#caleb and astrid are the same person and this is why jester fucking broke them both

[britcision]

Every single time Caleb talks about how the things he did were awful and irredeemable Astrid is internally screaming

Caleb failed on their graduation day

He made it through training, and yeah, did awful things

Astrid and Wulf passed that graduation, finished training, and spent 17 years in the real world doing the actual job

The parts too hard, too bloody, too dangerous, to trust to teenagers

Caleb knows Trent is awful and all of the terrible things he put children through, and every dreadful thing he is capable of, no question

But Astrid and Wulf, looking at him after the Mighty Nein? Not when he was in the Sanitarium, broken by Feeblemind, but a whole, complete person?

A wizard powerful enough to stand toe to toe with their master, and what did he do that they didn’t to get there?

He ate pastries. Wore bread as mittens. Made dick jokes and found love and forgiveness and people who may not understand, but who don’t care that they don’t understand and accept him anyway

People who looked at this sad, broken man with up to seven years of guilt and terrible deeds weighing him down (depending on when you think Trent started scourging ‘em, seemed young in the campaign but much later in the comic)

Knowing that they spent every one of the years he was in the Sanitarium and then after he escaped still under Trent’s thumb, still doing everything they’d done as kids and more, doing it with higher stakes, higher costs

And he talks about those childhood sins as unforgivable

He tells them that they too can be redeemed, as if nothing and no one could be worse than he was

But Astrid and Caleb are the same person

So you know she’s just as convinced that her sins were actually the worst, and there’s hope for anyone else but her

And she has the resume to back it up

And no matter how much she wishes she could have what he has, be free and redeem herself and maybe admit she shouldn’t have had to do any of it…

If Caleb doesn’t believe he can be redeemed, how could there be hope for her?

(And absolutely none of it will stop Jester Lavorre from scooping up another two formerly evil wizards and tucking them gently into her pocket and woobie-ing them to death with sprinkles and muffins and love)

look me in the eyeballs. astrid and caleb (imo wulf is a slightly different story but that's another post) are textually, canonically narrative foils. i think a better, less literary term-y way to put it is that they're variations on the same person. like. canonically. astrid is caleb if he didn't fail the training. caleb is astrid if she got out. they're like if you took one person and laid out two seperate options on how they would react to a major life-changing incident (hmm. i wonder what that might be in this context). astrid. caleb. they look at each other and see themselves. caleb is alright with this. astrid was holding on for her life for a little bit, trying not to lose her shit, because. he is who she would be if she was free and she figures that out during c2 yknow. caleb always knew that he was almost astrid so he just had to. like. look at this woman he loves dearly and fucking. wretchedly. and cope with the fact that 1. he loves her 2. she's awful 3. she could be so much better than she is 4. she's too far gone for that. but he's been coping for a long time, and she's not unreachable she's just. she's never gonna be him. meanwhile she has to grapple with the fact that she will never be as free as him- i don't know if she really wants to be, but he's proof that her life didn't need to go the way that it did and that's brutal. anyway. they're the same guy. it is so so important to consider that in relation to the dynamic they have going on. is this mic on

[luckyjak]

fic: Dunamancy

Essek teaches Caleb a spell that allows him to travel to various alternate realities: despite being warned not to cast the spell, Caleb does, and experiences three different timelines: one where Molly never died, one where Bren never broke, and one where he never left the asylum.

AU!Caleb/Molly, AU!Caleb/Astrid, somewhat Caleb/Essek.

A03 Link

Author’s notes: My working summary of this fic was: Caleb experiments with dunamancy, and Essek has to pull him back into his own time by the skin of his teeth. They talk about what Caleb experienced and then have sex. There's not actually any sex in this chapter, because I wanted to leave it ambiguous enough that people could come to their own conclusions, but I might add a chapter if I'm feeling brave and want to write it.trigger warnings: All of Caleb's backstory is just one big trigger warning.

Also: Apparently coffee is a thing in the Empire but it's mentioned so rarely that I thought I could get away with making it a Xhorasian delicacy. Forgive me for taking liberties with canon: it's just who I am as a person.

Things in italics are AU flashbacks.

The spell Caleb casts can be found on the A03 link.

All Zemnian comes from Google translate and is probably wrong. Most of the words you should be able to figure out by context, but there is one line that'd be a little difficult:

* You do not belong here. Why are you in my head? No, that is wrong. I know you

“Caleb. Caleb .”

He does not know how long he’s been sitting here for, or even how long he’s been on this plane of existence. His brain is fighting him, a constant stream of go away and staystaystay.

“Du gehörst nicht hierher. Warum bist du in meinem Kopf? Nein das ist falsch. Ich kenne Sie*.”

“I don’t speak Zemnian, and I’m not going to burn a spellslot to understand you. I burnt enough getting you back as is,” a voice he only partially recognizes echoes in his mind. “Mr. Clay, do you have anything to sedate him a little?”

