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English
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Part 1 of Fresh Horrors (Eternal Whumptober)
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Published:
2024-07-23
Completed:
2024-11-21
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3,025
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2/2
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Outlier

Summary:

Caleb is late coming home from Soltryce and Essek is worried. He is right to be.

Caleb had approximately four different paths he regularly took from Soltryce to his home. Given that it was a Wednesday, Astrid was on business in Nicodranas, and their usual butcher had a family emergency in the countryside, there were really only two routes he was likely to take. Factoring in Caleb’s distaste for the cacophony of Wednesday’s market in the square at the midway point and that it was sweet corn season, Essek assumed he would take the more winding of the routes to pass by the quieter vegetable stand and the baker.

It was not a overly long walk, but as Essek marched through the street, he bitterly thought that it was long enough to take time he worried he did not have.

A prompt fill for:
Caleb is late enough getting home and not answering Sendings that Essek risks venturing out into the streets of Rexxentrum looking for him—and finds him unconscious in the back of an alley, wrists bound and beaten to hell.

Notes:

Thanks to the Aeor is for Lovers server for the prompt (@Defiler_Wyrm) and encouragement!
If an 18+/adults-only Shadowgast server sounds like your vibe, come hang out!

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Essek worried. This was an established constant in their relationship. In fact, as soon as Essek moved into their small cottage in the outskirts of Rexxentrum, he and Caleb established parameters for exactly how many Sendings and at what intervals Essek was allowed to send. For his part, Caleb worried as well, but there were only so many times one can pause and say, “Yes, schatz, I am still teaching. No, the harbor is quite a ways away and I did not see the fight. I am fine,” before one’s students start to ask questions and eyebrows were raised. Caleb’s office was warded to a level that would make an Aeorian researcher blush and really, a few years after the trial, it seemed like everyone who was going to try their luck at removing him from the chess board had made a token attempt already. So when Caleb was squarely in the third quartile of his distribution of arrival times (when Caleb realized Essek had documented and calculated the distribution of his arrival times, he sped up the process of establishing Essek’s false researcher identity with Astrid’s help because what was that other than a cry for help), Essek Sent immediately.

“Schatz, stop chatting with the bäcker, we do not need any more free roggenbrot.” Essek paused, glancing at the half consumed loaf of bread on the counter and stale loaf ready to be made into schnitzel toppings. “Do pick up fresh cheese, if you are not already close.” Essek waved a hand, directing his mage hand to continue slicing onions into a tidy pile as he waited for a reply.

A few seconds passed, then a minute, and Essek’s eyebrows knit together sharply. “Schatz, I do not care if it is rude. Reply now,” he said, his somatics crisp as he Sent a second time. He paused, unconsciously pausing the mage hand’s dicing to leave the kitchen perfectly silent, save the quiet dripping of the faucet. Hearing no reply, Essek spat “Ubl'udak,” dismissing the Mage Hand. He walked briskly to the door, twisting a ring on his finger to activate his standard disguise. An unobtrusive dark-haired human stood in his place and grabbed a satchel that clanked lightly with the sound of parchment and potion bottles. A cat looked at him quizzically from the steps and Essek fixed it with a pointed look. “If he returns home while I am out, please spill a bottle of ink on his best trousers.” Essek strode out the door, closing it lightly as the wards knit back into place. He moved purposefully down the rough-hewn stone street, giving a wave that seemed more banishment than greeting to the few neighbors that stopped to greet him.

Caleb had approximately four different paths he regularly took from Soltryce to his home. Given that it was a Wednesday, Astrid was on business in Nicodranas, and their usual butcher had a family emergency in the countryside, there were really only two routes he was likely to take. Factoring in Caleb’s distaste for the cacophony of Wednesday’s market in the square at the midway point and that it was sweet corn season, Essek assumed he would take the more winding of the routes to pass by the quieter vegetable stand and the baker.

It was not a overly long walk, but as Essek marched through the street, he bitterly thought that it was long enough to take time he worried he did not have. Once again, he cursed his own desire for a more remote house in the city and Caleb’s insistence that the long walks home helped him think and pick up groceries besides.

