Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fabian is running through the long Aguefort halls. He has been running for some time now. There’s someone he needs to reach, but they round yet another corner before he can fully see them. He just catches a glimpse of a flowing dress, or was it a pantleg?

He should call out to them. It isn’t safe here. Fabian can feel it in his bones, a painful danger. If only he could remember their name.

He skids around the corner, the floor unusually slippery under his bare feet, just as the person opens a classroom door.

Suddenly he recalls the name:

Miss Badgood! He calls to her, but she has already gone, leaving the door ajar.

He should not have spoken to her, he realises in an instant. Panic slams into him as a punch in the gut and floods his vision. He fights for purchase on the glistening tiles, running and crawling his way to the door. His eyelids struggle against him, sticking to each other with each blink. He doomed her, he doomed her!

When he reaches the doorframe he yanks himself through. The air changes. It’s colder and he feels the dew on his feet from the forest floor.

He looks out over the beautiful lake. It’s calming until he realizes there is no reflection of the moon on its surface. An uneasy feeling settles over him.

Someone is crying softly next to him. He looks over and sees Saint Kristen Applebees hunched over, her halo flickering on and off, eyes closed in mourning while blue tears flow down her cheeks.

Fabian approaches to find out what she is so upset about.

In a bed of soft grass, surrounded by sickeningly blue flowers the colour of the Saint’s tears, lies the body of Yolanda Badgood. Her chest is an empty black chasm.

Fabian stares, wide-eyed. Mrs. Badgood’s head lulls to the side and her lifeless eyes bore into his, filled with morbid accusation.

Fear hits him in an ice cold shower. He staggers back, his legs stiff and unresponsive, and trips over his own feet to the ground. He tries to get away but his legs tangle in the deep green vines that cover the forest floor. Every time he manages to pull one leg free the other is ensnared worse than before. His hands sink into muddy earth and he can’t push himself up.

When he tries to call to Kristen nothing but air leaves his mouth.

The eyes of Kristen’s dead teacher stare into him as his lips twist uselessly around the word run.

—

Fabian startled awake with violence. He flew to the ground, legs trapped in a tangle of sheets. He made it halfway across his room before he realised where he was. Panting he lay on the floor, knees aching from his panicked crawl. His heartbeat pulsed in his throat.

Slowly he sat up. He flexed his fingers once, twice, focussing on the movement, the tension and release. Then he got up and placed himself back in his bed. He willed his breathing down to a normal pace. He couldn’t quite brave closing his eyes yet, afraid he’d see that dead woman’s face again, pallid white skin with dark bags under her eyes and purple lips, staring, unseeing, dead because of them—

Fabian shot back up, violently enough to shake the image from his brain.

His mind was still addled with sleep. He couldn’t keep focus and his eyelids begged to rest. Under the curtains he saw the faint glow of early morning light.

It was time he got up anyway.

He made his way downstairs, turning on every light as he went. Every dark corner reminded him of the black hole in the woman’s chest. It wasn’t real, he reminded himself, but that only served to make him think of what she had really looked like in that forest, ribs crushed and left to rot.

He entered his kitchen, regretting his lack of foresight as he walked on the icy tiles with bare, sockless feet. The sensation of stone on skin summoned flashes to the front of his mind of Aguefort halls, elongated by his dreaming imagination.

Only after he’d finished ordering breakfast did he think to check the clock. The smaller hand pointed resolutely at the four. He would have to tip the poor delivery person really well to make up for that.

He sat at his kitchen counter with a glass of slightly chemical chocolate milk made with a brown powder Kristen had given him a box of once. Some sort of poor person’s version of the real thing. It was comforting, reminded him of sitting around the big breakfast table at Mordred Manor with his friends, laughing giddy from exhaustion after a particularly long school day.

He hadn’t had a nightmare that severe in quite some time. Maybe ever, barring the Nightmare King’s dreams.

The soft glow of pre-dawn light illuminated his spotless kitchen. Fabian traced the lines of the cabinets with his eyes, taking in the appliances he still had no idea how to operate. He focussed on how the real world around him felt, noted the bar stool pressing into his legs just so, the cool counter top not budging under the press of his fingers. It calmed him down considerably, but not entirely. His heart no longer beat at a marathon pace, but he still had a certain jumpiness, and he didn’t dare let his mind wander for fear of scaring himself shitless again.

He just needed to make it through the morning. At school, in the full light of day, his brain would surely remember he was a fearless adventurer, not the helpless child he had felt like in the dream forest. He’d surely be laughing about this with his friends later.

He was proven right. At least, Fabian insisted in his own mind that he was. After first period he had practically convinced himself he’d forgotten all about the dream. If the mournful eulogy given by a shaky Jace Stardiamond during afternoon assembly made his heart beat a little faster, it was just the belated result of the two cups of coffee he’d downed during lunch.

And if, when the ever observant Gorgug asked if he had slept well that night, he failed to mention the nightmare, it was because it was irrelevant anyway. Why should his friends care about a one-off stress dream?

But then it kept happening.

A second, a third, then a fourth dream left him dry heaving on his bedroom floor. Afterwards he slept with the lights on or not at all. Even on quiet nights he slept poorly, passing in and out of slumber in fits, finding himself wide awake long before sunrise. He picked up training in the early mornings, told himself he could use the extra exercise anyway.

One time he almost fell asleep at lunch, slamming his chin against the table as it slid from his palm. His bumbling excuse about some late night dance practice was accepted but not quite believed.

Two weeks after the first nightmare, Adaine asked him if he was sleeping okay.

Fabian sat at the bar of Basrar’s Soda Fountain writing his History of Dance essay (minimum word count: 25; Mrs. Skullcleaver would also accept an interpretive dance, but Fabian was simply too exhausted to do anything like that) while Adaine went over the company ledgers. She had her eyes trained on the endless rows of numbers as she asked, meaning she must have noticed his tiredness earlier and had sat on the question for a little while. Or maybe she was just practicing her divination spell work on him.

Fabian opted to ignore instead of answer. “You know that’s all automated, right? You don’t have to check a crystal-computer’s math.” Maybe she would just drop it.

“People have to put the numbers in there first. People can make mistakes.” Adaine looked at him over her glasses. “You’re avoiding my question.”

Fabian’s scoffed. “I’m not avoiding anything. I guess stress has been keeping me up a little lately, yeah.” It wasn’t technically a lie. Those dreams were simply a manifestation of the insane amount of stress they were all constantly under. A very dramatic but surely temporary manifestation.

Adaine put her pen down. “I used to have that all the time. Couldn’t trance because my mind refused to shut off even for a second. Do you wanna hear a tip Jawbone gave me?”

Fabian nodded his head. He would like to be rid of the dreams sooner rather than later.

“Okay, the thing is to basically imagine yourself moving through some rich, scenic landscape, like a coral reef or a swamp or whatever, and notice the things around you. Close your eyes.”

“Right now?” Fabian raised his eyebrows. He did have to finish his essay.

“Yes, right now. We have to see if it works for you. Not every technique works for everyone, you know.” Adaine used the imperious tone she reserved for quoting things trusted sources had taught her.

Fabian shrugged and obediently closed his eyes. Maybe clearing his mind wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for him in this moment. It might stop his hands from fidgeting so much. He rested his chin on the palm of his left hand.

With his eyes shut he felt the exhaustion he had been ignoring, that sat heavy in the depths of his limbs.

“Remember to breath deep and slow.” She stopped to demonstrate and Fabian followed along. “You find yourself in a beautiful forest, where light streams down through the leaves and flowers bloom all around.” Adaine’s voice was soft and a little melodic, and Fabian found himself relaxing as he listened.

She guided him on a walk through some woods, pointing out birds by name, only some of which Fabian could put an image to, most of which were left to his imagination.

“You see a brown bunny further up the path. It looks around a while, surveying its surroundings. Its ear twitches, and it turns his head as if to listen for something before disappearing into the greenery. You keep walking ‘til you make it to a clearing.”

Fabian let himself fall into the narration, and more and more it felt like he was really in the forest. Adaine’s voice faded to the background.

He stood in a meadow, soaking the warm sunlight into his skin. Insects buzzed low to the ground. He looked around him and admired the grand trees that lined the grass. Rich green vines twisted up their trunks and birds sang high in their branches. His eyes caught on a dark patch underneath a particularly impressive tree.

He moved closer to examine it, puzzled by the darkness of the stretch of ground in all that sunlight. He squinted and saw a figure slumped over on the ground.

Fabian crouched down and gently turned the figure over by the shoulder. Yolanda Badgood’s head slumped limply to the side yet her dead eyes peered up, directly into his.

Fabian yelped and lurched backwards. He almost fell off his barstool but caught himself just in time on the counter.

His heart raced and he looked around wildly, trying to regain his bearings. He was in the ice cream shop. Before him was not a dead body but his homework, crumpled from where he’d lain on it.  His friend Adaine looked at him from behind the counter, eyes wide in alarm.

“Are you okay?”

Fabian forced himself to breathe calmy. He could see people staring at him from the corners of his eyes. Had he actually made a noise just now? “Did I fall asleep?”

“Uhm, yeah, you dosed off for a second. Did you have a dream or something?”

“What? No, no, nothing like that. I just… I had that thing where you feel like you’re falling when you’re not.” Fabian’s cheeks were on fire. Quietly he thanked his father for his dark, blush-concealing skin. A nervous laugh escaped his lips, which was almost as incriminating. “Anyway, it’s about time I get going.”

Adaine frowned, concern still lining her face. “You sure you’re okay? What about your essay?”

“The Ball promised to help me with it. He’s meeting me at my house. I’m kind of late actually.” Fabian half-heartedly pretended to look at the clock on the wall. Adaine was clearly not convinced. He just needed to leave this room, he still felt like everyone was looking at him and it was suffocating.

Adaine bit her lip while he gathered his things and turned to leave. “Oh, okay. See you later.”

Fabian mustered a weak smile as he threw a goodbye over his shoulder and fled.

Chapter Text

They are on the bloodrush field, him and Riz.

Riz holds a gun in his hand at the end of an outstretched arm, barrel pointed at the head of the man on the ground.

Fabian stands at his side, watches as Riz pulls the trigger. His eyes he keeps trained on the gun. He knows better than to look at the man on the ground.

Riz reloads the gun.

You don’t want to do this, says Fabian.

No, says Riz.

Riz has stopped crying. He was crying just a second ago, Fabian recalls. When he looks at Riz’s face it’s dry. He was crying, wasn’t he? It’s confusing. Riz never cries.

Riz empties his clip into the chest of the man on the ground.

Was it right? asks Fabian.

It was necessary, says Riz.

Fabian looks at the man on the ground. There lies the rotting corpse of Bill Seacaster.

—

It got worse.

It was the fourth week after his first dream and it had become a nightly occurrence.

Now, after turning off the lights, Fabian found himself unable to cross the gaping chasm between him and his bed, unable to step into the darkness, rooted to the spot. This annoyed him. Since when was Fabian Aramais Seacaster afraid of the dark of his own bedroom, a child’s fear? Had he not seen worse? Still, he slept with a light on, feeling utterly like a toddler frightened by the monster under his bed.

When he arrived at school the next day he was irritated and restless. That night’s dream had been particularly unnerving for reasons he couldn’t quite parse.

He fumbled his way through Fighter classes. Ivy caught his eye and raised her eyebrows with an amused smirk. Fabian dropped his rapier and she barked a laugh. He was off his game, that was for sure.

Lunch was terrible.

Fabian arrived at their usual table second to last, only beating The Ball, who often arrived late as his search for the Rogue teacher wasn’t exactly bound by class periods.

Fabian slumped down onto the bench and rested his head on his palm, toying with the horrible goo the school insisted was lasagne.

Fig was excitedly chattering next to him. Fabian wished she’d stop, each high note painfully prodding his developing headache. Immediately he felt bad and put in a little effort to find out what she was talking about.

He heard the words MCAT and Gorgug, and he saw the latter nodding with a shyly proud look on his face. Fabian gathered some energy to grasp Gorgug by the shoulder and congratulate him. His words came out raspy from his now perpetually sore throat. Fabian wondered if that was a side effect of sleep deprivation. He’d have to look it up.

Adaine produced a trash bag from under the table, apparently having carried the thing around all day, and revealed it to be filled with delicious Lydia lunch. Fabian felt the pull of his stomach, which had been quietly angry at him all day for skipping breakfast. Even though he’d had plenty of time to order food (his father’s rotting face had made sure of that) he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of eating. That happened more and more now.

But at that moment, he felt much improved. Kristen made a joke and they all laughed. Fig leaned into his side as she cackled. Fabian grabbed two fat sandwiches from the bag and wolved down half of one in one bite.

Just then The Ball arrived.

Fabian hadn’t noticed The Ball walk up and place himself in his usual seat, so it took him by surprise when he looked to his side and saw the face of his father’s killer.

Fabian shook his head and blinked the image away. Next to him sat his best friend The Ball, who now looked up at him with a slightly bemused expression.

“You good?”

Fabian furrowed his brows in feigned exasperation. “Yes, The Ball, I’m good. Are you?” He quickly turned back to his sandwiches.

They didn’t look so good anymore. His stomach twisted and his heartrate was speeding up, aching dully as it skipped beats. He peeked to the side and looked at The Ball, who was unpacking his lunch and picking through the trash bag. In an instant he felt as though he was back in the nightmare, The Ball’s side profile dousing him in sickly déjà vu. Fabian flexed and relaxed his fingers, dug his nails into his palms trying to remain grounded. He forced himself to look away and pick up his sandwich, but the tomato was the colour of blood and the lettuce of rot.

Fabian took a steadying breath, as covertly as possible as to not alert his friends of his mental instability, and resolved to make it through lunch by simply not looking at the person sitting next to him.

