Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the day Caleb Widogast’s past finally catches up with him, he is sitting at one of the ancient wooden tables in the tavern of the Leaky Tap.  Outside it’s pouring rain, a cruel irony that won’t go unnoticed by the wizard when he thinks back on the events of that night.

Deep down, Caleb knows that he is living on borrowed time, has known it from the moment he’d escaped that asylum five years ago.  But there is a difference between knowing something and being prepared for it; somewhere along the line, he’d allowed some small part of himself to start believing that the sense of safety and belonging he’d found with the Nein could be something permanent for a man like him.  That it was something he could ever deserve.  He tried to convince himself that he’d only stayed with the group for Nott’s benefit, but while that might have been true at first, he knows the real reason he hasn’t left yet is because he’s too much of a selfish coward to face the world alone.

Which means that when the door to the Leaky Tap creaks open to admit a cloaked figure, who removes his hood to reveal none other than Trent Ikithon, Caleb doesn’t excuse himself from the table so he can quickly and quietly deal with Ikithon without involving the rest of the Nein like he knows he should.  Rather, the raggedy wizard opts to hunch his shoulders in an effort to make himself as unobtrusive as possible and hope that his distractingly colorful companions render him invisible to his former teacher.  No such luck.  The older man’s poison-green eyes cut through the crowd like an assassin’s blade, pinning Caleb in place.  Slowly, a cruel grin cracks his face as he removes his cloak and hangs it up by the door.  Then, to the wizard’s absolute horror, Ikithon starts making his way towards their table.

Caleb’s entire body tenses and his breathing starts coming in quick, shallow bursts.  His knee bounces rapidly under the table.  This can’t be happening.  Ikithon can’t have found him, not when he has the necklace.  It’s not possible.  And yet he is here, all of Caleb’s nightmares made flesh and blood, and Ikithon sees him.  The rapid staccato beat of his heart is deafening in his ears, drowning everything else out.  His hands and forearms seize with pain as phantom flames engulf them; he smells smoke and he cannot breathe and he has never been more sure than he is at this moment that he is dying.

“-aleb!  Caleb!”  There is a small hand, tugging insistently at his elbow; a high-pitched voice squeaking his name.

It is Nott.  Nott is here.  She’s here and she’s looking at him and her lamplike yellow eyes are wide with concern.

Do you see?  A voice, the same voice he hears every time he dares to sleep, hisses from the depths of his skull, paper-thin and full of venom.  You have made her care for you just to hurt her; you have tricked her and everyone else into thinking you are someone who is deserving of something other than their disgust and hatred.  The second they discover what you have done, what you are, they will hurt you and then they will leave you and you will deserve it.

“Caleb!” Nott shrieks, pulling him from his thoughts, “You’ve set your cup on fire!”

“Was?” He looks down and sees that he’s done just that.  “Scheisse!” he yelps, frantically patting at his tankard of ale with the hem of his coat in a desperate attempt to smother the flames rapidly consuming the wooden cup. 

Then, the ale catches fire, sending a column of flame shooting five feet in the air, and the table erupts into chaos.

All rational thought instantly abandons Caleb, replaced by bone-deep fear and the overwhelming need to get away from here right the hell now.  He stands up, trying to backpedal quickly away from the flames, only for the backs of his knees to slam into the bench with enough force to send him flying.  Nott squeaks in alarm as he trips and lands flat on his back in the dust and straw covering the tavern floor.  She hops down from her perch on the offending bench, scampering over to inspect Caleb for injuries like a worried mother.  Meanwhile, the rest of the Mighty Nein attempt to douse the flaming ale tankard with varying degrees of success.  As Mollymauk rapidly scoots down the bench and away from the flames that could easily spread to his gaudy clothing, Jester dumps her glass of milk over the fire.  However, this only serves to send sizzling droplets of milk right back at the group of adventurers, who make various noises of pained annoyance.  The blue tiefling raises her arms in preparation to cast thaumaturgy, only for Molly to tackle her half-way to the floor before she can get the words out.

“Nope, we’re not doing that again,” he says when she turns to him, pouting.

In a moment of extreme panic, Beau turns to Fjord and shouts, “Saltwater!” as she punches him in the stomach.  The half-orc doubles over in pain and shock, coughing.

He wheezes at her indignantly, “What in the name a the gods did ya do that for?”

She splutters and flaps her hands around, “You- but every morning, y’know with the saltwater?”  She mimes vomiting, “Y’know?  I thought if I-”

He stares up at her, dumbfounded, “Not on command, I can’t!”

“Yeah, that’s why I punched you in the gut!”

Yasha silently watches them argue with confusion and mild interest before dumping the contents of her waterskin over the blaze, dousing it completely.  The room goes quiet.  Caleb swears that he can feel the eyes of the other patrons burning into him as he picks himself up off the ground.  He moves the bench back to its original position, wincing at the loud scraping noise that fills the now quiet tavern.  The tankard has been reduced to a pile of charcoal, which he silently slips into the pocket of his coat, and the table now sports several prominent scorch marks.

