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The battle raging around them was fraught with the smell of metallic blood in the air, the sounds of swords and angered yells. It was snowing. The ground was blanketed in white, with pools of red-tinged snow where the fight had rocked through them. They were hardy now, used to the fight, used to the injuries. They were even used to fighting trolls—but they weren’t invincible, Caleb knew that far too well. Molly knew that.
Caleb grit his teeth and planted his feet firmly into the dirt, raising his left hand and shooting off five magic missiles toward the troll. He watched the first two go wide, the troll lumbering out of the way with barely a second to spare and then grinned, through his panting breath, as the final three hit home. The troll barely grunted, even as his flesh sizzled around the impact sites. Caleb cursed under his breath and darted behind a tree for cover as he prepared his next spell.
He could hear his friends, closer to the front of the fight, yelling as their attacks hit, missed, slipped away. In the middle of it all, he heard Mollymauk grunt with the exertion of swinging his swords. Glancing over, Caleb took in his appearance—his lithe, purple form twisting in a display of excellent acrobatics, almost a dance as he engaged the creature. His blood dripped its thick, black ichor down his neck where he had cut into himself to activate his swords. He watched as Molly smiled, wild energy to him, as he called out to the troll in his native Infernal. Caleb didn’t understand the words he had said, carried over to him on the wind, but the sound of Molly speaking Infernal never failed to make Caleb shiver.
The troll roared.
He swung his club, thicker than a tree trunk and half the size of Caleb’s whole body, toward Molly. The club connected with a sickening crunch, sending Molly flying ten feet. Caleb watched in abject horror, tracking Molly’s trajectory. He heard a scream, seemingly somewhere off in the distance, before he realised it was his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of grey and pink, running to get closer to his lover.
Caleb was frozen in place, just staring at Molly lying prone on the dirt. Molly’s arm came up, his hand folded into a shaky thumbs-up, before dropping limply back to the ground with a loud, echoing groan.
“Well, fuck me runnin' he does hit hard,” he coughed out as he pulled himself up into a sitting position.
Caleb breathed a sigh of relief as Mollymauk signalled to Caduceus that he was okay. His heart had stopped for a long, aching moment as Mollymauk had lain still where he landed. Even knowing Molly was okay if a little more battered and a lot more bruised, Caleb still found it hard to wrench his eyes off his injured lover.
His mind was screaming for him to pay attention to the troll steadily growing closer to him, but Molly was overtaking every part of his brain. In the back of his mind, even now, Caleb couldn’t help but reprimand himself for getting too close; growing too fond of Molly, too fond of Notting, of all The Mighty Nein. He couldn’t find it within himself to care, though, with the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the sound of his own blood echoing loudly in his ears as he reared back and aimed the Glove of Blasting toward the fleshy mass of troll in front of him.
All three blasts found a home in the troll’s chest, burning its way to the bone, leaving the lingering scent of bubbling, scorched flesh in its wake. The troll cried out, a low and guttural sound. It looked pretty hurt at this point, and Caleb felt a wild grin make its way onto his face. He heard Nott yell out a joke, imbuing the words with arcane energy, and firing a bolt from her crossbow simultaneously. Taking a pause to catch his breath, and to survey the battlefield, Caleb whipped his head around searching out the positions of his friends.
Beau was chasing after the creature, staff gripped firmly in her hand, flanking with Yasha and Jester as they dashed deeper into the fray. Fjord had run over to Molly, pulling him up with a firm hand, clapping him on the shoulder before turning back toward the troll and calling for his sword. Molly, for his own part, had bent to pick up his swords, his face set in a fierce and determined scowl.
Caduceus banged his staff on the ground, and the swarm of green beetles that Caleb didn’t think he would ever get used to seeing erupted out, skittering in unison toward the hulking troll.
“Dinner time,” he called, voice hard and—in a shocking turn of events—angry. His calm disposition had been rustled with the sickening crunch Molly had made as his body landed harshly on the icy ground. Though the two had met later, Caleb knew that Caduceus felt an almost brotherly kind of protection for Molly.
-
‘Resurrection is a funny thing,’ he had said, voice rumbling and slow when Molly asked, ‘I could bring you back because I had the magic, I had the gem, but you had the heart.’
Molly had tried to interrupt him then, but Caduceus just raised a hand and he fell silent once again.
‘And when I called to you—you, Mollymauk, not Lucien, or whoever else you might have become if you came back memoryless again—I found purchase with your heart. I let your heart meet mine, and by doing so, not only did you find your way home to us, you found a home in me. It is my duty to protect you, and I carry this duty willingly. Happily.’
-
As he looked out for his friends, he didn’t notice exactly how close the troll had gotten.
Until he was hit by the heavy wooden club the creature carried.
The impact was hard, Caleb could feel his bones jostle inside his body. He wasn’t dumb, Caleb, he knew that he was the weakest member of the Nein, physically. He really felt it, at that moment. The club knocked him clean off his feet, just as it had done to Molly. The troll swung again, aiming toward Caleb on the ground. He watched it come, urging his body to roll to the side and avoid the pain it would bring.
