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Hand's were grabbing at him. Hands that were familiar but not friendly, hands that knew only how to cause pain. Hands that did not stop when someone begged them to, when someone cried. When someone's lip got split or eye bruised. Lambert needed to get away from them but he couldn't. He never could. He wanted to be big and strong so he could break those hands but he wasn't. A woman was screaming and then Lambert was screaming and then-
Lambert woke with a jolt, his own heartbeat echoing loudly in his quiet room in Kaer Morhen. Fuck this. Fuck this. This was supposed to be his time of rest. His safe place. But he wasn't safe. A fuck-up like him was never safe because of the perils of his own mind.
He fucking hated it. Fucking hated that he was broken. All the witchers that were left were broken but Lambert was broken in a different way. Geralt and Eskel were bruised for sure, but Lambert was battered. He could never be like them. No matter how much he trained, how much he meditated, how much he killed monsters. He would forever be stuck in a loop were he was a child Lambert and an adult Lambert at the same time. Forever helpless and alone and so fucking scared. Lambert didn't know how Geralt and Eskel could stand someone like him. He felt disgusted with himself. He was furious at being so weak. It was what, sixty fucking years ago and it still made him cry in his sleep, wake with panic thrumming behind his rib cage. What a fucking loser he was, a pathetic piece of shit.
Lambert couldn't stay in his bed anymore. He couldn't stay in this room that reeked of his own weakness. He tossed aside the sweat-soaked linens, threw on the first clothes he could find and stomped downstairs and out to the inner courtyard. He chose the closest training dummy and threw a wild punch against it, a punch that was pure rage, none grace. Vesemir would have reprimanded him of it. But this wasn't one of his stupid lessons so who the fuck cared.
This training dummy was meant to be hit with a sword. Hence it had a cold, unyielding metal skin. It was perfect. It only took a couple of hits for Lambert's skin to part and it felt so right, it was what he deserved. With every punch the training dummy got decorated with more of his blood. But soon it wasn't enough. Pain was shooting from Lambert's hands but it wasn't enough to drown the pain inside him.
"Fuck" Lambert swore and tried to punch harder.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking go away!" He would hit until he had no skin left if that's what it took.
A strong hand wrapped itself around Lambert's bicep, preventing him from throwing his next punch. Lambert snarled and cursed and whirled around to see who dared to interrupt him, who dared to try and contain him. Although he already knew. His nose told it to him before his eyes. It was Eskel's scent and yes, it was Eskel. Sleep-eyed, bed-haired Eskel with a stern look on his face. Lambert hated that he'd woken Eskel from his well deserved sleep and he hated that Eskel had decided to intervene. He just hated everything and since he couldn't direct that hate towards the training dummy anymore, he directed it towards Eskel. He launched at him but Eskel took an easy side step and before long he had Lambert in a head lock that he couldn't escape from. He clawed at Eskel's hands and kicked and cursed but it was useless.
Eskel dragged Lambert a little bit to the side, into the shadow of the long stone wall of the training yard. He sat down next to the wall, bringing Lambert down with him, unceremoniously planting Lambert on his lap.
"Fuck you, fucking let me go or I swear I'll fucking rip your throat out," Lambert screamed and got in a few punches before Eskel wrapped him in a tight embrace that left no room for trashing. When Lambert tried to kick Eskel, a heavy thigh landed on top of his legs, pinning them in place. Lambert hissed and spat and struggled but it was all in vain. Eskel's nickname wasn't bear for nothing.
Little by little the fight started to leave Lambert, although he bitterly tried to hold on to it. Eskel pushed Lambert's face to the crook of his neck and Lambert had every chance to carry out his earlier threat. But he didn't. Eskel wasn't the one who deserved to get their throat ripped out.
Lambert didn't know what it was exactly that finally broke the dam. Was it the way Eskel held him and rocked them both gently back and fort, like a mother trying to calm her child, or was it the simple tune that Eskel was humming with his deep voice, his lips so close to Lambert's ear that it felt like it was a secret tune just for Lambert. Or was it the feeling of gentle kisses being planted on his hair or the sure hand cradling Lambert's back of the head, keeping him safely tugged against a strong chest.