No. No no no no no no, he cannot go to sleep, he won’t, he won’t,  so he thrashes blindly, hits whatever he can to try and throw it off of him.

“Ow, for fuck’s sake Caleb stop hitting me you wily bastard--”

“Rest well, Mr. Caleb,” is the last thing he hears, and then he’s gone.

He doesn’t know how much time passes. But when he wakes up again, he’s sitting up straight in a chair at a table. It’s only when he looks up and sees the drow man sitting across from him, sipping a cup of tea and reading a book, that his senses come back to him. “Essek .”

(Two thoughts war with him after that. Crick, enemy, eliminat-- no. Friend. Ally. Teacher.)

“Caleb. Thank the Luxon,” Essek smiles at him, setting his teacup down and scooting closer. “You put up quite a fight at first. I had to get Beauregard and Mr. Clay to help calm you down. How do you feel?”

He touches his own lips experimentally, then scratched at the scruff on his chin. He didn’t have scruff, before. Or did he?   “I’ve been better,” he confesses, his voice hoarse from disuse. “How long--?”

“You were gone for about an hour due to the spell,” Essek explains calmly, scooting his chair closer to Caleb. “You’ve been asleep for a little less than two since you got back.”

“Impossible,” Caleb feels his eyes widen, like he isn’t fully in control of them. “I was--I was gone for years . I--I lived for lifetimes. And you think I’ve only been gone an hour?” Essek nods, and Caleb feels a surge of paranoia swell within him. “How--how do you know I’m back? How do I know that this is my timeline? I could--I could still be traveling and be in yet another alternate universe. How do I know this is home?” He gestures around the basement of the Xhorhaus, his eyes scanning the walls to look for anything out of place. He doesn’t spend much time in the basement, and so he doesn’t know if anything is out of place or not.

“Ah, there’s that clever brain I was hoping you’d use,” Essek says. “Very well. I’ll tell you what I know about you in this timeline, and you tell me if that sounds like what you remember. You tell me if you can continue the story, just to make sure it all fits. If it doesn’t, we’ll try and figure out a way to get you home and get my Caleb back, okay?”

It wasn’t a bad idea. Caleb nods hesitantly. It could be a trap, but if it was, he couldn’t figure out how.

“Your name is Caleb Widogast. I’m under the impression that this may be a false name, but you’ve never told me an alternate, so Caleb is what I’ll call you for now if that’s alright with you. You travel with a group known as the Mighty Nein, which is ridiculous because there are only seven of you. Well. Six now, I suppose. The ones you travel with, their names are Fjord, Beau, Jester, Caduceus, Nott, and yourself. A few months ago, you brought something very important back to the Dynasty. Do you remember what it was?”

Caleb nods. It was exactly as he remembered.  “The Luxon Beacon. We were declared Heroes of the Dynasty. You were assigned our guide. You--after we helped Professor Wacco, you brought us to our house. Then we went to the Bazzoxan, and then the Kiln. We lost Yasha, and we came back. Does that--is that right?”

His answer earns him a soft smile from the Shadowhand. “I’d say you are my Caleb alright, or at the very least, you are from a timeline that is close enough. Welcome back.”

Then Essek slapped him across the face.

It didn’t hurt, really. Essek was a wizard like Caleb; he didn’t have much physical strength. Still, it stung briefly, and left a red mark across his cheek. “What did I explicitly tell you not to do? ”

Caleb winces, rubbing his cheek. “Experiment with time magic.”

“And what did you immediately do?”

“...Experimented with time magic,” Caleb grimaces, less out of pain and more out of guilt. The drow had been very specific with his instructions, and Caleb hadn’t listened to any of it, too excited by the prospect of the spell--the highest level Caleb could cast and that Essek had ever taught him--to care much about the dangers.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous what you just did was? You have no idea the consequences, the ramifications, the disasters that can come about from reality jumping like that,” Essek slams his hands on the table, shaking his teacup.

“I wasn’t--it was fine --”

He wasn’t lying; it had been fine. He had had everything under control, until he hadn’t, anymore.

“And what would have happened if you had teleported to an alternate reality where you were already dead? Did you even think about that? Or what if you had ended up in a body where you couldn’t cast? How would you have gotten back then, hmm? I’ll tell you: you would have been trapped, forever , a prisoner of your own body and mind. It would have been torturous existence for as long as you could hold out. Worse yet, those of us here in this timeline would never know what happened to you. You’d just be gone. Do you really want to do that to your friends? Have them wake up one morning to you just being gone?”

He hangs his head down in shame. “Essek, I’m sorry. I didn’t think--”

“No, you didn’t.” The Shadowhand scoffs. “ No one reality jumps without express permission from the Bright Queen, and only in very specific circumstances. You could unmake reality as we know it. We can’t--we can’t risk something like that happening. You understand, don’t you?”

Caleb nods. “I won’t--I won’t do it again, Essek. I promise.”

