Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The table clears steadily over time. First Caduceus leaves followed by Jester; both stone cold sober as usual. Nott goes next, hitching a ride on Beau’s back, both giggling at something Beau says in Halfling. Yasha sticks around the longest, but eventually she stumbles upstairs, too. It’s suddenly quiet; a little too quiet. After a year of traveling with the nein, Fjord has grown accustomed to noise.

He looks over at Caleb, his head down on the table, face pressed into the pages of the book he had been trying to get through all night. He’s not asleep, but he’s close. Fjord isn’t doing any better; his body slumped in his chair, his eyes becoming increasingly harder to keep open. He needs to get up soon or he’s going to pass out in this chair and his back won't thank him in the morning.

“Caleb,” he calls softly. “Caleb, get up.”

“I am up,” Caleb mumbles back, his words slurring together.

“Liar.” Fjord stumbles to his feet, staggering around the table towards Caleb. He grabs him under the arm, ignoring his halfhearted protests, and hauls him to his feet. They nearly collapse to the floor, neither one the epitome of strong, but Fjord manages to keep them upright; somehow.

“Alright, big guy, let’s get you to bed,” Fjord says helping Caleb towards the stairs.

It’s slow going, walking up the steps, and by the time they make it to the top Fjord is sweaty. He looks down the hall, groaning softly, fighting the urge to just let Caleb sleep in the hallway, and starts the long walk down to the end room.

“For a skinny dude, you’re not exactly light,” Fjord complains, tripping over his own feet, reaching out his free hand to steady himself and Caleb. He knows if they go down, he won’t be able to get them back up.

They finally make it to Caleb and Nott’s room, Caleb mostly dead weight by this point, and Fjord crashes through the door. He’s surprised he doesn’t wake Nott up, but his surprise is short lived when he finds her bed empty. She must be in Beau and Jester’s room.

“Looks like you’re on your own tonight,” Fjord informs Caleb, looking over to see his head resting on his shoulder, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and even. “Yeah, you can’t fuckin’ hear me.”

He guides Caleb towards the closest bed, intending to drop him onto the mattress and go back to his and Caduceus’s room, but he trips again, landing heavily on his back. Caleb falls on top of him, pinning him to the bed.

“Oh shit.” Fjord gently shakes Caleb, trying to wake him enough to get off of him, but he’s already gone; snoring softly, nose pressed into Fjord’s neck. “Fuck.” He could try rolling Caleb over, just enough to slid off the bed, but he’s too tired to attempt it. With a defeated sigh, he closes his eyes. He’ll deal with this in the morning.

Fjord wakes hours later with a hangover and the sun shining brightly in his eyes. He’s curled over on his side, drool soaking into the pillow his face is pressed into, his arm full of pins and needles as it hangs off the bed. Other than him, the bed is empty.

He sits up, swinging his legs off the bed, but he doesn’t stand up right away. He hangs his head, breathing deeply, trying to convince himself to head downstairs, but his head hurts and his mouth tastes cottony and he’s pretty sure he had a sleeping wizard lying on top of him when he passed out last night.

Where is Caleb? Probably already downstairs, he reasons. Yeah, that makes sense. He’s definitely downstairs.

Fjord coughs, clearing his throat, and pushes himself to his feet. He’s too tired and too sore to deal with what happened last night; maybe after some coffee.

He heads to the bathroom first. He uses the toilet; washes his face; tries to wake himself up a little. He looks in the mirror, taking in his bed head and bloodshot eyes; his outward appearance reflects his inward appearance quite nicely.

Downstairs, Caleb and Beau sit at a table in the back. Beau has her head down on the table, cheek pressed into the wood, staring blankly at her coffee. Caleb has his head buried in a book, but he’s not really reading it. That doesn’t stop him from not looking up when Fjord sits down, but he does push a cup of black coffee at him, nodding when Fjord murmurs his thanks.

“Where, uh, where are the others?” Fjord asks after a few sips of coffee. He’s not feeling any better, but he’s good at pretending.

“Nott and Yasha are still sleeping,” Beau grumbles, turning her head so she can stare at Fjord. “Nott might actually sleep for a week if we don’t wake her up soon.”

“Noted. Where are the other two?”

“Jester and Caduceus went out to get supplies,” Caleb tells him, closing his book. He rubs his forehead with his left hand, snapping his fingers with his right, and Frumpkin appears on the table. He looks over at Fjord with piercing blue eyes, and for a second Fjord thinks the fey cat is staring into his soul. When Frumpkin looks away, flicking his tail in Fjord’s direction, he can’t help letting out a relieved sigh. Sometimes Caleb’s cat is creepy.

Frumpkin hops up onto Caleb’s shoulder, rubbing his head against Caleb’s face, but his eyes seek out Fjord again. He watches him with an unapologetic apathy that only cats and Beau can manifest. Fjord starts to feel a little uncomfortable and he finishes his coffee in one gulp, burning the crap out of his tongue. He stands up.

“I’m gonna go see about taking a bath,” he says and heads towards the door. He swears he feels Frumpkin’s eyes on his back until the tavern door closes behind him, but he dares not turn back to prove it.