Deep down Lambert had always known that his greatest wish was to be cared for. For someone to hold him gently and without judgment. For someone to see how he really was, small and scared and broken, and to not turn away with disgust. That was something that he rarely let himself think of. Daydreaming about it only hurt him because he knew it would never come to pass. He was a broken man and people didn't like broken things. Especially not when that broken thing was also a mutant, twisted cruelly just to be able to kill cruel things. There were no hearts big enough for someone like him.
But here he was, being embraced at his lowest moment, his snarls and spit and anger not making the other man back away an inch. And suddenly Lambert felt his mood sift, his eyes starting to well up with tears. His anger was making way for sadness. His anger really was just sadness disguised and now that disguise was being stripped away with gentle hands and words and Lambert knew this comfort that he was receiving, that felt so good it made his chest hurt, would be lost forever if he broke down. That Eskel would see how pathetic he was and turn his back to him but even so Lambert couldn't stop himself. He started to cry. And it wasn't the kind of silent crying where slow tears run down one's cheeks. No. It was the kind of crying where loud sounds escaped from Lambert's mouth against his will. It was crying with his whole body shaking so hard that if Eskel wasn't holding him, Lambert was sure he would have shaken apart. Crying with snot running down his chin, crying with hardly enough time to breath in between the sobs.
Lambert couldn't stop. Any moment now Eskel would throw him away from him. Disgusted how Lambert was supposed to be a trusted brother-in-arms but turned out to be a pathetic bitch. But Lambert didn't want that. He couldn’t have that happen. He grabbed Eskel's shirt with both hands and tried to speak but his constant crying made it difficult:
"I'm so-r-ry, I'm sor-ry, I'm so-r-ry." And then: "Plea-se d-on't lea-ve m-e, plea-se. I c-an be bett-er, plea-se, just do-n't lea-ve m-e. I'm sor-ry, I'm so-rr-y."
Lambert was sure that if Eskel left now, Lambert would never get up from this spot. It would be his end. It would so completely shatter his already shattered heart that he would simply die. Maybe that would be a mercy.
"No," said a stern voice and Lambert jumped a little.
"Lambert, you have nothing to be sorry for and I'm not going anywhere. I've got you little wolf. You're safe with me."
"No, no, no, no," Lambert wailed and if possible he sobbed even harder.
"Oh yes," Eskel said and rubbed Lambert's back. "I'm not going anywhere. And I know that you're spiraling down a self-hate rabbit hole but Lamb, let me tell you that those things that you keep telling yourself aren't true at all. You are worthy of love. Do you hear me? You are worthy of love. And I love you. I will always love you."
"Es-kel, Esk-el, plea-se," Lambert sobbed and clutched Eskel's shirt even tighter.
"I know, I know. I've got you. I will not let you go."
They stayed there until the first rays of morning sunlight reached them and Lambert had calmed down.
Calm was putting it mildly, he was fucking exhausted. So exhausted that he didn't even feel embarrassed when Eskel lifted him up bridal style and carried him to his room.
Lambert was gently lowered to a bed and Lambert was vaguely aware that his bloody hands were cleaned with a washcloth. Gods, it felt like it was an eternity ago when he'd been beating the dummy in the bitter night. The last thing Lambert felt before he fell asleep was a big and warm body wrapping around him, making him feel safe.
"Sleep now, little wolf," was whispered to his ear and Lambert slept. And this time he dreamt of hands, familiar, big hands that had never hurt him. That gently travelled across his skin, not demanding anything, just delivering gentle touches here and there, making Lambert feel good and worthy. And when Lambert asked the hands to do something, they did and Lambert thought it was amazing and it felt so good and there was warmth and light and Lambert basked in them and in the touch of those hands. He felt loved. Oh, so loved. And in the dream he had a peculiar feeling that it wasn't just a one time thing. That he would feel like that again.
Lambert woke with a seedling of hope in his heart.