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Caleb had been in an exceptionally sour mood all week. He couldn’t say exactly why or what had set him off, but something was digging at him. His chest was heavy and harsh and he felt as though he could begin to weep at any moment. Somewhere between hollow and burning. He could have cried, but he didn’t when he was like this. He didn’t cry or hide or shy away. He snapped. He grew angry, sometimes at his situation and sometimes at his friends and very often at those figures in his past that he would not name without reason but mostly at himself.
And nobody could make it stop. Not even him. He would feel rotten for a day, a week, a month, however long until it had run its course. Like a virus. His mother hadn’t coddle it out of him and Ikathon hadn’t kicked it out of him. Nott had learned to simply keep her distance and the others hadn’t seen him like that quite yet. Beauregard, maybe.
The simple fact of it was that he was a nasty, mean person. He couldn’t stop it, and nobody in their right mind could that burn from his chest.
The Xhorhouse was the first place he had had a proper room in since he had stayed with Trent Ikathon. The first night they slept there, he had woken from a nightmare. The house was burning. His hands were still caked in ash. His friends were inside. They were all shadows, suggestions of them in the flames and windows. He could hear Jester screaming. The visage of a lean, horned figure stared out of his bedroom window, unblinking. Still.
The next night his mother and father were there too. The next, it was just Nott. The next, he was both in and out, staring as he burned and feeling the flames, a duel sensation that made his stomach flip.
Every time that he snuck as quietly out of his room as he could and towards the kitchen, Caduceus had beat him there, and was waiting, a cup of tea in his hand and another steaming on the table next to him. Caleb hadn’t joined him.
He started to sleep as little as he could. That was fine. He had much to do. He spent his nights in his laboratory as long as he could, experimenting with his new magic, and collapsing when he couldn’t do any more. Fitful, restless sleep became the only thing he could fall into.
He was having the nightmare again. He knew it was just that, a dream, not something that could hurt him really. But the doors of the house were open. Beau had burned to the point that he couldn’t recognize her. A hand rested on his shoulder. The weight was familiar and pounds and pounds more than he could carry. Essik stood beside him, severe and handsome, awash in firelight. Caleb wanted to beg him for help, to put out the flames, to turn back time. He opened his mouth and nothing came out.
“You are making me proud.” Trent Ikathon’s voice left Essik’s tongue. Caleb woke with a start.
He was breathing in great heaves and he felt like he might be sick. He stayed still, closed his eyes, tried to regain control over himself. And then he laughed, because had he ever really had control over himself?
There was a knock at the door of the laboratory. Caleb jumped and looked up as the door opened. Caduceus poked his head in.
“Hey,” He said, his voice heavy with sleep. “Wanna make some bread?”
Caleb stared at him for several seconds as he tried to gather his thoughts.
“It’s three in the morning.” He finally said, his throat rough.
“Is it?” Caduceus said, stepping into the room fully. He was wearing his sleep clothes, a loose tunic left untied and soft, simple trousers. Caleb realized with a roll of his shoulders that he hadn’t taken his holsters off and the pressure had left his back sore.
“Did I wake you?” It was a pointless question. Of course he had. He seemed to be very good at it, recently. Come to think of it, though, he couldn’t remember a nightmare that Caduceus hadn’t been awake for since he had joined their group.
“I mean, kind of,” Caduceus said with a wave of his hand. He pushed his hair out of his face. “In a very cosmic sense. You didn’t wake me in the way that you would wake anybody else.” Caleb didn’t know what that meant and he didn’t ask.
“Go to bed, Caduceus.” He said, turning back to his books. His eyes were tired.
“I’m making some bread.” He said thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’m gonna make some bread. Want to help?” Caleb sighed. He wasn’t sure if it was a request. Caduceus wasn’t moving and, while he was feeling ruder than usual, he wasn’t going to yell at Caduceus Clay. He was so… soft. Kind. Caleb would only dig himself deeper into guilt if he did that. He stood with a huff and followed Caduceus into the kitchen.
Clay moved around the space with ease. Even in the dark and half asleep, Caleb wasn’t worried that he would stumble or grab the wrong thing. The dancing lights he sent up were for his own benefit. He watched as Caduceus set out a number of ingredients lazily.
“Come ‘ere.” Caduceus said softly. Caleb obeyed and stepped up next to him. Caduceus handed him a large, wooden bowl. He stuck his hand into a small paper bag and pulled out a pinch of sugar, dropping it into the bowl. He tossed a dash of salt in as well and turned to the kettle that Caleb hadn’t even realized had been put on the stove. He pulled it, poured two cups of it, and the rest he carefully poured in the bowl. Caleb watched as he dipped into the bucket of water from their well and doused the fire.