Fjord and Caleb never talk about the night they passed out together. Caleb never brings it up, Fjord decides it’s not worth mentioning, and eventually it just becomes a thing they did that they never talk about. It doesn’t bother Fjord much, he spent years in close quarters with a lot of guys and he had Molly as a roommate for months; passing out with one of his friends is nothing new to him, and if Caleb feels comfortable not talking about it then who is Fjord to bring it up. It happened and they moved on; no big deal.

Two weeks after their impromptu slumber party, Fjord is pulled from sleep by a heavy weight pressing into his stomach. His eyes snap open, and his whole body freezes when he finds Frumpkin’s face inches from his, blue eyes staring intently at him, whiskers twitching.

“What do you want?” Fjord asks softly, turning his head to make sure Caduceus is still asleep. He is splayed out on his bed, his blanket on the floor, one hand twitching, the other one resting on his chest. He’s out cold, has been for hours, and Fjord doubts anything would wake him at this point.

Frumpkin doesn’t respond, not that Fjord thought he would, just lays down on Fjord’s chest. He gets comfortable, digging his claws into Fjord, purring loudly, making his intentions clear. He is not leaving tonight; at least not for a while.

“You do know I’m allergic to you, right?” Fjord asks, his nose already starting to burn.

Frumpkin gives a humph sound, curling into a ball, and goes to sleep. Fjord rubs his nose, trying hard not to sneeze, but he dares not move the cat. He doubts he could; Frumpkin would probably hop up onto his chest again and it’d become a thing until Fjord inevitably gave up.

He doesn’t know when he nods off again, but the next time he wakes up Frumpkin is gone and his shirt is covered in orange fur.

Two nights later, Fjord is keeping watch, the rest of the party asleep in Caleb’s bubble. He’s flipping through one of Caleb’s books, hoping to pass the time, when Frumpkin plops down onto the book, covering the pages with his body.

“You again? Don’t you have a wizard to bother?” Fjord gently pats Frumpkin’s head, holding back a sneeze.

Frumpkin turns over onto his back, ignoring Fjord’s question, and promptly goes to sleep. His tiny kitty snores are cute, even if Fjord won’t admit it, and his front paws kick a couple times. His fur is soft when Fjord pets him, the book completely forgotten, and he’s still sitting there with a lapful of sleeping cat when Beau gets up for second watch.

“You turning into Caleb?” Beau asks, nudging Fjord’s boot with her foot.

“He’s bothering me,” Fjord complains halfheartedly, still petting the cat.

“Uh-huh. Just don’t start crawling around in bushes trying to get stray cats to come to you. We already have one crazy cat dude. We don’t need another.”

“Shut up.”

Fjord falls asleep with his back against Caleb’s dome’s wall and Frumpkin purring contentedly in his lap.

It becomes a regular thing for Frumpkin to visit Fjord at night. Not every night, but most nights, and Fjord would be lying if he said he didn’t like having the cat around. He wonders if maybe Caleb is sending Frumpkin to him as a way to apologize for passing out on him (not that he needs to), but he never asks just in case Caleb thinks he’s complaining and takes his cat away.

Other than Beau, the only one who notices for a while is Caduceus, but he doesn’t comment. He pats Frumpkin on the head, gives Fjord a kind smile, and walks out of the room. It all comes crashing down when Jester catches Fjord letting Frumpkin out of his and Caduceus’ room one morning.

“What are you doing?” she asks watching the cat slink down the stairs.

Startled, Fjord turns to face her, rubbing the back of his head, giving her a sheepish grin. “What? He stays with me sometimes.”

“Why?” she pouts, crossing her arms. “Caleb never lets me keep Frumpkin overnight. And I’ve asked him like a million times.”

Fjord shrugs. “I dunno. It’s just something he does sometimes.”

“Who? Caleb?”

“No, the cat. Uh, Frumpkin.”

“But Frumpkin only does what Caleb tells him to do.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So why would Caleb tell Frumpkin to stay with you?” Jester gives him a curious look, waiting expectedly for an answer.

Fjord thinks about the night they slept together and shrugs his shoulders. “Beats me. He has his reasons, I guess.” He heads towards the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “You want some breakfast? I could go for some breakfast.”

Jester follows him down a few minutes later, dropping into a seat next to Nott, and immediately leans over and whispers something to her. Nott’s eyes widen and she looks between Caleb and Fjord before her gaze settles on Caleb.

“Are you okay, Caleb?” she asks worriedly. She reaches up to rest the back of her hand against Caleb’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

“Why would I have a fever?” Caleb gently brushes Nott’s hand away, frowning.

“You’re letting Fjord sleep with your cat,” Jester says pointedly, gesturing to Frumpkin. He’s sitting in the corner, cleaning his paws, ignoring them.

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Confused, Caleb looks to Fjord for answers. “What is she saying? Has he been bothering you?”

Taken aback, Fjord stammers, “N-not bothering…” he gestures helplessly at Caleb. “You, you’re sendin’ him? Right? To me?”

Caleb shakes his head. “I-I do not think I am?” His eyes dart around the room as he curls his hands into his coat sleeves. He looks towards Frumpkin, who looks back with that same apathetic stare he always gives Fjord. They seem to communicate silently for a few seconds, the conversation coming to an end when Frumpkin stands, stretches, and heads outside when a dwarf walks into the tavern.

