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One day Pike hoped she didn’t have to spend the occasional night drinking off the stress of a friend’s death. She knew that was a futile hope—even without their dangerous lifestyle, life was finite anyway, so grieving friends was inevitable unless you went first—but a girl could still dream.
Fortunately, Sarenrae and the fates had been kind so far and allowed her to bring back those who had been taken. But a string of success never made it less stressful, or less miraculous, when it worked. If anything, it only made her more afraid that they had already used up more than their share of luck and this time would be the time that it failed.
That she failed.
So it should be fitting, she supposed, that Kerrek would raise the question as she sat vigil over Scanlan’s recovery.
It was an odd little group, sharing a couple bottles of fine Whitestone wine in the middle of the night beside their friend’s unconscious body. Pike was well-accustomed to drowning the horrors of battle and loss in ale and embracing the frivolity of life with her beloved Vox Machina, but tonight most of them had gone to deal with things in their own ways or were scattered (all the way to Kymal in Vex’s case). She did have Grog with her, lending a warm, comfortable familiarity to temporarily stave off the memory of seeing Scanlan still and cold. Kerrek was a pleasant fellow, immediately welcomed by the group and a solid, heartening presence to talk to. And to her delighted surprise, Percy had actually joined them instead of holing up in his workshop alone. She suspected it was partly because Vex wasn’t there, and was a bit concerned that he mostly drank in silence with a distant expression, but after seeing his organs spread across the floor of Raishan’s cave, Pike welcomed the proof that he was alive and whole and seeking out company. Thank Sarenrae for all her gifts these past few days.
But this would not simply be a night for drinking themselves, apparently. Death’s shadow still hung over the room. And Grog revealed he had learned resurrections weren’t guaranteed successes. Despite the alcohol haze, Pike could put together easily enough who had seeded that thought in his brain.
When she asked Kerrek, he confirmed he had never seen a resurrection succeed before. That only reinforced the fear in Pike’s stomach for how long they could continue like this. How many resurrections had he participated in unsuccessfully, this world-weary but kind paladin? Who had those unfortunate people been to him? And was that what had prompted his retirement?
And how did they look, then, this band of young adventurers who had been allowed to defy death to its face multiple times and remained at a nearly full headcount despite dragons, beholders, and demonic guns?
To her relief, Kerrek had broken the tension of the conversation by drunkenly wrestling out of his chainmail, a moment of simple humanity to ground their philosophical thoughts. Relieved to be out of her own plate as well, Pike commiserated with him over the physical discomforts of armor. At their discussion of swamp ass, she noticed Percy had looked up from his own melancholy as well, regarding her with slight amusement.
“I forget, and then suddenly I remember I met you all in a prison cell.”
Pike smiled fondly, thinking of the disheveled young man who had still spoken and held himself with a noble bearing despite being barefoot and chained in a remote jail. “I remember very well.”
She was pleased when he returned her smile with a matching one of his own. He didn’t smile enough. But the warm expression faded just as quickly as he looked forward again, face somber. “It’s not fair, is it?”
“What?” Grog asked, trying to stay focused on the conversation despite the considerable amount of alcohol he had already enjoyed.
“It’s just,” Percy continued, eyes focused on Scanlan’s unconscious form. “One day…you lose so many people, and then just one day you stop. And at one point in your life you decide that suddenly, for no reason, there’s just—You’re not allowed to die yet. Your life just isn’t your own anymore and suddenly you’ve done what you were supposed to do and now you’re back. And it’s not yours anymore is it? And what of everybody else? It’s not fair, any of it.” He finally trailed off, the outburst spent as abruptly as it started, leaving only a hollowness behind. “I don’t know.” Percy took a deep swig from his bottle.
Pike listened quietly, not wanting to interrupt this rare moment of release and make Percy go into his own head again. He had a tendency to keep darker thoughts like this inside until life forcibly dragged them out of him. To voluntarily let them out, share them with her and the others, albeit with the help of some very good wine, was a positive step for him. And probably a testament to how long he had been holding them in.
