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Bedlam

Summary:

 

When venturing into the dark, always keep one eye open.

 

Yes, this is part of the Catfe Universe. Yes this is also tagged horror. :)

Notes:

Mind the tags :)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Gravity Well

Chapter Text

He can’t breathe, he won’t breathe, he shouldn’t breathe.

 

 

 

It’s a trick to make him inhale the very thing that wants to kill him, to take root where he cannot see to dig it out again. A hooked claw that will hurt more to force out than the bloodied tracks it leaves as it scrambles in.

 

Essek is beyond panicking, his vision is blurry, all shapes seem too close and too far. His hands belong to someone else as they tremble, numb to the sparks of his mind that try and force them to move. He cannot look at the sensation directly; the face of it would burn his eyes to blackened sockets, the force overwhelming like falling into the sun. What was happening to him?

 

He cannot survive this, it's too much for a mortal, it’s too much for a deity. A gaping vacant blackhole is eating his essence with each second it pulls him under, but even that seems a far fairer welcome compared to the thing that slithers. If he blinks too fast, if he turns his eyes before his head, if he reaches his half-numbed hands out with eyes closed, then he can feel it. Unfathomably everything, smooth and sharp and slick, the thick of it catching under his fingernails in a way that makes Essek believe it will cling for millennia. He was curious, and now he pays for his mistake. 

 

It wraps around his leg, becoming bolder, a friendly tendril of an enemy seeing how far it can stretch. Essek cannot react, he is frozen in place as it climbs and climbs, its burning trail melting through his pants. 

 

Where was he?

 

Black maw to eat him, flesh tongues to taste, claws to rip and shred and rip and shred; he is only a speck of nothing to be consumed, to become one with them.

 

What did they want with him?

 

There is no knowledge he could trade that wouldn’t be dust in the face of eons of aching dark. What is a spellbook to the unknowing glimpse of immaterial death?

 

Despite all this, despite the brain he knows is melting in the rattling white of his skull, his hands suddenly shoot to his chest, his own fingers tear his shirt to ribbons, threads of something once loved caught between his fingers.

 

He can’t breathe, he won’t breathe, he shouldn’t breathe.

 

 

 

There’s a weight on his chest, heavy so heavy, his ribs ache from the bend and break. It fills invisible space, he claws, he claws, he needs it. It's a tether. It's familiar. He needs it. He needs it. He–

 

 

 

“Essek. Essek, schatzi wake up.”

“Aurrhfg”

“You’re kicking so hard in your sleep, are you okay?”

“I -urg- Caleb, what?!” Essek feels a dull ache in his limbs and his whole body and bed feel sticky. 

Caleb presses a hand to his forehead and worry creases his brow. “Schatzi, you’re burning up. You’re unwell.”

“I think,” Essek tries to shift in bed and immediately knows it is both a mistake and that he needs to find the strength to rise immediately as the washroom is a siren calling his name. “Urk– I think I should not have indulged in Jester’s sushi experiments last night.” 

 

 

 

Chapter 2: Bonfire Night

Chapter Text

 

Fire.

 

Caleb wakes up with a hand to his own throat and a lingering thought of needing to pull it out. What was"it"’? In his awake state he only felt the boil of fear still in his blood but he couldn’t make out the shape of his nightmare. Everything had been drenched in smoke, too thick a veil to see an assailant or source, although his startled heartbeat shook one icy thought from his sleep-thick mind. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the thought, it is a nightmare, nothing more. It is smoke and flame and heat; anyone would be afraid. He doesn’t recognize it like a memory, why would he? Sometimes the mind conjures fantasy –a fairytale or fear– that doesn’t make it real.

 

He needs to get out of bed. He’ll be useless in the cafe all day if he tries to go back to bed only to unsuccessfully toss and turn. The cats will hear the creak of his bed and know he is up; their begging at the door will start soon and be louder than any alarm he could set. He might as well start his day now, sip coffee and watch the sun rise.

 

Another benefit of waking too early, even if a shocked heart is what woke him: his usual bed partner is not one for sleeping in. He could see if Essek wants to try a new recipe, or walk over to Jester’s together to pick up today’s pastries. 

 

Caleb rubs his eyes, sleep thick in his lashes still, and shifts to sit fully in bed and look to his side. A little strange, but Essek is still bundled under the blankets, curled to his pillow not unlike the cats downstairs. Caleb’s heart swells with fondness, wanting to slide his fingers through that messy hair, plant a kiss to the bedhead and wake him gently. Why not? He knows from experience that Essek won’t bite. 

