Chapter Text
Alastair could feel it growing harder and harder to breathe. He had fought- Master Joseph hadn’t left without a fair few injuries of his own. But it was clear to him that he had come away worse off. He wasn’t going to be walking away from this cold, barren cave alive. And Call- he muffled a sob at the thought. Master Joseph had left the child, thank god, but if Alastair died, then he wasn’t much better off. Unless- unless-
Reaching out with the final vestiges of his magic, he called for Rufus, hoping he was strong enough to get his message through.
Rufus, come to the cave. You can still save one of us.
It was cryptic, but Alastair felt confident that he would understand. He knew where he had gone. Now, he had one final thing to do before he joined Sarah. Ignoring the pain, Alastair dragged himself towards his crying son.
-
When William Rufus finally arrived at the scene of the Cold Massacre, two other mages in tow, there was no noise but the howling of the wind. He stepped past bodies of friends, former students, children. At first, when he came across the bodies of Sarah and Alastair- god, he’d died close to her, his left hand reaching out to hers- he thought he’d come too late.
And then he saw the child. Callum Hunt was partially hidden by his father’s other arm and he was more dead than alive, but he was still breathing. Alastair had never meant to save himself, William realized. He had meant to save his son.
“Over here,” he called, carefully plucking the baby from his father’s frozen grasp. He woke, crying, and William was sure his leg was broken, if not shattered. “The child is still alive.”
None of them saw what Alastair had moved to cover- none of them would ever hear about the strange inscription in the ice. And just like that, the Enemy of Death would live again.
-
In the will of Sarah and Alastair Hunt, five people were listed as candidates to take their son in the case of their death. William Rufus was the last, and the last one living. He had known that he was on that list. Sarah had asked him when they’d told him that they would be having a child, and William had been delighted to say yes. He’d known that there was a possibility that he would get the child, but never had he thought it would be him and him alone.
Of course, he had Sam to help him. Sam, who hadn’t so much as blinked when William had called him in the middle of his shift at the library and told him that they were officially responsible for a young child. Sam, who had no idea why this child- why Callum- had really come into their care.
At some point, William was going to have to tell him. It might not even be by choice if Callum’s magic showed itself unexpectedly. He glanced over at the small crib that they had purchased only two days ago when Callum had been deemed well enough to come home. His leg would ever be perfect- Master Amaranth predicted that he would walk with a limp for his whole life. It was better than being dead, William supposed.
Callum took that moment to start crying. Wearily, he rose from his chair and picked him up. It was time for him to eat anyways, and he hoped that was the source of his tears. William had never planned on being a father, and he could only hope that he was truly up for the challenge.
-
“William,” Sam laughed, semi-incredulously. “William, come look at this!”
It had been a year since Callum had joined their little family and they had settled into as much of a rhythm as anyone with a toddler could. It had taken him a while to learn how to walk, and he was still somewhat unsteady, but he was managing. He was just starting to speak, producing senseless babble that Sam took great joy in replying to.
Smiling, William stood from his spot at the dining table and placed his breakfast plate on the counter. He walked into the living room, where Callum had managed to perch himself on top of the bookshelf, and was now making delighted noises. He blinked.
“Uhh,” he said, still focused on the fact that their fourteen month old had managed to get himself onto their five-foot tall bookshelf, likely by using air magic.
“I know,” Sam said, marvelling. “I have no idea how he got up there either.”
“Our child is secretly Spiderman,” he joked weakly. “But I’m going to get him down from there before he falls.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Sam replied. “I guess we’re going to need to toddler-proof the bookshelves somehow, now.”
“We’ll work it out,” he agreed, carefully lifting Callum off of the shelf. He gurgled, happy to be with William, and he smiled at the baby, a little less freaked out. He wasn’t going to reveal their secret, not quite yet.
-
Nine years and a few too many odd occurrences later, the Big One finally came for them. There was officially no other way for William to explain this away.