Beau waves to the glaring barkeep, “Don’t worry, we’ll pay for that!”  Then she turns to Caleb.  “What the fuck was that, man?!”

Caleb opens his mouth, but before he can respond he feels a familiar bony hand grip his shoulder.  He feels his throat close up.  Trent Ikithon has found him.  “Why, if it is not my favorite pupil, Bren Ermendrud, in the flesh; and after all these years, as well,” Ikithon’s papery voice hisses in his ear, honeyed words masking deadly intent.  “How have you been, my boy?”

Caleb tries to speak, to say something, anything to make this man go away, but the words get caught in his throat and he completely freezes.  His mouth gapes like a dying fish as his companions stare at him with questioning eyes.  Under different circumstances, Caleb’s silence could be attributed to his general lack of social skills and extreme anxiety.  However, the Mighty Nein have been traveling together for a while now, and they seem to have picked up on his heightened levels of panic enough to know that something is very wrong here.

Beau, blunt as ever, narrows her eyes at the newcomer.  “Sorry, buddy, but there’s no one here who goes by that name,” she says coldly.  “My friend here doesn’t do too well with strangers, so I think you should leave.”  Caleb feels a sudden surge of gratitude and affection for the monk and her inherent distrust of authority; she made sure not to mention his name in her dismissal.

Ikithon’s grip on his shoulder tightens.  “Really, now Bren,” he sneers.  “You aren’t going to introduce me to your little friends?  Honestly, young lady, I am quite surprised that he has not mentioned me to you all.”

Beau looks offended at the ‘young lady’ comment, but before she can start something Jester pipes up from her spot next to Molly, “Oh!  You were Caleb’s magic teacher then?  He told us he learned from books!”  She bounces excitedly in her seat, grinning, “Caleb, why didn’t you tell us about your teacher, he could help Fjord!”  So much for keeping his name hidden.

Fjord clears his throat, “Now, Jester, I don’ know-”

Ikithon finally removes his hand from Caleb’s shoulder and turns to the half-orc, beady eyes glittering, “Oh, is that so?  You have an interest in the arcane?”

“Uh, yessir, I’m tryin’ ta get inta the Soltryce Academy,” Fjord says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, then you are in luck, young man.  I happen to be a teacher at that very school,” he says.  All the relief Caleb had felt when Ikithon stopped touching him is immediately replaced by fear and an unexpected surge of protectiveness, because he’s seen the way the older man is looking at Fjord before; he’s been on the receiving end of that piercing gaze and knows exactly what it means.  It means interest.  Trent Ikithon is interested in Fjord, and this more than anything is what spurs Caleb to action. 

In a moment of bravery, he stands and faces his former teacher.  “Ja, well he already has a letter of recommendation, so he does not need your assistance.  You can leave now,” he says, not looking him in the eye, heart pounding with fear and adrenaline.  He feels the weight of Ikithon’s gaze as he considers his words, saying nothing and the already heavy tension in the air seems almost visible.  He can feel Nott’s claws digging into his arm where she’s clutching his sleeve, and the familiar pressure grounds him.  For a moment, he half-thinks the man is going to strike him down where he stands.  Then he nods, and even that tiny movement makes Caleb flinch visibly.

“Very well.  Goodbye, Bren.  Or should I say, Caleb, as that seems to be the name you have seen fit to give yourself.  I trust we will be seeing each other again very soon.”  With that final threat, he briskly makes his way out of the Leaky Tap.  As soon as the door closes behind Ikithon, Caleb’s knees buckle and he collapses back down on the bench.

“What did you do that for,” Jester whines.  “So what if Fjord has one letter?  He could have given him another one, did you think of that?”

“I-” He tries to think of something, anything to say, but the words won’t come.

“Jester, shut up,” Beau holds up a hand to silence the blue tiefling.  “Am I the only one who saw how Caleb reacted to that guy?  Are y’all blind or something?  He’s clearly bad news and creepy as hell to boot!”

“I agree.  I don’t trust him,” Yasha rumbles.

Beau lights up, clearly pleased.  “See!  Yasha doesn’t trust him either,” she exclaims, pointing at the barbarian.

“Well I trust Caleb, and if he sent that man away, then I think he should stay away,” Nott adds.

“Speaking of which, why didja send him away?”  This from Fjord, who’s turned to face Caleb head on.  “Actually, first off, why’d’ja lie about goin’ to the Academy in the first place?”  He really doesn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of a tavern, or at all to be frank, but he knows this isn’t something his companions will let go undiscussed.  They’re all looking at him now, waiting for an answer that he desperately doesn’t want to give.

He clears his throat, “My time at the Academy, it was not pleasant, to say the least.”  He keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the wooden planks of the ceiling as he speaks, “And it is not something I wish to discuss in public.  I will tell you what you wish to know, but I will do so in the privacy of our rooms.”

“Wait, Caleb-” Fjord starts to speak, but Caleb doesn’t wait for his response.  Without making eye contact with any of them, he gets up and starts walking to the stairs that lead to the rooms.  A small part of him prays that they won’t go after him, but a moment later he hears them get up to follow him.  He doesn’t look at any of them, not even down at Nott when he feels her small hand grip his own.