He might have walked by Caleb entirely, had it not been for the lingering smell of burnt flesh, too strong to have been from the open-air market several streets away. His eyes alighted on a darkened alley, a flap of fabric mostly obscuring the entrance. Essek’s fingers clutched the ridged beaded bracelet he used as a focus as he approached, attempting to affect the nonchalance of a tired laborer while the crispness of his movements belied a much more intense concentration.

On closer examination, the ragged drapes hung from a string much thicker and better made than one would expect from a laundry line in this part of town and the crates nearby were too strategically stacked. It was an alarmingly good spot for an ambush. Essek positioned his hands precisely to ensure they weren’t visible outside the alley and summoned his mage hand to push aside the fabric as he kept an offensive spell readied.

The source of the smell was immediately evident. A long scorch mark on the ground led to a body, and then another, and then a third, each increasingly unrecognizable. At the end of the trail was a sprawled form with a familiar bloodied, scarred, and blistered forearm extended. The image pulled a panicked whine from him that would have embarrassed him in any other circumstance. He moved forward briskly. His fingers clutched the crystal beads hard enough to leave sharp indents in the pads of his fingers and a magic missile impacted each of the scorched bodies. Eyes narrowing, he searched for any signs of life following each missile’s impact. Seeing none, he ran the rest of the distance to Caleb’s splayed form, falling roughly to his knees. Caleb’s chest rose and fell evenly with breath, but there was dried blood across his temple, matting into his hair and deep plum bruising already blooming around one of his eyes. Essek reached to take his exposed hand noting irately the raw ring of skin and charred remains of a cord around his wrist where Caleb must have been restrained.

“Radnoy,” Essek breathed, his other hand moving to push aside the bloodied copper hair that obscured Caleb’s face, “You are safe now. What happened? Please tell me?”

Caleb blinked slowly, his eyes jarringly bright against the dark maroon bruising forming around them, but his gaze drifted up to the upper corner of the alley blankly. Essek gently wrapped an arm around Caleb’s shoulders, pulling him up to sit against the wall. Caleb’s head lolled to the side, exposing the livid bruises already beginning to form in the center of his neck. So that was how they had neutralized him, Essek noted, glancing back at the corpses.

“Schatz, please, speak to me, where are you hurt?” Essek asked, his voice shaking faintly. His hands rapidly traversed Caleb’s torso, eyes flicking rapidly from Caleb’s face to the various bloodstains on his shirt and coat. Caleb made a choked-off sound as Essek’s fingers found a weeping slash along his ribs and his body jerked, trying to curl his knees back up to protect his bruised ribs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Essek chanted, pawing through the satchel around his shoulder with one hand. When he finally grasped a healing potion, he quickly uncorked the bottle, wrapping one hand gently around the back of Caleb’s head, the other bringing the translucent red potion to his lips.

“Sakharok, it’s me— please, take the potion,” Essek begged. Caleb’s eyes drifted vaguely towards Essek’s disguised face, and he smiled grimly.

“Oh, Wulf, what a kindness he sent you,” Caleb breathed, wincing as he turned his head aside, “I had hoped, Wulf, that you might make it quick— that even if you did not think me worth your mercy, you might give me your pity.”

Essek exhaled shakily, pushing Caleb’s hair back from his eyes.

“Schatz, radnoy, it’s me,” he whispered desperately, gently turning Caleb’s face back towards the potion. Caleb’s glazed eyes stared past his shoulder. Essek lightly took hold of the nape of his neck and tipped the potion into his mouth slowly while he watched for the bob of Caleb’s purpling throat. He felt the sharp acceleration of his own heart rate when he glimpsed the outline of fingers as well as where a cord must have been pulled tight under Caleb’s chin and Essek’s jaw tightened.

“Any better, dear?” Essek asked, lightly holding the sides of Caleb’s face and assessing his still drifting pupils.

“Wulf… I never told you. It must gall him so, to know you think your soul free enough to promise it to her,” Caleb said, his voice less breathy, but eyes no less distant.