The wooden bowl was getting hot in his hands and he set it down on the counter.
“ Heir Clay, if you don’t need me, I have much to do,”
“I do need you,” Caduceus pulled a small pouch from one of the cabinets and poured a healthy amount in. Yeast. Caleb could smell it, strong and alive. “Watch to make sure this is fizzing, yeah?”
“I have made bread before, I know you’re giving me the jobs you’d give a child to keep out of the way,” Caleb said bitterly, but bent over the bowl and watched the yeast dissolved.
“Okay,” Caduceus said, pulling another bowl from a cabinet and taking the one from in front of Caleb. He caught that bowl up with the first, mixing sugar, salt, water, yeast. He set it in front of Caleb and turned to his own, taking a large handful of flour from it’s bag and mixing it in slowly with a large wooden spoon. Caleb mimicked him, handful of flour, mix slowly.
He took to watching Caduceus work, the way that he nearly closed his eyes, swayed with his stirring, somewhere between sleep and wake. He most likely wouldn’t recover the energy he needed for all of his spells at this rate. And Caleb had woken him to make bread and be rude instead of sleep.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You should sleep, Heir Clay.” He set his bowl down and rubbed at his eyes. Caduceus sighed softly next to him.
“You know,” he said, “it’s the funniest thing. Since I was a kid, whenever somebody I cared about had a bad dream or a restless night, I knew somehow and was awake to help out. I’ve been waking up as you have these past few nights, and I haven’t figured out how to get you to take that help. I guess bread works.”
Silence stretched over the room for several seconds. One of the dancing lights blinked out. Caleb felt so seen. So vulnerable. He didn’t like it.
“You care for me,” he deflected. He knew that Clay would catch it.
“Yeah,” He said immediately. “Of course I do. You’ve got too much flour in there.” Caleb looked down at his bowl and found his concoction crumbly and dry. He sighed. Clay wordlessly added more water.
On the floured surface of the counter, Clay kneaded his dough perfectly. Slow, precise movements. He pulled the edges of the dough towards the center, dug the heels of his hands into it, turned it ninety degrees and started over again. Caleb kept losing his rhythm. Sections of his dough were too dry and others were too wet, but he focused on Caduceus instead of himself. Steady, large hands, half closed eyes, hair falling into his face.
And Caleb decided that this was the kind of help he liked. Nobody had quite gotten it right, and he had chalked that up to his own defections. Not even Nott managed to pinpoint it every time. But Caduceus seemed to be able to mold himself to the needs of others. He was open and talkative when Jester needed him and he asked Yasha the right questions and he didn’t let Beau turn in on herself. He knew to be quiet, to be calm, and to distract.
Finally, he stopped and put his dough back into the bowl and laid a cloth over it. Caleb did the same and theorized that it wouldn’t rise quite right. Caduceus sat down at the kitchen table and sighed.
“If you can even verbalize it,” he said after a while, “I’m here to listen to whatever is wrong. Or if talking will make it worse, then we won’t. But we’ve got an hour to kill.” He gestured towards the dough. Caleb swallowed and nodded.
“I can’t.” He said. “Metaphors. Vague things, but I don’t think I can make you understand.”
“You can’t.” Caduceus agreed. “Pain demands to be felt, but it must be felt alone. I might be able to name your wounds, but I’ll never know how to feels to sit in your body. But talking usually doesn’t hurt.” Caleb sat and thought for a very long time.
“Nothing is wrong.” He said. “I’m fine, you can attest to that. It is… my mind. Something there that is broken.”
“Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it's not real.” Caduceus said, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair.
Scheiße. That hit him in the chest.
“But…” He said after a few moments. “You can’t treat this with a salve or magic.” He rationalized, scratched at his arms.
“Sure I can.” Caduceus smiled. “Serotonin.”
“I’m sorry?” Caleb asked.
“Serotonin and a few other things. It’s chemicals that your brain might not be producing quite right. It can help balance things.” He shrugged.
“It can’t be that easy.” Caleb said. “Jester goes on and on about how therapy can fix all of my problems and I just… I don’t think it’s that simple.” Caduceus considered for a very long moment. Caleb let the silence stretch. He had never met somebody who chose their words so carefully. Clay often spent entire minutes deciding how to say something, which left awkward silences in conversation with him. Caleb had learned to let him think.
“It’s not easy.” Caduceus said. “I have no doubt that you would be bored to death by therapy, Caleb. The same way that I’m bored when I brush my teeth or clean my clothes. But you’re a much smarter man than I am, Caleb. The thing that your brain can’t seem to get around is that it’s your mind in your control. You get to choose whether to work on it. And that’s all it is. It’s work. Maintenance. And the bottom line is that some people are okay with work and some people aren’t. So, I can help in the ways that I can. I can cook you foods with a lot of serotonin and I can encourage you to clean and repair, but the rest… well, that’s on you.”