The stairs creak and groan under the group’s combined weight as the Mighty Nein make their way up the rickety wooden steps and file into the small room that Caleb and Nott are sharing.  It’s a tight fit, but they make the best of it.  Beau perches on the windowsill, with Yasha and Fjord leaning against the wall on either side of her.  Molly hops up onto the chest of drawers in the corner, pillowing his arms behind his head as he leans against the wall.  Jester flounces into a sitting position on the floor in front of the bed, legs tucked underneath her and chin resting in her hands like a child waiting for storytime to begin.  Caleb sits down on the bed and Nott hops up beside him.  He fights the urge to curl into a ball and hide from the inevitable fallout of this conversation.

Beau makes a get on with it motion, jade bangles clacking together with the movement.  “C’mon, dude,” she says impatiently, “What could possibly be so bad that you dragged us all into your little hobo cave to tell us?”  Fjord shoots her a disapproving look that she shrugs off, and something about the normalcy of this exchange allows Caleb to ground himself.

“Nott, liebling, if I leave tomorrow, will you come with me?” he asks, taking both her hands in his.  He feels guilty for asking, knows that he’s being selfish, but he asks anyway because he doesn’t think he can survive without her.

She looks confused, but nods anyway.  “Of course, Caleb, we’re a team.  Where you go, I go,” she says.

“Gut, ja, that is good,” he pats her hands and turns to face the others.  He takes a deep breath.  This is it.  No more stalling.  “This may be a very stupid decision of mine, but now that Ikithon has found me you would have found out eventually.  Best that you hear it from me.  Then, at least, he cannot hold this information over me…  When we met, I told you all that I am self-taught.  This is true.  I also told you that I did not attend the Soltryce Academy, and this, this was the lie,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, “I did attend the Academy, and that man in the bar was my teacher also.  His name is Trent Ikithon.”

He swallows and runs a shaky hand through his hair, “Ah, I should perhaps start at the beginning.  This will not make much sense otherwise.”  His mouth is dry and tastes of ash, “I am going to tell you the story of how I murdered my mother and father.”  He doesn’t look at his companions, eyes trained on the wooden floor.

The words seem to pull all the oxygen from the room.  Beside him, he hears Nott make a shocked Oh! sound, as though she’s just been punched in the stomach.  She squeezes his hand in a comforting gesture.  He’s not sure why.

Even as his throat tightens, he continues, “When I was younger, I grew up in a small township outside of Rexxentrum called Blumenthal.  My mother’s name was Una and my father’s name was Leofric.”  He forces himself to say their names; his voice going high and shaky at the end as he abandons any attempts to keep a stiff upper lip.  “Everyone was very excited about me when I was young.  I was bright,” he spits the word like the curse he knows it to be, “and confident.  People used to say that I glided through life and everything just worked for me.”

He laughs, then, bitter and sharp as broken glass.

“As I got older, it became clear that I had a knack for the arcane.  Everyone talked about this Soltryce Academy,” he says, the name poison on his tongue, “that maybe I would go there someday.  The way they do things at the Academy, and Fjord will tell you, they do not take all comers.”  He gestures in the half-orc’s general direction, still not looking up, “That is why he needed the letter of recommendation.  Because the Academy looks for the diamond in the rough and every couple years they find one.  But,” he says, trying in vain to dislodge his heart from his throat, “when I was a young man, adolescent, really, they found three of us.  Another boy and a girl, and-”

Nott cuts in, “From your town?”

Caleb nods, “Ja, from Blumenthal. And we were accepted.”

“How old were you?” Jester asks from her spot on the floor, uncharacteristically somber.

He takes a breath.  “I was young,” is his only response.

“When ya say young, whaddya mean?  Young like a teenager?”  Fjord asks, clearing his throat as he shifts against the wall.  Caleb flinches violently at the sound his armor makes as it grates against the stone surface.

“Ja.  Anyway, we went there.  I studied for a year.  I worked so hard.  It came easier to me than the other two, but they were also very accomplished,” he continues, forcing the words out in short bursts.  A lump is already forming in his throat and making it hard to speak, so the faster he gets the story out, the less likely it is that he will break down in the middle of telling it.  He steels himself, taking a shaky breath before continuing, “There were other students from other parts of the Empire there,” he gestures vaguely with the hand not clutched in Nott’s claws, “and a little over a year of learning all they had to impart, I met a man named Trent Ikithon.  As you all know, he became our teacher.”

Caleb doesn’t dare look up before going ahead with his story.  “After a year of studying in the main school, Trent handpicked all three of us again, and we left the school proper and went with him to a home out in the countryside where he trained us,” his hands begin to visibly shake as the memories hit him in full force.  He clears his throat.  “It was a good time.  We believed in the Empire, we were going to keep it strong.”

“Well, this is going nowhere good fast,” Beau mutters under her breath, her voice wry, and Yasha makes a noise of agreement in the back of her throat that is more akin to a growl than anything else.