Caleb’s gaze settles on Fjord’s face for a split second, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. He clears his throat, getting to his feet, and murmurs, “Excuse me.”

He hurries up the stairs, apologizing to Caduceus when he nearly runs him over, and Fjord watches him go, confused and a little disappointed. He turns back to see the others watching him; their emotions ranging from openly curious to suspicious.

Caduceus stops next to the table, giving each one a questioning look, and asks, “Is there a problem?”

“I think Fjord tried to steal Frumpkin,” Jester responds and Fjord throws his hands out in exasperation. “What? That’s what it looks like to me.”

“Are you trying to steal Frumpkin?” Nott asks warily.

“No,” Fjord stresses. “The cat came to me.”

“Are you sure?” Fjord turns to Beau, giving her an annoyed sigh. “What? I’m just saying, what I saw was you reading and Frumpkin plopped out on your lap. Maybe he thought you were Caleb. Are you trying to become Caleb?”

“Are you?” Nott and Jester exclaim.

“No!” Fjord covers his forehead with his hands, unable to believe what he is hearing. “What the fuck?” He stands up, pointing at all of them. “What the fuck?” He turns on his heel, pacing across the floor furiously. “That is the stupidest…! Why would you even suggest…! No!”

“To me it appears Mister Caleb is having trouble sleeping and instead of asking you for help he sent Frumpkin in his stead.”

Fjord halts at Caduceus’ words, now even more confused. “What?”

“Should? Should I repeat it?” Caduceus looks towards Beau for confirmation but she shakes her head. “Oh, okay.”

Fjord takes a breath, holding his hands up. “So what you’re sayin’ is Caleb is usin’ Frumpkin to, what, sleep with me?”

“Or cuddle with you!” Jester claps her hands, wiggling in her seat. “Oh, Fjord, we could all cuddle.” She bats her eyelashes. “Don’t you want to cuddle, Fjord?”

Fjord blankly stares at her for a full ten seconds before turning back to Caduceus. “Did he tell you this?”

“No,” Caduceus responds, picking at the remains of Caleb’s breakfast. He pushes aside the bacon, nibbles on the grapes. “I pieced it together when I first found you sleeping with Frumpkin. He’s a very vocal fey creature if you know which questions to ask.”

Jester gasps, her eyes widening. “He talked to you?”

“Not exactly.” Caduceus pushes the plate towards Nott, and she shovels the bacon into her mouth. “It’s like talking to the bees. It’s hard to explain.”

“Caleb has trouble sleeping sometimes,” Nott confesses around a mouthful of bacon. “Usually he uses Frumpkin to help him sleep. What changed?” She turns accusing eyes on Fjord.

His face heats up and he takes a step back. “I-I don’t know.”

Her eyes narrow and she hums skeptically.

“Maybe you should go talk to him.” Yasha’s voice startles Fjord and he looks over at her, sitting in the corner, watching their discussion. She doesn’t say a lot most of the time, and sometimes Fjord forgets she’s traveling with them, but when she does speak he can’t help listening. Despite her ability to go into a frenzied rage in battle, she exudes a calmness that the entire group needs; especially Fjord.

“Should I?” When she nods, Fjord nods back and turns towards the stairs. “I’ll. I’ll go talk to him. Yeah, I’ll do that.” He ignores Beau when she snorts, gives Jester a thumbs up when she tells him good luck, and hopes to never see Nott’s death glare again.

Fjord lingers outside Caleb’s room, one hand raised to knock, only to step back when the door swings open. Caleb looks up at Fjord, his face hard to read. He looks back into the room, Frumpkin laying across the windowsill, his tail flicking back and forth. He must feel their eyes on him, his head turning a bit to look at Caleb and Fjord, and he blinks once before promptly ignoring them again.

“Come in,” Caleb says, stepping away from the door, allowing Fjord into the room. He closes the door, walking towards the windowsill, and leans against it. Frumpkin bats at his hand, getting his attention, and Caleb runs his fingers down his back.

Fjord rubs the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Caleb. “Listen, I, I didn’t know. I-I thought-” he trails off, shrugging. “I figured, you know, we slept together once, and, you know, instead of talking about it you sent Frumpkin as a way to apologize or whatever.” Caleb opens his mouth to argue, but Fjord quickly continues, “Not, not that you needed to apologize. I didn’t mind; that night. It wasn’t terrible, and, shit, Molly was terrible at passing out on my bed. He’d done it so much, I almost-” Fjord shrugs again. “I shoulda talked to you about it. Asked or something. Then we wouldn’t be here.”

Caleb shifts, uncomfortable, and he gathers Frumpkin into his arms. He holds the cat to his chest, petting him absentmindedly. He looks down at the floor for a while, and Fjord thinks he’s going to tell him to get out, but he surprises him by saying, “I-I do not have nice dreams.”

“Okay.”

“And,” he stops, closing his eyes. “That night; it wasn’t terrible. For me.” He opens his eyes and gives Fjord a pointed look, hoping he catches on, clutching Frumpkin tighter to him.

“So Cad is right. You were using Frumpkin to…” Fjord gestures between himself and Frumpkin, seeking out the correct words. “To use me to sleep better?”