Essek’s hands moved through the somatics of Sending again with sharp precision, “Beauregard. Caleb injured, head wound likely.” Essek gathered a shaky breath, his eyes drifting to check the forearms of the bodies, “Three casualties, unknown allegiances. Cleric necessary— headed to the Grove. I’m taking one. You can have the others.” Essek leaned Caleb carefully against the stone wall and stood up, surveying the three corpses.

“Shit man, uh, yeah— let me know how Caleb is and who we need to go beat up. I’ll keep an eye out.” Beauregard’s voice replied. Essek nodded stiffly to himself. He would trust the Soul to find the remaining bodies, but he would not leave this investigation solely in their hands.

The body closest to him looked as though it had been thrust into a kiln—not surprising given what Caleb’s burning hands spell might do backed by the full force of his panic. The second, Essek appraised, was likely to be intact enough to cast Speak with Dead, but was charred enough to make hauling it along distasteful, to say the least. The first body seemed to have been hit with a force attack first rather than the brunt of the flame, and so Essek flicked a telekinesis spell to send the body flying to his feet, a few steps from where Caleb lay.

He moved forward to kneel against Caleb’s side, delicately combing his fingers through Caleb’s hair and frowning when his fingers met the partially crusted, bloody remnants of a blow to the head.

“Schatz, I know you’re confused right now, but I need you to stay with me. We are going to go see a friend, okay?” Essek murmured, lightly tugging Caleb against him. Caleb groaned as Essek wrapped an arm around his midsection.

“Ah, Wulf, I ran so far,” Caleb slurred, “and yet I fear I never left that cell in the sanatorium.” Essek choked, fishing through his pocket for the quartz stone he had taken from the Grove on his last visit.

“Schatz, no, you did, you’ve done so much good,” he said, taking a steadying breath.

“The mind is so fragile and I’m so tired,” Caleb said, smearing blood across Essek’s light undershirt collar as he turned his face into Essek’s neck. Essek closed his eyes, grabbing the hand of the corpse with one hand as he tucked Caleb against his chest with the other. He desperately fixed his mind on the image of the Grove, and cast teleport.

Chapter 2

Notes:

Sorry for the delay, the brain gremlins are fickle but I promise I'll never leave y'all hurt/no comfort.

Chapter Text

Caduceus found them quickly and Essek thought, We are too practiced at this. The earthy smell of Caduceus’ magic saturated the air, mending Caleb’s wounds as Essek carefully floated him into the house. Essek knew which bed to deposit Caleb on; its sheets kept perpetually clean and the lighting perfect for delicate healing work. Essek could estimate, based on the injuries he could see, how completely Caduceus would be able to heal Caleb depending on what kind of day it had been at the Grove. Through too visceral experience, Essek even knew to weave his fingers with Caleb’s own once he was situated, so that if he woke while Caduceus was casting, he would neither panic from being restrained nor lash out in fear.

Caduceus knew his part of the dance just as well. As soon as Caleb was settled in the bed, he grabbed the diamond dust from the shelf and began a greater restoration. A head wound suggested missing time and Caleb would calm faster when he woke if he knew a restoration had already been cast. If they waited until after he woke, he would torment himself over the cost for a moment, but the end result would be the same. They had learned to skip the prevarication and just cast it before he woke. With Caleb still unconscious on the bed, Caduceus knew better than to suggest Essek get some air, but instead pressed a container of scar balm into his hands. If asked, he would state with firmness that wizards needed to do something with their hands or they would brood and get in trouble. Neither Essek nor Caleb could contest this.

It was a set of procedures written in blood and revised to perfection over the years. Essek wished for a world in which this whole day was novel; in which the Clay family reacted to their sudden arrival with great surprise and everyone fluttered about in shock and worry. Instead, it was treated as mundane. Caduceus left the room with his usual, “Let me know if you need anything or he wakes up. I’ll be back to check on you both in a bit.” Essek nodded and set the scar balm on the bed. He walked with Caduceus to the door and collected the pail of water and cloth he knew would be waiting for him just outside. Then, he set about providing what little healing his hands could render.