“Both a’ya, hush now,” Fjord mumbles back, “This ain’t the time.”

Caleb forces himself to go on.  “He was cruel.  He hurt us a lot.  Made us go through extreme circumstances, but we got strong.  I also fell in love, but that’s another story,” he says, the last part more to himself than the others.

He feels Nott’s hand tighten around his own, “He hurt you?!” she exclaims, voice shrill and strangled.

“It was nothing I did not deserve,” he says.

Beau makes an offended noise.  “That’s a load a’ bullshit and you know it,” she says, “You were a fucking child.”

“I knew what I was getting into, Beauregard,” he says, suddenly feeling defensive.

Mollymauk, who up until this point had remained silent, speaks, “Nah, Beau’s right for once.”

“Ah, fuck you Molly,” she says without any real heat.

“For the love a’ fuckin’ god let the man finish speaking,” Fjord interjects exhaustedly.  “Go on now, Caleb,” the half-orc turns his steady gaze on the wizard once Beau and Molly have finished their bickering.

The wizard in question wonders silently, not for the first time, if they are all insane.  Can they not see that he is the worst kind of monster?

He continues anyway, “We rose through the ranks and it was the Empire over all, and eventually, he wanted to test our allegiance, so strangers were brought in– traitors.  Disgusting people, traitors to this empire, and we killed them.”

Nott makes a distressed noise, shattering the silence settling over the group like a heavy fog.

“And you were only students?” Yasha asks, her voice dark with some unnamed emotion.

“Ja,” he confirms.

“He made you executioners,” Beau says, voice flat.  It isn’t a question.

“We wanted to be,” is all he can say.

Molly whistles, low and cheerless, “Bloody hell, Caleb.”

“Caleb, that’s deeply fucked up, you know that, right?” Beau’s voice is almost pleading.

Caleb laughs bitterly, “Ja, I am aware.  A few months of studying, of a little bit of torture, a little bit of murdering dissidents and traitors and deviants.”

Beau fills in the blank, “Then one day your parents are brought in as traitors.  No?”

“Nein,” he shakes his head.  If only it were that simple.  “No.  We were ready to graduate, and the last test of our allegiance was– I am getting ahead of myself.”  He starts again, “I went on a trip home and visited my parents and when I was there, in the middle of the night, I awoke and overheard them talking, and went to the stair and listened to them talk about revolution and tearing the Empire down, and I felt disgraced and shame for my family.” 

He laughs, high and broken, “My mother and my father, who were so wonderful to me when I was a child, and were so happy for me to go to the Academy and believe in the Empire so much.  I went back to the school and when the three of us were summoned and told what was expected of us, I knew what had to be done.  We went to this other boy’s home first, Eodwulf, and we stood by as he killed his parents.  We went to Astrid’s house, and had dinner with them, and she poisoned them.”  The words feel like shards of glass, cutting his tongue as he speaks, but he forces them from his throat, “Then we went to my home and we grabbed a horse cart, and in the middle of the night, placed it against the door to the home and I set it on fire.”

“Jesus Christ,” Fjord swears.

Caleb's shoulders shake and he has long since abandoned any attempts at composure.  There are tears in his eyes and on his cheeks.  Why is he crying?  He was the one who cast the spell that burnt his house and murdered his family, he is not the victim here.  No one held a knife to his throat, no one forced his hand.

“You had to do this to graduate, to prove your loyalty,” Beau says in the same flat tone as before.

“Ja, well, but it did not go according to that plan because as soon as I heard my mother and father screaming inside…”  He hiccups, shoulders shaking, “I was so sure.  I was so sure… until I wasn’t, and I, uh, I broke a bit.”  Someone swears again, Caleb’s brain is too full of buzzing and phantom screams to know who.  His insides feel sharp and broken, shards of something cutting viciously into his brain and heart.

“Did you go after them?”  Again he is unsure which of them asks.

“Nein, ich bin in eine Anstalt gegangen,” he responds in Zemnian.  He pauses and starts again, forcing himself to speak in Common, “No, I went to an asylum for a number of years.  Ich brach.  I, ah, I broke.  I do not remember so well what happened to me there.  It was quite a number of years.  Years later, a woman was there, and she, another patient, put hands on me, and she took the clouds away.”  He waves his free hand wildly near his head.  “She took it all away, and not just my madness, but the fake memories Ikithon put in my head of my parents,” he says.  He snaps his fingers, “Just like that!  Poof, all gone!”  His voice has gone sharp and bitter.

“Fake memories?”  Nott is the one who asks this time, he is sure of it.  He focuses on her voice, grounding himself.

He nods, “Of wanting to betr-- yes.”

“Wait, there was a false memory?  He tricked you?” Nott asks again.

Yasha’s soft voice clarifies, “Into hearing their talks against the Empire, is that what the memory was about?”

“Yes, but it does not matter,” his voice rising in pitch and intensity as he speaks.  “Because I still wanted to do it when I did it!”