Caleb nods, knowing exactly what Fjord is trying to say. “Not intentionally, but yes.”

Fjord mulls over what Caleb said, chewing on his lip. “Why didn’t you just ask,” he says carefully, and Caleb shrugs. “I, I wouldn’t have said no. Like I said, Molly was bad at it. And I lived on a boat for years, do you know how many of the crew ended up bunking down with me? If you need me to, I don’t know, help you sleep. Then use me. Or whatever.” Fjord’s face heats up when he realizes what he said, and he quickly stammers, “Like, don’t use me, but…”

Caleb, his face just as red, says, “I, uh, I understood what you meant.”

“Good. Good. That’s, that’s good.”

An awkward silence fills the room, broken only by Frumpkin jumping out of Caleb's arms and walking towards Fjord. He twines his body twice between his legs, meows up at him, and crawls under the bed.

There’s a hint of a smile on his face when Caleb says, “I think he likes you.”

Fjord shrugs. “He ain’t so bad.”

“Even if you are allergic?”

“Yeah.” Fjord turns to leave, a coy smile on his face. “Let me know, ahead of time, if you ever wanna…” he trails off, shrugging. “I’m sure Cad will understand; Nott, too.”

“Uh, yes. I-I will.”

“Cool.”

Caleb has yet to take Fjord up on his offer, but Frumpkin pops into his room some nights, his tiny kitty body somehow taking up most of Fjord’s bed. Sometimes he’s gone when Fjord wakes up, other times he is practically cuddling him; his warm body pressed so deeply into Fjord’s stomach, he’s surprised he didn’t squish him in the middle of the night.

They don’t talk about it; not really, but they don’t tiptoe around the subject either. Caleb has always used his cat as a support animal, that’s never going to change, but now he sometimes uses his support animal for even more support. They’re fine with this arrangement; it’s better than letting Caleb suffer.

That is until Nott nearly burns to death. It’s her second near death experience in weeks; the first helping Jester. She insists she’s fine; some healing and she’ll be ready to continue onto Xhorhas to rescue her husband (and the fact that she has a husband still baffles Fjord), but they can all tell she needs to rest. They all need to rest.

Fjord is pretty sore himself; even with Yasha’s healing he knows he has a few cracked ribs; possibly a concussion. He’d been too preoccupied with Nott getting healed, brushing off Jester and Caduceus when they tried to heal him properly. She's the one who matters right now; he’d be fine until morning.

When they’re certain they’ve put enough distance between them and the giants, Caleb starts setting up their camp for the night. His movements are stilted, like he’s afraid to move too quickly lest he attracts the attention of anything else lurking underground. When the dome is up, he sits against the wall and waits for the others to join him, seeking out a cat he does not have right now, distancing himself from the group. It’s become a regular thing for him, ever since the dragon, and Fjord knows it probably won’t get any better since he told them about his past. Beau can tell him not to run until she’s blue in the face; Fjord knows it won’t stop him from going if he feels like he’s being backed into a corner. He’s run enough times in his past; he knows the signs.

Fjord waits until the others have gone to sleep before crawling over to Caleb’s side, the movement pulling on his sore side. He’s careful not to let their shoulders touch, leaving the choice up to Caleb, but he does offering him a kind smile.

“You okay?” he asks expecting a lie.

Caleb fiddles with his transmuter's stone, keeping his head down. “I guess I am fine. I was not injured.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

Caleb looks up, his eyes seeking out Nott. She’s curled over onto her side, her head in Jester’s lap, sleeping. Jester is asleep against the wall, her hand in Nott’s hair, her head tilted to the side in an uncomfortable position. She’s going to have a sore neck in the morning.

“When Beauregard asked me not to run...” Caleb draws in a shaky breath. “I cannot leave her. Not now. She needs me.”

“We all do,” Fjord murmurs watching Caleb closely.

“I am not used to being needed. Haven’t been since-” Since Bren, Fjord silently supplies for Caleb. He slips his stone back in his pocket, leaning forward on his elbows and burying his head in his hands. “I am going to disappoint you all.”

“We’re all gonna disappoint each other at some point,” Fjord admits shrugging. “It’s what we do.” He leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him, barely holding back a groan of pain. “But just know, we won’t hold it against you. We all got pasts, Cay. Some are fucked up.” His eyes settle on Beau, laying on her back not far from Yasha, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. “Others are being ruined by fucked up circumstances.” His gaze trails over to Caduceus, his back to them, both hands pillowing his head. “And some-” he looks directly at Caleb, “-some were forced on a kid. By a bully. ‘Cause that’s what those Cerberus wizards and that Ikithon fuck are; bullies.”

Caleb tenses up, looking over at Fjord with fear in his eyes. “Let’s not talk about him, please.”

Fjord raises his hands, hoping to placate the situation. “Alright. I apologize for bringing him up, but know this, if I see him again I won’t hesitate to put my falchion through his chest.”

“And he will not hesitate to kill you,” Caleb hisses, pulling his knees to his chest. He curls around his legs, shuddering. “I cannot…” he shakes his head, turning away from Fjord. “I will not lose any of you to him.”

