Fanfic: 5 ways arthur died in dreams and the way he died in reality [1/1] ( Arthur / Eames )
The one and only time he had chosen to go on a job without Cobb was the one or Eames was an event he chose to use as the example to why he opted to work with them and no one else. Not only did the relatively simple extraction fail because someone (read: useless architect), couldn’t manage to get something as important as, the exactly color of the exterior of the mark’s home right but the projections far outnumbered them; as in hundreds to one. There was no chance in Hell of any of them getting out naturally. The only way was through some kind of death and as all of them scattered as soon as the extraction failed, Arthur was completely on his own for this one.
He had managed to take down as many projections as he could with what guns he had and while, technically, he could give himself unlimited ammunition, his mind was more realistic than that and it would just make him even easier for the projections to find. He practically had a bull’s eye on his back already. He didn’t need any more difficulties than he already had when it came to trying to survive. According to his own calculations, he had a little more than sixty minutes in this place before the alarm would wake him up. Fuck. A. Duck.
Ducking behind one of the buildings, he paused and lowered his weapon, trying to catch his breath as he waited for the hoard of very angry projections to pass him by. It didn’t take long to hear them come closer and for the sound of most of them to continue. He didn’t think any would stop and look. He thought he was safe. It was a rookie mistake but one he made because he had spend the three days prior in the real world working with little to no sleep. One of the projections found him and summoned the others as it grabbed a hold. This was not going to end well.
He fought against the woman that was holding onto him but she was inhumanly strong. She managed to wrench his arm out of its socket but he swallowed that yelp as he kept fighting to get away. Then the others came and that minor dislocation proved to be the least of his worries. He hadn’t known what it felt like to have an arm completely ripped off before but now he more than had semblance of the idea and more.
It had taken nearly forty-five minutes of being ripped apart for his heart to give out and when he woke up he was drenched in a cold sweat and there were tears staining his face. He hurt in every place where his muscles were ripped from his bones and even his bones ached when they were shattered as brutally as possible. He couldn’t remember too many details toward the end but he what he did remember was that he was asking for Eames at the end.
+1. Domestic Violence
Of all the reasons he could think of that someone would want him dead, this certainly hadn’t been one that was high on the list. Yet as he laid on his living room floor, fighting for breath that wouldn’t come while trying to stave off the pain of a broken wrist, a compound fracture in his leg and the ache of the open wounds still bleeding along his exposed back, he felt like laughing about it. Here he was, a world class criminal, able to escape large corporations with homicidal tendencies without much effort, dying in his own home after his lover beat him a little too harshly for being gone for so long.
The beating had been a long and brutal one and this time there was more than just a few kicks and punches. Daniel had pulled out all the stops, even going so far as to use the bullwhip he kept for sentimental value when the bat hadn’t done enough damage. He had not held back and had even gone so far as to drag Arthur out to the garage, broken leg and all, to be dealt the blows. There was no restraint. Just anger, a lot of anger, and the leather had been merciless as it tore open his skin. This was all, of course, after the man had grown tired of using his fists and steel-toed boots.
But that was half an hour ago and as soon as the asshole had left, Arthur had managed to drag himself inside to the living room, where he had taken his cell phone and dialed someone. He would like to say he hadn’t been paying attention as to who he called but the truth of it was that he had needed to hear Eames’ voice while he suffered. There was just something about the man’s way of speaking, whether it was the accent or the word choice, which soothed him, even if he would never admit it out loud.
Fifteen minutes into the conversation Eames had picked up on how labored the point man’s breathing was and, as he was in town this week for a different job, vowed to be there as soon as possible. Arthur wasn’t sure if the other was going to make it in time but he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. The pool of blood he was now laying in was growing larger every minute. He didn’t know how much blood he had left but he did know that his pain was starting to fade. That was not a good sign.
“Hey, Eames,” he said during a short lull in their conversation, “listen to me. There’s something important I have to tell you.” It was taking a lot energy just to stay awake, let alone keep up his end of the conversation.
“Can it wait five minutes darling? I’m almost there. I’m driving up your road now.”
“I don’t know if I’ll last that long.”
There was a funny noise that sounded suspiciously like a muffled sob. “You will, love, I know you will. You’ve dealt with worse and survived for far longer. You can handle an extra five minutes awake. I know you can.”
Arthur smiled weakly. His body was already relaxing against his consent. “I think I loved you, Mister Eames,” he whispered, unable to hear the car door slam outside and the hurried footsteps to the walk way, even through the phone, “I’m fairly sure I had for a long time…”
The front door was jiggled but when it didn’t give, a heavy foot kicked it in, tearing the lock out of place. It might have set off alarms but those sounds were mere white noise now. Arthur looked up in time to see Eames throw his phone aside and kneel beside him, feeling strong arms gather him up and hold him close. He would have reached up to touch those handsome features he had been thinking about so often recently had he the strength to do so still. Eames looked like he was crying and was shaking his head. “The dream is collapsing one last time,” the point man said quietly, shivering in the colder temperature of the room though it didn’t seem to help fend off the darkness, “I guess I’ll just have to wait for you topside…”
Eames choked back a heavy sob and his hot tears fell onto Arthur’s bare and bruised chest. If the dying man felt it he said nothing. “I will see you there, my darling Arthur,” the forger said in reply, tightening his hold on the smaller broken body as it exhaled its last breath, “and I loved you too.”