“ Good,” The Shadowhand didn’t smile, but his eyes were a little lighter from across the table. “I’m already going to have to do a mountain of paperwork thanks to this little-- fiasco, as it were. And Caleb?”

“Ja.”

Essek’s gaze softens. “I won’t be able to save you, next time. If you cast this spell without permission, you will be executed upon return. There will not be a trial.”

“I understand.” Caleb stares ahead as Essek stands to retrieve another cup of tea, pouring one out for Caleb. His mind is--it’s not well, still fractured, still three separate lives jumbling around up there. There’s a quiet bang upstairs from where someone dropped something, and it takes him a moment to remember where and when he is, to think about who might be upstairs to drop something.

It’s quiet for a moment, just him and Essek and the tea, and Caleb is grateful for it, grateful for the silence as his mind races and roars, his thoughts fighting one another for dominance.

The quiet can only last for so long, however.

“How was it?” Essek asks, his voice still soft and quiet, so much so that Caleb barely hears him.

“How was--?”

“The alternate realities,” Essek replies, louder, and Caleb came to the sudden realization that Essek had only yelled at him because he felt like he had to; beneath the stern facade, the drow was practically beaming with excitement. “I’ve always found it fascinating myself. Mind you, I’ve only gone to two different realities, but they were so wildly different from one another. What about you? How many did you experience? Were they different from your life here, or were they mostly the same?”

“You’ve--you’ve traveled like this before?” Caleb asks, genuine in his curiosity. “What was it like? For you, I mean? What did you see?”

“I saw,” Essek pauses, carefully considering his words. “Two very different paths, for myself. One where I had become a priest of the Luxon like my sister, living a--quite frankly, a boring life, cloistered away at a monastery. And I saw one where my father didn’t die when I was still a child. It was--interesting. A different sort of grief,” he pauses, takes a moment to sip from his teacup. “And yourself?”

“I saw three, I think,” Caleb shakes his head. “They were--they were all different. Very different.”

Very different, and still in his head, still rolling about like they belong to someone else.

“Three!  Well! Don’t be a tease, Caleb--tell me about them!” Essek smiles at him kindly, pouring another spoonful of sugar into his tea.  “It helps, I think. It helped me when I--when I got back. It helps categorize the abundance of memories in your mind. Keeps them separate and defined as different experiences outside of your memories from this time. But you do not have to discuss it if you do not want to.”

“Does it help?”

“Lots of things help. But talking is a good starting point,” he sets his cup back down, and pulls out a quill and parchment. “Besides, I have to include it in my report.”

Caleb winces. “Everything?”

“I can be discreet about some things,” Essek admits, “I don’t have to tell all of your secrets to the Bright Queen. But I do need a general idea of what happened,” he taps the quill to the parchment, and ink begins to drip, an enchantment Caleb recognizes from--from a different life.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Caleb confesses.

“Start with the first timeline,” Essek tells him. “Try to think of it as a different measure of time, a different universe, even. It will help keep things from being so muddled in your mind.”

“The first timeline,” Caleb repeats, setting his teacup onto the table. He tries to focus on the first timeline, the first place he ended up at after he cast the spell. What to tell Essek about that timeline? It was the one closest to the life he lives now. “Did I ever tell you about Mollymauk?”

“The name doesn’t sound familiar, no.”

“Ah. So, before we were--back when we first. No,” Caleb shakes his head. “I’m telling this wrong. Mollymauk was one of us . A member of the Mighty Nein, back when we first got together. A purple tiefling with strange blood powers.”

“Interesting. Go on.”

“He died, protecting us. Protecting me, Nott, and Beau, actually. About six months ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Essek says sympathetically. “I’m guessing in this altered reality, he wasn’t dead then?”

--

Beau was dead instead.

That was the first thought he had when he woke up. It wasn’t his body--but it was close , close enough to feel familiar. It took minimum effort to have control over it, to move the limbs so he could stand. The other Caleb--the one whose body he was now in--he let him take it, didn’t fight him, didn’t have the strength to, his bones weary with grief.  

The spell had worked, and it had brought him to a universe where Beau was dead, and Molly was not.

And Molly--

Molly was in the process of murdering Keg.

Do something , the other Caleb told him, voice sharp, and he forced himself to stand, to rush over to where Molly was threatening the dwarf woman.

“Hey, hey, stop--hurting Keg isn’t going to bring Beauregard back--”

“She lied to us!” Molly yells, screams , his rage absolute. There are tearstains on Molly’s cheeks, and his eyes are redder than normal. “She didn’t tell us how many there were, or how strong they were, and now Beau is dead and--”

He drops Keg and falls to his knees, grief overtaking him, and Caleb hugs him tightly from behind, letting the tiefling collapse in his arms. On the inside, Caleb’s mind is a myriad of emotions: grief--for Molly, who he’s holding, who he hasn’t seen or heard his voice for six months--and for Beau, who he just talked to moments ago, who isn’t dead in the world he’s from but she’s dead here and now, and that’s both better and worse. Anger at Lorenzo, at that fucking man who took someone he loved from him, again . Frustration at the thought that they were never going to face the Iron Shepards without burying a friend, no matter who it was.