“Sometimes you gotta pick a cause worth fightin’ for,” Fjord says, his eyes still on Caleb.

“I’m not much of a cause,” Caleb mutters darkly.

“You’d be surprised.” Fjord sighs, choosing his next words carefully. “It might not do any good, but I second what Beau said. Don’t run.”

“I told you, Nott needs me…”

“Yeah, for now, but after we find Yeza. Trust in us, alright? Just a little. We’re stronger together; have known that since the Shepherds.” Fjord leaves the 'captured Yasha, Jester, and me, and killed Molly'  left unsaid

A heavy silence settles over them. Caleb stares intently at the dirt wall while Fjord continues to watch him, neither one wanting to be the first one to break the silence. Caleb loses the battle, sighing softly, and Fjord echoes him, carefully moving in an attempt to find a more comfortable position.

Next to him, he senses a moment of hesitation before Caleb leans over, resting his head against his shoulder.

“Is that offer still standing?” he asks timidly.

“Always,” Fjord responds readily.

“I miss my cat,” Caleb murmurs closing his eyes.

“I miss your cat, too,” Fjord admits settling his head on top of Caleb’s. They don’t sleep, but they don’t move either. It’s going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Caleb has nightmares. It’s nothing new; at least not for him and especially not for Nott. The first time she experienced one of his bad nights, her automatic response had been to reach out and comfort him, but he had shied away from her and spent the remainder of the night sitting with his back against the wall of the barn they’d holed up in, waiting for daylight.

She’s tried several time since then to soothe him after a nightmare, but only recently has he started accepting her comfort. He still feels like he doesn’t deserve it, but it makes Nott feel better. He’s come to the conclusion that her happiness means more than his; if he’s being honest everyone in the Nein’s happiness is more important than his; he gave up the ability to be happy when Trent selected him, Astrid, and Eodwulf for his experiments.

Even when he’d been with Astrid he wondered if he deserved the happiness she brought him; if he deserved her; if he deserved anything. When she first told him she loved him, deep down, he couldn’t help feeling like he was living someone else’s life.

He knows he doesn’t deserve the Nein; especially Nott. She’d disagree, they all would, but no amount of arguing will change this fact. He’s being selfish by sticking around, pulling them closer and closer to danger, but he needs them. He’s ashamed to admit it, but he does, and it kills him to know one day one (or more) of them could very well die in his place. It kills him even more to know he is too cowardly to return the favor.

Caleb has nightmares, but they’re nothing compared to the waking nightmare he faces every time the Nein get closer and closer to discovering what sort of man he truly is; what lengths he’s willing to go to in order to achieve his goals. Nott and Beau may know more about him than he’d like them to, but they don’t know everything.

They can never know everything

Astrid appears in the majority of his dreams. When his dreams are good, a rarity for him, he mostly relives their few nice memories. The first time she held his hand; the first time she smiled that secret smile just for him; their first kiss. Trent had allowed them very few moments to actually be alone so he and Astrid took them when they could; it had been nice, being with her, and he would give anything to just have those memories of her, but he knows it’s not possible. Not anymore.

The bad dream always starts the same. Astrid is happy; her secret smile infectious, her bright, brown eyes shining, her face kind and soft. Her warm hand is always holding his, and she’s pulling him along, taking him somewhere.

“A surprise,” she tells him, and he always goes willingly. He has no reason to believe she’d cause him any harm. She is his Astrid, he is her Bren, and they are in love.

But then the dream changes. Her grip tightens, her hand practically burning in his, and her secret smile becomes malicious; her eyes harden; her face suddenly twisted and cruel. When Caleb tries to pull away, she yanks him along and says, “What is wrong, Bren? Don’t you trust me?”

His struggles become weaker and weaker the closer they get to The Room. Caleb’s arms throb, a sharp pain that causes him to cry out, and he looks down, his breath hitching when he sees the crystal shards sticking out of his bloody wrists. He pushes at the shards in his left arm, accidentally shoving them deeper into his flesh, slicing his fingers open as he tries to pull them out. He needs to get them out.

The dream always ends with him, covered in blood, sobbing softly, getting shoved into The Room by Astrid. She always shuts the door behind him, locking it for good measure, and he’s alone with Trent. His smile wicked, a table waiting for him, the crystal shards sitting on a cart next to it.

He always reaches out, touching his shoulder, and his voice is soft when he says, “Are you ready for your treatment?”

Except tonight the nightmare changes. Someone grabs his shoulder from behind, pulling him away from Trent and hurtling Caleb out of the dream.

His eyes snap open, a sob catching in his throat. It takes his groggy brain a second to figure out where he is, but he recognizes the ugly curtains. He is in his and Nott’s room; he is safe.

He recalls drinking a tad too much last night; remembers Fjord helping him up the stairs. The rest is spotty at best. Caleb hates having black spots in his memory, it reminds him too much of his time at the hospital.

He closes his eyes, hoping to remember something more, only to tense when he feels the mattress moving beneath his cheek. He pushes his hand into the mattress, jerking it back when he feels a body instead. Panic settling in his stomach, Caleb picks his head up and swears under his breath. He is laying on top of Fjord.

