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Caleb doesn’t think about it while they’re running down the endless tunnel, long after the yelling of the fire giants is out of earshot and there is nothing but darkness in either direction again as far as he can see.
He’s not sure he’s ever run so far, so fast in his life without any spells to help him, fear and adrenaline helping him to keep up with his friends just as much as magic ever did. He can hear the heavy footsteps of Fjord and Caduceus behind him, see the others just ahead of him - they’re all here, everyone is still here - and so he focuses on his own hurried steps and pounding heart and little else as they run.
He doesn’t think about it as they finally slow down, come to an eventual stop, and Beau gently kneels down with the tiny, blackened body of his dearest friend, clothes charred and hair singed and shiny red and white burns an awful contrast to the pale green of her skin, but miraculously, amazingly, alive.
But that’s also when he notices the smell, above the damp must of the tunnel and sharp sweat they’re all drenched in.
Burnt hair, burnt clothes, burnt skin.
Like the rooms beneath the prison in Rexxentrum, like his companions when he was told to practice, and afterwards, like the people they interrogated as a result, like his home, like his -
He vomits then, quietly and without fuss, his body’s near involuntary reaction even if he refuses to let himself dwell on the why. Nott is alive, everyone is alive, everyone is still here. There’s a hand on his back, firm but not pressing, and he knows it’s Yasha before he turns around. She gives him a short nod, a thin smile, and he tries and fails to return it even as he’s already making the short distance back to the rest of their group.
He doesn’t think about it as he gives Nott another, almost desperate glance, to reassure himself she’s really still here - she is, everyone is - but he can barely see her with Jester and Caduceus and Beau all huddled around, already pulling out salves and bandages. But it’s enough, for the moment, so he begins helping their clerics however he can, retrieving extra bandages from his pack and directing lights to hover over their heads and setting water to boil over a fire he starts with a snap of his fingers and a blessedly blank mind.
But when Nott says his name - or, the name...no, his name - a long few minutes later, voice quiet and raspy, he’s at her side in an instant. She’s resting on Yasha’s cloak, covered in more bandages than normal (though now they’re clean), head propped up on Jester’s haversack as the tiefling helps Caduceus apply more salve to Beau’s arms. The monk is unexpectedly quiet, and Caleb meets her eyes only for a moment before he glances instead at her raw and blistered arms. He fights down the urge to be sick again and looks back to Nott, sinking to his knees beside her and gently taking a clawed hand wrapped thick with linen and healing creams.
“I’m alright, you know,” she says, looking up at him with remarkably clear eyes given the circumstances. “I’m alright.”
“I know,” he’s all too aware of how absurd it is that she is the one comforting him, and he resists the sudden need to hug her, to wrap his arms around her small form, to feel her do the same and be reassured she’s still really here, still really real.
She is, of course she is. She’s right here and he realises she’s still talking even though it must pain her to do so, so the very least he can do is listen.
“Who would have thought that that ring would come in handy all the way down here, huh?” Her tone is light, and Caleb manages a small smile, just for her.
“It was very brave, what you did,” he rests his other hand on top of her own that he’s already holding, hoping it’s enough to convey the relief he’s finally starting to allow himself to acknowledge. You’re here, you’re really still here.
She tilts her head a little, the best she can do in lieu of a shrug to brush off the praise. “It wasn’t...it wasn’t so bad, really. It doesn’t even hurt much.”
He doesn’t think about it, then, at her pause and her careful choice of words, he only tightens his grip the tiniest amount and sits with her until long after she’s drifted off. Caleb doesn’t move until Caduceus clears his throat softly behind him, letting him know there’s food ready by the fire if he’d like to help himself.
He wouldn’t, not really, he doesn’t want to leave Nott. But he’s also travelled long enough with the firbolg to know when a gentle suggestion masks a firmer request. As if reading his thoughts, Caduceus settles himself cross-legged beside the wizard with a reassuring smile. “Go ahead, Mr. Caleb, I’ll keep an eye on her.”
His exhausted limbs ache as he drags himself to his feet, making the short few steps to the fire seem much, much longer. Jester hands him a plate, giving him a long look as he drops down beside her. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” her own exhaustion isn’t quite covered up by her bright tone, but it’s close, and she gives his arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
And he knows she isn’t referring to him being physically present.
Everyone is still here.
But he doesn’t think about it, and silently turns to his food instead.
He doesn’t think about it until he’s the last one left sitting by the fire, picking mindlessly at his own bandages without Frumpkin to keep his hands occupied. Yasha and Fjord are a short ways off down opposite sides of the tunnel, taking the first watch. The others are all asleep near Nott, near as close together as they could be without causing the goblin any more discomfort. With nothing urgent requiring his attention, he’s alone with the fire and his thoughts.
And suddenly it’s all he can think about.
