Merlin Headcanons

Coffees and Caring

"Arthur Pendragon."

"Sir?"

"My name. I wasn't sure if they'd told you."

He had hoped this might spark something. Instead, Merlin just hunched further in on himself.

Arthur couldn't find anything else to say for the rest of the ride home.

He slid the car into the driveway and turned it off. "You're officially assigned to me, so when we're not at work you'll be staying here."

"Yes, sir."

Arthur was beginning to hate that word.

Guinevere ran out onto the porch just as they reached it. "Merlin! Oh, I was so worried. Have you eaten yet? How are you?" The last few words came as she wrapped her arms around him.

Merlin just stood there, unresponsive. "Sir?" he pleaded softly.

"Gwen," Arthur said, swallowing hard. "He doesn't . . . "

Gwen stared at him, horrified. "No." She shook her head. "No."

"We'll fix it," Arthur promised her. Promised all of them. "Come on, you're right. He needs to eat."

"I'll be perfectly functional for a few more days without, sir."

"You're eating," Arthur said flatly. "You're eating three meals a day, and if I forget, you will remind me."

He ate. But he refused to remind Arthur whenever he forgot. Which, since Arthur wasn't used to having to order someone to eat, happened sometimes.

Arthur chose to look at it as a good sign. It was a defiance of orders and it annoyed him, so it was proof that Merlin was still in there somewhere, right?

It was the only good sign. Merlin wouldn't talk to him. Not really. Just "Yes, sir. No, sir. I'll check, sir."

Arthur bought a punching bag. He scrawled the word "sir" on it with a sharpie. It was better than taking out his frustrations by yelling at Merlin. The one and only time that had happened he had cut off rather abruptly and been consumed with guilt for the rest of the week.

He had cut off when he'd realized Merlin's eyes were firmly fixed on the controller for his collar. He was obliged to carry the thing around for appearance purposes, but just looking at the thing was enough to make him feel sick. The thought that Merlin was afraid he would actually use it . . .

Arthur got his money's worth out of that punching bag.

People said the Soulless were incapable of feeling anything. Arthur could have told them that was horse manure even in his first life. If he'd needed any more recent proof, he could direct someone to his house.

Merlin felt uncomfortable. Guinevere had taken to bringing over large, home cooked dinners. She heaped as much food on his plate as she could get him to eat and waged war on his silences with determined conversation. Merlin didn't seem to know what to make of her.

Merlin felt surprise. When Arthur had led him to the guest bedroom and informed him it was his, he had dropped the bag of necessities Guinevere had given him and gaped at it.

Merlin had nightmares. Arthur had been up late working and had gone to check on Merlin before heading to bed. Once, he would have had an excuse, but he'd given up on pretending he didn't care several hundred lifetimes ago. Merlin was his friend, even if he didn't currently remember that fact.

Merlin had been locked in a nightmare, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. Arthur had shaken him awake. "Merlin. Merlin!"

He had jolted awake and immediately shrunk back. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. It won't happen again, I'm sorry - "