He gently removed the torn and bloodied clothes from Caleb’s body while his telekinesis remained, stacking them neatly in the corner to be mended and prestidigitated or discarded, depending on their state. Then, he started the next phase of his ritual, using the shaft of sunlight to hunt for the blood smeared, reddened patches of new scar tissue across Caleb’s body. On each he found, he diligently rubbed in the balm that would help them heal faster and kinder than the marks of Caleb’s youth. For Caleb, he sponged away the blood with a wet cloth and carefully applied the greasy, smelly ointment in its place. For himself, he cursed a steady stream of the most filthy Undercommon he could imagine and condemned each attacker, living or dead, to a variety of grisly fates. Here, his classical education was helpful: there were some awful ends only spoken about in Lolthian texts in Old Undercommon. He preferred these. They were more visceral and therefore more satisfying.

Carefully, he flipped Caleb over using another casting of telekinesis to avoid jostling him and began the process over again. He hated how practiced he was at this, even as he loved the man whose wounds he tended. How silly it seemed that he had once thought Tether Essence to be a purely Dunamantic spell, when here he was with his body aching in sympathy with each mark he found. Love and rage were mere neighbors in his heart these days. They had seemed an ocean away in his youth, but he realized now that such an impression was born of his own ignorance of the depth to which he could feel either. Now, he could only imagine a world in which the glowing love he felt this morning when he handed Caleb a cup of tea and kissed the top of his head was not also just hours away from the acidic burn of rage at the people who would try to remove him from the world permanently.

A light stain of green bruising still circled Caleb’s neck and so this too, he coated with the ointment. He cringed in sympathy; it was an effective means to take out a caster. Caleb was innovative and clever under pressure, but the marks around his wrists and neck spoke to a closer call than Essek preferred. With what little he could do to help completed, he grabbed a blanket off the nearby chair and pulled it over Caleb’s body. The chair scraped dully across the floor as he pulled it to the head of the bed and waited.

The patterns of sunlight through the forest leaves shifted across Caleb’s face and Essek fell into a rough semblance of his usual trance. Caduceus peeked his head in at dusk and Essek pulled himself to consciousness just long enough to shake his head. Caleb had not yet stirred.

“He must need a bit more rest then,” Caduceus said softly. He set a full glass of water on the bedside table, retreated, and closed the door again. It clicked closed and left the room dark besides the glow of the moon and the faint aura of light peeking out from under the door.

Essek sunk into his trance again, slumping in the chair with his cheek to Caleb’s fingers. Caleb’s fingers always moved first.

It wasn’t until sometime in the night that Essek felt a hand stroke through his hair. He bolted upright and sent a set of dancing lights into the air.

Caleb coughed roughly. “I will take this opportunity to say ‘I told you so’ for you.”

“Thank the gods,” Essek whispered. “You had me scared.”

“Term papers have been rough, I guess I needed the rest.” Caleb reached up to feel along the ring of bruising around his throat.

Essek glared at him. “Not funny.” He grabbed the water glass and gestured in offering. “Caduceus already cast greater restoration. Do you want water? Or food?”

“Water would be lovely.” Caleb pushed himself up against the head of the bed. Essek waited until he was situated, then handed over the glass.

Caleb drained it and set it on the side table. “Beau will find them.”

Essek assumed he should find that reassuring, but instead he was just tired. The Soul had incarcerated a great number of would-be assassins at this point. They hadn’t stopped.

“I just want you to be safe.” Essek reached up to cup Caleb’s cheek. His thumb traced along the smooth skin above Caleb’s beard.

“I know. Me too.” Caleb reached up intertwine their fingers.

Essek sighed. His mouth pressed into a thin line. “The world has taken more than its pound of flesh from you already. It’s someone else’s turn.”

Caleb shifted to the far side of the bed and slid back down under the covers. “That sounds like a tomorrow problem”—He patted the empty space next to him—“Get in. It can wait.”

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