So if he holds Molly tighter than he would have, six months ago, no one has to know but Caleb.

--

Another memory:

He’s alone on the Squall Eater, the ship’s gentle movements lulling him closer to sleep, and he’s content. The room is warm, Frumpkin is cozy next to his stomach, and the book he stole from Avantika’s office is actually quite interesting. It’s a perfect quiet little night, and that’s when he hears the knock on his door.

It’s Mollymauk.

“Hey,” he says quietly, his knapsack over his shoulder. “Do you mind if I bunk here with you and Nott? I won’t make much fuss;  I’ll sleep on the floor if you want me to. It’s just that Fjord is really making some terrible decisions right now, and I guess I’m just not used to rooming alone, because the night is getting to me and--”

“Nott’s not here,” he says first, opening the door wider for Molly to come in. “She stayed the night in Jester’s room so Jester didn’t have to stay with Clarabelle.”

“Oh,” Molly says, sheepish. “So you’ve got a room to yourself, then? Kinky. That’s alright, I won’t interrupt, I’ll go see if Clara and Yasha mind having a third--”

“Molly,” he interrupts, calling him Molly and not Mr. Mollymauk.  “Come inside.”

So he does, and that’s how Molly and Caleb become roommates from then on.

“You’ve been real sweet to me since Beau died,” Molly says, dropping his stuff on the other bunk but sitting besides Caleb on his bed. “I wanna say thank you for that,”

“You miss her,” Caleb guesses, as Molly leans back on the bunk so that his back is against the ship wall. “I do too.”

He does. He misses Beau so much sometimes that he forgets she’s still alive in his timeline, that this is all just borrowed moments he’s stolen from someone else.

“I do,” Molly laughs, but there are tears in his eyes. “I don’t know why. I hated her. She hated me. We had a fucked up relationship, and now she’s dead and I’m not and I don’t know why-- ”

They stay up most of the night, talking about Beau, and when they can’t talk about Beau anymore, they talk about everything else. They talk about the nightmares Molly suffers from, they talk about the guilt Caleb carries, even if they don’t talk about the source.

Molly sleeps in Caleb’s bunk with him. They don’t have sex that night but they do get used to sleeping next to one another, Molly wrapped around Caleb’s waist and clinging to him like he’s his lifeline, and Caleb clinging back, content with the company, with the physical contact, with the warmth.

--

Having Nott yell at him a second time isn’t any better than it was the first time, only instead of Caduceus picking him up off the floor, Molly does instead.

(“You’re not the problem here,” Caduceus tells him in his memory, even though wherever Caduceus is in this timeline, it’s so very far from here, “You’re the solution.”)

Instead, Mollymauk is angry on his behalf. “Fuck her. Who the fuck does she think she is?”

His stomach is still in knots, even outside the basement of the apothecary, in the smoldering remains above with just Molly beside him. “She’s--she’s not wrong, Molly, you don’t know what I’ve done--”

“I don’t care what you’ve done,” Molly repeats, and it’s something he’s said before, and how can he say that? How can he not care when it’s all Caleb can think about, most days. “She still shouldn’t have said that. Come on, let’s get you a new shirt.”

--

“Your name is Veth? My name is--was Bren Aldric Ermendrud,”

He doesn’t tell them everything, but he does tell them a little bit, and it feels a little like relief, even if they don’t know everything he’s been through, everything he’s done.

Later, when they are walking through the caverns, Molly pulls him back away from the others.

“You’re Caleb,” he tells him. “And I’m Molly. And Bren and Lucian can go fuck themselves, because we aren’t those people anymore, and we don’t owe them anything. Don’t--don’t forget that, okay?”

Caleb wants so badly to kiss him in that moment, and he cannot think of any reason not to.

So he does.

--

They do have sex in Xhorhas, though.

Not in the house they’ll own in a week. But in the tavern they are staying at, right after returning the Beacon. The are victorious: Yeza is safe, sharing a room with Nott down the hall. They are considered heroes of the dynasty. The handsome drow man, Essek, knows time magic, which is all Caleb has ever wanted to know in his life. They are celebrating.

Molly buys a bottle of wine that they share in their room, and they kiss and drink and fuck until the very early hours of the morning, and as they collapse on top of one another, Caleb thinks that he loves him.

He loves Molly.

Molly, who is dead, in his own timeline, who Caleb never once got to kiss or touch or fuck or love, and now never will.