He picked at his food, pretending to eat it. He laughed at jokes but couldn’t quite process what was supposed to be funny about them. He flinched every time the person sitting next to him spoke. He hoped it was subtle enough, but he suspected Fig noticed the way he intermittently stiffened, how he shifted to her side more and more.

He removed himself from lunch as early as he thought he could get away with, mumbling something about a book and his locker.

For a while Fabian wandered through the halls, still far too early for class, feeling like a horrible person and a terrible friend. The Ball had surely noticed the way Fabian had ignored him and had even tried to tune him out completely. Fabian had felt his piercing eyes on his face more than once, but The Ball had said nothing about it.

Even now, The Ball just an image in his head, his stomach clenched, his mind providing flashes of the bloodrush field, the gun, the man on the ground. The feeling of quiet desperation that had permeated his dream settled over him like a blanket, or a net.

Previously he had relied on The Ball to make him feel better, more than he’d even realised. The weight of his small body on his shoulders ironically made him feel lighter, the press of constant physical contact kept him in the present.

Now he methodically clenched and unclenched his fists, pushed his nails into his sore skin to remind himself he was awake.

Had The Ball been upset? He couldn’t think about him without spiralling more. Keep it the fuck together, Seacaster!

The urge to punch something bubbled up inside his chest. It was unfamiliar and it took him by surprise. Fabian longingly imagined the sting of his knuckles, the dent in the locker.

The impulse was almost overwhelming. The feeling sloshed violently in his chest, dark green as angry seawater, threatening to spill out. He grit his teeth and stalked over to the dance room, keeping his arms stiff at his side.

Dance class did not go very well. Fabian’s fear had subsided now, but in its place irrational anger kept flaring up. The urge to punch something had not gone away. He messed up the choreography so many times Mrs. Skullcleaver told him to take a break.

Maybe it was something in the way she said it, or maybe it was the awkward stares of his classmates, but the gentle command set Fabian off. He sneered at her, snatched his bag off the ground and stormed out of the room. Mazey shot him a concerned look on his way to the door that he ignored.

His mind was clouded and he had to blink back tears that were inexplicably gathering in his eyes. Bloodrush practice should make him feel better. He would run off the adrenaline flooding his veins and soothe his mind with post-workout endorphins.

But it wasn’t time for practice yet. He didn’t want to show up early and risk questions from Gorthalax about why he was out of class early. He didn’t trust himself to lie.

He spent the now free twenty minutes before bloodrush on a bench facing the Aguefort quad. The first few minutes he sat with his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His anger quickly burnt out, for it had no target or actual reason, leaving him to breathe quietly for a while. It was a beautiful early autumn day and sunlight poured down from a blue sky. Fabian angled his face upwards to soak it in, listening to the ambient sounds of birds and students and wind.

When he got up to walk to the field he almost felt normal again. Maybe he’d just been overreacting before.

Though seeing the field set Fabian on edge a little again, he was determined to not let the nightmare wreck any more of his day.

He greeted his teammates with enthusiasm and gave Gorgug a jovial slap on his back. This was going to be a good practice.

Gorthalax came out and Fabian had to dig his nails into the skin of his palms to stop the oncoming panic. Bad start. The Aguefort coach sweatsuit reminded him of the man on the ground, the pants he’d been staring at before he turned to see the face. An angry flare at his own fragile mind. You’re not going to ruin this for me, he thought.

Practice started with drills and Fabian threw himself into it fully. He ran until his legs ached, focussing solely on the ball and where it might fly. It was fun, and Fabian remembered that he liked this school.

Then they moved on to a mock game.

Fabian felt fatigue creep up on him. Sleep deprivation had taken its toll and his endurance suffered. He had the ball, but the goal line was still so far off and multiple people were closing in on him.

Gorthalax must have seen him slow down, because he yelled out to him. “Fabian, no giving up on my watch! Put your heart in it, son!”

Heart.

Fabian was unprepared and his tired mind could give no defence, so the one word plunged him right back into the dream.

Daybreak on the ground, bullet hole in his forehead, no heart.

Fabian dropped the ball, fumbled to get it back. Someone from the other team reached to take it, but Fabian could not let that happen. He refused to let his stupid weakling mind ruin this like it had ruined his sleep, his breakfast, his fighting, his dancing and his fucking relationship with his best friend.

Propelled by the rage in the pit of his stomach Fabian knocked his opponent out of his way. He grabbed the ball, ran the length of the field and slammed it into the ground. Then he ran after it and slammed it down a second time for good measure.

As he caught his breath, and his red vision receded, it registered that the resistance of the other team had been half-hearted at best. Really, they had hardly glanced his way at all.

Fabian looked up and saw Gorgug sitting on the ground, pressing a towel to his face. Gorthalax kneeled next to him.

Slowly it sank in what had happened. Fabian looked down. There was blood on his shoulder pad.

He wanted to go over to Gorgug, apologise, beg forgiveness, but that’s where the other players were clustered, quizzical looks on their faces as they stared at him.

So instead Fabian turned on his heel and walked off the field, into the locker rooms.

There he sat with his head in his hands, trying to narrow down the barrage of hateful thoughts in his head to the ones that were true, until after a few minutes Gorgug appeared.

Fabian opened his mouth to apologise but the words died on his lips as he sat up. Gorgug was looking at him with his soft, knowing smile. He even had the gall to regard him with pity, as if Fabian was the one with the bashed in face.

“How are you doing?” Gorgug asked.

“How am I doing?” Fabian almost laughed, exhaled hard through his nose. “You’re asking how I’m doing?”

Gorgug walked over to the sink, replaced his cloth towel with a couple paper ones, stuffed them into his nostrils. He sat down on the bench opposite Fabian.

“You’ve been on edge all day. Seemed like something was bothering you.” Gorgug spoke softly, gently. Fabian felt like a wild animal being talked down. Maybe that’s exactly what you are, the voice in his head sneered.

“Yeah, what kind of excuse would that be? Oh, sorry about breaking your nose, I didn’t sleep so well last night.” Fabian bit his tongue. That was dangerously close to an admission.

“Sleep?” Gorgug let it hang in the air, an open invitation to tell him more.

And Fabian found that he wanted to. How easy would it be to spill his guts to kind, generous Gorgug in the echoing silence of the locker room?

But what would be the use? What would it do beside burden one more person with Fabian’s senseless fears?

And what would he say? That he was being haunted by a little nightmare? That he was scared of the dark?

No, he reasoned, there was nothing to be gained from telling Gorgug any of it.

So Fabian let the moment pass. He rested his head against the tile wall behind him, stretched the fingers he’d been clenching into fists.

“I really am sorry,” Fabian said to the ceiling light. “I didn’t think and it was really fucked up.”

“I forgive you.”

With that, Fabian got up and left the locker room. He could change his clothes at home, maybe have a long, boiling hot shower. This day had been gruesome. He needed to wash the traces of it from his skin.

At home, under the steady stream of water that hid him from the world and the world from him, Fabian replayed the memory of his assault on Gorgug again and again, feeling more like a callous monster each time.

Then he examined lunch. He warped the expressions on The Ball’s face until he was convinced he’d done irreparable damage to their friendship. The Ball would never show this, of course, he was courteous in that way. Tomorrow he would pretend nothing was the matter, but Fabian knew deep down a fissure had formed. He needed to get it together if he wanted to stop it from cracking open.

He went to bed with anxiety buzzing under his skin and a nervous tick in his neck. That night he dreamed a whirlwind of dreams, but above all he remembered Riz falling to his demise, a sheet flowing uselessly in the empty air.

The following days thankfully offered him a relative reprieve. The nightmares usually let him sleep until sunrise. He still fumbled his rapier and fell out of sync with his fellow dancers, but he could join in on the heated discussions of his party and sometimes that let him forget the dreams entirely.

Fabian had rethought his despair about his relationship with The Ball. He understood it to be a fiction he had created, an indulgence of a stress spiral. Doesn’t he know The Ball would never withdraw from him like that? It was laughable really, to question the loyalty of the most loyal person he’d ever met. Still, regardless of logic, his anxiety flared each time The Ball turned away from him, irrationally afraid he wouldn’t look back again.

His anger he kept locked away as best he could. It was there now, when something reminded him of a dream, alongside the fear. He forced it down, hoping it would pass if it was ignored long enough.

Three days after Fabian had hit Gorgug (who had assured him his nose was not broken, though that didn’t make Fabian feel much better) Fig approached him in the hall.

She leaned against the lockers in obviously feigned nonchalance. She never was good at lying as herself.

“Porter’s been bugging me to hit some punching bags in the school gym. Wanna come along? I’ll probably just end up hitting them with my bass, but same principle, right?” Fig looked up at him, eyes blown big with exaggerated innocence.

What the hell was she lying for? Just to get him to a gym?

“You could really go to town on one, you know, blow off some steam. Porter’s actually got some surprisingly insightful takes on healthy expressions of rage.”

Right. Gorgug had talked to her, surely. Fabian fought the urge to refuse out of spite. “Sounds good.” Fig visibly perked up. Fabian smirked. “You’re not coming around on Porter, are you?”

 Fig’s expression turned to disgust in an instant. “God, no. Though he did sign Gorgug’s MCAT, so he might not be all bad.” She saw the bemused look on his face and hit him in the shoulder. “Shut up!”

“Ow! I didn’t say anything!” Fabian clutched his shoulder dramatically.

“Porter might still be behind all this. You won’t catch me letting my guard down.” She saw something over his shoulder and glared daggers at it. Fabian looked behind him and saw Porter talking to some students in a doorway. He was definitely close enough to have heard all of that.

Porter finished talking to the students, looked over at them, rolled his eyes and retreated back into the classroom.

“Yeah, you better fall back.” Fig pointed two fingers at her eyes and then jabbed them at the closed door where Porter had stood. “So, meet me in the gym after class?” She looked up at him, chipper as ever.

Fabian huffed an incredulous laugh as he put his arm around her shoulder and agreed to meet her after school.

The school gym turned out to be a small dingy room, tucked in a far corner of the campus behind the locker rooms. Tile lined the floor and walls. The tile seams were mouldy black and there was a suspicious green patch in a corner of the ceiling where a leak must have been. One window let in light, but it was so dirty the outside world was only a barely visible haze.

Fabian had never been here. He of course had a premium membership at Elmville’s largest and best reviewed gym, though that was mostly a fall-back. He did all of his actual working out in the equipment room in his house.

Luckily (and unsurprisingly) the room was empty. Fig unceremoniously plopped her bag down on the floor and walked over to one of the ancient looking punching bags.

Fabian was a little more careful with his belongings, so he hung his bag on a hook on the (probably equally dirty) wall. “This place is disgusting. Have you been here before?”

Fig was prowling around the punching bag, feinting at it and sending it dirty looks. “I’ve come here to smoke a couple times. This is more that Durden kid’s turf though, so it usually smells too much like gorgenfern.”

When she mentioned it, Fabian noticed the acrid smell that lingered in the air.

“I’ve never been here to actually work out though. Fuck you!” That last part she yelled at the punching bag as she slammed her fist into it. It barely moved.

“Maybe you should stick to your original plan and use your bass.” Fabian did a bad job of hiding his amusement.

Fig glared at him but unstrapped her guitar from her back. She played a couple notes and Fabian felt the familiar wash of confidence, the music humming in his veins, giving him that extra edge.

He gave her a questioning look. “I’m not risking using that again. You remember what happened last time. You are unbelievably cursed.”

Fig shrugged. “Just thought it’d be nice to have anyway. Are you gonna hit something or what?”

Fabian shrugged and positioned himself in front of a second punching bag. He started some of his basic Fighter drills, careful not to summon the music still meandering through his limbs.

“What kind of fighting is that? Put a little emotion behind it, man.” To demonstrate, Fig swung her bass against the poor target in front of her with a vicious cry. Fabian felt Bard magic that enhanced the impact reverberate through the arcane atmosphere. “Tap into your anger!”

He focused his attention back on the punching bag in front of him.

Anger. He had enough of that (the method of ignoring it until it went away did not actually work very well). It was irrational and explosive and not centred on anything, except maybe himself. He tapped into it now, tentatively allowing the drowned rage to surface.

His adrenaline pumped as he let himself dwell on the unfairness of it all. Why was he the only one affected like this? Why had his mind bent and snapped while his friends powered on? He slammed his fist into the stiff fabric with a yell, then a second time. He hated the nightmares, he hated the sleepless hours before dawn, he hated the nightlight that now illuminated his room at all times. He hit the bag again, and again, punctuated each thought with the sweet impact of fist on fabric. He hated Adaine and Gorgug and The Ball with their worried faces and he hated how he had treated them. He hated Yolanda Badgood for dying and most of all he hated himself for breaking.

He attacked the punching bag until his shoulders screamed for him to stop.

Fabian let himself droop forward and leaned his forehead against the warm plastic, breathing hard. His throat throbbed painfully.

“Feel better?”

Fabian turned around and saw Fig standing with her hands on her hips, big grin on her face. The gleeful fury in her eyes and her equally laboured breathing told him she’d given her punching bag a piece of her mind as well.

He did feel lighter, he noticed. Tired, but in a good way for once. He looked into Fig’s beaming face and grinned with her. Her smiles were always infectious.

“Yeah, much better.”

Chapter Text

The coward in Fabian wants to bolt, but his friends he cannot leave.

In the middle of his haggard party stands Cassandra, angry red spike jutting out from their chest. They are dying, bleeding night sky out of the wound in their sternum.

Kristen gives a wailing cry, a sob, though no single thing provoked it. All is stagnant as the Goddess of Mystery loses her life.

Then she suddenly grows larger, her dead unseeing eyes fixed on a point in the distance. She gives a bloodcurdling screech as she swings an arm out for Fig.