Nott’s voice becomes increasingly shrill, “But you didn’t know what you were doing--”

He cuts her off, “So what?!”

“You were brainwashed,” she retorts angrily, “Programmed!”  She jabs a finger into the air.  He stares at her.  What about this situation does she not understand?  

He opens his mouth to explain that he is a garbage person, but a loud wail cuts him off.  His head snaps towards the source of the sound.  He sees Jester, bright, happy, bubbly, Jester, tears streaming down her cerulean cheeks.  Less than a second later, he is bowled over by the chubby blue tiefling.  Jester throws her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. Nott hugs him firmly around the middle, her bony arms holding on like she’s worried he might disappear.  Jester’s actions seem to break whatever spell was holding the others in place, and Molly hops down from his perch.  The lavender tiefling saunters over to the trio, tail coiling behind him in the air like a nervous snake.  He crouches down in front of Caleb and takes both of the wizard’s bandaged hands in his own.  Solid ruby eyes study Caleb’s face as Mollymauk Tealeaf considers the man in front of him.

“Mr. Caleb,” Molly says softly.

“Mr. Mollymauk,” Caleb intones dully.

Molly smiles slightly.  “You told me once that you believe in second chances,” he says.  “Your words, they meant so much to me.  They still do.  But what, pray tell, is the point in believing in second chances for others if you don’t believe in them for yourself, yeah?  Please be kind to yourself Mr. Caleb.”  He squeezes Caleb’s hands comfortingly before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Danke, Mollymauk,” Caleb murmurs, too overwhelmed by the cocktail of confusion and grief bubbling in his stomach to say much else.  Molly pats his cheek and sits down on the bed next to Jester, who still has yet to relinquish her hold on Caleb.  He rubs the other tiefling’s back as she blubbers into Caleb’s scarf.  Yasha follows Molly quietly, the bed creaking beneath her muscular frame as she sits beside Caleb.

The barbarian sighs heavily.  “I know what it is to be used and made into a weapon,” she admits quietly, resting a large hand on the wizard’s shoulder, “I know what it is to be made into a monster by someone you trust.”  She exhales softly, “I have been a monster, Caleb Widogast, and I know the scars it leaves.  Do not let those scars be all you are.  Live, and be more.”  Her tone brooks no argument, so he simply nods.  She gives him a small smile and some of the sharp edges inside him smooth over, like glass tossed amongst the waves.

“What happened to the woman who healed you?” Jester asks, her voice still watery from crying.

Caleb takes a moment to collect himself before responding, “I do not know, she was stark raving mad again fifteen minutes later, the woman who healed me.”

“Oh,” she says.  For a moment she seems disappointed by his answer, then visibly brightens and says excitedly, “I will ask the Traveler to watch over her and tell her thank you for helping my very good friend Caleb because if she had not done that I never would have met him and then I would be very sad because I like him so much!”

Caleb smiles, slightly flustered, “Ah, danke Jester,” he says.

“It is no problem!” She smiles, and it is bright and warm like the sun after a long storm.

Fjord clears his throat.  Caleb startles at the proximity of his voice, surprised to find that the half-orc is now standing in front of him.  He looks hesitantly up at the other man’s face, searching for any signs of disgust or hatred.  He finds none.  “I, uh, well if ya don’t mind me askin’, how’d ya end up gettin’ out a’ there?” he asks softly.  “I’ll admit, I don’t know much about asylums, but I’ve always kinda been of the impression that once you’re in, you’re in for good.”

Beau pipes up, “I was kinda wondering about that myself, actually.”

Caleb exhales a small laugh, “You are not wrong, my friend.  That is usually the case with these places.  What happened was I killed one of Trent’s people there and I took this,” he says and pulls out the necklace from under his shirt, “It kept me hidden from Trent, at least it was supposed to do this, but he found me anyway so I guess it is just a useless piece of junk.”

“I mean it kept you hidden for, what, like--” Beau tilts her head for a minute, counting something off on her fingers.  “You’ve known Nott for, what was it, did you say you’ve known her for five years?”  He nods, and she seems satisfied.  “Right, so this thing has kept you hidden for at least the five years you’ve known Nott, and that’s not even accounting for the time between when you escaped and when you met up with her.”

“What are you saying, Beauregard?” he asks, unsure of where exactly she’s going with this.

“The point I’m trying to make is that it took over five years for Trent to find you.  You’re the wizard here man so correct me if I’m wrong, but maybe that thing is just outta juice or something,” she points out.

His eyes widen in shock as he considers the idea.  “I had never considered…” he trails off, brain already shifting into high gear as he thinks it over.

Beau punches his arm.  “See, I know more about this magic shit than you nerds give me credit for,” she says playfully.

“Considering you’re a part of a group of monks that work in a library, I think you of all people are the nerd here, Beau,” Molly snarks.

She glares playfully at him, “You wanna go, pretty boy?”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” Molly clutches his hands over his heart theatrically.

She smiles sweetly at him, “Pretty fuckin’ annoying, yeah,” she snarks right back.