It had gone something like this: it was a greyish day and Callum had wanted to go out to the park. They had agreed. It wasn’t unpleasant outside, just somewhat dark, but either way, the park was largely empty. William had been talking to Sam for a few moments, and in that time an altercation had broken out. He had no idea what it was about- knowing Call, it was him not backing down, ever- but when he turned back to Call, the other boys were getting violent. Sam had gotten up, ready to storm over. The next moment, the ground beneath the other children was moving, cracking open at their feet. And Call- Call wasn’t even trembling from the movement. The ground was splitting in two directly in front of him and he wasn’t so much as jolted.
“What the fuck?” Sam murmured, and William couldn’t help but agree with him. Or rather, he would agree with him, if he didn’t know exactly what was happening.
Call looked shocked. The boys who had been attacking him had fled the scene, almost regrettably. William would really have liked to try talking to their parents. Call turned and ran to them. “What was that? Dad?”
“I- I don’t know, kiddo,” Sam was floundering, clearly just as surprised as Call.
He rubbed at his temples and met Call’s eyes. “I do. Looks like it’s finally time that we all have this talk.”
Sam turned to him in confusion. “What do you mean, you know? William, what are you talking about?”
“We’ll talk about it when we get home. For now, let’s just focus on that, shall we?”
Call nodded slowly, deep in thought. Sam looked ready to argue, but he kept his mouth shut. The walk home was quiet and solemn, Sam refusing to meet William’s eyes, and Call glancing at his shoes every few feet. Finally, when they were around the kitchen table, William spoke.
He told them about magic, about Call’s parents, about the war, about the Magisterium. He told them about the necessity for secrecy, partly for Call’s benefit and partly in a desperate attempt to make Sam understand why he couldn’t say anything. He could only hope it worked.
When William was finished, the room was quiet for a moment.
“Does that mean that you might be my teacher, then?” Call asked, his face warring between delight and horror.
-
That night, Sam sat on the bed they shared while William brushed his teeth, instead of crawling under the covers like he usually did. When he joined him, it was clear that he had been waiting.
“So,” he said tiredly. “I get that you couldn’t tell me. I understand, and I’m trying very hard not to hold it against you. But I need you to understand something, too: I’m going to need some time. I need to digest this, and get over it, and that’s not going to happen overnight. I love you, William, and that’s not changing now or ever. I just- I need to work this out in my head before I can stop feeling mad that you couldn’t tell me, no matter how irrational that kind of is.”
William nodded, a soft smile curling onto his face. He wasn’t going to lose Sam. “I can give you all the time you need.”
-
“Nervous?” asked Sam from his spot in the driver’s seat. Call was picking at his nails in the backseat of their humble Toyota and William was watching him through the rearview mirror. He didn’t like making the drive out to the hangar, but it was a necessary evil. At least this time, he had some company.
“No.” Call’s response was sullen and annoyed. Definitely nervous.
“Glad not be having me as your teacher for the next five years?” William asked, trying to lighten the mood.
He didn’t say anything in response and William moved his assessment of Call’s mood from nervous to worried.
“Okay, what’s going on?” he asked firmly.
“Nothing, I swear!” Call said, still not looking up from his fingernails.
Sam wasn’t buying it either. “Sure, and my name’s Callum Hunt.”
“Nice to meet you, Call,” he grumbled, but William could see him caving. He sighed, finally looking up from his hands. “What if I don’t like anyone else in my apprentice group, or they don’t like me?”
It wasn’t an entirely irrational fear. Callum, for all his good qualities, could be an abrasive and stubborn person, and he was slow to trust. William didn’t blame him; he’d had to have multiple talks with the principal and some fellow parents when Callum came home with assorted cuts and bruises.
“Not all of them will dislike you, even if they aren’t really your friends. And I guarantee that at least one of the students at the Magisterium will become your friend, even if they aren’t in your apprentice group, or even your year,” William told him, and he believed what he said. “At the very least, it can’t be much worse than your old school.”
“Yeah, okay,” Call conceded, relaxing his shoulders a little bit. He rubbed at his bad leg. “I’ve got you if stuff goes bad anyways. Thanks, Dad.”
“No problem,” he said.