“Fuck,” he whispers carefully rolling off of Fjord. He takes a step back when Fjord moves, but he only turns onto his side, facing Caleb, one arm reaching out for him before dropping off the bed, his fingers grazing the floorboards.

Caleb covers his mouth with his hand, frantically looking down to make sure he is just as fully clothed as Fjord, letting out a jagged breath when he sees his usual, raggedy outfit. They hadn’t done anything last night; thank the gods.

He drags his hand down his face, clutching his amulet, and hurries out of the room. He nearly runs into Beau in the hallway and pulls the door closed before she can see inside, but she’s half asleep and isn’t paying attention to much of anything.

“Hallo,” Caleb calls to her and she holds her hand up, stopping him from speaking anymore.

“Coffee,” she grunts, already moving towards the stairs. “Coffee.”

Caleb nods, his movements stilted when he follows Beau. He risks a glance back at his room, expecting Fjord to stumble out into the hallway, but the door stays firmly closed. It’s for the best; they don’t need to start any rumors. While they didn’t do anything the others will talk, and he’d hate to hurt Jester. Even if her crush on Fjord amounts to nothing, she still likes him, and Caleb would never do anything to get in her way.

He looks away.

Caleb waits for Fjord to bring up the fact that they spent the night together. For days, every time Fjord would approach him, Caleb’s stomach would clench with nerves and he would think, This is it. He’s finally going to say something. But he never did, not once, until it eventually becomes the least of their concerns.

The Nein finds themselves in another town, nestled in another tavern. Caleb and Nott, as customary at this point, share a room. She stays up with him for as long as she can, but eventually she nods off, buried under a mountain of blankets.

He reads well into the night, stopping a few times to check on Nott. She’s restless tonight, murmuring to herself in Halfling, but Caleb doesn’t understand the language. He thinks about casting Comprehend Languages but decides against it. Her dreams are her business, and if she wants him to know about them she’d tell him; they’re getting better at sharing each other’s burdens.

He closes his book around 2, putting it on the nightstand between his and Nott’s beds, and waves away his globules of light. He lays down, summoning Frumpkin, and his cat crawls up his body, curling into a ball on his chest. His purring pull Caleb towards sleep.

Sometimes Eodwulf appears in his dreams. Sweet, caring Eodwulf who used to bring his mother baked goods from his parents’ bakery. Eodwulf with his dimples and his pale, green eyes; his golden hair a mess because he was always messing with it. He had questions about everything, his curiosity getting the best of him most days. He was the adventurer of their little trio, dragging Caleb and Astrid along to the places he’d find on his long walks. He loved sharing his hiding places with them.

Unlike Astrid, Eodwulf never changes in his dreams. He never becomes cruel, never drags Caleb towards Trent. Instead, he’s strapped down on a table. Caleb is always standing over him, watching him, listening as he begs, “Please don’t, Bren. Please, Bren, please don’t. Bren please.” Over and over, each plea a knife to Caleb’s heart.

Caleb tries to turn away, knows what the table is for, but his hands act on their own volition. They reach out, deft fingers selecting the correct tool. In his ear he hears Trent, his voice low, telling him to not choose a knife too sharp. They need to suffer.

“Make your cuts careful, Bren. Don’t let them bleed out. You can’t get information if they’re dead. Never go for the tongue, they can’t speak without a tongue, and be sure your flame is ready just in case.” Just in case they tried to escape.

Caleb never asks Eodwulf questions. He doesn’t need to; he knows everything about the boy. Before they were schoolmates they were friends; best friends. Eodwulf’s secrets are his secrets and vice versa.

He slices into Eodwulf because a sick part of him enjoys it. He enjoys the crying; the begging; the screaming. It sends a chilling thrill down his spine; a reminder that he had been good at this once upon a time.

Despite his perverse enjoyment, sometimes Caleb cries with Eodwulf; gives him broken apologies. He’ll stroke his hair, kiss his brow; offer him comfort, but he does not stop. He can’t make himself stop. To stop would prove that he’s not strong enough, and as much as he wants to deny it he still fears showing weakness in front of Trent.

Tonight the dream starts the same. Eodwulf strapped to the table, Caleb standing over him, his tray of tools within reach. Their tears are visibly sliding down their faces, Eodwulf begging him to stop, but Caleb still reaches for the perfect knife.

A hand latches onto his wrist, halting his progress, and a voice whispers in his ear, “Wake up, Caleb.”

“Was?”

“Wake up,” the voice repeats and the dream starts to warp. Eodwulf is nothing more than a blur when everything goes black.

His eyes pop open. He’s laying on his side, facing Nott’s empty bed. Frumpkin is also gone, no doubt lurking around the tavern, and Caleb mentally seeks him out, bringing him back to his side.

When Frumpkin appears he gives Caleb an apathetic look, swishing his tail back and forth. For a brief second, his eyes look gold, but when Caleb blinks they’re blue again.

“Where have you been?” he asks quietly, reaching out for Frumpkin. He comes willingly, curling up in Caleb’s lap. A flash of green flickers in Caleb’s mind, too quick for him to make out, and he gives his cat a wary look, shaking the image away.

He picks Frumpkin up, burying his face in his fur. He swears his smells the ocean; he ignores it.

