#basically caleb having a panic attack for 1.3k words

[mnemememory]

speechless

spoilers for episode 87

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Caleb has been living in a constant state of delirium for approximately three days and forty-seven minutes.

He is dehydrated, exhausted, and going to throw up on the next person who looks at him even a little bit funny. This entire field trip has been a nightmare sketched straight from everything Caleb had never wanted. Frankly, the only way this could be worse was if Astrid decided to hop on by, and at this point, Caleb won’t disregard it. The world apparently has a personal vendetta against him. Well, him and his new family – but mostly him.

“Impressive business, isn’t it?” Trent Ikithon says, smiling. In every fever-dream memory Caleb has of him, Trent is always smiling. “You’ve come so far from simple sellswords and pit fighters.”

He looks at Yasha, and Caleb feels something foreign and uncomfortable squirm in his stomach.

Then Trent is looking at him, and he’s still smiling, and Caleb can’t look away.

“Especially you, Bren.”

Bren.

Bren.

The name comes from so far away. It takes Caleb a moment to recognise it, the sound foreign to his ears. It has been so long since he discarded that name – it fits awkwardly around his throat, now, like a noose. Trent is smiling at him and it’s so familiar and alien.

Bren.

Bren.

Caleb just stares.

His family surround him, latch onto his sides and glare out at the world. Caleb can barely breathe as Trent makes his smug swanning exit, robes billowing out behind him. Had he always looked like that? Caleb doesn’t remember a lot of things, but he thought he had long-since memorised the lines of Trent Ikathon’s face. From the ridge of his nose to the hard lines of his eyebrows, Caleb has been looking into the face of a phantom since before he lost his mind.

Trent Ikathon looks…different.

“We will not let him get you,” Nott hisses next to him, knuckles white along his robes. “You have done nothing wrong.”

That is very debatable, but Caleb is too tired to protest. They’re all running on fumes. Caleb can see Yasha’s wilting spine, Jester’s forced smile, the darkening shadows underneath Caduceus’ eyes. He wants nothing more than to sleep and never wake up. He wants to leave.

This is bigger than him, though. This is bigger than all of them.

Caleb just nods. He doesn’t trust his mouth at the moment, doesn’t trust that his voice won’t crack and reveal just how unsettled he truly is. Though, from the looks everyone is giving him, he is doing a very poor job at hiding it.

Bren.

That is his name, isn’t it? That is the name his parents gave him, that is the name he knew Astrid underneath. It was not a bad name. Caleb made it into one.

Caleb, or Bren? Are they the same people? Caleb has spent years changing his name at the drop of a hat, at the flip of a coin, at the sight of a smile. Accents are hard to shake, but names can be replaced. It wasn’t until Nott the Brave – until Veth the Breve – that Caleb settled into something semi-permanent. Bren feels like a too-small coat, now, the edges fraying the seams splitting.

“Especially you, Bren.”

What does that mean? What is Caleb supposed to take away from that?

(It is a threat. That is all. It is a threat, it is not a personal judgement, it is not a teacher complimenting growth –)

Caleb’s scars are itching. He wants to dig his nails into his skin and rip it open, until he’s got nothing left but bone. His arms are wrapped tight together, and he scrapes his thumb against the side of his palm – deeper, deeper, deeper. It isn’t enough. Everything is too blunt, too unsteady, too unfocused. They are saying something, the people around him, but Caleb can’t hear any of it. Maybe this is how he dies.

They are walking, soft hands leading him somewhere. Frumpkin leaps from someone’s arms onto his shoulders, wrapping warm fur around his neck and blocking his ears off from the rest of the world. Caleb can’t relax into it, can’t let his shoulder unclench and his spine unsnap or he’s going to break, but he does feel some relief at the new barrier. Frumpkin is warm and large and protective as he purrs into Caleb’s ear until it’s all Caleb can hear. The others are still talking, but they don’t seem to expect any kind of response from him, so Caleb doesn’t even bother trying to track their words.

He always knew this would happen. As soon as they went into Xhorhas – no, before. As soon as they walked through that festival and triumphed in the pit, with Mollymauk still at their side and Yasha smiling without the weight of the world pressing against her throat, Caleb knew that this would happen. Anonymity is for bad people. Heroes are talked about in loud voices, after all, and the Mighty Nein – for all they are a bunch of impulsive fuck-ups – are very good at playing hero.

(They’re just also very good at pissing people off).

Caleb looked into the pit and saw this happening and he did nothing, he did nothing, and this is his fault. He has no one to blame but himself. He walked into Rexxentrum with full knowledge of his place here. They have Yasha back, but they’re also about to be thrown into prison the next time Jester opens her mouth, and Caleb doesn’t know what to do.

“Should I kill him?” Yasha said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Caleb doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. He wants to do both. He feels precariously close to the edge of whatever happened to him all those years ago, with soot smudging his fingertips and sparks blowing high into the stars. He spent years in that hospital, with the screaming. Most of it was his.

He feels like screaming now.

Bren.

Bren.

Bren –

“Caleb?” Nott whispers, reaching up and touching his cheek.

Caleb blinks and looks around. They’re standing in the middle of what appears to a suite of rooms, complete with elaborately carved furniture and a stained glass window. An actual stained glass window. Caleb has an eidetic memory, he knows exactly how much those things cost –

“Caleb, you don’t have to speak, but can you nod your head if you want some water?”

Caleb blinks down at her. Frumpkin is still purring away across his neck and shoulders.

He slowly nods his head.

Nott breathes out a sigh and then leads Caleb over to one of the couches, gently sitting him down. Jester immediately snuggles up next to him, Fjord a strengthening presence on his other side.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Nott says. Her eyes don’t leave Caleb. “Yasha is standing at the door with Beau. They won’t let anyone in. Caduceus is making some food. None of us have eaten for quite a while.”

Caleb nods again, blankly.

Nott clears her throat. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Jester hugs him tightly. “It will be okay,” she says.

“If anything happens, we can always run,” Fjord rumbles. “Maybe Allura would let us set up in Ta’dore. Convince the Council to grant us citizenship or something. At the very least, we have income back in Nicodranas.”

“I do not want to run from this,” Caleb says. His voice comes out small and scratchy.

“We will be here with you,” Jester says. “No matter what.”

Caleb has used up all his words. He can’t do anything but nod.

“Caleb,” Nott says. She hasn’t gone to get some water, but Caleb can see Caduceus out of the corner of his eyes brewing tea. Maybe that’s what she’s waiting for. “We will get through this.”

Caleb leans back and closes his eyes and says nothing.