 

“Schatzi.” Caleb scoots the few inches over, leaning down to forehead. “Would you like me to start on some coffee? Or perhaps another method of waking up–” Caleb pauses, lips stilled against the familiar space where he’s pressed a hundred kisses before. His skin is unfamiliarly chilled, even for Essek. 

 

Caleb is frozen in place, body half crouched above his partner. Most of Essek’s face is pressed to the pillow, his arms wrapped around it to hold it close. Caleb’s blood shivers, hands tremble, and the fear from his nightmare returns. Perhaps it never left. It is a brief moment of lingering paranoia, of madness. Nightmares can’t follow you into the waking world. Surely some movie or book has leached into Caleb’s subconscious to conjure the images his mind now plays. Surely, surely. 

 

Caleb pulls the covers back with more speed and force than necessary, planning to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. His hand flees to his throat again.

 

The arms hugging the pillow are still their soft self, a speckle of new freckles thanks to Nicodranas sun, but otherwise unharmed, familiar shadowed violet. The hair, white and soft, framing the far-too-cold face that alarmed Caleb so. But beneath the covers –Caleb cannot breathe, he is digging sharp moons into his neck from the unconscious clench of his fingers– black, dust, crumbles of a former lover. Desiccated elements he does not want to name, does not want to remember for the shape of what they’re supposed to be. A few standing parts, all the worse for how the bone juts, the angle trying to hold together what is far, far too gone. The hug of the pillow does not look so endearing, so comforting anymore. It looks like a raft that came too late.

 

Caleb lurches backwards out of bed, smoke and ash choking his pathways, throat burning with tears that will not come. He falls to the ground, a bruise surely forming where he knocks tailbone to wood, but he cannot feel it. He cannot feel the skin under his fingers as he claws for air, cannot feel the scream that bursts from his lungs, cannot hold the pieces of what he saw, he *sees*, in his mind's eye for longer than a second before the image threatens to drag him into blackness unending.

 

What did he do? What did he do? What did he do? What did he–







“Caleb, Caleb.” There’s a whisper and it hurts, physically hurts his heart to hear.

“Starlight, please open your eyes, Caleb.” There’s a hand in his hair, featherlight, perhaps some angel from the place of dreams here to finally take him from this nightmare.

“Whatever it is, it isn’t real.” The whisper again, there’s a soft dab to his eyes, has he been crying? Why was he crying?

 

Like a shove against a blocked door, Caleb finally lifts his eyelids and blinks against the sudden light. There is a flickering, something is moving in front of him, growing closer. There are lips to his damp forehead, a cool cloth is brushing against his cheek. 

 

“Ah, there you are.” Essek leans back enough for Caleb’s eyes to focus and see the blurred shapes as his very loving, very alive partner.

 

“Ess-” His throat is a tunnel of spikes and his words are immediately caught. 

 

“No, no, it's okay. Shhh.” The cool cloth is folded expertly in Essek’s hands and placed onto his forehead. His fingers pass over it and it cools down a few more degrees. “I am so glad you are awake. You…you had me scared for a moment.”

 

“W-why?” Caleb’s mind is wet wool, he can’t remember why he is in bed. It feels like he has been laying down for a century. 

 

“You have caught the very worst cold I have ever seen. You have been sleeping a while, but then you started thrashing and crying. I didn’t want to wake you, but…”

 

Caleb raises his arm, willing his hand to reach for Essek’s. It takes more effort than he thought possible. “Th-thank you.”

 

“Oh, darling, don’t thank me. Thank Jester and Caduceus for the medicine that helped break your fever. Although, it seems to have given the aftereffect of terrible dreams. Are you okay, Caleb?”

 

“I am now.” He smiles up at the soft-smile face of Essek, so glad, so very glad, that the nightmares have retreated to where nightmares live, and he is holding the hand of his love.

 

 

 

Chapter 3: With the fishes

Chapter Text

The inkblot night is only matched by the inkblue sea pushing against the dockside. It is a city of industry, the sky choked with smog and broken dreams. There is always a light on in evvery building, the people like ants working day and night toward a tomorrow the gods promise will be good. But some knew better; some knew this is a place where imagination is stomped on unless you know how to duck and weave. That this is a place that breeds discontent in each lungfull, unless you know how to hold your breath. That this is a place where smarts can only get you so far before you have to show some teeth.

 

There is a scratch at the door one wouldn’t hear if you didn’t know what to listen for. A single long scrape and then a rapid pat-pat-pat. It is the right code: a code that changes daily and is delivered via encrypted labels on particular milk bottles.