The Aguefort quad erupts in battle. Fabian loses his bearings in an instant, slashing blindly at ocean deep hands, falling to the ground to avoid a blow to the back.

An anguished scream. Fabian looks up just in time to watch Adaine’s frail spine snap like a twig in one of the many fists of the Nightmare King.

He lets Adaine drop to the ground as he comes for the rest of Fabian’s party. Fig he stabs through the stomach, Gorgug he slams into a tree. Fabian’s despair calls up screaming sobs but grief chokes them out.

Kristen stands protectively over Fabian, compassion for her goddess in her eyes. He watches as a unicorn’s horn protrudes from her back, showering him in red hot blood.

Fabian scrambles back. Away, he needs to get away.

Where is Riz?

He whips his head around wildly, scanning the grass enveloped in Cassandra’s sacred night for his friend. Riz must be hiding, he’s so very good at that.

Fabian gets up and starts to run towards the school’s grand front doors, eyes still roving the quad.

There! Huddled behind a bush lies Riz. He is deadly still, lying in wait, surely knowing Fabian would find him. Fabian bends his course, picks up his friend and sprints for the doors.

Behind him he can hear the Nightmare King labour to follow. Good, he thinks, size might gain you strength but it costs you speed.

Fabian makes it inside. He throws his head back in relief and catches his breath.

“We did it, Riz! We’re safe within these Aguefort halls.”

Riz does not respond. Fabian looks down to where he’s pressed into his shirt.

“Are you alright?”

Riz does not respond. Fabian twists him so that he can see his face. He almost throws up.

A neat red line across Riz’s neck stands in terrible contrast with his grey green skin. Blood bright as rubies stains Fabian’s chest and hands.

Fabian stands in shock in the hall way, the limp body of his best friend held gently in his arms, when the roof is ripped off and he is killed by His Majesty the Nightmare King.

—

It was the Nightmare King. Of course it was. How had Fabian not seen it before?

Yes, it was supposedly impossible, given that the Nightmare King transformed into Cassandra and Cassandra was now dead to the world, but so was half the things they found out were true. It all made sense now: the incessant manner of the dreams, the deterioration of his usually airtight mind, the way the nightmare always centred around his party.

Some trace of Cassandra’s former ego had resurfaced, or perhaps wherever she was now, she had transformed into something similar.

Knowing filled Fabian with energy he had been sorely lacking. He sat at his kitchen counter with his ordered breakfast at four thirty in the morning barely containing his nervous jitters. Despite the harrowing dream he had violently ripped himself awake from just tens of minutes ago, they were good jitters, excitement for the day. Today he would tell his friends what he had discovered and they would figure something out. He would be rid of the dreams!

He walked into Aguefort hours later with a smile on his face.

“You’re happy today.” Adaine appeared at his side and fell into step with him as they walked towards the lockers.

Crack! Fabian flinched at the sound of her spine snapping as if he’d really heard it. Think good thoughts, today is a good day!

He composed himself. “Am I not always?”

Fabian watched multiple emotions play out on Adaine’s face in quick succession (he could not parse them all with certainty but one stood out above all others: disbelief) before she carefully smoothed it out. She had of course not missed his reaction to her appearance.

Fabian relented. “Alright, I do have a specific reason to be happy today. I think I made a break in the case.”

Adaine’s eyes lit up. “That’s incredible! I’ll text the others. Do we need to skip class or can it wait ‘til lunch?”

Fabian did not miss the eagerness with which she offered to bail. Those Wizard classes had to be really soul crushing to make even his most studious friend want to avoid them. Unfortunately for her the revelation was not that urgent.

“It can wait.” Fabian saw the small way in which Adaine deflated. He longed to make her feel better but didn’t know how. He settled on a soft touch on her arm. It felt deeply inadequate.

As they waved each other goodbye Fabian wished she would tell him what was wrong. He wished she’d let him help.

He suffered his way through Fighter class, keeping his mind off his aching muscles by imagining his friends’ excited faces as he told them all he’d discovered. Nothing got The Ball more pumped than a new clue. Fabian pictured that glint in The Ball’s eyes as he lunged and parried.

Even though he had speed walked his way to lunch, he was still last to arrive. Clearly everyone was just as eager as him to make way in the case.

Kristen was the first to spot him and following her eyes his whole party perked up, waiting (some more patiently than others) for his arrival.

              Fabian sat down and faced his friends, not bothering to conceal his giddy excitement. He resolutely ignored his mind as it provided him with images of their gory deaths. You won’t have power over me much longer, Nightmare King, Fabian thought with an inward smile, and his glee overshadowed the fear.

He cleared his throat, which was still uncannily raw, as it had been for weeks now. “Okay, you’ve got to let me finish explaining my theory before we can discuss.” He took a deep breath. “The last few weeks I’ve been getting these horrible nightmares about all sorts of—”

“You’ve been having nightmares?”

Fabian sighed and turned to chastise The Ball for failing to follow Fabian’s one requirement immediately, but the words died on his lips when he saw the look on The Ball’s face. It wasn’t intrigue that had moved him to speak.

“Did you say ‘the last few weeks’?” Kristen asked, an undercurrent of horror in her voice.

Fabian looked around at his friends, seeing the same look of worry contort all their faces. This was not going as planned. “No, guys, I haven’t even gotten to the point yet—”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Fig’s abrasive tone was only slightly tempered by concern. Fabian thought he recognised some offence in there as well, which startled him.

He sat for a moment stunned to silence. He furrowed his brows. “I didn’t say anything because… Well, at first I thought it was just a temporary thing, and then I thought, what can they do about it anyway?”

For some reason that last part made Adaine recoil, her face twisting with hurt.

Hastily Fabian continued: “But then this morning I had a revelation. The Nightmare King, or something like it, has been sending me these dreams.” He saw the incredulous looks on his friends’ faces. “No, see, he gave himself away! Intentionally or not, he appeared in my dream. And I would never have this amount of nightmares under normal circumstances. Or any amount for that matter.”

“I suppose it’s possible some part of Cassandra remained and reverted back to a prior state,” The Ball said after a moment.

Fabian shot him a thankful glance. At least someone was taking his theory seriously.

The Ball gnawed the stem of his fork. “Perhaps this change was caused or helped along by the rage crystals?”

Adaine adjusted her already perfectly placed glasses, as she always did before attempting to tackle a difficult puzzle. She had joined the theorising, though Fabian saw it wasn’t without reluctance. “It could also be someone or something imitating the Nightmare King. That could explain why he appeared in your dream. A deliberate ploy to keep us off their track.”

“Kristen, if it is something to do with Cassandra, do you think you could commune with it?” Fig asked. “Maybe this is the reason you can’t talk to her.”

“Could be, yeah. I’ll ask to use one of the prayer rooms and try after lunch. It’s not like I have class anymore.” Kristen tried for a laugh, but it fell desperately flat.

Dead eyes. Screaming black chasm. Fabian blinked the images away. Soon they’d find a way to fix it, fix him.

The Ball knocked their knees together under the table. Fabian needed to get his face under control.

“Why would they only target Fabian?” Gorgug asked.

“Maybe because they knew Fabian wouldn’t tell us,” Adaine said, shooting Fabian a glance filled to the brim with accusation. He averted his eyes.

Gorgug was clearly not convinced. He nodded and said nothing more.

“Sorry to bring up a sore subject, but what was that spell Tracker used to do?” Fig made a face like it physically pained her to ask.

Kristen only cringed a little. Fabian thought she was being quite valiant about it. “Uhm, it was called Moon Haven, I think. It’s a Moon domain spell, but for our purposes it’s practically the same as a Hallow spell. I could definitely do that, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, I thought we could have a little sleepover at Fabian’s and see if that stops it. Could be fun.” Fig was beaming at them with that sparkle in her eye that told Fabian it was happening whether he wanted it to or not.

He did want it to, of course. This was the thing that would finally free him, finally give him a real night’s rest again. It had been so long since he had slept peacefully. “Incredible! Yes, we should definitely do that. How long does this Hallow spell last?”

“Until dispelled. So, indefinitely. I can just leave it up around your bed until we figure out what’s causing the dreams.” Kristen said.

The elation that had been steadily growing in Fabian’s chest fully bloomed. It was ending! Last night was the last of a series of ghastly nights that could now happily be forgotten. He grinned at his party. There was nothing they could not do and he marvelled at his luck of getting to be their friend.

They all joined him in his merriment, spending the rest of lunch planning that night’s slumber party. The Ball wanted to swing by his apartment for red string, but Fabian assured him there was more than enough already at his house, specially reserved for The Ball’s conspiracy needs. Fig and Gorgug loudly discussed the playlist, planning an entire night’s worth of music, tuned to perfection. Kristen took it upon herself to order more shrimp than they could eat in a lifetime.

Only Adaine stayed out of the excitement. Fabian caught her watching him a couple times, brows set in troubled contemplation. He chose to ignore it.

Fabian twirled and pirouetted through his afternoon classes. There was a lightness in his body that made him feel like he could fly. Mrs. Skullcleaver cheered him on while he bounded across her classroom.

After school he met up with his friends and they walked to his house. The Ball rode on Fabian’s shoulder and was doing something mysterious on his wrist crystal, something that required a lot of furious typing. Fabian supressed the impulse to check The Balls neck for blood. Fig rode circles around them on her skateboard.

The Hangman complained about their slow pace three times before Fabian told it to just drive ahead. It refused to do this, grumbling on about honour and duty until Fig rewarded it for its loyalty with a scratch on its skull.

Kristen reported that her attempt at communication with this nightmare being had been met with complete silence. Fabian was undeterred, for it had been a long shot anyway, and he said so to the group.

When they arrived at Fabian’s house they immediately fanned out on their separate missions. Fig and Gorgug made a beeline for the impressive sound system to plug in their carefully curated playlist. Kristen installed herself on the living room floor to begin her ritual, laying out her prayer mat and assorted spell components (collected from school stores and paid for by Fabian). Fabian opened a storage room to look for a corkboard and string, with The Ball right on his tail.

Fabian cringed at the mess. It was very obvious most of the items had been carelessly thrown in there to give the house the illusion of cleanliness.

Adaine peeked in and pursed her lips. “Why don’t you just hire some cleaners?”

“Why would I when this works just as well?” Fabian forced a laugh. He didn’t really feel like explaining he was too embarrassed of his mess to have people clean it.

“Does it, though? Do you want me to summon some Unseen Servants? They can have this mess organised in half an hour.” Adaine waved her fingers as if casting magic, waiting for permission.

“No, no, that’s not necessary. Besides, I don’t need it organised, I know where everything is right now.” Fabian disproved himself almost immediately by failing to locate the red string. In the end it was The Ball who found it.

“Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind.” Adaine retreated back into the living room.

Why did he refuse? Fabian knew there was a zero percent chance he would go out and ask her now, so why had he declined when it was offered?

“Why did you refuse?” The Ball looked down at him from the top shelf of one of the cupboards. “She just wanted to help.”

Fabian was silent for a moment. He couldn’t think of any excuse. “I don’t know.”

The Ball raised his eyebrows, waiting for him to continue, but Fabian left it there. He held his arm out so that The Ball could climb onto his shoulders and they joined their friends.

“Fabian, your room is just above here, right?” Kristen asked.

Fabian nodded.

“If I centre the spell here, it should protect your room as well as like, almost the entire house. It would have protected the whole house if you didn’t live in a big ass pirate ship.”

“If it wasn’t for this big ass pirate ship you wouldn’t be Queen of the Shrimp Jump, so be grateful.” Fabian shot back, glaring very dramatically at her.

Gorgug came in from the hall way carrying multiple mattresses.

Fig burst out in surprised giggles. “Where did you get those?”

Gorgug shrugged. “I just kind of guessed which rooms were guest rooms. I assumed we were sleeping here in the living room.” He dropped the mattrasses on the floor, careful not to disturb Kristen’s outlaid items.

“This is gonna take a couple hours, guys, and I need relative calm to do it,” Kristen said. She turned to Fig and Gorgug. “I’m so sorry to disturb your playlist… actually, this song works kind of well, but—”

Fig interrupted with a reassuring handwave. “Don’t worry, we already accounted for that. The first four hours of the playlist are just pirate lo-fi and calmer pieces from Swan Lake.” When she was met with multiple pairs of raised eyebrows she added, “what? Tchaikovsky is my favourite classical bard.”

As Kristen started casting the spell the rest of the Bad Kids prepared for the slumber party, moving quietly around her, piling up pillows and blankets they collected from around the house.

After they were satisfied with their nest they grouped in the kitchen. Fig and Gorgug searched the cabinets for snacks (Fig insisted Gorgug raise her up to look on the top shelves, even though Gorgug could reach them fine already). Fabian and Adaine helped The Ball set up a conspiracy board, keeping their voices low as not to disturb Kristen, whose clerical magic emanated softly from the living room. Fabian let it wash over him and he swore he could feel a curse lift.

The shrimp arrived just as Kristen called she was done. Fabian marvelled at the coincidence for a second before he noticed the flash of blue arcane light receding from Adaine’s eyes. He chuckled and she smiled at him. He hadn’t noticed the tension between them, but he could feel it sap away now.

They feasted on the pile of blankets on the floor. An episode of the Dry Guys Podcast played in the background (the episode was included in the playlist; Fig and Gorgug had, through some mystical foresight, timed it perfectly with dinner) though half way through they had abandoned listening to it. Now it was barely audible, buried under their own heated discussion.

(“Why on Spyre would you go to the middle school?”

“They’re an important voter demographic!”

“I simply cannot overstate how much that is not the case.”)

Eventually they settled down, discarding their paper take-out boxes in a big heap that they vowed to clean up in the morning.