--

“No, Beau died instead. In that timeline, she had sacrificed herself so that Molly, Nott, and I could get away, like Molly had in my own--in this timeline,” Caleb looks back down at the table, tracing arcane circles with his finger in the wood, trying not to think about the way Molly had felt, pressed against him. “I...I wasn’t super close with Mollymauk. He was my friend, but I was--I am a lot closer with Beauregard. But in that timeline, the one I was in, we--Molly and I got closer because of our grief. Molly and I became lovers, sort of by accident, I–I told him things I never told anyone. And now I have a head full of memories of being in love with Molly, and it’s not real. I’ve got to mourn Molly all over again now. And now when I think of him, I don’t think of my bright friend from the circus–I think of the man who made me smile even when everything seemed so goddamn shitty.” Caleb sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.”

“It’s real,” Essek reassures him, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “You remember it, right? You have those memories, and you lived it, so it’s real. It might not have been this timeline, but it was real to you.” He squeezes his hand a second time. “Was that the only change in that timeline?”

“Oh, gods no.” Caleb laughs despite his tears. “No, we never met Caduceus in that timeline. Instead, we met his sister, Clarabelle, and she traveled with us instead. She’s a--a firecracker, that one. I know now why he named the moorbounder after her.”

“How long did you stay in that timeline?”

“Until right before we lost Yasha. I couldn’t--I did not want to see what Molly would do, losing his best friend like that. So I left, like a coward, and let the other Caleb have his life back.”

Essek is quiet for a moment, taking notes and letting Caleb compose himself. He’s grateful for the kindness, for the ability to just close his eyes for just a moment.

All he can see is Mollymauk.

“And timeline two?” Essek speaks again; Caleb doesn’t open his eyes.

“I was home. In Blumenthel, in the Zemni Fields where I grew up. I had a wife, two children, three cats, because my youngest found kittens in the neighbor’s barn and we weren’t about to get rid of any of them. Drove Astrid crazy because there was cat hair everywhere. Um,” he opens his eyes again, looking directly at Essek. “Astrid was my wife.”

“I assumed.”

“I grew up with her. I--I haven’t seen her in twelve years, but a few hours ago we had been married for ten. Time travel is maddening .”

That earns him a grin. “There’s a reason we don’t recommend it for newcomers.”

“I can see why. Um. We had two sons, two boys. Johann was the oldest boy--just like his mother--”

--

He wakes up with a start, the feel of small hands tugging at his wrists.

“Papa,” a small Zemnian voice whispers. “Papa, Milo went into Mr. Winston’s barn again. I told him not to but he didn’t listen.”

He groans, flings a hand over his eyes, squeezing them shut. He’s exhausted , mentally and physically, and he does not want to deal with this right now. The mission he just got back from had been brutal, and had used up most of his spells. He needs sleep. “Go tell your Mutti.”

“I did ,” The boy’s voice says. “She told me to get you. She said she was busy growing my baby schwester so you had to stop Milo from getting in trouble.”

Ugh. That was true, at least.

He opens his eyes, and Caleb sees Bren’s son for the first time. He’s mousey but tall, skinny for his age. He looks mostly like Astrid--he has her dark hair and eyes--but the freckles on his nose came from Bren, as did the nose itself, bigger than the rest of his face.

Caleb loves him immediately.

“Well,” Caleb/Bren says, sitting up in bed with a smile. “Let’s go get Milo out of Mr. Winston’s barn, then,”

--

“But Papa, there are kittens !”

There are indeed kittens, three of them, barely a few months old, and Milo is clutching the soft gray one like Bren might take it away from him at any moment.

Milo, with his orange hair and blue eyes, who looks like a shorter, stubbier version of Bren at that age, with bandages on his nose and his knees, who is going to be the reason Bren’s hair goes gray one day.

Despite tattling on his brother, Johann has the calico kitten wrapped in his arms, and is already whispering sweet words to her.

Which leaves the third kitten, an orange tabby who looks a lot like Caleb’s own Frumpkin, who mews at him to be picked up like her sisters.

Augh. Master Ikithon was right. Children have made him soft. He picks up soon-to-be-named Frumpkin and coos at her (him? Might be a him), then turns towards his boys. “We can go ask Mr. Winston if we can take them with us, and if he’s alright with it then we can. But you do not go into this barn again without permission, Milo Ulric Ermendrud, or you will no longer have a cat. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Papa!!!!” His legs are attacked by a four year old and a six year old at once, and Caleb cannot remember ever feeling this happy.

--

“Mama! Mama, we brought home kittens!”

“Mutti! I named mine Toby!”

“Toby is a dumb name! Mutti, mine is named Etta! Look Mutti, she’s gray and I love her.”

For being so small the boys are so very fast. Bren shuts the door behind him, Frumpkin on his shoulder, and rushes to catch up with his sons, who are currently attacking his wife in the kitchen.

Oh , Astrid is still beautiful, exactly the same as Caleb remembers, as she stands in the kitchen in the home they’ve made together, her attention divided by two rambunctious boys. She still looks mostly the same: same short dark hair, same bright eyes. More laugh lines on her face, but no less lovely, and her stomach is large and swollen with life.

Oh, Caleb loves her so. He does not want to ever leave this timeline.