He raises one sleek arm to gesture at his right hand man, who goes to approach the door. He sniffs the air then nods at his boss, sensing only familiarity on the other side. The door opens and the visitor slinks in with less grace than usual, bogged down by the weight of what she is carrying. A smaller figure hurries in after her before the door closes back into darkness.

“Two of ‘em, boss.” 

He doesn’t reply, only narrows his eyes to size up the approaching two. They aren’t strangers, but it is strange how late they are today.

“Do you know what time it is?” He pauses his usual pacing in his usual spot, the floor extra shined where he stands giving it a warm glow even though the sun has long since slumbered. “What have you brought tonight?”

“Ah, Frumpkin, sir, I apologize, please forgive me, there were many more people in the harbor tonight than usual. A little tricky to stay hidden.” The taller one shuffles the bag off her shoulders and rips the cover open enough to reveal the insides. He could smell it long before she had even knocked, but he knew better than to trust the goods before inspecting them. Again Frumpkin nods to his man who goes over to poke through the bag.

“Good color, still pretty shiny. When did you pick this up?” 

“Just this afternoon, sir. I swear on my mama’s coat that it's the freshest in town.”

“No need to swear, Awni dear, a little taste test will be my guarantee. Now who’s the little guy with you?”

He grins at the smaller one, partially hiding behind Awni, big shiny eyes watching Frumpkin’s every movement. 

“Oh me? Oh, uh, sir, I’m–”

“You don’t need to answer that.” Awni’s voice bursts out then she practically bites off her own lip with how quickly she snaps her mouth shut and looks at Frumpkin. 

Ah, interesting.

“It’s okay little one, everyone is a friend who comes to visit Frumpkin’s.” Felix responds before Frumpkin can, his sharp teeth showing proudly in his smile.

Awni half steps in front, but the younger one continues to speak, now with a little shake to his voice. “I’m, uh, Otto, sir. Hello.”

“My nephew.” Awni says, with a chill to her voice. “His mama, my sister, she– she’s missing.”

“Oh how terrible.” Frumpkin approaches the two figures, a claw absently picking at his teeth. “Taking care of him in her stead? Your little ward? How admirable. And does he have his share tonight?”

“I, what?” Awni looks bewildered. Felix takes a step closer.

“What's the rule for friendship around here?” Frumpkin takes a long whiff of the bag’s contents, his eyes almost rolling in his head. It is the freshest batch of swordfish, bluefin tuna, and arowana he’s seen. He hooks a claw into a fish towards the front and dangles it in front of them. 

“A-all are friends at Frumpkin’s?” Awni repeats.

“Ah-ah-ah, but how did we become friends, Awni dear? What did you ask of me?”

“P-protection, sir.”

“And how do you get that protection?”

Awni is silent, her tail swishing with agitation. In a flash of movement almost unseen, Felix grabs Otto by the scruff of his neck and holds him tight in the air. Awni lets out a pained gasp.

“Please, Frumpkin, don’t hurt him! He’s all I have!”

“Tell me. *How do you get that protection*?”

“F-from tribute.”

“Yes, and who’s share did you bring tonight?”

“My own, sir. My own.” There’s a heartbroken mewl starting in the back of Awni’s throat. Frumpkin hates the sound of it.

“Enough of that.” He snaps. “Your sister is missing?”

“Yes, she-” Awni’s eyes turn into white orbs of panic. “N-no, not-”

“No it wasn’t me.” He spits out. “And she isn’t the first. You make me your villain, but do you know who I protect you from? Or what?

“S-sorry sir, I didn’t mean to accuse you.”

Frumpkin glares at Awni but then shifts focus towards the shuttered window. “There’s someone I’ve been tracking for a long time, you could say he’s a real thorn in my paw.” 

“A thorn in your paw?”

“Yes, like this,” Frumpkin shakes his paw. “A thorn in my paw” He shakes his paw again. And again. And again. And–












 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Frumpkin’s leg is twitching in the air as he lays on his back, the forbidden fluff of his tummy being sunned in the beam from the window.

“What do you think cats dream about?” Essek asks Caleb, looking away from the sleeping cat and back up to his partner, currently busying himself wiping down the tables before the next rush of customers.

“Somehow I have the feeling I would not like to know.” Caleb smiles and gestures at the tables. “What I would like to know is what exactly the cats get up to when we’re not looking; I found those fish toys in the weirdest of places today.”

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Were you fooled? :)

Thanks for reading! Please yell at me in the comments or on tumblr.

(More chapters to come!)