He had managed to take down as many projections as he could with what guns he had and while, technically, he could give himself unlimited ammunition, his mind was more realistic than that and it would just make him even easier for the projections to find. He practically had a bull’s eye on his back already. He didn’t need any more difficulties than he already had when it came to trying to survive. According to his own calculations, he had a little more than sixty minutes in this place before the alarm would wake him up. Fuck. A. Duck.
Ducking behind one of the buildings, he paused and lowered his weapon, trying to catch his breath as he waited for the hoard of very angry projections to pass him by. It didn’t take long to hear them come closer and for the sound of most of them to continue. He didn’t think any would stop and look. He thought he was safe. It was a rookie mistake but one he made because he had spend the three days prior in the real world working with little to no sleep. One of the projections found him and summoned the others as it grabbed a hold. This was not going to end well.
He fought against the woman that was holding onto him but she was inhumanly strong. She managed to wrench his arm out of its socket but he swallowed that yelp as he kept fighting to get away. Then the others came and that minor dislocation proved to be the least of his worries. He hadn’t known what it felt like to have an arm completely ripped off before but now he more than had semblance of the idea and more.
It had taken nearly forty-five minutes of being ripped apart for his heart to give out and when he woke up he was drenched in a cold sweat and there were tears staining his face. He hurt in every place where his muscles were ripped from his bones and even his bones ached when they were shattered as brutally as possible. He couldn’t remember too many details toward the end but he what he did remember was that he was asking for Eames at the end.
+1. Domestic Violence
Of all the reasons he could think of that someone would want him dead, this certainly hadn’t been one that was high on the list. Yet as he laid on his living room floor, fighting for breath that wouldn’t come while trying to stave off the pain of a broken wrist, a compound fracture in his leg and the ache of the open wounds still bleeding along his exposed back, he felt like laughing about it. Here he was, a world class criminal, able to escape large corporations with homicidal tendencies without much effort, dying in his own home after his lover beat him a little too harshly for being gone for so long.
The beating had been a long and brutal one and this time there was more than just a few kicks and punches. Daniel had pulled out all the stops, even going so far as to use the bullwhip he kept for sentimental value when the bat hadn’t done enough damage. He had not held back and had even gone so far as to drag Arthur out to the garage, broken leg and all, to be dealt the blows. There was no restraint. Just anger, a lot of anger, and the leather had been merciless as it tore open his skin. This was all, of course, after the man had grown tired of using his fists and steel-toed boots.
But that was half an hour ago and as soon as the asshole had left, Arthur had managed to drag himself inside to the living room, where he had taken his cell phone and dialed someone. He would like to say he hadn’t been paying attention as to who he called but the truth of it was that he had needed to hear Eames’ voice while he suffered. There was just something about the man’s way of speaking, whether it was the accent or the word choice, which soothed him, even if he would never admit it out loud.
Fifteen minutes into the conversation Eames had picked up on how labored the point man’s breathing was and, as he was in town this week for a different job, vowed to be there as soon as possible. Arthur wasn’t sure if the other was going to make it in time but he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. The pool of blood he was now laying in was growing larger every minute. He didn’t know how much blood he had left but he did know that his pain was starting to fade. That was not a good sign.
“Hey, Eames,” he said during a short lull in their conversation, “listen to me. There’s something important I have to tell you.” It was taking a lot energy just to stay awake, let alone keep up his end of the conversation.
“Can it wait five minutes darling? I’m almost there. I’m driving up your road now.”
“I don’t know if I’ll last that long.”
There was a funny noise that sounded suspiciously like a muffled sob. “You will, love, I know you will. You’ve dealt with worse and survived for far longer. You can handle an extra five minutes awake. I know you can.”
Arthur smiled weakly. His body was already relaxing against his consent. “I think I loved you, Mister Eames,” he whispered, unable to hear the car door slam outside and the hurried footsteps to the walk way, even through the phone, “I’m fairly sure I had for a long time…”
The front door was jiggled but when it didn’t give, a heavy foot kicked it in, tearing the lock out of place. It might have set off alarms but those sounds were mere white noise now. Arthur looked up in time to see Eames throw his phone aside and kneel beside him, feeling strong arms gather him up and hold him close. He would have reached up to touch those handsome features he had been thinking about so often recently had he the strength to do so still. Eames looked like he was crying and was shaking his head. “The dream is collapsing one last time,” the point man said quietly, shivering in the colder temperature of the room though it didn’t seem to help fend off the darkness, “I guess I’ll just have to wait for you topside…”
Eames choked back a heavy sob and his hot tears fell onto Arthur’s bare and bruised chest. If the dying man felt it he said nothing. “I will see you there, my darling Arthur,” the forger said in reply, tightening his hold on the smaller broken body as it exhaled its last breath, “and I loved you too.”