“Boys,” Bren barks as the two shout over each other. “Leave your mother be.”

“But Papa!”

“Go find blankets for the kittens,” he instructs, and is met with whiny protest. “ Now ,” he repeats, and the two do as they are told, leaving Caleb alone to kiss his wife. “Guten morgen,” he tells her, and kisses her again, savoring the way she feels against him.

“Guten nachmittag, I think you mean, sleepyhead,” she teases him, pulling away but not leaving his embrace. She pets Frumpkin and coos at him. “I see our household has grown.”

“Ah. Mr. Winston was going to drown them,” he explains, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I couldn’t let that happen. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” she takes Frumpkin from his shoulder and scratches under his chin. “But you are cleaning up after them.”

“Yes ma’am,” he jokes, wrapping his arm around her waist from behind, holding her close and kissing her cheek. “How is my lovely bride today?”

“Cranky. Your child kicks a lot.”

He wraps his hands around her waist and feels the gentle kick from the baby. “Don’t say such bad things about my tochter,” he chastises, and then kisses her again, because he can.

“Hmm. You are going to be so upset when it’s another boy,”

“No, I won’t.” Caleb says, and means it, overwhelmed by the love he feels for her, for their children, for their home.

He kisses her again fully on the mouth, savoring the way she feels against him. She’s not Mollymauk, but he did love her once, and it’s so easy to love her again, to love their home and their family, this perfect life that’s so different from the one Caleb is from.

“I almost forgot,” she says as she pulls away from him, “there’s a message for you, down in the basement.” He groans, leaning his forehead against hers. He only just got back! “Don’t fuss at me about it. I’d be perfectly happy to go on this mission for Master Ikithon, but someone ,” she elbows him gently in the stomach. “Insisted we needed a third child.”

“I want a little girl,” he groans, reluctantly pulling away from her. “Wulf is busy, I assume?”

“I presume,” she turns and kisses him again before placing Frumpkin back on his shoulders. “But look! This time you’ll have company on your mission, ja?”

He pets the orange kitten, and carries it with him to the basement, a scowl on his face. There’s a heavy bang above him, and he rubs his face with his hands. “Boys! No roughhousing!”

There may be a scowl on his face, but there’s a smile in his heart.

--

There is a teleportation circle in their basement, as well as a letter. It’s written in a code Caleb doesn’t understand, but Bren clearly does, because he rolls his eyes at it. “Duty calls, eh, Frumpkin?” he scruffs the cat’s head and smiles when it mews in response.

He goes through the teleportation circle without problem, and lands in forest outside of a small village. It’s dark here, wherever ‘here’ is, and the village below is quiet and quaint.

“At least it’s a small village this time,” Bren complains to Frumpkin, popping his fingers one by one. “Shouldn’t take too long, I don’t think.”

Before Caleb realizes what’s happening, Bren stoneshapes the earth around the village, creating great stone walls encompassing it.

No one could get in; no one could get out. That gets people’s attention: what was once a quiet place now has people out of their houses, inspecting the sudden walls surrounding them.

Then Bren casts fireball .

And he casts it again.

And again.

And again.

No , Caleb wants to scream, to stop, but can’t; unlike the other Caleb he has no control over Bren and what he does, just a passive observer of this time. No, no, no no, what are you doing? What are you doing? Stop this!

There are bodies burning. People are screaming, running, trying to escape the blaze but with the stone walls surrounding the village there is nowhere to go. Caleb can smell the scent of burning flesh and hair.

“They deserve it,” Bren says, outloud, to Frumpkin but also, somewhat unconsciously, to Caleb. “They’ve been hiding injured Crick soldiers, letting them recover and then letting them go instead of reporting them to the Crownsguard. They are traitors to the Empire, and this is what we do to traitors.”

He’s going to be sick. He’s going to vomit, spiritually, from inside this cruel man’s body. Look at what you are doing, Caleb tries to reason with him. There are children in this village! Children just like your own, and you are murdering them!

But Bren’s heart is cold and unyielding, too focused on the supposed good of the Empire to realize the horrible things he’s done, and Caleb cannot stand it any longer: he cast the dunamacy spell and leaves, fleeing like a coward once more.

--

“--Her dark eyes and hair, same scowl. But uh, my height, I think, and my nose. And he was so serious, boy never smiled, not even when he was a baby. Born with a frown on his face. And his little brother, Milo--Milo is always in trouble. Milo found the kittens, and Milo stole cookies out of the cookie jar, and Milo was the one who put a lizard in his brother’s bed. And, oh , Essek, I killed them. My babies, my boys, they don’t exist anymore, because I left ,”

Caleb had started crying again, and found he couldn’t stop. “First I killed Molly all over again by leaving that timeline, and now I’ve killed my babies?” He cradles his face into his hands. “I remember everything. The way Astrid looked on our wedding day. How small Johann was when they first put him in my arms. The way Molly’s hair looked in the sea breeze on the Mistake. It’s all in my head and I can’t–I can’t –

“They aren’t dead,” Essek assures him, reaching out for his hand once more. “They still exist in that timeline. Same goes for Mr. Mollymauk. Just because you are from this timeline doesn’t mean that those times stopped existing.”

