Chapter Text
It took a while before Obelix managed to talk to Vitalstatistix, on his own. Asterix kept asking whether he was alright. Despite being battered and bruised himself.
He wasn’t wrong; Obelix was certain he would feel the beating he received, for a week to come. Unless Getafix intervened. Asterix used the rest of the walk back to the village to catch their druid up on recent events, so Obelix managed to sneak off to Vitalstatistix, eventually.
“Say chief,” he started. Teutates, he didn’t want to bring this up. But he had to.
“Hmm?” Vitalstatistix was staring in the distance, eyeing the fading plumes of smoke above the village.
“Uhm, could you … unbanish Asterix? Like, before we enter the village. You see, I—”
Vitalstatistix held up his hand: “I REALLY don’t want to know, Obelix. Besides, it’s not necessary. You can’t banish someone without a village council. It’s against the law.”
Obelix pondered that for a while: “So … wait, Asterix was WRONG when he said he was the last—”
“Technically, yes. But coming from you, I’m not surprised he took that banishment at heart,” Vitalstatistix stated, before pinching the bridge of his nose and mumbling: “No, no, no, stay out of it.” Eventually he looked up at Obelix: “For what it’s worth, I don’t think this is the best time to go tell Asterix that he was wrong.”
“No, no, no!” Obelix was quick to agree. The smoke drifting towards them made his eyes water. Asterix hadn’t caused their village to burn by fainting. He sighed: “Sorry. About the village.”
Vitalstatistix shrugged: “I don’t think it mattered much. Julius Caesar didn’t bring those catapults to play fair.” He eyed Obelix: “I didn’t know you had an issue giving speeches. You manage fine at home. But then again, I suppose it’s different among friends.”
Really?
Perhaps Obelix ought to address their argument anyway. Sure, Asterix had kind of put the words in his mouth. But he had looked devastated, when Obelix swung them back at him. Obelix sorely regretted not backpedalling when Asterix had offered him the chance.
Once he passed the village gates, the sight of Unhygienix’s ruined fish shop distracted Obelix. Luckily the living quarters behind the shop remained intact. Several other houses had been damaged, but none of them took a beating like Unhygienix’s and Bacteria’s shop.
Or so Obelix thought. Until he turned the corner and found Asterix standing in front of his hut, staring up at the first floor, which had been blown to pieces.
Their fellow villagers had put out all the fires. Aided by Getafix, who had filled a gourd with magic potion before throwing other potions in his kettle when he noticed the arrival of the Roman soldiers. But even from where he stood, Obelix could see that they wouldn’t be sleeping on Asterix’s mezzanine tonight. Not to mention the damage the fireball must have done, downstairs. Hesitant, he approached his friend.
Asterix had his back turned to Obelix, and he held his helmet in his hands, so Obelix had no way of judging his current state of mind.
But he had a pretty good guess. So Obelix halted behind him, and then, with one arm, pulled his friend close.
Asterix’s sigh was miles deep. “You know, I wouldn’t have minded an early night,” he said, leaning back against Obelix’s belly. He sounded far too shivery for Obelix’s liking. And Obelix’s stomach chose that moment to start rumbling, which caused Asterix to chuckle and pat it.
“Impedimenta insists we should hold the feast she prepared,” Asterix said, smiling up at him.
“We could head to my place,” Obelix offered. He eyed the house again. Teutates, glad as he was for Vitalstatistix having tuned down Obelix’s part in the blame, it still would not have happened if he hadn’t thrown that menhir.
“Sorry,” he told Asterix, who stiffened under his grip. “Most Romans recover fine when I throw a menhir on them, I didn’t … I’ll try to be more careful.”
He didn’t dare to promise. He kept forgetting, about such things. Nevertheless, Asterix’s shoulders relaxed: “Well, I suppose, that might be because we smack them back to their senses,” he told Obelix. Then he frowned, looking up again: “Let’s not test that theory.”
