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Caspar had a mission.
It was a mission he assumed every night, as the noise in the dining hall petered out and the sun hung low over the horizon. On his way up to his room (or, more likely, on his way to get a bit more practice at the training yard) he’d check Linhardt’s room. If Linhardt was there, conscious or not, Caspar was off the hook. If Linhardt was missing… then the search was on.
Today was one of those days. Caspar craned his neck to look down into one of the flowerbeds in the greenhouse, brow furrowed. Linhardt hated dirt, sure, but he could see how his old friend would think the soft dirt looked inviting in one of his sleep deprived moods. After all, it had the word bed in it! Alas, the greenhouse was entirely free of his friend’s long noodle limbs, and he was going to have to look elsewhere.
The greenhouse keeper looked after him with a perturbed expression as he sped out into the sunshine. To his right, he heard the soft noise of the insects flying over the fish pond. With a quick glance he confirmed that Linhardt wasn’t sleeping there, sprawled across the dock, having fallen asleep fishing or watching the water.
Next was the dining hall, and he got down on his knees to check under the tables. It wouldn’t be the first time that Linhardt had collapsed in here, and maybe some kind soul had rolled him under the table so he wouldn’t be stepped on? No luck, however.
“What are you doing?” he heard someone behind him ask, and he glanced up to see Lysithea regarding him with a dubious expression, a small cloth covered box in her hands. Leftovers from dinner maybe, or taking dessert to her room? It didn’t really matter, but she clutched it protectively like Caspar was going to snatch it from her to inspect the contents
“Looking for Linhardt,” he told her brightly, clambering to his feet.
“Uh… why?” she glanced at the table, eyebrows furrowed.
“Ghosts,” he replied, voice cheerful, and then realized a second later that she maybe was asking why he was looking under the table? Ah well. “Gotta go!” And he dashed off towards the main hallway.
“Wait, what? What!” he heard her yell after him, but despite his little legs Caspar could move fast, and he zipped down the hall, past Catherine and Alois deep in conversation and to the classrooms.
The Golden Deer and Blue Lions classrooms were empty, and Edelgard was in the Black Eagles room, staring at the chalkboard with arms folded. Honestly, if she was here, Hubert probably was too, even if Caspar couldn’t see him.
“Seen Linhardt?” he asked her, shooting an apprehensive glance at the dark shadows behind the desk. Perhaps that was where Hubert lurked?
“Ah… no,” she replied, pulling her attention from the board to glance at him. “Not in his room?”
“Nope!” Caspar replied cheerfully, “but don’t worry, I’ll find him.” He had lots of practice after all.
He did only a cursory check of the cathedral; neither he nor Linhardt were particularly religious, although maybe the hymns would be relaxing, like a lullaby? He wasn’t sure about that, but either way the cathedral was Linhardt-free, although he saw Ashe loitering nervously by the advice box and had to stop and say hi to him, because they were buddies now.
Then he ran up the stairs to the second floor. When he exited the staircase, breathing a bit hard, he figured this was a kind of training too, wasn’t it? He spun on his heel to continue and bumped directly into the Professor.
“Ah, Caspar,” the Professor said, and then, noticing his darting eyes, “Lost something?”
“Yeah,” Caspar replied.
“Is it this?” the Professor held up an empty bottle of… perfume?
“What? No.”
“Is it this?” the Professor held up a small pencil case shaped like a hedgehog.
“No!”
“Is it thi--”
“No! It’s Linhardt!” Caspar interrupted, losing patience.
“Ah.” The Professor lowered the next item they were holding, which looked like some sort of book. “I don’t think he’d fit in my bag, but try the library?”
“Thanks!” and Caspar was off, running down the hallway.
He threw open the library door with a bang and was promptly shushed by the librarian. Well, the replacement librarian, after… you know. Caspar narrowed his eyes at them-- this was a healthy level of suspicion, he felt, considering what the previous one had been up to. Maybe all librarians were in league somehow.
He was distracted from this train of thought by the sight of Linhardt at one of the tables, head down on the polished wood. Caspar’s face lit up and he crept over to the table, pulling out the chair across from him.
“Found you,” he said, voice somewhat hushed in an attempt to not get them both kicked out. Linhardt stirred anyway, lifting his head up to look at him with weary eyes. There was a smudge of ink on his cheek and his eyelashes were gummed together, so he must have been sleeping for a while. Caspar beamed at him.