“But their father is a monster ,” Caleb sobs, squeezing Essek’s hand back, enjoying how real and grounded the physical contact makes him feel. He did that--he squeezed Essek’s hand, made that choice, and it makes him feel more at home in his own body. “He--he killed all those people, and he didn’t care . He didn’t care at all, and when I was him I didn’t care, and what kind of monster does that make me, that I can leave them--m-my children, there with a father who--who loves them but is willing to kill them and I--”

He doesn’t realize that Essek has stood up and walked across the room to hug him until he feels his arms around him, holding him tightly. He collapses against him, getting snot and tears all over Essek’s tunic, but he doesn’t seem to mind: he doesn’t say anything at all, just holds him, solid muscle against Caleb’s face.

He doesn’t know how long he cries against Essek, but it’s long enough that he feels embarrassed about it when he pulls away. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, wiping his eyes. “I don’t know why you always have to see me at my worst.”

“If this is your worst, Widogast, you have nothing to worry about.” Essek reassures him, squeezing his shoulders tightly. “Do you need a few more minutes, or would you like to continue?”

He can’t imagine talking at the moment. “Give me a moment to use the restroom, wash my face,” Caleb pleads, wiping his tears on the sleeve of his shirt. “I’ll--I’ll be ready soon, I just--”

“Take your time,” Essek assures him, brushing him away. “I have nowhere else I need to be.”

--

In the time it takes Caleb to get back, Essek has made a fresh pot of tea, and is reviewing his notes when Caleb returns.

“Sorry about that,” Caleb apologizes again. He has taken the time to change his shirt, and despite everything that’s happened, he belated realizes that it’s only 4 o’clock in the afternoon. He’s exhausted, mentally, and yet he doubts he sleeps at all tonight. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me--”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Essek assures him, cutting off his apology. “When I traveled to the universe where my father was still alive, I had a breakdown afterwards that lasted four days,” he gestures for Caleb to sit, and when he does, he reaches out and squeezes his hand again. “You have nothing to apologize for. That spell--it’s fascinating, but it is exhausting, mentally and physically.”

“Why’d you teach it to me, then?”

“Because you suggested you were interested in learning dunamantic theory , and it’s a great theory spell,” Essek smiles softly. “Less favorable in practice, as you’ve no doubt realized.”

Caleb actually takes a sip of his tea. Essek must have refilled his cup, because it’s warm still. He doesn’t recognize the blend, only that it’s not one of Caduceus’s usuals, and tastes distinctly Xhorasian. It’s sharp and earthy and bitter; though Caleb finds he enjoys the taste of it, he isn’t surprised when Essek puts a spoonful of sugar into his own cup.

“Do you think you can talk about the third timeline yet, or do you need more time?”

Caleb downs the rest of his tea like it’s a shot, and shakes his head. “The third timeline is the easiest. I was still in the asylum.”

--

He woke up in the asylum, with another version of himself in his own head.

While the first Caleb had been perfectly content for him to take over, and the second had been willing to share, up until he hadn’t, this Caleb (or rather, Bren, broken, broken Bren) fights him tooth and nail every second he’s here.

“Why are you here?” He says out loud in the asylum. “Why are you in my head? This is my head. Get out of it.”

“I’m trying ,” he responds, shaking his head and arguing with himself. “But you’ve got to let me cast--”

“No magic!” The other Caleb screams, tearing at his clothing, claws against his face. “No magic, no magic, no no no no no--”

The guards come and sedate him, and when he wakes up he’s in a padded room, alone with just himself and the Other.

He doesn’t know how much time passes. Too much. Not enough. He can’t focus in here, sharing a mind with a version of himself that is still so far broken. Bren’s mind is a broken ball of glass, sharp and dangerous at every turn. They bring him meals, and he eats like a wild animal. The guards make small talk outside of his cell, but their words might as well be gibberish, for all that he can understand them.

One day, a priestess comes. She’s familiar to him, and beautiful, the symbol of the Archeheart dangling on her chest, and oh , she’s the one who fixed him, last time.

“Oh Bren,” she tells him, casting a spell to cure the wounds he’s made on his face and arms, trying desperately to dig out crystals that weren’t there. “You’ve made so much progress. I hate to see you relapse like this.”

Let me talk to her , Caleb begs the Other. Let me talk to her, she can help us get out of here!

But the Other is stubborn, and refuses, and so the lady merely sighs at him. “Perhaps one day we’ll try Greater Restoration on you again and see how you fair. If you can behave, of course.”

Cast it on me now , Caleb begs. I need to get out of here. I need to get home .

The Other doesn’t listen. The Other bites her hand instead.