He gasps dramatically, “You wound me, my dear Beauregard.  How will I ever recover from such a grave injury?  I think the heartbreak just might kill me!”  He throws his arms wide and flops backward onto the bed.

“Then perish,” Beau deadpans.

Molly barks a laugh, “You are a cruel and unusual woman.”

“Thank you, Molly,” she says primly, sending Jester into a fit of giggles.

“Caleb, do you think Beau is right about the necklace?” Nott asks as the laughter subsides.

He blinks at her as he pulls himself from his thoughts, “I suppose that it is possible, but even if we were able to-- Ah, what is the word?  Even if we are able to recharge it, what good would that do?  Trent has already found me.”

“Well, then we’ll charge it up and leave Zadash,” she says, as if it’s all so simple.

Beau nods.  “Yeah, and if that piece of shit comes for you, we’ll just kick his crusty ass into next week,” she says confidently.

“Beau’s right, that dickhead is not coming anywhere near you as long as we’re around!” Jester says firmly.  The rest of the group echoes the sentiment, and Caleb stares at them in wide-eyed disbelief.  Not a single damn one of them seems to see Caleb for the monster he is, even knowing what he has done.  It makes no sense, why can’t they understand that he is the one who is to blame? 

“I- I do not understand, why are you treating me like I am innocent in this?  I am a garbage person, a trash human being, a murderer!  I killed my parents, I watched them burn and did nothing!  Why are none of you angry at me, why- how can you even stand to be in the same room with me?!”  He’s shouting, frustration and self-hatred swirling in his gut and tears stinging his eyes. “Why do you not hate me?!” 

Caleb's on his feet now, facing his friends; he must have stood up at some point during his tirade and simply didn’t notice.  Their eyes are wide, and suddenly he can’t take it anymore.  Can’t take the guilt and the shame and the feeling of being watched that makes his skin crawl.  So, ignoring the sounds of Nott calling his name, he runs, out the door and down the tavern stairs and out into the grey rainy Zadash afternoon, fleeing the small room and the watching eyes of his friends.

Chapter Text

Beau feels sick and jittery, like she's been drinking coffee on an empty stomach.  She'd figured that Caleb had been through some shit, but she'd never imagined something like this.  So much of his weirdness suddenly makes perfect sense.  Gods, she needs to hit something.  Preferably that bastard Ikithon's face.  She clenches her fists, fantasizing about beating the creepy old geezer into a bloody pulp.  Caleb may be a powerful wizard but he can't throw a punch to save his life, so Beau resolves to get some physical hits in for him.

"I'm going after him," Nott says determinedly, "Just me though, you guys will only scare him away."  No one argues with her, knowing that Nott is the only person with a chance of getting through to their scruffy wizard.

Wringing her hands, Jester says, "Message me when you find him, okay?"  Nott nods and scampers out of the room.  Tail lashing and coiling anxiously, Jester bites her lip, "Do you... do you think she will find him?"  Her voice is quiet.  It hurts, seeing one of the most vibrant people Beau's ever met so subdued.

"No one knows Caleb like Nott, Jessie," Beau reassures her, "She'll find him."  Jester nods and Molly squeezes her hand, knocking their horns together.

"Gods..." Fjord whispers, burying his face in his hands.  Beau is abruptly reminded that Fjord was hoping that the Academy might help him learn about the source of his powers.  Yasha pats his shoulder.

Molly exhales and gets to his feet.  "Well I for one could use a stiff drink.  We're no good to anyone just mopping about."  He's as tense as Beau's ever seen him, tail lashing like an angry serpent about to strike.

Beau nods, "I could go for a drink."  She meets Molly's eyes, and she can see the anger brimming beneath the false lightness.  They'll get their wizard back, and then they'll kick Trent Ikithon's ass.

Chapter Text

Nott scurries along the rainy streets of Zadash, frantically searching for Caleb.  The rain soaks her cloak, running down her face and mingling with her tears.  She's so full of rage and sorrow for her boy that she feels like one of her alchemical mixes on the verge of exploding.  He didn't deserve those things, no matter what he thinks.

"Caleb!" she cries, "Caleb, where are you?"

"Mrow."  Nott feels a tug on her cloak and looks down.  Frumpkin is looking up at her with yellow lamplike eyes.

"Hello.  Can you take me to Caleb?" she asks.  Frumpkin tugs on her cloak again, then starts toward an alley.  "Good kitty," she praises, scampering off after him.  Quiet as a mouse, she approaches the mouth of the alleyway.  She needs to be careful not to spook her boy.

She sees him then, curled up in a tight ball with his head bowed and his hands folded as if in prayer.  The light from the street lamp flickers over him, painting him in gold and shadows.  If Nott was an artist like Jester, she might have wanted to draw him, but she is no artist.  She is, however, a mother.

"Caleb," she calls softly.  He flinches, scanning for threats.  "Oh, Caleb."

"Mutti?" he asks, eyes haunted.  She creeps closer.  "Mir ist so kalt, mutti," he says again, sounding child-like.  Frumpkin hops into his lap, purring.  Nott's close enough to touch him now, and she reaches out a hand to cradle his cheek, mindful of her claws.  He blinks, eyes focusing, "Nott?  Was machen Sie hier?"