Caleb was quiet for a very, very long time. The sun should be rising. His dough was not. He felt gutted. It was still dark.
“You’re a smart man, Caduceus.” He finally said, his voice thick with emotion. Caduceus laughed.
“ You’re smart.” He said. “ I’m... wise.” Caleb laughed.
“It’s…” He sighed. “It makes sense. The way you put it. That makes sense.” Clay nodded. “And I’d like to work.” Clay’s easy smile spread like butter.
“Then I’m here to help.” He opened his eyes as he said it. He placed his hand on top of Caleb’s. There was something so genuine about that simple promise. Something so vulnerable.
Caleb was warming up to the idea of being vulnerable with Caduceus. It was a new one, but not a bad one.
“What time is it?” Clay asked around a yawn.
“Four fifty-seven in the morning,” He said on command. “I’ve ruined your sleep.” Caduceus smiled.
“I ruined my own sleep.” Caduceus shrugged. “You know I can read other people’s emotions.” He said very matter of fact. Caleb hated it when people said that they understood or felt for him. The inherent pity in their empathy had left sour to the idea of it. This was a different kind of empathy, miles and miles away from anything resembling pity.This was something in Caduceus’ bones and Caleb had no right to scoff at it. “I’m just really bad at it.” Caleb nodded.
“I like to knit,” Caleb said a bit lamely, “but I can only make scarves and they get a little thinner the longer I go on until I just give up.”
“I had a feeling that you’d understand. I think our bread has risen.” He stood and stretched, brushing his fingers against the ceiling as he walked. Caduceus’ bread had risen beautifully, pale, flowered dough as tall as the rim of the bowl. Caleb’s… not so much. It was flat, grey, and lumpy. He sighed and poked it. It deflated a bit. “You’ve made bread before?” Caduceus asked, a bit of humor in his voice.
“Oh, he has jokes now?” Caleb laughed.
“I’ve always had jokes,” Clay responded. “Not all of them make a lot of sense.” He shrugged. “You know how the people you’re around shape you in a lot of ways, and then you start speaking a language that is only your own? I would have my siblings rolling in three minutes flat.” He smiled something bittersweet.
“All of my jokes are funnier in Zemni.” That got a laugh out of him.
Caduceus lifted his dough out of the bowl, shaped it into a kind of oval and cut diagonal lines across the top of it. Caleb tried to copy his technique but his was,,, droopy. Caduceus looked on to it with concern.
“You know, I just don’t know what went wrong.” He said. Caleb shrugged.
“I would think I’d be good at this. It’s just chemistry.”
“It’s more art than science.” Caduceus said. “Who knows, maybe it’ll bake perfectly.” Wishful thinking, Caleb knew, but he was inclined to believe him. That was the thing about Clay. He made other people believe even when they had nothing to believe in.
Caduceus lifted new logs into the oven and, with the snap of Caleb’s fingers, flames licked at them. They sat and watched the bread bake. It smelled like yeast and something sweet. Caleb felt worn and, for the first time in weeks, contented. Caduceus had let his head fall onto the table and he snored softly. Caleb pulled the bread when it was time.
Caduceus’ loaf was perfect. Caleb’s was… strange. It was burned on the outside, but when he tore off a piece of it, the inside was still a bit raw. He tapped Caduceus on the hand.
“Want to see something?” He asked, laying Clay’s loaf in front of him. He hummed. Caleb tore off the other end of his loaf and dug his hands inside. “The loaf is fresh, so it’s still hot. You can keep your hands warm and eat it while you do.” Caduceus smiled broadly and copied Caleb. He laughed.
“This is great. ” He said sleepily. Caleb smiled.
“When I was a boy, my mother would make bread in the morning and send me to lessons with a loaf to keep my hands from freezing. We couldn’t afford proper gloves,”
Caduceus nodded.
“I never left the house during winter with a cup of tea in my hands. I knew that I needed to come back when I finished it.”
Beau entered the kitchen, looking disgruntled.
“You doing that weird fucking bread thing?” She grumbled. Caduceus smiled.
“Yeah,” He said, “It’s great.”
Beau pulled a piece of bread off Caleb’s loaf and popped it in her mouth before Caleb could warn her.
“Holy shit,” She barely got it down, “oh my gods, are you trying to kill me?” Caduceus laughed.
Caleb felt lighter. Like something was lifted off of him. He ate off of Caduceus' loaf as the others began to file in.
Three days later, he entered his laboratory one night to find a steaming cup of tea, a spool of soft yarn, and a book. The title read “ The Joy Of Knitting.” Caleb smiled, gathered his gifts, and decided to go to bed.