merlin hissed.
“I know, I know, we’re being watched,” Arthur said, flopping back into his thin pillow. “But they’ve already seen us once, anyway…and you’re, um, frustrated. They’ll watch us no matter what we do…so why not-”
“I’m not giving anyone a show!” Merlin said scathingly, trying not to remember the tone of Collins’ voice as he’d mocked Merlin about this very thing.
There was a tense beat of silence.
“It’s not a show, Merlin,” Arthur said, slow and careful. “It’s…taking care of yourself. Nature’s call and all that? Not just for pissing.”
“Sod off,” Merlin said, curling in on himself. At least he could feel himself going soft. “Wait until we get home if you want to wank someone off so badly.”
“What…” Arthur frowned. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“You.”
“Merlin – I don’t…I just – I want to help.”
Merlin snorted, and tried his best to shove the chants of queer, queer, queer witchboy from his head.
“Merlin-”
“Leave me alone.”
There was a long, tense silence.
“…I just want to-”
“Don’t!” Merlin shouted, scooting away from Arthur.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, hurt, and Merlin felt a pang of guilt. It wasn’t really Arthur’s fault, was it? Merlin wasn’t sure if it was his own or Collins’, but…probably not Arthur’s, at any rate.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, quiet and a little more even. “Just…please, leave me alone?”
“Yeah,” Arthur said, and Merlin heard the rustle of blankets as Arthur tucked himself back in for sleep. “Good…good night.”
“Good night,” Merlin said.
He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t.
“Wake up!”
Merlin groaned awake, about to beg Mum for five more minutes, before the voice registered as Tom’s, and he shot up, scrambling back until he hit Arthur’s still-waking form.
“You know the drill,” the man said, shoving the newspaper at them. “Hurry up, this one’s late as it is.”
Merlin nodded as Arthur pushed himself up, and he and Arthur stood up, holding up the newspaper between them, making sure the date was clearly visible. Arthur frowned as he probably noticed Merlin was running a fever again, hair damp with sweat, but didn’t say anything.
“That’s it,” Tom said, fiddling with the camera.
Behind the paper, Arthur grabbed Merlin’s sweaty hand, but not before folding Merlin’s fingers under his so one was sticking out, the middle finger, in front of the paper, Arthur putting his own at an angle to it. Just as they had planned. Both boys schooled their features into one of blank calm, hoping the defiance would shine through in their eyes. They were the ‘Britain Boys’, as some newscaster had called them, and they weren’t going to be controlled by anyone.
He hoped.
“C’mon, boys, time for the money shot,” Tom said snidely, snapping the photo quickly, before practically running out the door, muttering to himself about the time and oversleeping.
As soon as they heard the lock click and the footsteps fade away, he and Arthur broke apart laughing.
Later that day, they watched delightedly at the news report of their gimmick.
“…it’s obvious from Merlin’s paleness and fever and Arthur’s bruise that the boys are still going through a serious ordeal,” the newscaster in question said. “But it is also clear the boys’ spirits are as strong as never before, seen in both their overtly defiant expressions in today’s photograph, and the covert V they made in it.”
And there was the picture, with the bright red circle around where they used their two middle-fingers to make a V-sign, flipping off Tom without him even realizing it in his rush. That was why they picked today to do it.
“University students around the country have shown their support for the boys by gathering together to display the sign amidst vigils and marches in their support.”
Arthur gripped Merlin’s hand as the camera cut to a scene with hundreds of students at one uni march-vigil thing, holding hands as they sang songs of support and chanted. He and Merlin grinned at each other at the chants of “Stay strong, Britain Boys!” rang out across the country, at least according to the newspeople, which flickered between several universities showing similar scenes, most of them chanting the same thing.
“We’re strong,” Merlin said, as if those people could hear them. “We’re strong.”
The scene cut to King Uther and Mum, giving a brief press conference together in light of the turn of direction this photo has created.
“However crass their method,” Uther said. “Their embodiment of the British spirit of stoicism and strength is truly heartening in such a dark situation.”
Arthur and Merlin shared a look.
“How much do you think they’ll yell at us for the ‘rude hand gesture’ once we’re out of here?” Arthur asked.
“Either more than ever before or never again,” Merlin said, before they looked back to the telly screen.
“If you can hear us, boys,” Mum said. “Stay strong.”
They couldn’t hear anything else after that, because at that point Collins came roaring in screaming, “You fucking little bastards!”
Heart pumping faster than a hummingbird and adrenaline filling his veins, Merlin scrambled back, dragging Arthur with him.
Unfortunately, it didn’t do them much good.
The country had exploded in morale and support as pictures of the boys’ photo circulated around, everywhere. Vigils and marches in their name were skyrocketing, sorcerers throwing up magical fireworks while the streets were filled with everyone from toffs to chavs marching side by side. Since yesterday morning, “Stay Strong, Britain Boys!” had somehow been plastered in signs all over the country, written on shirts and skins, created in lights and fireworks, and painted on hastily made banners and hung up everywhere, becoming the temporary, unofficial motto of the United Kingdom. Most of the Commonwealth nations, as well as other random countries like America and Brazil and India and whoever the newspeople felt like talking about, were showing some support derived from this newfound reassurance that whatever happened, the boys must be all right.
That took a turn for the worse just this morning. Even as they nursed their aching bodies, they were glued to the screen as newscasters again and again replayed the clip of Father and Hunith standing next to each other, Father going white as a sheet and Hunith actually crying, just a few tears, at the sight of today’s photo.
Each of the boys’ faces was covered in bruises, and a little blood had still been trickling down from Merlin’s lip in the picture. Their eyes were red and puffy from crying, and their middle fingers were both broken. The only saving grace of the picture was the look of defiance on their faces, but even that was muted beneath the pain.
They spent hours trying to follow the little instructions that came with the two finger-splints Collins had tossed in after the photo, wincing more at each other’s pain than their own, as they watched the cries of ‘child abuse’ and ‘impending murder’ sear across the news screens, half the people encouraging the Britain Boys to stay strong, the other half pleading with them to stop so they didn’t end up hurt even more. It didn’t help that Arthur’s bruise from before still hadn’t completely faded, and Merlin was looking ill, pale, and sweaty again.
Tom Collins was not happy about the way the boys were still defiant in their photos, even if it was only in their eyes.
The next day, they had even more bruises, and only the top half of the picture was seen, the bottom half completely disappeared. Everyone remarked on this, and Arthur held onto Merlin, trying not to be upset that their finger splints flipping off the camera were hidden – though the tops of their fingers were shown, so everyone knew that they were there. Merlin was now visibly ill again, and Arthur knew they would have to act soon before Merlin was too ill for their plan to work.
The day after, the boys had their hands bound behind their back to legs of a chair, the newspaper balancing between them – Collins’ solution to their antics in the photos, though it did little for his own self, likely now sporting a few bruises of his own from the boys kicking out at him. The nation erupted at the sight of them bound for the picture, but luckily interpreted it for what it was – proof that the boys were so adamant to piss off their captors that they had to be tied down for the picture.
In hindsight, though, they shouldn’t have reacted so joyously (at least obviously joyously for the monitoring camera) to that, for within just a few hours of them cheering at the uni kids adding the latest picture to their candle-lit vigil line-up, Tom Collins came in and took the telly away.
That night, Arthur had to swallow down bile as a needle was injecting sedatives into Merlin yet again. His fear wasn’t acted, and Arthur slept with his head on Merlin’s chest, desperate to be reminded that Merlin was alive.
Part 7