“Another time, perhaps,” she sighs, and then she’s gone , and she’s taken Caleb’s hope with her.

Another day--he doesn’t know how long it is, can’t keep anything straight in this stupid broken brain of his--another day, Essek comes.

“Caleb,” he tells him, standing outside the cell door. The guard don’t seem able to see him, so maybe he’s not really there after all. Maybe he’s just Caleb’s own dream here to torment him. “I tracked your dunamantic signature to this timeline. Are you there?”

YES he screams, but the Other doesn’t answer. He just sits there, like he can’t see the drow in front of him. Yes, please help me!

Essek says something in Undercommon that sounds like a swear, and then he reaches through the bars and presses his thumb to the center of the Other’s forehead. “I’m going to take you with me, and if you aren’t my Caleb I promise you I’ll bring you back, but I’ve got to try,”

The Other attempts to bite him, but he just bites the air, unable to make contact with Essek’s incomporial form.

--

“--Then I woke up here, with you,” Caleb explains, feeling calmer and more rational than he has all evening. Essek was right: talking about it did help separate it in his mind. “And that’s all I remember.”

Essek scrawls something down on his notes, but otherwise leaves Caleb alone to his thoughts. He pours another cup of tea and downs it; he finds the more he drinks of it, the less he minds the bitterness of it, actually sort of enjoys the sharp taste.

Essek finishes his notes, and with a few arcane sigils in the air, sends his notes off somewhere else. He smiles warmly at Caleb. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Caleb admits. “Not--not a hundred percent. But better.” He finishes another cup of tea. “I really like this tea you’ve made,”

“It’s coffee,” his companion explains, humor on his face. “It’s made from ground up beans from Southern Xhoras. I can’t believe you drink it black,”

“Am I not supposed to drink it black?” Caleb asks curiously. Coffee was good. He liked coffee. He would have to invest in these beans if they ever left Xhoras.

“You can, I suppose,” Essek laughs. “It’s just much better with cream and sugar. I’ll make another pot if you’d like,” he stands up and move towards the little stove in the corner. “Don’t be surprised if you find it hard to sleep tonight, though. It’s a stimulant. Helps keep you awake.”

“That’s alright. I doubt I could sleep anyway. I still feel too--too--”

“Like your body isn’t your own, and you are some impostor walking around in someone else’s meatsuit?” Essek guesses.

“Yes! Exactly that,” Caleb grins as Essek pours a scoop, two, three of what looks like dirt into the pot on the stove. “Speaking from experience?”

“Perhaps,” he sets the pot on to boil, then floats back to the table across from Caleb. “It’s a common feeling after reality jumping, I’m told.”

“Hmm. Any advice on how to fix it?”

“Sex, if you’ve got a willing partner,” Essek says plainly, without embarrassment, even if his words bring a small flush to Caleb’s cheeks. “Barring that, any sort of physical exertion helps. Running, walking, sweating--it helps make your body feel like your own again, instead of something you’ve borrowed.”

The pot on the stove boils; Essek floats over, turns the fire off, his back turned to Caleb.

Sex sounds lovely, if he’s being honest. Of the three altered realities he visited, two of them were getting laid a lot more often than he currently is. And he could--he could see the benefits, that Essek mentioned. The physical exertion, helping to make him exhausted enough to sleep. The choice and control over what he does with his body would help make it feel like his own again.

Alas, he lacks a partner in this timeline. But maybe--

He stares, longer than he intends, at Essek’s backside. He’s not wearing his long mantle like he usually does. Instead, he dresses simpler: a long tunic, leggings, boots. It’s simpler attire, but the material still looks expensive and fashionable. The leggings are tight on him, clinging to his form in the best way, but the tunic is too long, hides his most attractive features.

Molly would have wolf whistled at him.

Astrid would have laughed. “A crick, really, Bren? I suppose he is handsome, though.”

He shuts his eyes tight, then swirls the last bit of coffee around his cup. “Is that what you did?” Caleb asks curiously, deliberately not looking at Essek. “When you came back?”

“Yes. The one and only time I had sex with a woman,” he laughs, straining the liquid into the teapot. “She was a lovely girl, but not for me, I don’t think. It still helped.”

He feels his ears turning red. “You have, ah, different preferences?”

“Is this an interrogation, Widogast?” Essek grins, turning around with the teapot to set on the table.

“Nothing of the sort. More--trying to find common ground,” Caleb explains. “You know I was with Mollymauk, in the first timeline. I cannot judge you if you prefer men, because I also enjoy being with men, and--”

“I prefer men,” Essek interrupts him, an amused glit to his voice. “But I’m more curious about why you are asking, Widogast.”

He feels his face flush, and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t, ah, currently have a partner. I don’t suppose you are interested at all?”

--

Notes:

I left it there so you could have it open to interpretation. Does Essek accept? Does Caleb go upstairs to find Fjord/Caduceus/Jester and have fun with them instead? It's up to you. A choose your own adventure kind of ending.