In the gentle glow of the dimmed ceiling lights Fabian relaxed against the couch. His legs lay in Kristen’s lap and his head on Gorgug’s shoulder. The Ball absentmindedly fiddled with Fabian’s hand, staring off into the middle distance, deep in thought. Always on the case, Fabian thought, and he creased his eyes fondly.

A soft song floated through the room, a soothing voice accompanied by the occasional strumming of a guitar.

Fabian looked around at his friends and, for the first time in weeks, felt completely safe.

It was Adaine who reminded them that even though it was the weekend, throwing their sleep schedule off by pulling an all-nighter would be really stupid and they had best go to sleep.

They detangled their limbs and arranged themselves on the massive mattresses. Fig complained that she didn’t have her giant shark stuffie (or Blåhaj, as she called it) so Kristen volunteered to cuddle with her. Adaine sat with her legs crossed on a pile of pillows, preparing to trance.

Fabian ended up facing The Ball, who had folded himself in a way that defied all logic. His tail lay in a circle around him like a cat’s.

“That simply can’t be comfortable.” Fabian whispered.

The Ball raised his eyebrows without opening his eyes and curled even deeper in on himself. Fabian scoffed softly.

“Who’s gonna get up and turn the lights of?” Fig mumbled into Kristen’s shoulder.

Before anyone could drag themselves from their comfortable positions Fabian clapped two times and enveloped them all in darkness.

“Of course you have clap-on-clap-off lights.”

Fabian barely heard Kristen. He focussed on the pain of his nails being dug into his palms as familiar panic fought to get a hold of him. You’re safe. The Nightmare King can’t get to you anymore. You can get over your stupid fear of the dark now. He took steadying breaths while he waited for his eyes to grow used to the darkness.

When he had calmed down he looked to his side and found The Ball staring at him, his eyes two pale green moons in the black. The Ball reached out, gently touched Fabian on the shoulder before pulling his arm close to his chest again and going to sleep.

Fabian found he missed the contact as soon as it was gone. He focussed on The Ball’s steady breathing and sunk gently into slumber.

Violently the nightmares took him. They dragged him back into the Far Raven Woods and pushed him down under the surface of the Celestine Sea, while the Shadow Cat looked on and laughed. Fabian ran through hallways where piercing red lockers lined the walls, in search of something he could taste but not picture. A giant made of mossy boulders that creaked and sighed as they slid against each other fought him in a festively decked out gym, snapping like matchsticks the trees that grew from the grassy floor.

As he evaded a hit from the giant, unable to save the snack table kid, he suddenly became aware of someone shaking him. First he realised someone was trying to wake him, then that that must mean he was dreaming.

His momentary hesitation gave the giant the chance to grab Fabian tight in his fist and lift him up. Knowing he was in a nightmare did nothing to stave off the fear and Fabian struggled wildly to get away, blinking hard, hoping with each one he would wake.

He still felt the phantom hands that shook him, and it was disorienting to feel two realities at once.

The giant raised him high above their head, preparing now to throw him unto the podium where My Clerical Gnomance still played.

Fabian thought he heard his name, called out in the other reality. He concentrated on that sound, the only sound to come from the real world, and he pulled himself away from his flight to the floor. Black spots bloomed in his vision as he receded from the dream. Fabian with all his power willed his eyes to open.

He was staring into Adaine’s frantic face. His breathing was fast and rough. Fabian fingered the blanket under his hands, placing himself solidly in the real world.

“Fabian—”

He surged forward, cutting Adaine off and throwing himself into her arms. The tight press of her embrace sapped the fear from his muscles.

Though he was grateful for Adaine’s presence, he questioned why she was there. It took him a moment to remember the sleepover, another to put together the fact that because Adaine tranced, she would have woken up far earlier than the rest of them. She must have noticed his fitful sleep and gone to wake him up.

“Are you okay?”

Fabian reeled back. It was not Adaine who had spoken. The Ball was staring up at him, concern obvious even in the low twilight. Had Fabian woken The Ball up with his movements? He looked around to see the rest of his friends sitting up, eyes all equally blown wide.

Fabian turned to Adaine. “Did you wake everyone up?” His voice came out a whisper, hoarser than ever.

Adaine just stared at him.

“Fabian…” Gorgug began, but he trailed off. His eyebrows were creased with worry.

“What? What is it?” Fabian looked around at his friends, his heart still hammering in his chest.

“Fabian, you were screaming.” Kristen said softly. “Adaine didn’t need to wake us up. You already did.”

Fabian disengaged from Adaine’s arms and backed up until his back hit the couch, shaking his head. He hugged his knees to his chest as he tried to process what was happening.

He had woken his friends up in the middle of the night. His friends had heard him screaming in his sleep. He had clung to Adaine like a little child would to his mother.

Shame washed over him in waves. He felt the urge to throw up.

His friends were still staring at him. What did they see? Not any sort of person they could depend upon, that was certain. Just some frightened boy they had to take care of, another responsibility to add to the list.

He felt exposed, his cover blown. He should never have risked letting them see him sleep.

The Ball moved closer and reached out to his leg, but Fabian recoiled from the touch. The Ball retracted his arm, startled by Fabian’s reaction.

Fabian scrambled up onto the couch, then onto his feet. Ten eyes stared him down. He needed to get out of here.

“I’m… going for a run.”

That seemed to shake Adaine from her stasis. She furrowed her brows in confusion. “What— Fabian, wait!”

Fabian was already stumbling into the hall. He stepped into his shoes (callouses be damned), thanked his lucky stars he slept with sweats and a shirt on and fled the house, ignoring the chorus that called after him.

He wandered into the early Saturday morning penumbra, asking himself how he could ever face his party again and blanking on the answer.

Chapter Text

Fig’s bed is empty and Fabian does not know where she is. He stands, looking at the dent in the mattress she should be on, hands shaking.

He needs to call Riz. He tries, but his crystal fights him. The screen only sometimes reacts to his fingers and the brightness wants to lower itself for no discernible reason and he keeps accidentally turning it off. He fumbles with the thing until his eyes sting with frustrated tears.

When he finally gets the call out, it rings and rings and rings. Fabian stares at Fig’s bed as the crystal turns to voicemail, and the panic truly sets in.

Riz always picks up when Fabian calls. Always.

He needs to get to Riz’s office. That is where he will be, where he always is. Fabian trips out of the gyrating piano sphere Fig generously calls a bedroom and runs outside.

The Hangman waits for him there, his noble canine. While it drives him across town he calls Riz again. And again. His crystal leaves him in the cruel hands of the voicemail each time. Fabian listens to the whole message, hoping uselessly that it will somehow give him a clue, a sign that Riz is alright. Not dead in that mirror. Fabian can’t quite remember which mirror, but the memory of it is so vivid in his mind he knows it’s real. It just won’t let him discern whether it is past or future.

Riz lying, contorted on that floor. His nails bloody from scratching at the wooden floor. His head turned all the way around.

Tears are falling down Fabian’s face now and they cloud his vision.

“Pick up, Riz, why won’t you pick up?” he asks his uncaring crystal.

When they arrive at Riz’s office Fabian wastes no time. He dismounts the Hangman before it has fully stopped, sprints through the door and up the countless stairs.

The door that proudly displays Riz’s name is locked. Fabian throws his weight against it until the wood gives, not caring about the screams of pain in his shoulder.

Fabian looks around the room, breathing hard from the exertion. Everything seems normal. The crystal lies off the hook on the desk. That’s why Riz wasn’t picking up. Somehow the realisation does nothing to quell Fabian’s fears.

 The door on the right that leads to the second room is slightly ajar. Fabian’s stomach fills with dread.

Slowly he advances. He reaches a tentative hand and pushes the door open.

The first thing he sees is the shattered mirror. Then, on the floor, in crumpled heaps, Fabian finds his friends. A horrified sob escapes his lips.

Fig’s body is lying half seated up against the far wall. Her left arm has been fully ripped off. When Fabian, after what feels like an eternity, manages to tear his eyes away from her corpse he notices the arm lying in a pool of blood in a corner.

Riz’s body lies in the middle of the room. Maybe he was protecting Fig, standing between her and whatever was in the room with them, putting himself in harm’s way for his party one last time. There is a blood black hole in his chest.

Fabian’s knees buckle and he falls to the floor.

Something did this to them while he was gone. His friends needed him and he wasn’t there, he didn’t even realise anything was wrong until it was too late. He grabs at his hair, buries his face in his arms, sobbing raggedly into the crook of his elbow.

Only one thought repeats in his mind:

My fault, my fault, my fault.

—

Fabian stood at the threshold of the cafeteria, unable to cross it. He looked at the table where his friends sat laughing and talking as usual. They had not noticed him yet.

He hadn’t seen them since Saturday.

After he’d run away, he had wandered aimlessly through town. Everything had still been closed for the morning, but it didn’t matter. He’d had no money on him anyway.

Fabian had whiled away the hours meandering past shops and cafés, looking through storefronts without noticing much. He’d only dared entering his house again after he’d spied through the windows for a good ten minutes, making sure his friends had really all left.

He’d left his crystal turned off for the rest of the weekend.

Sunday night he’d not had the will to drag himself to bed. He’d sat at his desk, staring at his Martial Theory textbook, wondering what he could possibly say to his party to make it all make sense.

Hey gang, sorry for going off the grid. Any chance we could pretend Friday night didn’t happen?

Hi, apologies for running away, my bad. Turns out the shame of revealing myself to be a frightened child was just too much for my fragile ego to bear!

Sorry my mind broke in half.

The last time Fabian remembered looking at the clock before he had fallen asleep it had been five a.m.

He had woken in a panic, sobbing into his textbook, throat sore from screaming, completely sure his friends had been kidnapped and murdered while he was busy avoiding his problems.

The images of Fig’s bleeding arm and The Ball’s glasses broken on the ground still flashing through his mind, Fabian had flown from his room to the kitchen, where the whole weekend his blacked out crystal had lain on the counter to be avoided like the plague.

Standing with it in his hand, he’d stared at the black screen, unable to make himself turn it on.

Fabian had realised he was terrified of the missed messages, the concerned texts from his clueless friends he’d have to respond to somehow. But far more yet, he was terrified of finding that there were none.

After staring at his crystal for what felt like hours, Fabian had suddenly remembered it was a school day. The clock on the black rectangle that Fabian suspected might be an oven had told him it was 11:47. I’ll find them at school. Surely.

Fabian had taken a moment to, with strange detached amazement, turn over in his mind the fact that this was the first time in weeks he had woken up after sunrise. Then he’d carelessly thrown the nearest school supplies into his bag and set off.

Now Fabian stood spying on his friends from the cafeteria doorway.

He had let out a sigh of relief when he’d seen they were completely fine, but with the panic and the fear gone, the shame that had been plaguing him for days returned.

Really, who had he been kidding? Of course they were fine. These were seasoned adventurers with nerves of steel. They did not need Fabian’s help keeping themselves safe for one weekend.

Fabian was unbelievably scared of sitting down next to them. The thought alone made him shudder. He dreaded the looks of pity on everyone’s faces. The gentle touches that he would not be able to bear.

Fabian flexed and relaxed his hands and scanned the cafeteria for an empty table.

Instead he found Ivy staring at him from the back of the massive room, head cocked slightly to the side, watching him with no small amount of intrigue. He looked her in the eye and she met his gaze shamelessly.

Fabian strode over to her table before he could think better of it.

She sat not with the Rat Grinders but with an array of other students, some of which Fabian recognized from Fighter class, the others presumably from the Ranger track.

“Well hello there,” Ivy said, a mocking lilt dripping off her voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your little friends over there?” She gestured with a slight incline of her head towards the table where Fabian knew his party sat, though he didn’t dare look.

“Aren’t you?” Fabian shot back, but his cracking whisper of a voice killed any bite the question might have had. Knowing now where the rawness of his throat came from, it shamed him to even speak.

Ivy raised a perfectly sharpened eyebrow. “I am.”

Fabian narrowed his eyes at her. He briefly debated asking permission to sit, but he wanted nothing less than speak more than he had to. He dropped down on the bench opposite Ivy.

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips as she surveyed him. “No, but seriously though, why are you sitting here? Not that we mind the presence of our school’s very own Maximum Legend, of course.”

The guy next to Ivy snorted loudly and she laughed behind her hand. Her fingers were the strong and calloused ones of an archer. Her laugh was reminiscent of Penelope Everpetal’s.

Fabian looked at her under his sagging eyelashes and thought, she really is a bitch. Then, she could be meaner.

“Arthur is just being an asshole like usual. Don’t mind him.”

“And you’re so nice.” The guy, Arthur, gave Ivy a light-hearted shove. He turned his gaze back to Fabian. “You’re that obscenely rich kid, aren’t you? Ive really knows how to pick ‘em.”

Ivy just rolled her eyes.

Fabian raised his eyebrows and stayed quiet, trying to pass off his exhaustion as boredom. It seemed to work well enough.

Arthur grinned, shaking his head. He pushed a hand through his hair and sat back in one motion. “Just making conversation, man.” He didn’t look away from Fabian but was no longer talking to him, addressing Ivy again. “Didn’t seem like the quiet type to me.”

“He isn’t usually.” Ivy narrowed her eyes at Fabain. She rested her chin on the palm of her hand, tapping her cheek with her fingers.

Fabian recognised the gesture as something that was supposed to intimidate him, make him feel watched and exposed. It might have worked on him once, before his mind decided to snap in half. Now he was too tired to care.

“You’re a lot cooler like this, you know. Guess you can’t put your foot in your mouth if you don’t open it.” Some of the other students at the table snickered at Ivy’s frankly mediocre wordplay. She shot them a glance and they shut up.

They take their cues from you, then, Fabian thought.