Sometimes, when his mind is feeling exceptionally cruel, Caleb will dream about his parents. His father’s gentle hands; his mother’s unconditional love. The two most important people in his life, taken away by his own hands.

He had been their miracle baby. When his mother had been a teenager she had contracted an illness that almost killed her, and because of that there had been complications. In her adult life, when she had been thinking about starting a family with Caleb’s father, physicians told her she may never get pregnant. It hadn’t been an easy thing to accept, both she and Leofrick had wanted children, but eventually they started looking into alternative ways to start a family.

When she found out she was carrying a child, the only person she told (aside from her physician) was Leofrick. She had been afraid she’d lose him before he could take his first breath. The first time Una felt Caleb move she nearly cried. He was real; he was alive.

They waited nearly four months to tell their closest relatives, even longer until they told their friends. When she started to show, they could not keep him from the rest of the town any longer. Their neighbors told her the gods shined down on her, but she knew better. Her love kept him alive.

“My little miracle,” she murmured clutching her swollen stomach. “My love.” Caleb maybe have been his father’s son, but he was his mother’s greatest love.

He had heard this story many times growing up, could recite it in his sleep, but he never grew tired of hearing his mother tell it. They’d cuddle up near the fire on the nights his father had guard duty, a blanket draped over their shoulders, sharing a mug of hot apple cider, and he’d listen as she whispered the story to him; sometimes she’d tell him other stories, other times he’d read to her, but he loved that story the most.

“You are my greatest love, Bren,” his mother had said the day he left for the academy, hugging him tightly. “You are going to make me very proud.” He hadn’t made her proud; he murdered her while she slept.

In his dreams, he is sitting with her by the fire. She holds the mug of cider between her hands, the blanket falling off one of her shoulders, but she pays no attention to it, her voice soft as she tells him about his birth again. It’s a nice, normal moment between mother and son as they wait for his father to return.

Caleb notices the tears falling down his mother’s face and he reaches up, brushing them away, his voice hoarse when he asks, “Mama? Mama, what is wrong?”

She turns to face him and he cries out in horror, scrambling away from her; her face looks like its melting. Her eyes, once bright blue, an exact match to his, are now two pools of liquid as they stream down her cheeks. He chokes on a sob, moving back another step, his fingers trembling when he reaches for her.

The door bursts open, startling him, and Caleb’s eyes begin to burn as his father stumbles into the house, his body engulfed in flames. As he moves, the room ignites, burning everything the fire can touch, and Caleb moves further away.

“I am sorry,” he whispers, his eyes clouded over with tears. “I am so, so sorry.”

The dream usually ends with him hunched against the wall, watching in anguish as his family dies in front of him, but tonight he backs into someone, warm arms wrapping around him and pulling him away from his parents; away from this awful dream.

He wakes with a soft gasp, sitting up. The others are asleep around him except for Nott, who is watching him worriedly. Frumpkin sits next to her, staring intently at him, but he moves towards Caleb when he reaches out.

Nott follows Frumpkin, sitting as close to Caleb as she can, and he lays back down, resting his head in her lap. She runs her fingers through his hair, humming softly to herself, and he closes his eyes. There’s a hint of the ocean on Frumpkin’s fur again; Caleb clutches him tightly to his chest.

 On rare occasions, Caleb will dream about the Nein. Nott is predominately in these dreams, but the others appear, too. All except for Fjord. It should be odd, he sees Fjord everyday, he should have made an apperance by now, but to Caleb it just seemed natural. Besides, he’s already done unspeakable things to his other friends in his dreams; he’d hate to add Fjord to the list.

The dreams are never the same with the Nein. Sometimes they’re vivid; other times they’re just flashes. A hint of a scream; splashes of blood splattered on a wall; flames spreading across a room. He’s heard Nott scream; memorized the sounds of Jester and Caduecus crying out in pain. Beau, defiant to the end, never screams in his dreams, but she always gives him a resigned look whenever he turns on her; almost as if she expected it to happen eventually. That look haunts him during his waking hours.

Back when Molly was alive, Caleb had had one dream about him, but it hadn’t made sense. There’d been symbols and blood and he heard a cold laugh that followed him out of the dream. Sometimes he still hears that laugh, loud and clear, echoing in the back of his mind. He hates that laugh.

Yasha has made a few appearances, but she’s mostly in the background. Watching, sword held tight in her hands, an uncertain look on her face. He can tell she wants to kill him, but she can’t bring herself to do it. He wishes she would; maybe if someone stops dream him maybe he can get a good night’s rest.

Tonight he has them in a cage. Beau and Nott in one, Caduceus and Jester in another. Fjord is nowhere to be seen; neither is Yasha. He wonders if one of them will show up to try and stop him, probably Yasha; maybe she’ll do something this time.

“You’d love to watch them burn,” Trent whispers in his ear. “I can tell; I know that look in your eyes, Bren. Do it. Prove to me how strong you really are.” He nods, his gaze snapping towards Beau and Nott’s cage first, his hand raised to snap his fingers, but a figure appears in front of him, blocking them from view. Caleb is taken aback; this has never happened before. His gaze snaps up to the person standing in his way and his breath hitches.

