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Note - a Malevolent fic

What note did John’s soul sing? At long last, he had the answer. The note was desperation, and his soul sang a chorus.

Part of the

What note did John’s soul sing? At long last, he had the answer. The note was desperation, and his soul sang a chorus.

Part of the Surrogate series.

AO3

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Through the window, Faroe trained.

She'd been training too hard. Hastur knew this, could see it—she was exhausting her small self, beginning to lose some of the age-appropriate roundness of her cheeks.

She also wasn’t just smiling anymore when not speaking to someone, and in the wake of that loss, Hastur ached. Hastur grieved. Hastur burned.

Deep inside and silent, Hastur howled.

He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t want to accept the advice he’d been… given, but what else could he do?

Was he the only one being offered such things? Maybe it was time at last to ask a question he’d put off because it had terrified him so. Inaction there had only worked out by chance, and ignoring it was no longer the best option.

He had to talk to John.

#

[What?] said John, automatically responding in R'lyehian before switching back. We’re not doing that anymore, you asshole.

Hastur sighed. “I don’t want to upset Arthur. That’s all.”

Sure you don’t!

Arthur sighed. “I don’t care, John.” It wasn’t the right chord. He knew the feeling he wanted for this crucial moment in the Rite piece, and just wasn’t landing on it.

But he wants to do some secret shit!

Arthur snorted. “Look, I appreciate… all of that, but I need to work, all right? Please just figure it out so we can get back to this.” He resumed his chord progression.

John huffed. Fine. Stubborn ass. There was more affection than should be allowed in such words.

Arthur smirked. "Apparently." The warmth in his tone could not be missed.

Hastur was very good and did not comment on it.

[Well?]

[“I was wondering, of late,” said Hastur in his own tongue, “whatever became of those offers you were evidently receiving.”]

John was silent.

[“From other Outer Gods.”]

[Yes, I know. Fuck. I’ve tried not to think about them.]

[“Why? What did they offer? Do they still offer? That’s my concern.”]

A lie.

John sighed. [It was just so… fucking tone deaf,] he said. [All of them offered variations on the same thing: revenge on you. None of them offered saving Arthur. If they had…]

[“I knew that much from before, John. Please elaborate.”]

John’s left hand paused on the piano.

Arthur sighed. “Really?”

Sorry. Almost done.

A lie.

[Why do you fear for us? Did something happen?]

[“Yes. I killed my son, damaged my daughter, sent my marked into terrible danger, and now must undo the damage I did to the latter two as well as to the piece of me which has earned his freedom. You could say something happened, John.”]

A truth.

But not all of the truth.

John sputtered. [What, you want me to think you’re giving up on joining?]

[“With you, yes. I know you’ll never leave him. Why else do you think I’m establishing you both as an entity to be respected?”]

John sort of choked. It took him a moment too long to answer. [Bullshit!]

[“John, are they still tempting you?”]

John growled. [No. They stopped about two years ago. I never replied to any of them. The offers slowed down and stopped.]

Cold terror gripped him. Only two years ago? They’d continued for so long… [“That is a relief.”]

[Hastur, we need to talk about Gokar’luh.]

Oh, fuck, that came out of nowhere. Hastur froze.

Hastur.

“Thank you for your time, Arthur. Try a c minor seven with the tonic base,” said Hastur.

Arthur did. “Huh. Yeah, that's better. Thanks.”

Hastur.

[“You’re right, John. I know you’re right. But I can’t do it now.”]

[It doesn’t have to be now, but we fucking need to talk about him. With Sunny. He doesn’t know, and… for whatever reason, he remembers more than I did about a lot of this. We need to talk.]

The King in Yellow was completely still.

Hastur!

“We will. I’ll… find a way.” And he fle—

No, not fled, not retreated, just headed back out of the music room because he had to deal with problems, had things to take care of, had things to do—

As I said before you panicked—irrationally, I might add—while it is categorically too late to save your son, it’s not at all too late to save your daughter.

Hastur swung suddenly and looked out the window as though that had been his plan the whole time.

Automatically, he checked his spells. They were working; no one could hear his uneven breath, or see his falling tears. Down below, Faroe tried again to raise the hammer over her head, to bring it down on the rocks as Arthur often did. She didn’t manage; she had to keep stopping, breathing, working little healing spells on the muscles of her back.

This couldn’t continue. The voice had been right. Why are you helping me with this?

I already told you, Tattered King. It is pure bribery; when the time comes, you will choose my exit instead of his.

Hastur leaned on the window. My daughter…

Needs help. And if you act now—I repeat for your sake—it will not be too late. I know you value her well-being above your own, so this is a logical offering. Now: will you be logical in response?

Hastur was silent.

I am aware you are in distress, but it is hardly necessary to be a child.

‘Distress’ did not cover it.

Faroe had to go to her next lessons, and with a scowl, she put away the tools too big for her. Nibbles nudged her; Nibbles, obviously, was not on board with this new path of self-punishment, but didn’t know how to fix it.

Neither did Hastur. But unlike Nibbles, he was an adult, and had resources.

Hastur headed off to his throne room to finish up what he had to do there. Then, he would talk to the Librarian; then… well. His new allies might—might—know something, though how to broach the topic without giving everything away…

Fuck. There was no time for this, but he would make the time. Faroe’s needs trumped all, and she was not okay.

What else did this voice have to offer? What else would it take advantage of before the end came?

Either way, best not to alienate it. Thank you.

Of course. I do enjoy you logical. I suggest you build that pattern; it will make our future easier.

Sure. Whatever.

He shuddered, glad the Outer God had not pressed further. It was terrifying, being spoken to like this. Being offered the most important thing out of nowhere, unable to block it out, unable to hide. Baffling, that John hadn’t been offered what he wanted. This mystery god was too smart to miss something that obvious, so... it hadn’t spoken to John? Why?

He hoped John was telling the truth, and that he wasn’t being bothered anymore. Hastur had wondered, years ago, what note John’s soul sang that drew these horrible beings to him. At long last, he had the answer.

The note was desperation, and his soul sang a chorus.