Arthur noticed something across the cafeteria and smirked. “Looks like our Legend’s little friends have noticed he’s sitting at the wrong table.”

Fabian staunchly fought the instinct to whip his head around and look. In his mind he saw his friends’ sweet, confused, worried faces. Then he saw Fig against the office wall, Riz crumpled on the ground. He saw blood in pools around the room.

Fabian closed his eyes and dramatically cracked his neck to hide the panic that was surely writing itself plainly across his features. He dug his nails into the palms of his hand. It had gotten to the point his skin was covered in scabbed-over sores, and he scratched at them till they bled.

“Oh man, they do not seem happy you’re ignoring them.”

“I really can’t deal with them right now,” Fabian sighed.

This was technically true. Fabian was too cowardly to face his friends and endure their gentle lies (they would say he wasn’t a burden, which he knew to be false; they would say there was nothing to be ashamed of, which almost made him laugh thinking about it). He let his hatred for himself bleed through, hoping it would translate to exasperation at his friends.

Ivy’s eyes flashed with gleeful interest and Arthur barked out a laugh.

One of the students Fabian vaguely recognized from Fighter class suddenly spoke up. “If you’re not gonna be with your party, why don’t you come out with us tonight?”

Ivy snapped her head around to look at the girl (whose name might have been Jiwoo, or Jisoo, something like that). The girl raised her eyebrows and Messaged something to Ivy and then to Arthur. A sweet (and most likely quite fake) smile formed on Ivy’s lips.

She turned back to Fabian, who had been watching the exchange with limited interest while he willed his heartbeat to slow to a passably normal rate. “Jiyoon is right, you do look like you need to let loose a little. You down?”

Fabian considered Ivy.

Her innocent smile told him she was lying about something, presumably relating to whatever Jiyoon really Messaged her. The spark in her eyes told him it would at least be an entertaining experience regardless.

Then he considered his options.

After school he could go straight home, but what would he do there? Put on another podcast, ignore the constant hum of Kristen’s Hallow spell she for some reason hadn’t dispelled yet? Fabian had spent most of his weekend outside for just that reason, unable to stand being reminded constantly that his whole Nightmare King theory had been nothing but a desperate attempt to deny a truth he’d known from the beginning: no outside force had broken his mind, it had done that all on its own.

His only tolerable option was to go out, and he might as well do that with a group of friends, even if they were not his own.

Maybe if they stayed out all night he wouldn’t have to sleep.

Fabian clicked his tongue. “Why not. Black Pit?” Under the table he methodically cracked his finger joints one by one to stop himself from worrying the wounds on his palms. They needed to have healed over before the end of the lunch period.

A person to his left spoke up. Fabian didn’t recognize them. “They magically verify IDs. There’s no way we’re getting in there.”

Fabian waved his hand dismissively, careful to keep it halfway hidden in his sleeve. “Me and my crew saved that place from a bunch of monsters in Freshman year. We also saved the bouncer’s dog from being murdered by him while he was being mind-controlled by one of said monsters.” Fabian took in the open mouthed stares from around the table and wondered what these guys spent their years at adventuring school doing. He let a cocky smile twist his lips. “I think I can get us in there.”

Arthur laughed uproariously. “I fucking love this guy. Alright, we always hang out at Krom’s after school, you know, that diner at the edge of town?” He waited for Fabian to nod in recognition. “After that, you can get us into the Black Pit and we can have some real fun.”

Fabian spent most of the remainder of lunch sitting quietly while Ivy and her friends talked around him. He learned and promptly forgot all their names. They stressed about some Ranger assignment half of them didn’t do.

At some point one of them asked Fabian to elaborate on the battle at the Black Pit. Fabian gave the briefest recap he could get away with and found he didn’t need to say much to impress them. The Bad Kids’ Freshman antics seemed to wow even the kids Fabian knew for a fact had been on quests before.

They were all hanging on Fabian’s lips, asking a storm of questions about the other battles he’d been a part of (“wait, you’re telling me you crashed that dragon into my mom’s office building?”) and talking over each other while he only occasionally gave a short answer. He mostly tried to ignore their chirping, which was starting to give him a headache.

Their interest seemed to annoy Ivy. Though that amused Fabian thoroughly, he wondered if he should try to veer the conversation away from his party before he was uninvited from the night out.

Then Arthur pointed at Ivy’s face. “Uh oh, someone’s salty we’re talking Bad Kids.” He laughed and the tension dissolved. “Lily isn’t here, dude, no need for the theatrics.”

Ivy blew air out through her nose and smirked. “Honestly though, who knows where that chick is at any given moment. She could be watching us right now, that fucking weirdo.” She turned her attention on Fabian. “Besides, can’t let this one get too big an ego.”

When the bell rang, Fabian left the cafeteria surrounded by new acquaintances, for whom his dislike ranged from mild to severe, and with an acute feeling of resignation. It dulled his senses and clouded his brain, shielding it from all those exhausting emotions.

He felt himself falling back into his past persona, all cocky bravado and obnoxious laughter, and he didn’t have the energy to do anything except let it happen. After weeks of not being able to escape the cacophony of his thoughts, part of him welcomed the quiet offered by caring less.

Too late he realized he had not eaten.

Mrs. Skullcleaver had left her crystal at home, so she asked Fabian to connect his to the sound system.

His crystal was still off and he didn’t think about why that was until he had already turned it on.

He had 32 missed texts and three missed calls.

Fabian grit his teeth, forced the panic to turn into annoyance. I’m the actual worst, so much it’s borderline impressive.

The thought made him feel somewhat better. He imagined Ivy’s sneering face, Arthur’s amused eyes, and resolved to be calm. In a bad mood, but calm.

As Mrs. Skullcleaver watched Fabian dance she had a profoundly sad look in her eyes, which only added to Fabian’s annoyance (maybe that was good; annoyance seemed to stave off those pesky emotions quite nicely). She told him he danced like a machine: technically perfect, emotionless, empty.

He told her that statement was offensive against warforged and other automatons.

She gave him a pitying look, which he met with a blank face.

At the end of class Mazey cornered him. She waited for the last students to filter out of the room.

She spoke in a severe tone. “What’s up with you?”

Fabian furrowed his brows. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been acting weird for weeks, and now you’re ignoring your friends and sitting at Ivy’s table?”

“You keep track of what table I sit at during lunch? Are you stalking me now?” Fabian spoke with a nasty edge in his voice. He realised with some confusion he was mimicking Arthur.

Hurt and surprise flashed across Mazey’s face.

Fabian felt the expected pang of remorse, but it was distant beneath the thick white fog in his head. “What’s it to you, anyway?” He was being an asshole.

Mazey’s features twisted even more, clearly upset with him.

Fabian felt relief flow through him. Anger was much easier to deal with than concern. He released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“You don’t have to be such a dick about it. I thought we were friends.” Her voice was laced with astonishment and indignation.

Fabian stayed quiet. Something in the back of his mind was yelling at him but he ignored it. He let his eyes wander through the room, pretending to be wholly unbothered, just waiting for her to leave him alone.

Mazey huffed. “Guess not. Have it your way then. I just thought I’d ask because Riz said—"

Fabian’s eyes shot back to her face. “The Ball talked to you about me?”

Mazey regarded him for a moment, then scoffed an incredulous laugh. She shook her head, looked down. “Yeah, he just said you’ve been ignoring all of them all weekend and he was wondering if I’d heard from you.”

“I— My crystal was off. Did he say anything else about me?” The fog was receding a little. Fabian didn’t like it, but the question felt suddenly very urgent.

“Look, Fabian.” Mazey pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, how you feel about him, whether he likes you back, but—"

Fabian’s eyebrows shot into his hairline and he reeled back. “What? Wait, no, no, you’ve got it— some wires clearly got crossed here.” He laughed nervously. “The Ball is not interested in any of that sort of stuff, romance or—”

“But you are?” Mazey looked at him with a genuine curiosity.

“What? What do you—”

“You said Riz wasn’t interested, but are you? I’m only asking because… Look, I’m not saying you need to have it all figured out right this second, but it’d be nice to know. If I have a chance.” Mazey seemed to notice she was fiddling with one of her many bracelets. She shook the tension from her arms. “Man, why is this so awkward? I’ve already told you that I have a crush on you. Also, you’re being a real asshole right now.”

Fabian stuttered while his brain struggled to catch up. The tone of the conversation had shifted radically and he couldn’t quite remember how they had gotten to this point. Had she already forgiven him?

The mean voice in his head spoke up, sharp with ridicule. You treat her like shit and still she’s kind to you. This girl is far too good for you. So is The Ball.

 Wait, why did he always think of The Ball when he thought of Mazey?

Fabian was still sputtering when Mazey smiled ruefully and said, “I have to go now, but hey, Fabian? You should call your friends.”

And with that, Mazey left Fabian alone in the dance studio.

He stood there for a moment while his blood sang in his ears. He tried to sort through the myriad of thoughts whirring in his head, but he couldn’t really focus his tired mind and it stayed an ever growing jumble.

He had treated Mazey (a girl he was romantically interested in, no doubt about it; really, it was unnecessary to even think about it or dwell on it at all) unbelievably poorly, and he hadn’t even managed to show the smallest amount of remorse. Shame filled his lungs, twisted his guts. He dug his nails hard into the flesh of his palms. Regret for Mazey morphed into regret for his party. He squeezed his eyes closed to stop the oncoming flow of tears.

He missed the numbness from before.

“There he is!” Arthur’s voice behind him. “Yo, Legend, we’ve been waiting forever.”

Fabian froze for a moment. He cracked his neck, forced his mind to still, which he found was far easier in front of an audience, and languidly turned to the door. Arthur was leaning with his hands on both sides of the frame.

“Mazey wanted to talk.” Fabian kept his sentence as short as possible, cringing inwardly at the sound of his voice. He grabbed his water bottle from the floor and chugged the contents.

“Who? Oh, twister girl? That’s rough, dude. Did she want to discuss the fucking water fountains or something?” Arthur seemed to be genuinely interested, ready to talk shit about a girl he did not even know by name.

 Fabian set his jaw and remembered he detested these people.

Arthur clearly expected Fabian to say something, but he didn’t. He grabbed his bag, carelessly threw his bottle into it and strolled to the door.

Arthur pushed himself off the door frame. “Right, Ivy’s very annoyed. Some poor dumbass accidentally set fire to her coat in Ranger today, so be warned. She can be a real cunt when she’s like this.”

Fabian raised an eyebrow.

Arthur grinned. “More than usual.”

They walked through the hallways, taking up far more space than necessary. Fabian realised how easy it was to step into his role, how fast his mind had quieted down.

He watched Arthur shoulder some Wizard freshman (who had only barely been in his way) into the lockers, and before Fabian could stop himself he was laughing along with Arthur as the kid picked himself off the floor. There was power in it, control. Fabian revelled in the sensation that felt almost alien after the way he had always been one step behind his mind these last few weeks.

The disgust at himself was easy to supress and ignore, neatly tucked in with the rest of his self-hatred.

Outside Ivy stood on the steps in front of the school, tapping her foot impatiently. She was surrounded by three of the students from lunch, including Jiyoon. Maybe those were just the only three who wanted to go out, but somehow Fabian suspected the others simply hadn’t made the cut.

She scowled when she spotted them. “Sol, took you long enough. Was the detour really necessary?” She looked accusingly at Arthur.

He held his hands up defensively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ivy scoffed. “I know for a fact you took the longest route through the school just so you could strut around like you own the place. You look like a clown when you do that, you know, and it’s frankly embarrassing. Right, Fabian? I’m sure you wished you could just die on the spot instead of having to walk next to that loser for a second longer.”

Everyone turned to look at Fabian as if they actually expected him to take a side on this. He rolled his eyes and started walking down the steps towards the parking lot.

“See Ive, our Legend is far too smart to fall into your little traps.” Arthur caught up to Fabian and threw an arm around his neck. “That’s what I like about him, he can’t be pushed around.” There was an ironic reference somewhere in there, but Fabian did not know what to. Luckily he also did not care.

Ivy scoffed again. Indignation came as natural to her as breathing. “Whatever. Let’s go, I’m fucking starving.”

They piled into Ivy’s gigantic beat up car and drove to Krom’s diner.

Daisy Cubby seemed to recognise them when they came in. She did not look happy about it. She caught Fabian’s eyes and raised her eyebrows in surprise, but he looked away as if he hadn’t seen her.

They sat down in a corner booth.

One of the students, whose name was maybe Owen, snapped his fingers with what even Fabian could recognise as revolting entitlement to get Daisy’s attention. She pursed her lips but came over to take their order.

“Order whatever you want, it’s our Maximum Legend’s treat,” Ivy proclaimed loudly. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s tradition for new blood to pay.” Her friends around her giggled behind their hands and she bit her lip, failing to keep it steady.

Not for a second did Fabian believe Ivy couldn’t quell a smile if she so desired. They were not even trying to be subtle.

Fabian just shrugged. Money was no real object.

He rested his chin on his palm and stared out the window as the students rattled off an obscenely long list of orders.

After a while they fell silent. Fabian only realised they were waiting for him when Ivy flicked his arm. He looked up and saw Daisy staring at him expectantly.

His stomach sent a pang of hunger to his brain, as if just remembering it hadn’t seen any food all day. He shot a quick glance at the menu and his mouth filled with saliva just from the thought of eating. Then his eyes passed over the words à la mode.

“I’m not hungry.”

Fabian didn’t know why he’d said it. Or he did know, but he didn’t want to allow it to drift to the surface by acknowledging it.

There was a part of him that relished the hunger. It felt right to deny himself something.

When the food arrived Fabian’s stomach growled angrily. He tried not to be too obvious in his staring, but he had never been a great actor.