Grog was listening respectfully too, seeming to understand the gravity of the moment. She knew Scanlan’s death had shaken him hard, even though he was trying to be strong through it. It shouldn’t be a surprise Percy’s troubled ponderings would resonate with him too.
Grog frowned in surprise at one part, though. “You don’t think your life’s your own?”
Percy looked over with a grin that had a glint of sharp edges, like a shift of light revealing the crack in a window. “I know my life isn’t my own. My life is all of yours. My life is my sister’s. My life is this castle’s.” He gestured up at the room, then took another drink and, in a voice somehow casual and heavy at the same time, added, “My life ended.”
There was the heart of it. What had been lurking in the back of his mind all these weeks beneath the strategizing and fighting and acceptance of being in love. The aftermath of his death—his first death—stirred anew by the events of the last few days. It was almost easy to forget, in the grief and fear and struggle of Scanlan’s resurrection, that Percy had died that day too, however briefly.
For a second time. In less than a month.
Pike knew what it was like to die. She remembered the shock, the disorientation, the exhaustion and echo of pain that no longer existed anywhere but where it had etched into your subconscious memory. She knew the uncomfortable attention from the loved ones who had had to live through your death and the desire to just return to normal and pretend it had never happened. And that no matter how much you pretended, some part of that other realm stayed with you. Or maybe part of you never truly left it.
How much worse were those sensations if you had gone through it more than once?
She thought over everything he had just said, the weariness that weighed down his voice, and a hesitant fear grew in her chest. The downside of Revivify spells, she mused, was that you couldn’t ask the person if they wanted to come back.
Pike chose her words carefully, trying to take a gentle approach as if one wrong move would spook him like a wild animal. “Do you feel—?”
“I’m very glad to be here,” he said quickly, as if realizing he sounded ungrateful to the person who had brought him back. Twice. He grinned and laughed in a way he probably intended to be reassuring, but instead verged on hysteric. “I just miss an awful lot of people, that’s all,” he continued, calmer. “And I don’t understand how we get to choose.”
“Ohhh…” Grog said, voice serious despite his awkward expression.
Pike gave Percy a soft, sympathetic smile, catching his eyes. “I understand.”
The fond smile he returned to her was probably only this sentimental because of the alcohol, but she cherished it anyway. “I know.”
Grog leaned over to whisper in her ear, though his voice was barely below normal speaking volume. “I just got it too.”
She smiled genuinely up at him. “Yeah.”
“I know you don’t, Grog.” Percy was watching Grog with the same bittersweet affection and Pike knew he was truly drunk. “I’m so grateful you don’t.”
Grog seemed to consider whether that was an insult or not, but Percy was already looking back at Scanlan, sighing and raising his bottle in a toast. “To the unyielding unfairness of the universe.”
Pike raised her bottle too, as did Grog and Kerrek, although Kerrek had nothing left to drink so he just held up his fist as if gripping a mug.
“And that it decided we get to keep this bastard,” Percy concluded, jerking his head toward the unconscious bard. “Hardly fair.”
Pike knew it was bitterness and pain putting a harsh edge on his words, not a genuine resentment of Scanlan. But she had to wonder what it was like to see people brought back from the dead in the same building where you watched your entire family die? Well, she supposed it didn’t take much imagination to figure it out.
“What do we tell him when he wakes up?” Grog asked, breaking the heavy silence.
“That’s why I was thinking of going through all of his things.” Percy propped his chin on his fist, the hint of an evil grin starting. “We could just leave him in a gutter somewhere. Make him think he reincarnated a hundred years in the future. I don’t know. I keep thinking of terrible things to do to him now.”
Seeing that wicked keenness return to his eyes brightened Pike’s mood too. There was the man she knew.
Grog’s eyes had likewise perked up. “I have not explored any of that and it is amazing.”
“I—Well, we were all troubled.” Percy scratched his chin. “I feel that once Vax is awake we’ll really have an expert at this sort of thing available.”