Obelix shook his head. Then, swallowing, he went on: “About earlier—”
A loud outcry from Unhygienix cut off his speech, and Asterix used the moment to duck out of his embrace: “I’d better go check on him,” he announced. Then, with half a smile he added: “Save me a seat?”
Obelix just nodded. He didn’t trust that smile. After Asterix’s little outburst at Apothika’s he had started to pay a little more attention, to Asterix’s mood. Part of him still disliked how Asterix seemed to think that without him, they would all just let their village perish. As if they didn’t care.
But he had to admit that there had been quite a few occasions where, without Asterix, it would have.
While Asterix went to talk to Unhygienix, even going as far as to start a polite conversation about the technicalities of the lukewarm chain, Obelix turned back to Asterix’s ruined house.
Bellissima, what a sight for sore eyes. Obelix took a quick jog sidewards. His own hut, a little further back in the village, near the quarry, didn’t have a scratch. Shielded by all the houses in front.
Obelix would have preferred if it had taken the hit, instead. He would have felt much better. He had at least as many memories in Asterix’s house, if not more. Asterix and him didn’t always stay together. Asterix tended to rise early, Obelix liked to sleep in. Especially after a banquet. Sometimes they had their own projects. Asterix tended to assist Getafix, while Obelix often got called in for … well anything that required strength, really. Harvest. Repairs. He was good with a chisel and stone, after all.
During those weeks, they invited each other over for lunch or dinner. Obelix’s hearth had room for more than one boar, so that was handy. Other moments, when the village offered less chores, Obelix stayed over at Asterix’s house, sometimes for weeks on end.
They never really discussed it. It just kind of worked out.
Or maybe Asterix did have some sort of schedule and Obelix had … never noticed.
Fact was that they always stayed at Asterix’s house, because Asterix was simply a tad more attached to having his own stuff near him, than Obelix was.
Not that Asterix would ever admit that. Obelix sighed at the mess in the living room, the huge boulder having crashed through the entire kitchen. All the cupboards broken, the hearth smashed, cutlery and plates everywhere. Maybe Asterix had made the right call, not going inside. Obelix resolved to try and wake up early, tomorrow. Get a head start at the repairs. He jumped up the mezzanine, which groaned under his weight as he landed.
Obelix’s bed had been destroyed. He supposed it fitted the mood of the day and he was glad to discover that Asterix’s own bed dangled on the little part of the mezzanine that hadn’t been smashed. The sheets were covered in rubble, but he could change those. Obelix lifted the bed and careful not to bump into any walls, he jumped down. After placing it outside, he went back in to rummage through the rubble. At top speed, he sorted through most of Asterix’s stuff. Everything that got drenched while putting the fire out, Obelix stalled out in the backyard to dry. Thanking Teutates for a starlit night, illuminated further by glowing Romans.
He was just about to pick the bed back up when he spotted Asterix’s broken nightstand, which had tumbled forward, out of the house. Amidst the splintered wood, a tiny figure with familiar colours caught his eye.
This miniature version of them seemed undamaged. Obelix believed, hoped, that the real counterpart would be, too. Generally good with words, Asterix still tended to duck out of conversations that related to his OWN feelings.
Leaving Obelix to guess. He had been so glad, when Asterix received that helmet, when they were sixteen. Apart from being easier to spot in a crowd, the enchantment added by the Great Druid of the Carnutes also made sure Asterix became easier to read.
They got older. And by now, Obelix suspected that Asterix sometimes fooled his own helmet, play-pretending he was fine. Perhaps it was not a coincidence he had taken it off, confronted with a house in ruins.
The banquet had started and Obelix hastened to join Asterix’s side. He offered Asterix their little figurine, rejoicing when finally, Asterix’s eyes caught up with his smile.
“I put your bed at my place,” Obelix told him, which gained him another smile he trusted.
“Thanks.”
“The roof isn’t damaged. We’ll sort it out in a matter of days,” Obelix blabbed on. “And it’ll be like we’re teens again, won’t it? Fleeing your mom.”