“You sure you don’t want a bite?” Arthur looked at him, bemused. “You’re paying after all.”

Fabian considered the bite of French waffle that hung between them, the golden temptation on the end of Arthur’s fork. It looked unbelievably delicious to Fabian’s hungry eyes.

He grit his teeth, forced a smile. “No thank you, I’m still full from lunch.”

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. “You didn’t eat anything during lunch.”

Right. Fabian’s mind was not with him today. Panic rose in his belly before he realised he didn’t care. Suddenly the lie came easily. “I had lunch at home. I skipped Fighter ‘cause I couldn’t be bothered to get up early on a fucking Monday. It’s not like I need the practice anyway.” He cringed lightly at the scratchy sound of his voice. That answer did not need to be that long.

At least Arthur was convinced. He laughed and turned back to his plate.

Fabian’s stomach screamed at him, the hunger almost painful now that he was surrounded by food. He had to supress a smile of sadistic pleasure.

In the back of Fabian’s mind it registered that this was quite certainly one of those things Jawbone had briefed them all about, an unhealthy coping mechanism that revealed something more might be going on under the surface or whatever. The realisation hit him like soft breeze, the urgency lost in the fog in his brain and in the addictive thrill that thrummed through his veins, a sense of control so potent he could taste it in the back of his throat.

It felt good to make someone suffer for everything that he had gone through these last few weeks, and who a better target than the person responsible for it all?

Ivy took off her jacket (not very gracefully, working as she was with limited space) and threw it at Jiyoon. “Your Mending job sucks, please for the love of Sol fix it. There’s seams in there that were not there before.”

Jiyoon rolled her eyes but gently folded the jacket open and started casting. Her irises glowed a soft purple.

“Ive’s made her redo it three times already.” Arthur spoke in low tones behind his palm, pretending to scratch his nose. It’s so obvious, Fabian mused, yet he still bothers. Is the façade the point?

Fabian raised his eyebrows. “Why does she keep doing it?” Whispering obscured his destroyed voice, which was splendid. He should whisper more.

Arthur gave him an amused look. “Because Ive told her to.”

The conversation continued around Fabian. He didn’t much care for what was being said, but he enjoyed the sway, the rhythm, the ups and downs of a group hanging out after school. It made him feel almost normal. Except here the laughter was meaner and the tones of voice were sharper, the comments not playful jibes as much as sniper shots.

At some point Johnny Spells came up (somehow; Fabian had been dozing off a little and had missed the context entirely) and Fabian mentioned off hand he and his party had killed that guy twice now. This understandably resulted in the table demanding he expanded on that.

His explanation quickly morphed into stories of other exploits, and then everyone was sharing their questing experiences.

Many scathing comments were made, unprovoked, about the Bad Kids. It was mostly Ivy and Arthur, but the others seemingly had no problem either calling Fabian’s friends stupid and annoying.

First Fabian wrote it off as just another way they had fun being nasty towards him, but soon it became apparent he was supposed to agree, that it was for his benefit as much as it was for theirs. There was an undertone of comradery in their voices when they called Adaine pretentious or Fig obnoxious.

Fabian noticed this group’s version of talking about their adventures consistent primarily of complaining about their parties, whom they seemed to dislike terribly. Enough to spend all their time with this group, whom they also seemed to dislike quite a bit.

Fabian realised he actually felt sorry for them.

When it came time to leave, Fabian paid the bill without really looking at it. He put down a gold coin as tip. Then he thought back to how loud and disruptive they’d been, how rude the others had treated Daisy, how Fabian had ignored her. He added a couple more coins.

Daisy thanked him with a warm smile. Fabian couldn’t quite meet her eye.

They stuffed themselves back into Ivy’s car and Arthur drove them to the Black Pit. Ivy turned around in her seat to ask Fabian how he intended to get them in.

“Uhm, I don’t know. I was just planning on walking up to the bouncer and asking? If necessary I could give him another 100 hundred gold pieces, I guess, but I think that won’t be needed.”

They gaped at him. Jiyoon messaged something to Arthur and he snorted.

Fabian let his forehead rest against the window and held his eyes closed for the remainder of the ride.

Getting past the bouncer turned out to be even easier than expected. When he saw Fabian he grinned big and pulled him into a spine-crushing hug. He told Fabian about his new dog (his old one had passed away peacefully of old age; the bouncer got a little teary eyes talking about it) and even pulled up his phone to show some of his multitude of pictures, until Ivy cleared her throat and Fabian quickly asked if him and his friends could perhaps enter. The bouncer patted him on the back once more and let them pass.

Inside it was as oppressive and disorienting as Fabian remembered. Smoke from the whirring machines stung his eyes (Fabian could not locate the machines even though they were very loud, audible even over the music; maybe they were built into the walls).

Ivy grabbed his arm and they surged through the crowd to the bar.

“New blood gets the first round!” Ivy declared.

Fabian scoffed. “And second and third, I’m assuming?”

Her eyes flashed and she smiled wide. “You know it, baby. Let’s get this fucking party started!” She had to shout over the horrible techno music that reminded Fabian a bit too viscerally of their battle here.

Kristen impaled on a vampire’s sword. Adaine alone with a raging werewolf. Fabian pushed his nails into his skin. Focus.

A shot of something clear got thrust into his hand and he downed it without thinking. The pain seared the images from his mind.

“Milkless Bad Baby Milk,” he muttered, only choking on the vodka a little.

A second shot appeared in front of him. He looked up and saw Arthur taking what was presumably his own second shot. Fabian raised his eyebrows at him.

“Bottoms up, Legend!”

Fabian shrugged and threw the shot back. He had perhaps too much confidence for a guy who’d only done shots once before. Reflexive tears stung his eyes, but the drunken buzz (or placebo effect) that was already lightening his limbs twisted his lips into a smile.

He stood with Arthur at the bar while Ivy and the rest of her friends took off to go dance. Fabian found he had trouble raising his voice over the music, so it was mostly Arthur who spoke, explaining the group’s interpersonal drama with far too much detail (Fabian didn’t mind; he was more than glad to quietly let the world wash over him).

He couldn’t imagine his friends spilling his personal life to some stranger like this, especially not in that mocking tone Arthur seemed happily married to.

Thinking of his party made Fabian’s shoulders tense up. He ordered a beer.

Apparently Jiyoon, Maybe Owen and the other girl whose name completely escaped Fabian’s uncaring mind were in the middle of some sort of dramatic love triangle. Fabian thought he saw some traces of it while they danced, a stolen look here, an interesting hand placement there.

He laughed at a particularly scathing comment from Arthur. Social failures were so much more fun from the outside looking in.

Ivy came up to them (holding a new, icy blue drink) and pulled Arthur with her by the hand. He excused himself, laughing as he mimed being dramatically torn away from Fabian.

Fabian huffed a perfunctory laugh. He took a sip of his warming beer and sneered at it. It did not taste very good. He had ordered the first thing to come to his mind, fuelled only by a need to dull his thoughts’ violence with alcohol, and he found out now he did not like beer. He took another sip.

The space felt significantly emptier without Arthur’s constant chattering, too quiet even while being far too loud.

Fabian watched his horrible acquaintances dance and felt an acute surge of loneliness. The second shot had made it through to his bloodstream and instead of making him feel lighter, it dragged him down into the depths of his head.

He thought of the people he had hurt and the relationships he’d ruined. He’d slammed Gorgug to the ground like a crazed maniac, ignored The Ball without explanation. He couldn’t face his party because he was a coward, couldn’t apologise to Mazey like a decent person because he was too proud.

The dams he’d been maintaining so carefully broke.

Is this behaviour worthy of the Maximum Legend? You’re damn near crying after two shots. It’s actually pathetic.

There was no one to go home to, no mother whose lap he could crawl into. It disgusted him how desperate he was for his mother’s gentle hand, stroking his hair, wiping away the tears.

You’re a crying baby, a scared little child whining for his mommy.

Fabian sank further and further into his pooled misery. He drank big gulps from his beer until he realised the alcohol was just making him feel worse. He left the glass half full on the counter, blinked hard to keep the tears away.

The girl whose name Fabian did not remember materialised in front of him and grabbed his arm to drag him towards the dancefloor.

Fabian let it happen. He vaguely swayed to the rhythm of the awful late-stage disco song that choked the room. He supposed it was better than the even more awful EDM from before. The movements made his head spin slightly and he felt a nausea building behind his lungs.

Fabian regarded his dance partner. He noted the girl’s exaggerated hip thrusts, the sensual hand she dragged briefly over his cheek, the not-so-subtle looks to the side, presumably to check whether Jiyoon was jealous yet.

It was so normal, so tame. Fabian almost laughed at the contrast between the movie ready teen drama playing out in front of his eyes and the dark water slowly filling his brain. It was deeply funny, really. Unfortunately he wasn’t in any mood to enjoy it.

It didn’t take long for the girl to give up on dancing with Fabian. She must have decided it wasn’t working like she’d hoped (Jiyoon had not so much as batted an eyelash; that didn’t have to mean she didn’t care, maybe she had simply recognised Fabian was in no way competition).

Fabian stood lost in the crowd for a moment before Ivy threw an arm around his shoulder and led him back to the bar, Arthur in tow.

“Who’s ready for another round of shots?” Her voice stabbed his ear.

“Don’t think so.” The words were slurred and heavy on Fabian’s tongue. He disentangled himself from her arm (not without difficulty; his drunken mind lagged half a second behind each movement and he was still dizzy from being swept across the room so suddenly).

Ivy laughed as she ordered the shots anyway.

The others appeared out of the mass of people. Fabian had the absurd thought the smell of vodka had summoned them, before reality kicked back in and he noticed the soft green glow of Arthur’s Message fading from his eyes.

Ivy tried to hand Fabian a shot but he declined and still refused after she called him a pussy for it. She rolled her eyes and downed it after her own. She shared a look with Arthur, neither even bothering to hide the fact they were making fun of Fabian.

He sat down on a barstool and lay his head on his arms. He wanted to go home, but home was where the Hallow was, and the conspiracy board, left intact even though the base assumption had been false, awkwardly placed in a closet (after Fabian’s crazed flight in the small Saturday hours his party had kindly tried to clean up; Fabian had felt very guilty over that fact every time he’d stumbled upon some item they’d put back incorrectly).

Around him the partying continued. He didn’t quite keep track of everything. More drinks were ordered, some of which ended up in front of him, ignored and sweating water onto their coasters.

It was like he was floating under water, swaying in violent waves, leaking salt from his eyes onto his sleeve. He didn’t know what to do, how to fix anything he’d broken. He tried to picture a tomorrow but his blurry mind kept him shackled in the eternal now.

He wished The Ball were there. It was selfish, he knew, but he wished it still. The Ball would understand, he would know the right thing to say, would see a path back to Fabian’s old self.

Talking to The Ball was his only real option, Fabian realised. It was shitty, it would surely make him the definition of a bad friend, but Fabian would make it up to him, and The Ball would forgive him.

He had made the decision, there was no other choice he could see, but the thought of talking to The Ball in his current frightened him. The alcohol still sloshed through his veins. He knew he was too drunk to control his idiot mouth but unfortunately not drunk enough to forget why it mattered.

This is going to suck, but let’s be real. You deserve it after all you’ve put them through.

Fabian sat up, too fast with determination. The others had drifted off into the crowd. He had to find them to tell them he was leaving.

He got off the barstool, swaying lightly on his feet, and made to leave when the bartender called out to him.

“Hey kid, you leaving?”

“I’m just gonna find my… friends.” His words were still a little slurred, though he noticed thankfully he had a little more control. “They’ll pro’bly want another round before I go.”

The bartender furrowed her brows, looked at him with a bit of emerging sympathy. “Your friends left already. They told me you’d get the tab on your way out.”

So they’d gotten all the money out of him they wanted. Or alternatively, they had decided his deep pockets were not worth the walking mood killer anymore. He should laugh, really, but instead he felt a vaguely painful spot growing in the middle of his chest. It was stupid of him to not have seen this coming, and more so to be actually upset about it. As if he cared what those assholes thought of him, as if it mattered that he was so unbearable to be around that he even scared away the people using him for his money.

Fabian squeezed his eyes shut and cursed under his breath, which helped a little with keeping his tears from rearing their heads once again. He cried very easily today.

Shake it off. You just have to make it to The Ball’s house, then he can deal with you.

Fabian paid the bill (which was wildly high; apparently they’d started ordering cocktails sometime after he’d checked out) and walked straight out of the building.

The bouncer slapped him on the back when he noticed him, which made Fabian stumble on his unsteady legs. He waved the bouncer goodbye and set off for Strongtower Luxury Apartments.

He’d made it two blocks before his drunken mind remembered it was the middle of the night and he couldn’t just show up to The Ball’s house unannounced.

Fabian stood for a moment, debating what to do with himself. Going home was out of the question, his stomach turned at the thought. He settled on calling The Ball, who would definitely be awake anyway.

The clock on his crystal read 02:14, which was far later than Fabian had thought. Had he fallen asleep on that bar?

The lack of message from Ivy did kind of amuse him. He could appreciate commitment to being an asshole. Fabian softly chuckled to himself as the phone rang.

And rang.

The voicemail registered like a stab in the gut, which was stupid and overly dramatic even for him. The alcohol had lowered his defences. He forced himself to calm down (don’t think of Fig’s empty bed, of The Ball bloody and beaten in that mirror) and dialled again. The Ball was just busy with the case, or maybe even, through some miraculous circumstance, asleep.

The ringing of the crystal was too familiar. Fabian’s breath quickened, his nails he dug deep into his palms. You’re awake, you’re awake. He felt the Hangman under him, smelled the blood in the office. Still The Ball did not answer.