His body wouldn’t listen. The club impacted with a wet thud as his ribs split through his skin. His vision blackened around the edges, before petering out entirely. The last thing he could hear before he lost consciousness was the wretched scream of his Mollymauk, yelling his name.
He could feel it all.
Every bruise on his body throbbed dully under his skin.
It was dark.
He felt cold.
There was no comfort in the form of a God he placed his faith in.
He had no faith.
He shouldn’t feel cold.
He should be burning.
Burning.
Slipping.
Slipping away.
When Caleb’s eyes opened again, he was inside. He was on his back. There was a blanket around his shoulder. He felt stiff, his ribs aching and head pounding. There was a weight on his lap, he couldn’t tell with his eyes closed whether it was Frumpkin or Nott. His hand, also, was being held tightly.
He cracked his eyes open. He turned his head slowly, neck stiffer than he had expected. Molly was sprawled in a chair next to him, holding his hand and thumbing his tarot with his other hand. He looked grimy and dishevelled, like he hadn’t slept or bathed in a number of days. His eyes were hooded, mournful, and the bags under his eyes stained his skin a deep purple. There was an almost healed cut on his lip. The idiot probably refused healing from Jester or Caduceus, demanding they put all their energy into healing Caleb’s wounds. He was undoubtedly going to have yet another scar.
“You look like shit, Liebling, ” Caleb mumbled, voice crackling, hoarse with disuse.
Molly’s head snapped up, looking towards him.
“Oh fuck. You’re awake,” he said, in a tone akin to reverence. Like he couldn’t be sure if he was awake or dreaming. He dropped his tarot cards, uncaring as they scattered across the dark wooden floor. His hand lifted, shaking, and drifted across Caleb’s cheek—the ghost of a touch, really, as if he weren’t sure he was allowed.
Caleb leaned into it, almost unconsciously, before the hand was gone from his skin. His brow furrowed, but before he could open his mouth to complain Mollymauk threw himself at Caleb, catching himself before they collided, and gently lowered their bodies together. He pressed fully on top of his lover, from chest to hip, a light and grounding contact. He hugged Caleb softly, pressing his forehead to his chest. His horns scratched lightly at Caleb’s chin, before he adjusted his position.
“You scared me so bad, darling. Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“You know I can’t promise you that, my Mollymauk,” Caleb murmured sadly.
“Then tell me a lie,” Molly whispered back, hot tears splashing onto Caleb’s chest through his tunic top. “Please.”
“Okay. Okay,” he whispered into his hair, pressing his lips to the crown of Molly’s head, feeling his purple curls tickle his lips, his nose. “ Ich verspreche es dir, meine Liebe.”
Molly stretched up, pressing their lips together in a heady, desperate kiss. Caleb could feel his tears dripping from his face, staining both of their cheeks. He kissed back with equal amounts of desperation, bringing his arm up to cradle the back of Molly’s head like he was a precious thing for Caleb to keep safe. Handle with care.
They stayed that way for a long moment, just the gentle press of lips. It was all they needed, at that moment. The reminder that they were both there, both alive and both present. They broke apart only when there was a soft clearing of a throat at the doorway.
Caduceus stood, his tall body silhouetted by the yellow candlelight seeping in from the hall. He stepped into the room, candle in hand, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click and smiled a kind smile, eyes betraying no judgement, and no surprise at seeing the two of them connected in such a way.
“Hi,” he said, voice rumbling from deep in his chest, “good to see you’re awake, Caleb.”
Caleb smiled, somewhat weakly, toward the firbolg. Molly untangled himself from Caleb and stepped aside.
“Do you... D'you mind?” Caduceus asked, raising a hand to Caleb’s chest. Now that he was awake, asking before using magic on his wounds seemed pertinent.
Caleb nodded, leaning his head back.
Caduceus’ magic felt warm against his skin, the pink-red lichen growing over his still-open wounds tickled as it stretched over the red gashes covering his chest and stomach. The moss pulled his skin taut as it hardened, turned grey and flaked off. The wounds were closed, his flesh having stitched itself back together. He could feel the arcane energy shifting in his body, warmth coursing through his veins with a rosy glow.
“Thanks,” he said, rubbing a hand over the silvery scars the pink lichen had left in its wake.
Caduceus just nodded, making brief eye contact with Molly before taking his leave.
The room was blanketed in darkness once again, faint white-blue moonlight streamed through the small window.
“Get up here,” Caleb murmured, shifting to make room for Molly.
Molly clambered up, wriggling until he found a comfortable spot, curled around Caleb. His tail curled around Caleb’s thigh, the spade tapping lightly on Frumpkin’s side until the cat moved from his place, and curled up next to the two of them instead.
“ Schlaf gut, Schatz. Und danke. Danke.”