“Stop it,” Fjord hisses, pushing him back a step. He’s not using his usual drawl; his accent smoother, lighter. His true voice if Caleb is to believe the original is a lie.

“Fjord? What are you doing here?” Caleb demands, lowering his hand.

“Keeping you from doing something stupid.” He turns, gesturing to their friends. “This isn’t who you are; you would never do this.”

Caleb’s eyes harden and he snarls, “You do not know me.”

“I know enough.” Fjord bushes him back another step, continuing to use his body as a barrier. “Don’t let the past mess up what you’ve done in the present. There are a lot of good people alive because of you. Don’t let him ruin that; let them go.”

“I-I can’t,” Caleb whispers, looking at the floor.

“Yes, you can.” He grips Caleb’s upper arms, ducking his head to try and catch his gaze. “You’re stronger than you think you are, Caleb. Let them go.”

“He lies,” Trent says in his ear. “You’re not strong. You are weak, and you will continue to be weak. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

“Shut up!” Fjord pulls Caleb behind him, summoning his falchion, and slashes at Trent. Caleb grabs for his arm, trying to pull him away, knowing Trent will not hesitate to kill him, but Fjord turns back to him, giving him a reassuring smile, and pushes him out of the dream.

Caleb jerks awake, sitting up quickly, looking over at the window. The moons shine brightly into the room through the open curtains. Nott is spread out on her bed, her blankets laying on the floor in a heap. Caleb gets up, bending down to pick them up, and covers her little body. His hand trembles when he reaches out, and he hesitates before brushing her hair off her forehead. He hopes she’s having pleasant dreams.

He creeps out of the room, closing the door gently behind him, and turns to see Frumpkin sniffing around Fjord and Caduecus’ room.

“What are you doing?” he moves towards his cat, scooping him up. “You know Fjord is allergic to you. Don’t bother him.” He carries his cat down the stairs, stroking his fur, and sits down at a table near the slowly dying fire.

There had been a time when he’d been fascinated by fire. The first time he summoned it, he had run all the way home to show his mother. She had looked worried, but she also smiled and told him he was special. The next day he had found a pile of arcane books she managed to collect from the neighbors sitting on the table. He’d found the academy in one of those books. He wishes he’d never opened it.

He leans forward, kissing the top of Frumpkin’s head. He smells the ocean again, this time much stronger, and he gives Frumpkin a curious look, furrowing his eyebrows. “I hope turning you into an octopus did not have lasting effects.”

While Frumpkin has a mind of his own and can do whatever he damn well pleases (usually he lays around and swats at spiders), he still does what Caleb tells him to do. It's been that way since Caleb found him. They have a bond that he does not share with anyone else; not even Nott. It's one of those things that no one else will understand unless they have a familiar of their own. Caleb wishes he could sit down with Shakaste at some point, compare notes, see if they have the same experiences with their fey creatures. Maybe someday.

When Jester told him Fjord had been letting his cat stay with him, Caleb hadn't believed her at first. Fjord claimed he's allergic to cats; has had a few sneezing attacks whenever Frumpkin's in his cat form. It didn't make sense to Caleb why Fjord would suddenly let him into his room. Then he saw the look on Fjord's face, heard the words, "You're sendin' him to me, right?" That's when he knew; Jester isn't lying.

He had turned to Frumpkin, seeking answers. The cat had been willing to talk, he never lies to Caleb, and he’d told him that he’d sensed Caleb’s distress. He also reminded Caleb that he’d been pulled from his nightmare before, months ago, by Fjord.

“That had been Fjord?”

“Obviously,” Frumpkin shoots back, blinking his eyes. “I gave you what you needed.” And then he walked out of the tavern without a backwards glance and Caleb had retreated to his room.

Caleb is a mess of quirks. He knows this; it’s nothing new. He fidgets, he paces, he counts, he hums and sings, he rambles; he’s a ball of nervous energy full of idiosyncrasies he developed as a kid that have only gotten worse since Trent.

Right now he’s pacing. Back and forth, reviewing what Frumpkin had told him, allowing himself to think about that first morning he woke up with Fjord. He hadn’t thought about it at the time, but he had slept a bit better than he usually did that night. While the nightmare had still been there, he remembers it quite vividly, it had been easier to wake up.

If he really thinks about it, lately, a lot of his nightmares had been easier to escape. They still left him feeling hollow and seeking the comfort of his cat, but he’d been pulled out before they had gotten too bad. And, if he is to believe Frumpkin, it had been because he had been unknowingly warging into his familiar and seeking out Fjord.

He believes Frumpkin.

He stops, summoning his cat, and Frumpkin appears on the windowsill. He looks up at Caleb, as apathetic as ever, and Caleb asks, “What do I do?”

Frumpkin sighs and begins cleaning his paws. He doesn’t react when they hear someone approach the closed door, but Caleb does, his eyes snapping towards it. He turns to Frumpkin, who has laid down and is staring out the window, and lets out a soft breath.

He moves towards the door and yanks it open just as Fjord had been about to knock. He has a choice to make; he can either shut the door in his face and never acknowledge this happened or he can let Fjord into his room. Sometimes it’s too much to keep running; to hide behind a wall. He doesn’t want to ignore this; whatever this is.

He lets him in.