“Or my dad,” Asterix offered.
Asterix had only ever fled his dad once, after a Roman almost pierced him in front of Astronomix, who had lost all his composure and had taken days, perhaps weeks, to get it back.
They were gonna have to tune this adventure down several notches, when their parents visited next, or they might very well be shipped off to Condatum by their respective moms.
“Speech!”
OH NO. Distracted by his own thoughts, it had taken a while for his friends’ pleas to register, in Obelix’s mind. But now they did and the world started turning. The fire in the middle of the circle of tables seemed out to choke him. The ringing in his ears prevented him from distinguishing the different voices, cheering him on. He glanced sidewards.
At least this time, Asterix’s seat wasn’t empty. Yet the moment their eyes met, Obelix knew.
Asterix wasn’t going to speak up, this time. The ringing intensified.
“I suppose it’s different among friends.”
Teutates, this issue had very nearly cost Obelix his friends. All of them. Yet none of them had reproached him, for having fainted. If they hadn’t back in the arena, what could possibly happen now?
Asterix winked at him.
They were gonna be alright.
Obelix finished his speech, making sure to emphasize how glad he was to have his friend back in THEIR village with him and to ask whether Asterix wanted to add something. Asterix just smiled and shook his head.
They WERE alright.
Perhaps even better, than before. Obelix had to admit finishing that speech felt good.
Even though no one seemed to have noticed that he couldn’t before. Maybe they all had gotten a little too used, to Asterix and Getafix stepping in.
Once they returned to Obelix’s home, the smell in his hut caught Obelix off guard. Like someone had smoked a ham in there. Upon closer inspection, the smoke in Asterix’s house must have drifted up and gathered into the straw of his mattress.
“We’ll replace it tomorrow,” Asterix said, stifling a yawn. He grimaced when he stretched, then fell down on the mattress.
“You okay?” Obelix asked.
“I had a blast, chasing Getafix and Apothika through that fair,” Asterix replied. “I don’t think I’m cut out for babysitting.” He looked sidewards: “I think you had it worse.”
Obelix’s jaw still hurt, yes. His sides were sore as well, but all things considered, he was far too happy to have Asterix back, with Getafix and Apothika all right on top of that, to let it ruin his appetite. He was tired though. He noticed how Asterix didn’t duck under the covers, although the night was far from warm. He just lay down on his back, his eyes closed.
“You know, I have some space left, over here,” Obelix said, pointing to his own bed. Granted, it wasn’t THAT much space, but then again, Asterix wasn’t all that big. “We could chuck the bed out, for the night.”
Asterix sat up: “All right. If the smell bothers you.”
It bothers YOU, Obelix wanted to say. Asterix had been just a touch too fast, reacting to his proposal. He let it slide, carried out the bed, then joined Asterix, who had already curled up on the side of Obelix’s bed. They used to do this all the time, when they were kids. Eventually, it became a bit too tight for comfort but when they travelled together and they slept outside, Asterix still curled up against him on chilly nights. He also often used Obelix’s belly for a backrest, during a siesta after lunch. Always affectionate, always ready to offer advice.
Next time, Obelix wouldn’t fall into the trap of letting Asterix finish his sentences. Next time he would tell him no, I don’t want to banish you. I want you to say sorry.
For now, he just pulled his friend close, who melted into the embrace, confirming that he didn’t mind having to be plastered against Obelix, to make this work.
A little tough cookie, his best friend was. And sometimes, when it came to discussions, a hard nut to crack. Obelix thanked his lucky stars, for that fall into the magic potion when he was little. Because Asterix jumped in front of his friends, regardless of whether he would be able to survive it or not. He balked at every injustice, and he did not rest, before he saw it set right. He got over-invested and sometimes, even WITH the magic potion, Obelix struggled to keep up with him.
He was the best thing that ever happened to Obelix. And Obelix would make sure to remind him, tomorrow, and every day that followed.