Nott doesn't speak much Zemnian, just little bits and pieces she's picked up from traveling with Caleb throughout the years, but she thinks she understands what he's asking.  "I'm here because you shouldn't be alone right now."

"I don't deserve-"  She cuts him off with a look.  He sighs, curling tighter into himself, and she just can't take it anymore.  She throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she can.

"I'm so sorry," she says into his coat.  "It wasn’t you, it’s not your fault.  It wasn’t you, you were made to do it.  It’s not your fault.  It’s not your fault."  She feels his hand come up to cradle the back of her head.  "I know you don’t realize that now, but you will," she says, then lets go, just enough so that she can look up into his eyes.  They are glassy with unshed tears and her heart clenches.  She reaches a hand up to cradle his face.  "This pain that you have, that you wear all over you like a mask, it’s just that, and you can take it off someday.  I know it hurts, but it wasn’t your fault.  I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe me."

"Are you and I good?" he asks, voice raw.

She smiles at him, big and toothy and unbearably sad, "What you did was awful, truly terrible, despicable and unforgivable- until you can forgive it.  At some point, you’ll have to do that."  His chin wobbles but still he doesn't break.  "I swear to you that I will be at your side until you do."  Finally, tears spill over and flow down his cheeks.  He makes no sound as he cries, chest heaving, like he's trained himself to bear his pain silently.  She holds his hands gently in hers as Frumpkin purrs away in his lap.

Molly stares into his tankard, contemplating the past few hours.  He's sitting on the stairs with Beau next to him, leaning against his shoulder.  They're both several drinks in, trying to take the edge off the horror of what Caleb has told them.  Fjord disappeared into their room awhile back to stare at his sword.  Beau knocks back the rest of her ale, swearing under hear breath.

"You might wanna slow down," he tells her.  He can take the edge off her hangover, but they still need to be marginally sober enough to deal with Caleb when he and Nott come back.  Moonweaver, he hates being responsible

"Fuck off," she mutters.

"Guys!  Guys!" Jester shouts from the girls' room.  "Nott found him!  They're coming back!"  Relief swells in his gut.  He nudges Beau, getting to his feet and pulling her up with him.  They meet Jester at the top of the stairs.

Fjord pokes his head out from their room, "Nott found Caleb?"  Jester nods emphatically.  He disappears back into the room for a minute, then exits it completely.  Jester clings to his arm, eyes wide and redrimmed.

"Good," Molly says, lips pursed.  It's still pouring rain outside, coming down in sheets, and he doesn't like the idea of their wizard being out there in the cold.  He walks over to Yasha and burrows into her side, winding his tail around her wrist loosely.  She wraps her arm around his shoulders and squeezes him tightly to her.

"They're here!" Jester whispers, "Everyone be normal."  The door to the tavern creaks open.

Chapter Text

The fae cat curls himself around his human's neck protectively as they enter the building that smells of fermented grains and greasy meals.  He is pleased to be out of the rain, but his human feels differently.  Fearshameanxietyhiding bleeds through their bond, all tangled up like the knotted yarn that the Loud Blue One tries to tempt him with.

The Small Sneaky One squeezes his human's hand, radiating a fierce love.  He likes the Small Sneaky One very much because she makes his human feel warmhomesafeloved.  The rest of his human's companions are waiting on the stairs, watching his human with bated breath.  Fearhopeshameaffectionanxiety bleeds bright through their bond.  The cat rumbles, nuzzling his human.  Still clinging to the Small Sneaky One, his human approaches the stairs, eyes downcast.

Silly human, the cat thinks, They only want to help you.

The Sea Touched One says, "C'mon now, let's get ya warmed up."  Surprisehopeguilt burns in his human.  His human deserves good things, so the cat thinks, Go.

"Yeah man," says the Brash Fighty One.  "Can't have you catching a cold."  She elbows him lightly.  It is a friendly gesture but his human still flinches.  The Shiny Purple One's red eyes flash dark ruby, tail lashing behind him.  It says to the cat, I will hurt those who make you afraid.

"I don't understand," his human says, voice raw and rough.  Confusionhopefearcaution.  A shaky breath as his human waits for their judgement.  They will not hurt us, the cat thinks.  These ones are good.

Chapter Text

Caleb sits on the bed in their small room, knees drawn up to his chest as he stares off into space.  Frumpkin has draped himself over his shoulders, purring deeply as he scratches the cat under the chin absentmindedly.  A blanket is wrapped around him in place of his soaked coat.  The rest of the Nein are downstairs, drinking and discussing what they wish to do with him.  They said that it wasn't his fault.  He does not believe them, nor does he believe that they truly believe that.

A knock at the door makes him flinch.  "Caleb?  Can I come in?"  It's Jester.  "I have some very yummy dinner for you, and some treats for Frumpkin also!"

Well, no sense in delaying the inevitable.  "Ja, you may come in."