Blackened clothes falling to pieces as their clerics did what they could to help Nott, brittle hair that crumbled to nothing when someone’s hand barely brushed it, shiny white burns that they cleaned and covered as quick as they could -
He’d become used to the smell a long time ago, it was nothing more than minor inconvenience as he closed the cell’s door behind him, told the healer waiting hesitantly in the hall not to bother, he’d be back soon enough.
Nott’s assurances that she was alright, that it wasn’t too bad, that she wasn’t in pain. He knew all too well why she wasn’t hurting - the pain receptors had burned away.
But Bren knew the fine line between just enough and too much when it came to inflicting pain, and he made sure to never cross it.
And before that, Nott falling backwards, their eyes locked for one, terrifyingly long moment before she disappeared behind the edge of the molten river.
He never saw his parents when he burned them alive, but he heard them, and he never moved to help them, either.
Beau running past him, shades of blurred blue moving to save his friend - his family - when he could only stand and stare.
Astrid and Eodwulf walked away, left him standing alone in front of his home as it burned to the ground.
And Beau sprinting back towards the tunnel’s entrance, arms full of fire and showing no intent in slowing as she rushed past him.
They came back, he didn’t know how long it had been - hours and hours, at least, the house was nothing more than ash and rubble - but they came back. With men with shackles and empty words. “Are you still here, Bren? It’s for the best. It’s for -”
“- the best...it’s -”
“Caleb, snap out of it!”
The forced whisper and harsh shake of his shoulder brings him back to the present moment, to the small fire miles underground and the soft snores of his friends across the way and the small, stinging pains in his arm - he glances down and relaxes his hand, pulling it away from the arm he had been gripping so tightly. There are already small spots of blood on the already filthy bandages where his nails had pressed through. He ignores them and looks up at Beau, crouching in front of him. “You here?”
I'm still here. “Ja, ja, sorry,” he gives his head a quick shake, a desperate attempt to rid himself of lingering memories that he knows full well is useless. “Did I wake you?”
“No.” She doesn’t elaborate further. Caleb doesn’t know whether to believe her or not, but she moves to take a seat beside him instead.
They sit in silence for awhile, Beau seemingly content to watch the flames, while he hesitantly decides to unwrap his arm and inspect the damage he caused himself. They’re tiny, superficial wounds, nothing serious as he knew they would be. They do little to distract him from what he knows he should say. What he wants to say, but can’t quite work up the nerve to.
But before he can, as she so often does, Beau gives him an example to follow.
“You did well today, you know?”
Caleb gives her a look, knows the incredulity is written plain across his features, but she counters it with a nonchalant half-smile and continues. “I don’t mean just in that cavern either. Afterwards, during all of that,” she gestures towards their sleeping friends with a bandaged arm, and he knows she's referring to Nott. “You held it together, man.”
He turns back to the fire. He can’t look at her earnest expression. “I...I would have left her. I couldn’t have saved her.”
“That’s alright. That’s -”
“It’s not alright!” His voice rises ever so slightly, but he stops and takes a deep breath, composes himself slightly before continuing in a quieter but no less deprecative tone. “She would have died! And I would have just watched it happen. I -”
He falls silent again, then, noticing the glare being sent his way.
“As I was saying. That’s alright, because that’s why you’ve got me.”
The sincere honesty in her statement is a lot to consider, and Caleb only nods slowly after a moment, not even entirely certain what he’s trying to convey. But she seems to be on a bit of a roll now - he thinks it must be a mixture of exhaustion and pain and whatever natural painkillers Caduceus had gifted her from his rations he brought from home, and she continues.
“We’re all in this together, you don’t need to do it all on your own. So I’ll pick up the slack where I need to, you know? No big.”
Her hand moves to grip his own, to give him something to hold on to - he hadn’t even realised he was already scratching at his arm again, with no layer of bandages to offer any sort of protection this time. He feels her other arm across his shoulders, pulling him into a sort of side hug despite the fact it must hurt her burns, but he doesn’t pull away.
He’s too tired to do so, he decides. Much too tired, since his head drops onto her shoulder without much thought, and then he can’t be bothered to lift it again. He does muster up the energy to reply, though.
“Thank you, Beauregard, for what you did.”
Thanks to you, we’re all still here.
“I’d have done it for any of you.”
That’s a sentiment that worries him, a bit, but he won’t dwell on it now. They fall silent again, her head resting on his own as quiet minutes pass. Somehow, he’s nearly fallen asleep when she speaks again.
“You did go to help her, Caleb. To do what you could. You didn’t run, you stepped forward. Twice today, actually. Granted, one of those times ended with you hanging upside down from the ceiling, but hey, I’m...I’m proud of you.”
It’s praise he doesn’t want nor deserve, although he appreciates the words - if only because he knows how hard they may have been for her to say. Just as he knows he should be grateful that somehow, somehow, he’s found people who seem to care enough to feel that way about him, even if he isn’t able to do it for himself.
But he can’t say that. Not yet.
“It’s ten o’clock, now.”
She scoffs, and squeezes his hand a little more tightly.