He hesitated, seeming torn whether to follow his impulse or not. Pike decided to prod him onward. Mischief was infinitely preferable to mourning and they all could use the respite. While it would be great to involve Vax, who needed the levity as much as they did, they couldn’t wait and risk sobering up. Besides, she suspected he and Keyleth wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted for a joke right now.
“We could play a prank on him,” she suggested encouragingly.
Grog looked at her, a bit surprised.
“I think that’s a great idea.” Percy shifted, purpose stirring his posture once more. “I think I need someone with a better mind for this.”
Grog set down his empty bottle, got up, and made his way out of the room. Pike arched an eyebrow after him, not sure if he was uncomfortable with pranking Scanlan after everything they had just been through or just took Percy’s statement too literally. Either way, she let him go, turning back to Percy.
He still seemed to be struggling with indecision.
“Did you want to go through his things?” she prompted.
Percy scrunched his face, resting his cheek on his fist. “A bit. That would be cruel.” He shifted, agitated. “Well, you’re a decent person. Should we?”
Oh, Vox Machina. Her dear friends still persisted in the misconception that just because she was a holy woman she was pure and perfect. Under soberer circumstances she might have been able to talk them both out of the idea, but she was far from sober. The Pike who was so relieved to have her whole family back, all alive again and riding a victory over the last dragon who had plagued their lives, wasn’t concerned about decency at the moment, just fun. And after all Scanlan had put her through over the years, she couldn’t pass up a chance to get him back a little bit.
Besides, he’d probably enjoy a bit of humor after coming back from the dead too.
But a little part of her mind felt bad. Percy was clearly trying to resist his darker impulses, putting his trust in her to speak as his faulty conscience. Sure, a prank wasn’t evil, but was it a betrayal of that trust to egg him on to be an accomplice in her own amusement?
“Well, I mean…” she started, unsure now what to say.
“Well, what if he happens to have something that requires attention?”
They both jumped slightly, having forgotten Kerrek was in the room with them. Pike grinned, relieved. If the older paladin thought mischief was a good idea too, that eased her worry about being a bad influence. Or at least an evil one.
Laughing, Pike picked up the ball from Kerrek. “I, uh, I actually would agree. ‘Cause what if there’s something, you know, that he needs our help with but feels weird about asking?”
“Right. Or if he has—if there’s—” Kerr stumbled, trying to get a thought together. “Well, I was thinking, like, a plant that needs watering—”
“Of course,” Pike agreed.
“Except something you would have in your pocket, which is not a plant.” He was clearly in an even less sober place than Pike.
Percy, sitting between them, chin resting in steepled fingers as he listened to the enabling angels on his shoulders, finally spoke up. “I have an idea.”
“Okay,” Pike smiled. Percy’s ideas were always interesting. “What’s your idea?”
“We’re going to need one of your nightgowns and some of the pudding from the downstairs kitchen.”
Well, that one certainly didn’t disappoint. Pike hustled to her quarters to fetch a nightgown from her drawer. (She couldn’t sleep in the nude as much these days, what with the worshipers from her temple potentially seeking her out at all hours of the night and tending to be skittish about such things.)
By the time she returned, Percy had sent one of Whitestone’s staff for leftover deserts. Under his instruction, Pike proceeded to strip Scanlan’s unconscious body and dress him in her nightgown. As she did so, Percy gathered the delivered pudding and began smearing it on the walls of the little guest room with all the enthusiasm of a child. It was the most free-spirited and relaxed that Pike could remember seeing him in a very long time. Once she had finished braiding messy plaits into Scanlan’s hair, she scrambled off the bed to join in the artistic endeavor. Together, they created elaborate patterns on every surface in the room. They smeared pudding all over Scanlan, Percy attempting to write words on his forehead, though how legible they were was doubtful. They wrote silly and rude phrases in Celestial across the walls that only they would be able to read, giggling giddily as each tried to one-up the other.