“Whatimsit?” Linhardt mumbled, blinking slowly at him, which Caspar understood with his wealth of sleepy Linhardt experience to mean ‘what time is it’.
“Gettin’ late. Ready to head back to your dorm?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
“Hmmm… carry me,” Linhardt responded, putting his head back down on the table. Caspar eyed him critically. He could carry Linhardt; he’d done it before. The stairs might be a problem though (and even then! It was a matter of Linhardt being an awkward shape, not that he was too heavy, Caspar insisted to himself).
He reached across the table to poke the top of Linhardt’s head. “Make it down the stairs and I’ll carry you the rest of the way?” he offered.
Linhardt groaned, so Caspar poked him again. If he went back to sleep he’d give carrying him a try, at least.
“Fine,” Linhardt said finally, and his voice sounded much more coherent this time. He levered himself up off the table and started to messily gather his papers together, stuffing them into the front cover of one of the books. Caspar hopped up from his chair and came around to his side of the table, putting an arm around his waist so that Linhardt could lean on him. Linhardt immediately rested his cheek on Caspar’s head, draping his arm around his shoulders. “Okay,” Linhardt mumbled, and the two of them set off, shuffling like they were in a three legged race.
It seemed to take forever, but eventually they made it down the stairs, and then Caspar leaned down to scoop Linhardt into his arms, one arm under his knees and the other around his shoulders. It always felt a bit goofy doing so, because Linhardt was so much taller and even folded up his legs still stuck out way too much over Caspar’s arm, but it at least worked better than putting him over his shoulder. Linhardt rubbed his cheek against Caspar’s shoulder with a happy humming noise and went right back to sleep, and the warm buzzing in Caspar’s chest at that fueled him enough to give him a speed boost.
They passed Byleth in the hallway, who gave them a rather dead eyed thumbs up, and then they passed Lysithea, who was whispering something to Ashe. Both of them looked pale and shaky, and they stared at the odd pair as Caspar hurried past, as if they dearly wanted to ask him something.
Then, blessedly, they reached Linhardt’s dorm, and Caspar shouldered the door open, kicking it closed (Linhardt’s eyes flew open and he gave him a glare of reproach) and flopping down to sit on the bed, Linhardt in his lap.
“We made it!” he cheered. “It’s not even dark yet, you’re safe.”
“Safe?” Linhardt said with a yawn. Rather than climb off of Caspar, he looped his arms around his neck as if to keep him there. “I didn’t feel particularly safe wobbling down those stairs.” His voice had no venom in it, however, and he seemed content to stay right where he was.
“From the ghosts, duh,” Caspar said with an eyeroll. He mirrored the motion, his arms wrapping around Linhardt’s waist, and then leaned back to pull him down onto the bed. He didn’t quite account for how the motion would pull Linhardt onto him, his soft hair falling into Caspar’s face. It was almost enough to distract himself from the puzzled look on Linhardt’s face.
“Caspar… are you telling me that you think ghosts are real.” He sounded severely unimpressed, and Caspar gaped at him, wounded. After all the trouble he’d gone to!
“No! ‘Course not! But you’re scared of them, so I don’t want you to wake up somewhere weird when it’s dark and freak out!” He could hear his own voice rising in pitch like it always did when they argued. He remembered Linhardt climbing into his bed during sleepovers, shaking like a leaf! He was just being considerate!
Linhardt lifted his head to stare at him for a moment, and then snorted. Caspar felt the puff of air against his cheek and flushed. “I was scared of ghosts when I was nine. We’re nearly adults now. That would be like you still being scared of lightning.”
Caspar froze, and Linhardt blinked in surprise. “Oh, Caspar, you beautiful fool. Alright, I suppose it’s very sweet that you’ve been coming to find me every night to protect me from my supposed fear, so I won’t tease you about it.”
Caspar puffed up his cheeks at him. “I’m not a fool! It’s a rational fear!”
“Sure, alright. I won’t say anything else about it. All I ask is you become strong enough to carry me back to my room, stairs included.” Linhardt’s head flopped down against Caspar’s shoulder, and Caspar felt himself filled with that same impossible energy again.
“It’s a deal! I’ll get strong enough so I can take you to bed every night!” he insisted, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Linhardt raise his eyebrows at him, cheeks reddening slightly.
“Ah, what am I going to do with you,” Linhardt sighed, turning his face against the fabric of Caspar’s shirt. “It’s a deal, then. I’ll hold you to it.” And he was asleep before Caspar realized he still hadn’t escaped from his clutches. He truly was stuck now.