What if something had happened? He cut the lady from the voicemail off as soon as she started speaking, and as he did Fabian noticed a missed call.

His stomach dropped. With trembling fingers he opened his history.

19:46 — missed call: The Ball

Something had happened. A choked sob left Fabian’s mouth.

The Ball had called him for help and Fabian had been too busy financing Ivy and her merry band of assholes, too busy with his own selfish self-destruction.

Fabian stumbled onto the grass next to the sidewalk, fell to his knees.

Something had happened and he hadn’t been there. Something had happened and Riz was gone.

Fabian sobbed into his hands, every breath painful as he fought for air. He called Riz again.

The voicemail sounded and he threw up. It was clear and acidic, burning his throat, no food for his stomach to lose. His eyes and nose stung from the pain.

Riz was gone. He was murdered or taken or maybe bleeding out somewhere out of Fabian’s reach.

He curled in on himself, choking on spit and vomit and tears, while the voice in his head mercilessly repeated the one phrase over and over again.

My fault, my fault, my fault.

Chapter Text

Fabian was sitting with his knees hugged tightly to his chest, leaning against a tree. He did not remember getting into this position. A piece of bark stabbed painfully into his back.

His breathing was rapid and shallow. His eyes were clouded over with saltwater that fell in litres down his face. His knuckles were white from the force with which he held his fingers clasped. It was not enough to keep his hands from trembling.

Fabian felt like he was going to die. No bother, wouldn’t be too great a loss.

He was on his side now. Had he fallen over? He could feel the dead leaves he’d pulverised under his cheek irritating his mouth and nose.

He thought he heard something, but it was hard to tell over his gasping heartbeat and thunderous breath.

Through the dragging sludge a soft touch to his shoulder registered.

No, maybe it wasn’t soft. Maybe it was urgent.

Fabian laboured to blink his tears away and looked up. Staring at him was a wide-eyed Riz Gukgak.

Was he hallucinating?

Fabian reached up a shaking hand to touch the image. Fingers met solid skin.

“Fabian, are you okay?” Riz’s voice was high and a little loud.

Fabian couldn’t speak, for his lungs still fought for air they didn’t need.

“Fabian, hey, you have to breathe calmly, okay?” Riz swore repeatedly under his breath. He looked around, then back at Fabian. He swore again, louder this time. “Just breathe with me.”

Fabian had to take a moment to parse what was happening. Riz was alive, and he was here, but here felt far away and too ephemeral to hold on to. Fabian sensed that he was choking, though that didn’t track with the large amount of air he was taking in with every painful breath.

Riz gently lifted Fabian’s chin to pull his attention back to Riz’s face, which moved up and down with long, exaggerated inhales and exhales.

The touch was grounding, land in a swaying ocean. Fabian focussed on the hand on his chin and the hand on his arm as he followed Riz’s breathing.

His body fought him, longing to move with its senseless urgency, loathing the slow intake of oxygen, the hold, the dragging release.

For some time it was as if the world had stopped, as is only they two existed, breathing in unison.

The flow of tears receded. Reality made its way to the foreground, releasing Fabian from his prison cell head. He blinked and took in the streetlamps, the pavement, the bushes. He fingered the grass beneath his palms.

Riz must have decided Fabian had recovered enough, because he pulled his hand from Fabian’s chin and sat back. The hand on Fabian’s arm didn’t move.

Fabian stared up at Riz. “You’re—” He cut himself off before he could say alive. “You’re here.”

“Are you okay?” Riz asked again.

Fabian wiped his face with the back of his hand, blanking on possible answers. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the tree behind him.

“Are you hurt?” Riz started patting Fabian down. Fabian could tell he was trying to be gentle, but Riz never had been good at that. Temperance was not one of his virtues. “Do you think you can walk?”

Fabian tried to shrug the worried hands off, but exhaustion weighed on him and he wasn’t certain the movements were distinguishable from his general sitting up. “No, I’m not hurt and yes, I can walk. I think.” Speaking ached a little, grated on his throat.

Riz helped him to his feet (by offering a stabilising hand; he was in no world strong enough to lift Fabian or tall enough to pull him up). He was looking at Fabian with a worried, almost manic look in his eyes and he opened his mouth to say something.

Fabian shut the question down before Riz could ask it. “Can I tell you when we get home? I’m okay for now, Riz, I promise.”

Riz looked as if to argue, but stopped in his tracks. “Riz? Since when do you…” He trailed off, looking at Fabian for a moment before visibly shaking himself out of his thoughts. “Yes, of course. You need to take a shower, you smell awful.”

“Hey!” Fabian gave Riz a soft shove. It wasn’t that he was wrong, but it felt good to banter a little, make Riz’s face that was so taut with concern relax.

Riz crouched to pick up Fabian’s crystal and wiped it clean on the hoodie Fabian only now realised Riz was wearing.

“Since when do you wear sweatshirts?” Fabian asked.

“Mom practically forced it on me when I was running out to find you.” Riz looked remorsefully at the stain the crystal had left. “I’m gonna need to wash it before giving it back.”

Fabian’s face scrunched up before he smoothed it out again. He fiddled with the edge of his sleeve. “You ran out to find me?”

Riz smiled up at him. “Yeah. I saw that you’d called me a bunch of times but then when I called you back you didn’t pick up. I panicked a little. Stupid, I know.” He chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s not stupid.” Fabian surprised himself as he said it. He hadn’t really meant to.

“I guess. I kept telling myself, He’s out with Ivy, it’s probably just some prank call, but I never really managed to believe it. Luckily, I suppose, or else I wouldn’t have found you.”

Fabian furrowed his brows. “How did you know I was out with Ivy?”

“He told me.” Riz pointed over his shoulder. Behind him, parked at the side of the road, stood The Hangman.

Hello master, it spoke softly in Fabian’s head. Its tone was more deferential than usual. I hope you can forgive my informing the goblin of your exploits. It seemed… prudent to tell someone with opposable thumbs who might contact you remotely.

Fabian smiled at his motorcycle. “Of course, Hangman. Thank you.” He turned back to Riz. “Please explain.”

Riz laughed and took Fabian’s hand to lead him to The Hangman. Riz propped himself up on the front so he could face Fabian as they drove. Fabian relaxed in his seat and, not for the first time and most likely not for the last, felt grateful he owned a self-driving motorcycle. As they made their way to Seacaster Manor, Riz and The Hangman explained what had happened.

Apparently The Hangman had seen Fabian get into Ivy’s car after school and, having been given no instructions, had followed them to Krom’s. There he’d dosed off and missed their departure (The Hangman chastised himself for this endlessly, which only served to make Fabian feel worse about forgetting about him entirely). The Hangman insisted, really made sure Fabian knew, that it had spent a good amount of time driving around town searching for him before finally caving and going to Riz.

“I wasn’t really worried. I mean, I was, but that’s not why I called you. I did that mostly for the bike’s sake.”

The goblin insists on disrespecting me, The Hangman growled. Do you see why I do not like him, Sire?

Fabian closed his eyes. “So you weren’t in trouble at all.”

“Why would I be in trouble?” Riz sounded genuinely curious.

Fabian supressed a laugh. In retrospect, “the voicemail lady reminded me of a dream I had in which you died” was not the most sane explanation. He waved the question off and told Riz to continue.

“I didn’t really want to go looking for you, so The Hangman and I agreed that he’d wait for you at your house and I’d let him know if I heard anything by calling the burner phone I gave him.”

“You didn’t want to go looking for me?” The question was out of Fabian’s mouth before he could stop it. He hated how pathetic he sounded.

Riz’s face turned a slightly darker shade of green. “Oh uhm, yeah… I guess— I’ve never actually worried about this before, so it’s, like, super weird.” He laughed nervously.

Fabian wasn’t used to Riz stuttering like this. It was off-putting.

“I thought that Ivy would make fun of me for worrying about you when you’re literally fine, just out with them, and I was scared that… not that you’d join in, I know you would never do that.”

Fabian bit the inside of his cheek, flashes of the Wizard student he’d laughed at like it was nothing jumping to the forefront of his mind. Would he have done that to Riz? Surely not.

Then again, he’d bullied him before, and slipping back into that old version of himself had been the easiest thing in the world. You’re as weak as they come, aren’t you?

“But I was scared you wouldn’t do anything. That you’d just watch on, like…" Riz trailed off.

“Like what?” Fabian asked softly.

Riz sighed. “Like you did with Mazey.”

The words hit him like a punch in the stomach. Fabian physically winced, which made Riz put on his remorseful face, which in turn made Fabian feel even worse. He sat up and willed his shoulders to relax, trying to make his face look as open as possible.

Riz rushed to move on, two uncertain hands twitching in mid-air between them. “So anyway, I sent The Hangman to yours with the burner phone and got back to researching… to working on the case.”

Riz was talking very fast and Fabian’s brain was not yet up to the task. He briefly touched a placating hand to Riz’s leg.

Riz got the message and breathed deeply, relaxed his shoulders a smidge. “Then, and I know this will be hard to believe, I actually fell asleep.”

Fabian’s eyebrows shot up while Riz grinned wide. “Never thought I’d see the day Riz Gukgak fell asleep before three am. Was there some sort of highly localised coffee shortage in your building?”

“That’s the crazy part. I’d had at least two cups.” Riz sighed again. “The point is, I missed your calls and then you didn’t pick up, so I called the Hangman, tracked your crystal and here we are.”

Fabian regarded Riz as he relaxed, having finished his story, and let the smile that was tugging on the corners of his mouth warm his face. He didn’t even think twice about the fact Riz could, apparently with so much ease as to not be worthy of further explanation, track and locate their crystals. Fabian trusted Riz with his life.

They fell into their usual rhythm and spent the rest of the drive talking quietly, the conversation occasionally interrupted by fits of sleepy giggles.

(“Did your mom make your coffee for you?”

“Yeah, I think so. Why?”

 “She one hundred percent gave you decaf.”)

When they reached Seacaster Manor, Fabian placed a hand on The Hangman’s flank and sent him a soft Thank you in his mind. The Hangman purred its engine in response and drove into its garage.

Riz took Fabian’s hand and led him through the door (he had the lock picked before Fabian could even think to find his keys), up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Now that he was in his house, Fabian felt his aching body more with every step. He was dirty and exhausted to the bone. And, of course, he was ravenous as never before.

“Do you need help showering?” Riz stood with his hands on his hips in the doorway.

Fabian choked on air and had to sit through a coughing fit before he could answer with an eloquent “Hm— What?” He fought the urge to cover his heating ears, reminding himself repeatedly his dark skin obfuscated the quickly gathering blood.

Riz raised his eyebrows, seemingly unfazed by the in Fabian’s opinion wildly embarrassing proposal. “Do you feel steady enough to shower on your own? I don’t mind helping out.” He had the audacity to look taken aback by Fabian’s reaction. “Why are you being weird? I see you naked all the time in the locker rooms.”

“This is not even remotely similar,” Fabian managed to squeak out.

“Why not?”

All the answers to that question that seemed so obvious to Fabian died on his tongue. This was certainly weird for a myriad of reasons, but somehow he couldn’t remember a single one. Why was it so difficult to explain that Riz touching Fabian’s naked body would cross a line (Fabian didn’t know what line exactly; he briefly considered the line between friendship and something else, before promptly locking that thought away in the recesses of his mind so that it would stop making him feel so strange).

After a few long, devastating moments of silence Riz apparently accepted he wasn’t going to get an answer. He shrugged. “If you think you can manage, I’ll leave you to it. I’m gonna go investigate the kitchen. There’s gotta be food somewhere in this house.”

With that he left Fabian alone in the bathroom.

Fabian spent his shower valiantly not thinking about what it would’ve been like if he had let Riz help. Nothing would have happened, he reminded himself, tilting his head up to let the water rush down his face (the implications of that phrasing were not ones Fabian felt like dealing with right now, so he quickly moved on from the thought).

He emerged from the bathroom clean and wet-haired, tired enough to allow it to airdry. Shower off the list he only had the fatigue and hunger to deal with.

Fabian made his way to the kitchen on dragging feet, where Riz had laid out a seemingly random array of food items. He hadn’t turned on the main light, opting instead for a glass flower-shaped lamp that emitted a soft pink glow. Fabian could swear he had never seen the thing in his life.

Riz stood on the counter rummaging through a high shelf, inspecting the labels of the cans and packages that apparently lived there. The kitchen island was full of options but Fabian’s eyes zeroed in on the full plate of kippers. He sat himself down on a barstool and reached over to grab himself a fistful.

Just before he could take some his arm spasmed backwards and pressed rigid against his side.

Fabian blinked in surprise. When he wanted to reach over again, his arm didn’t move. It refused to take the kippers, staying stubbornly below the counter. Fabian moved the fingers, clenched and unclenched the fist. He had full mobility yet couldn’t make himself pick up the food. Fabian stared wide-eyed at the plate, paralysed by the terrifying knowledge he didn’t have total control over his body.

Hungry nausea spread through his chest.

“You better eat those kippers, ‘cause I spent, like, 20 minutes looking for them. You’d think they’d be easier to find, since they’re your favourite snack and Cathilda must’ve needed them all the time.” Riz had turned around and jumped from the wall counter to the island.

The moment Riz started speaking it was like an enchantment lifted. Fabian’s entire body relaxed. He grinned at Riz. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” He moved his arm across the counter without trouble, as if nothing had even been amiss moments before, and stuffed an entire handful of kippers into his mouth.

Riz sat down legs crossed on the marble and watched Fabian eat (ferociously and without the slightest decorum) for a while, only occasionally taking a small bite of something himself (he insisted Fabian drink what looked like half a litre of water alongside the food; Admittedly Fabian had not realised how desperately thirsty he was until he drank half the cup in one go).