It was one of the best nights of Pike’s life. Okay, so it was at Scanlan’s expense while he was recovering from dying. And so she really shouldn’t be indulging her crush with some rare alone time with Percy when his heart was already spoken for and Vex was out of town. But hey, Drunk Pike wasn’t known for making the best decisions and Sober Pike had thoroughly checked out for the night.
As they were standing back admiring their handiwork, they heard a throat clear behind them. Pike’s heart sank. Kerrek. Immediately guilt started to fill her stomach, threatening the easy buzz that had carried her this far. She could almost feel Sarenrae’s eyes on her and her mind flashed briefly to the crack that had once marred her amulet.
But instead of turning to see a judging scowl, she saw Kerrek looking thoughtfully at Scanlan. “If you got some ribbons, get his hands…” He mimed tying them over his head.
“You, sir, are a man of the world! What a great idea,” Percy enthused, sounding for once as young as he truly was.
As Percy darted off unsteadily to his own quarters, Pike found herself longing for a world where all of them could just be the young idiots they rightfully were. Where none of them knew what death felt like or had to worry about dragon attacks or pacts with gods or demons. Where the worst they had to worry about were the pranks their friends would pull on them when they were drunk.
But she supposed it was their work and battles and sacrifices that allowed the world to have these moments of peace and ridiculousness, as fleeting as they seemed to be. Too soon her beloved family would be off again after the next big threat, and more would probably die and need reviving and healing until the day her magic wasn’t enough anymore.
So until that time, she intended to make the most of every second, especially when it involved watching a veteran adventurer and paladin teach Percy the right way to safely tie Scanlan’s hands to a bedpost. And she tried not to ponder too long on what he could do with that new skill in the future.
And especially not think of how only the day before she had seen Kerrek gently placing Percy’s intestines back into his lifeless body.
By the time they had all finished their decorations, the buzz was giving way to a drowsy satisfaction and the night beckoned them all. Kerrek dismissed himself to stumble off to his guest room as Pike and Percy stepped into the hallway behind him.
Percy sighed contentedly, wiping at some pudding on his cheek and only managing to smear it further. “It is time for sleep.”
Pike nodded, a yawn escaping her. But as the alcohol settled, she found a thought she had been meaning to voice surface again. “Percy?”
“Hm?” he asked, looking down at her blearily, but with a genuine, attentive smile that still made her heart flip a little.
She focused to make sure she said this right. “When I took my vows to Sarenrae, I knew my life was never going to be just my own again. It belongs to her, and to everyone I heal, and to my great-grandfather, and Grog, and all of you. And that’s not a bad thing ‘cause you guys belong to me too, and that’s nicer than being alone, you know?
“But sometimes, belonging to so many people and a god feels like a lot,” she continued, watching Percy’s expression sobering again to something more familiar, which only reinforced why she wanted to say this. “So it helps to make sure part of my life is just for me. Part of me that’s not the cleric or the healer or the friend. That’s just Pike. Same as part of you’s just Percy.”
And I hope you know that part’s not the guns or the vengeance or the cruelty, she thought, but didn’t add. Direct advice tended to make him pull back defensively. He was smart enough to put pieces together himself and tended to be more receptive if she let him fill in those connections on his own.
He mused over her words, the seed planted there for him to work through during his pensive moments. Finally, he nodded, arching an eyebrow at her. “You are far too wise for being this drunk.”
Pike scoffed, rubbing at a pudding stain on her tunic. “I just understand responsibility. Thank you for being very un-responsible with me tonight.”
He bowed exaggeratedly to her, the move making him stagger off-balance against the wall. “My pleasure, Pike. Good night.”
“Good night, Percy.”
She watched him all the way down the hall until he turned into his quarters and allowed herself one last quiet sigh over might-have-beens. Then she put that aside, straightened her shoulders, and returned to Scanlan’s side to resume her vigil, finding a seat in one of the few clean areas of the room. Drunk Pike faded into the peaceful quiet and Cleric Pike settled back into place, solid as her plate armor, just in case anything tried to ruin the fragile happiness her family had earned for at least one more night.