The door creaks open, Jester peering inside.  "Hello," she says, "How are you feeling?"

He shrugs, conscious of her every move.  She sets the plate of mashed potatoes and some sort of stew on the chest near the bed and stands before him ready to pass judgement on his sins, wringing her hands and tail lashing behind her.

"Dann mach weiter," he hears himself say, "What is your plan for me?"

"Well," she begins, drawing out the 'l', "I was thinking that we'd recharge your necklace thingy and leave the city.  Maybe we could go visit my mama and see the coast.  Have you ever seen the ocean Caleb?"

"Was?" he asks, voice taking an edge of hysterical laughter.  "This is a joke, yes?  You are, ah, fucking with me.  Please, Jester, do not be cruel.  Just tell me when you are going to turn me in so I can say my goodbyes."

And so he can run.  He will miss them all a great deal, but not enough to sacrifice his freedom.  He refuses to go back to Ikithon.

He's breathing hard and Jester takes a step back, lips pressed together.  "Caleb," she says softly.  "Do you think we're gonna give you up to the crownsguard?"

He nods despairingly.  "You should.  I am a garbage person."  He deserves to be killed for what he has done.  But he's too much of a coward to face his punishment and he knows it.

"Shut up!" Jester stamps her foot and he flinches again.  "You are NOT garbage you are my friend and I love you very much!  We aren't going to turn you in ever, got it?"  She wags a finger in his face and he shrinks back from her.  Her face, previously screwed up in frustration, falls into a frown.  "I'm sorry for yelling.  I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," he mumbles.  "You don't scare me Jester."  He's afraid of a great many things but Jester isn't one of them.

"Oh, good!"  She claps her hands together, smiling brightly.  "You should eat, you are wayyyy too skinny."

"I will eat."

She scrutinizes him, "Promise?"

He never wastes food.  "I promise."

She goes to leave, then seems to think better of it, turning on her heel and flouncing over to squeeze him tightly in a hug that makes his bones creak and his chest ache.

"Remember, we all love you soooo much, Caleb, and we aren't going to let that Tramp Yuckython jerk get you," she whispers in his ear.  She gives him one last squeeze and then she's gone, breezing out the bedroom door.

He casts a lingering glance at the door, wishing for a fleeting moment that she had stayed. 

"Well?" Beau asks once Jester has returned from bringing Caleb stew.

Jester flops down beside her and stares sadly into her milk.  "He thought we were going to turn him in to the crownsguard."

Nott's eyes go wide.  "We would never!"  When they don't all immediately clammer in response, she glares and says again with emphasis, "We would never do that to him, right guys?"

"Of course not, love," Molly soothes her.  "None of us are saints by any stretch of the idea.  Caleb's past is his own business.  We're not going to condemn the man for something he clearly regrets a great deal."

Yasha hums in agreement.

"I told him we could go back to Nicodranas and see my mom," Jester says.

Fjord leans forward, arm resting on the table.  "Hang on, aren't you banned from ever returnin'?"

Jester shrugs, "We can work something out.  But we can't stay here!"

"I'm not disagreein'," Fjord says, hands raised placatingly.  "I'm just...  What are we gon' do?  Ikithon knows our faces.  Even if we book it, he's still gonna be able to come looking."

"Well I vote we sleep on it and decide in the morning," Beau interjects.  "Because this is shitty and I'm tired."

"All in favor of sleeping on it, say 'aye'," Molly puts forth with a bitter grin.

"Aye," Fjord intones.

"Works for me," Jester replies with a nod.

"I say, 'Aye' as well," Nott agrees.

Yasha stands up, "Aye."

"Fantastic," Molly claps.  "Now let's all try and enjoy the sweet oblivion of dreaming because tomorrow, shit gets real.  Ta ta."

Chapter Text

Somewhere else, in the woods outside of Shady Creek Run, a pink-haired firbolg says goodbye to the only home he's ever known.  He packs his things, a few meager belongings.  He doesn't need much, he knows that the Wildmother will provide for him.  All of his siblings are gone, having left to seek a cure for the rot that plagues their home.  He is the only one left, and the signs are telling him that it is his turn to go. He follows the path out of the cemetery, stopping once more at the gate to gaze fondly back over his home.  The plants growing on the graves, the leaves of which he has harvested for tea countless times in his lifetime, are dappled with pale sunlight and sparkling with dewdrops. 

This cemetery is the only place he has ever known, but the birds are flying southwest, so southwest he must also go.  There are things to discover and people to meet and a grove to save, so he will leave the comfort of his home and venture out into the great unknown.

Chapter Text

Sadly, I've decided to abandon this work after finding out that Ashley Johnson supports Israel. I won't be posting any more critrole stuff either. I'm not taking the work down bc I am proud of what I've written but that's all.

Edit 11/4/23: The claim that Ashley liked Neil Druckman's post has been debunked in the comments, meaning y'all can look forward to me probably continuing this fic and other critrole fics!

Edit 2/10/24: I will not be continuing to write this version of this fic.  I might end up rewriting it at some point in the future.