Fabian’s hunger subsided and he slowed down, now eating kippers only for the enjoyment, and relaxed into the comfortable silence.

Riz sat up the slightest bit, giving Fabian a fraction of a second to brace himself for the blow. “So, what happened?”

Fabian only flinched a little, which he thought was really a great accomplishment.

Riz waited patiently as Fabian took a moment to collect himself, to take a deep breath before he started talking.

Fabian told Riz about that morning, being too ashamed to face the party, about talking to Ivy and getting invited out. He told him about the way he had treated Mazey.

Riz’s face scrunched up in awkward sympathy for her. Fabian looked down.

He told Riz about bullying the Wizard student with Arthur. “I don’t even know what came over me, really. But it was like… Every time I did something shitty it got easier to distance myself from the rest of my life. It made me feel like I was a different person, someone who laughs when their friends do asshole shit because they don’t care about anything.”

He told Riz about going to Krom’s, about ignoring Daisy Cubby. He was about to say something about the eating, or rather the lack thereof, but something stopped him. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to dislodge whatever was blocking the words like it was some physical thing. You’re a coward. Though, hey, who can blame you? It’s pretty fucking embarrassing.

Fabian felt Riz take his hand and squeeze it. He looked up and saw the soft smile on Riz’s face.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

There was something in the way he said it, that gentleness, the earnest without pressure. Fabian started to cry.

Riz’s eyes grew a little wilder and he opened his mouth to say something, but Fabian cut him off before he could speak. “I didn’t eat.” Fabian laughed a little through slow falling tears. He felt ridiculous saying it out loud. “I don’t know why not, I was really hungry.”

“Oh.” Riz lowered his head a little to catch the eyes Fabian held trained on the counter. “Are you sure you don’t know why?” he asked softly.

Fabian bit the inside of his cheek. The lump in his throat grew larger and he had to take a moment before he could speak again. “I guess I… It felt good to—” He grunted, annoyed at how difficult it was to say it.

Riz rubbed Fabian’s hand. “No rush.”

“I felt like I didn’t deserve to eat. Or no, not that I didn’t deserve to eat. I felt like I deserved to not eat.” Fabian didn’t know exactly why the distinction mattered, but it did. “And I liked how it felt. To be mean, even if it was to myself. I felt weirdly powerful.”

“Do you not feel powerful usually?”

Fabian barked out a laugh, startlingly loud in the quiet kitchen. He wiped at his eyes. “Are you kidding? No. No, I do not. Maybe I did before, but now with all the nightmares? I’m constantly exhausted and my mind is slow so I can’t react and I’m scared shitless of absolutely everything.”

Riz sat back and looked at Fabian for a moment. Fabian couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. Then Riz moved off of the counter and onto the barstool next to Fabian, sitting close enough so that their knees knocked together. “What kind of things? Are you scared of, I mean.” When Fabian hesitated, he added, “My mom said it’s good to talk about your fears out loud.”

Fabian raised his eyebrows and smiled through his tears. “Did she actually say that or are you just trying to give something you yourself think more weight?” Fabian could tell the answer from the look on Riz’s face, the one of someone caught red handed without shame. “Do you do that a lot?”

Riz shoved Fabian’s shoulder (or, more accurately, tried to; he did not have the strength to actually move it against Fabian’s will). “Only like 50 percent of the time, I swear.” His face turned serious again. He sighed deeply, preparing himself for something. “I’m scared you guys are all going to find romantic partners and forget about me.”

The deep sadness and, worse, tinge of resignation with which Riz said it startled Fabian. “Wait, Riz, you don’t think— You know we would never—”

“Nope, we are not going to dwell on it. Maybe later, or never, but I cannot think about that right now. Your turn.”

Fabian shook his head. “Riz, you can’t just drop that— So I have to dive deep into my fears but you can just ignore them?”

“Correct. You’re already crying so you might as well get it all out now. Your turn.”

The glint in Riz’s eyes told Fabian he wasn’t going to change his mind. “You’re an evil bastard, you know that?”

“Yep. Your turn.” The devilish smile that lined Riz’s lips was audible. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Fine.” Fabian took a breath. “I’m scared… I’m scared that if we tell people about the case they’ll get murdered like Mrs. Badgood.”

Riz’s grin diminished to a weak smile. He looked down.

Suddenly it was easy, like water flowing from a rusted faucet finally forced open. “I’m scared because we don’t know who our enemies are. I’m scared every time I turn my back on you guys that you’ll get hurt. I’m scared every adult that associates with us will end up dead and that it will be our fault.”

“The adults can handle themselves,” Riz said. There was a touch of uncertainty, like maybe he was convincing himself too.

“Yolanda couldn’t. Mr. Gibbons couldn’t. Papa and coach Daybreak and Goldenhoard couldn’t.” Talking became increasingly difficult through the tears.

Riz scrunched up his face. “Daybreak and Goldenhoard were bad, what—”

“We still killed them!” Fabian realised his voice was nearly at a yell as Riz recoiled. He was breathing hard, voice breaking as he spoke again, softer this time. “They are dead because of us. People die all around us. Doesn’t that terrify you?”

Riz bit his lower lip. His eyes were shiny with forming tears. “My mom’s been getting more involved with the case. I’m really scared something’s gonna happen to her, Fabian. I’m really scared.”

Fabian forced the fingers that had been digging their nails into his palms to relax and reached over to enclose Riz in a hug. Riz let himself be pulled onto Fabian’s lap and wrapped his arms around Fabian’s middle, burying his face in the fabric of his shirt.

Fabian squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his nose into Riz’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

They sat like that for a moment, quietly sniffling in the dimly lit kitchen.

Riz said something, soundwaves reverberating in Fabian’s chest, but it was lost in the folds of his shirt.

Fabian pulled back, gently untangling their limbs. He smiled weakly. “What was that?” His voice was wet with tears.

“I said: is this what your dreams are about?” Riz wiped at his cheeks with both hands and sat up straight. Fabian was suddenly acutely aware of how close their faces were.

“Uhm, yeah, mostly. They’re about a lot of things. Last night I dreamt you and Fig got murdered.” Fabian was aware he sounded far too casual when he said it. His heart still sped up as he recalled the crystal, the office, the bodies, but quite frankly as subject matter it was pretty much standard fare now. He’d watched his friends be killed a thousand times, a thousand different ways. “I couldn’t reach your crystal in the dream either. That’s why I freaked out when you didn’t pick up.”

Riz hummed.

Fabian rubbed his eyes in agitation. “These stupid dreams are so annoying. You know I’ve had a sore throat for weeks now?”

Riz stayed quiet before responding, voice smaller than before. “It was scary waking up to you screaming.”

Fabian exhaled sharply, an almost laugh. “I didn’t even know I did that.”

Riz’s face was thoughtful for a second, then broke into searing pity. “You didn’t know because there was never anyone around to hear it.” His delivery was that of a grand revelation, a great tragedy.

Fabian couldn’t bear to linger on it. “I just don’t understand why I can’t take the adventuring anymore. It’s like my brain suddenly realised I’ve secretly been a coward all this time.”

“You’re not a coward.” Riz’s response was fast and stern. His voice held so much authority it stunned Fabian into believing him. Then Riz expression changed. He got a certain look in his eye Fabian recognised almost immediately. Riz was about to say something he had been waiting to bring up. Apparently the time was now. “So, ever since you told us you were having these nightmare Adaine and I have been doing some casual research—”

“Normal people casual or you two casual?”

“There may or may not be a binder involved, but that is not important right now. What’s important is that we believe you should go to Jawbone about this.” Riz reached over the counter to grab his crystal and started typing furiously. “Incessant nightmares like this could be a symptom of some pretty serious mental health issues, like PTSD or depression. Look.” He turned his crystal to show the screen. “And this eating thing, that seems pretty bad too. You should probably mention it when you talk to him.”

Fabian blinked in the bright LED light that surged from the crystal into his lowly lit kitchen. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at. It was just a wall of text in a ridiculously small font. Weren’t elf eyes generally sharper than a goblin’s? Or was it the other way around? “Riz, what are you talking about? You think I’m depressed?”

“Well, from what we’ve found I think PTSD is more likely, but I’m not in any way qualified to say anything on that. That’s why I think you should go to Jawbone, and then he could set you up with a therapist.”

The hard pivot was too bewildering to follow and Fabian was suddenly very, very tired. He didn’t understand how Riz could shake off the emotional intensity of the conversation so effortlessly.

He was still talking.

“Riz, Riz—” Fabian took Riz’s arms, which he was gesticulating excitedly with, and gently forced them down. “You have to slow down.”

“Hm? Oh, this is a super bad time for this, isn’t it?” Riz visibly relaxed his shoulders, put effort into calming back down.

“My brain feels like it’s going to start leaking from my ears if I don’t sleep soon.”

Riz turned off his crystal and laid it back down in the counter. “Sorry. I’ve just been meaning to talk to you about this for a while now.”

“We could talk about it tomorrow if you think it’s important.” Fabian rubbed his forehead. “To be honest, I’ve kind of already forgotten everything you just said. Something about Jawbone?”

Riz snorted. “Yeah, you need to sleep, bad. I don’t really know how to tell whether I’m tired or not, but I suspect I must be. Why don’t we just go to bed.”

Fabian looked at the clock, suddenly remembering they had school tomorrow. It was twenty past four. “Does your mom know you’re sleeping here?”

“I texted her. I think she assumed, though.”

Fabian helped Riz put the perishables away (while Fabian had already known what perishables were in an abstract sense, it took him trying milk from a bottle he’d left out on the counter for three weeks for it to really sink in) and they made their way upstairs.

Riz chose one of the dozens of spare toothbrushes that were stashed under the bathroom sink and they brushed their teeth in the sleepy almost silence.

All the crying had drained Fabian, but for the first time in a while not in a bad way. He felt lighter, washed clean. He felt like he could sleep for two days straight.

Riz followed him into his bedroom.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in a guest room?” Fabian asked.

Riz looked up, amused. “Yes, I’m sure. Do you want me to sleep in a guest room?”

“No, no. It’s just… I’ll scream your ears off.”

Riz smiled. “I don’t care.”

Even though Fabian’s bed was large enough to house a small family, Riz wasted no time crawling into Fabian’s arms and balling up against his chest. Had Fabian been any more awake he might’ve had some sort of reaction to it, but now all he did was relax into Riz’s body warmth.

“Hey Fabian?” Riz voice came muffled from below Fabian’s chin.

Fabian hummed.

“You never told me what happened after Krom’s.”

“Oh, we went to the Black Pit. It was boring as shit, man. These guys are so unbelievably boring. And they fucking hate each other.” Fabian laughed softly. “The only people they hate more than their own friends are their adventuring parties.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It was. I actually felt really bad for them for a second. But then they left me behind in the bar without telling me, so maybe just fuck ‘em.”

Riz shifted so he could look up at Fabian. “I’m sorry they did that. That must have sucked.”

Fabian smiled. “Oh, don’t worry. I’d already decided I needed to find you.”

Riz grinned sleepily and burrowed back into Fabian’s chest. He said one last thing. It was muffled and barely audible, but Fabian couldn’t escape that it sounded like I love you.

Even sleep-riddled it took Fabian a moment to respond. He couldn’t remember if he had ever said it before, but he knew it was true. “I love you too.”

-

The classroom is empty except for Mrs. Skullcleaver’s pleading form.

Her limbs are grey with death as she reaches them out to Fabian, who stands paralysed before her.

“Help me, Fabian. Please, you must help me!” Her voice echoes in the otherwise silent room.

Fabian tries to speak but he cannot move his mouth. Tears form in the corners of his eyes as he watches the woman wither.

She collapses to her knees, screaming out in pain.

Her pleas fill Fabian’s ears. He longs to cover them and feels guilty for it. He rages against arms that refuse to move and legs that ignore his calls.

Desperation creeps up Fabian’s spine and burns his nostrils. His throat burns with silent cries.

Suddenly her voice changes.

“Fabian! Fabian, listen to me.”

Mrs. Skullcleaver’s mouth moves but the words are not hers.

“Fabian, hey.”

A shushing sound.

“It’s okay. You need to wake up.”

Fabian feels a phantom warmth on his cheek. He reaches up to his face but there is nothing there. He closes his eyes, blocking out the dead body that wails still, and forces all his attention on the sensation.

He doesn’t know what is happening but he knows there’s safety wherever the feeling is coming from. He follows it up and away.

-

Fabian opened his eyes with a start. His heart was racing and his breathing ragged. The room was enveloped in darkness except for a line of silver moonlight that peaked past the blinds.

Two hands cupped Fabian’s cheeks. Two thumbs wiped away tears, rubbed soothing circles into his skin.

“You’re okay now. It’s okay now.”

Fabian held on to the comforting sound of the voice. Slowly his taut muscles relaxed, his heartrate calmed.

“Breathe, Fabian, breathe,” the voice said.

Fabian took a long, shaky breath in and carefully held it (how long were you supposed to hold it again?).

“Now out, Fabian.” Riz laughed softly (Riz, it was Riz who was talking to him, who was here in the room with him).

Fabian obeyed, laughing a little as he let the air flow from his lungs.

A hand travelled down to touch his and he realised his fists were balled, clutching tightly onto the soft fabric of Riz’s shirt. “Sorry.” One by one he relaxed them, stretched out the sore fingers.

“Don’t worry about it. Think you can go back to sleep?”

Fabian leaned further forward, into the calming warmth, the comforting smell. His heart still sped at a marathon pace. “Yeah, I think so,” he murmured. “Could you just keep talking for a little while?”

“Of course.” Riz shifted slightly, wrestling himself into a comfortable position.

Fabian drifted off listening to Riz’s gentle whisper, warmed by the tiny arms wrapping his body and the knowledge he wasn’t alone.