Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Molly once claimed he came from a cult. No, not just that. He claimed he escaped from a cult. They didn’t believe him then, what with his tendency for tall tales, but now...Caleb wishes he had listened closer.

It starts with—well, it starts with meeting Mollymauk.

He has Nott by his side and every inclination for wariness when Jester offers to introduce her other friends to them. He should’ve said no like his instincts demanded. They’d only known Jester and her two roommates for a little while, and as nice as she is, she’s still a stranger—still nothing more than that nice tiefling girl Nott befriended purely by accident because of an impulsive stop to a sweets store one day. And just because she’s been kind and accepting of them, it would be foolish to assume she’s anything but the exception rather than the rule.

Still, Jester offers, and Caleb opens his mouth, ready with a polite no. He has no desire to go out and make more friends than he already has. In fact, he already has three more friends than he ever expected to. But before he can get the words out, he looks over and sees the way Nott’s eyes turn to him pleadingly and the way Beauregard freezes up at the mere mention of Jester’s ‘other’ friends. Despite his intentions, that’s enough to pique his curiosity and sway him otherwise, and he reluctantly agrees.

The fact that Mollymauk and Yasha are friends with Jester doesn’t surprise him. Mollymauk is all bright colours and dazzle and distractions. He’s loud without saying anything and immediately sizes them up behind the guise of an easy laugh and a toothy grin. Surprisingly, it doesn’t put Caleb off. He understands hiding in plain sight, and he understands that this is just another form of it. Yasha is the opposite, doing her best to blend into the background despite her towering stature. Monochrome and quiet, she averts her gaze when she speaks—except with Molly.

When they’re together, they seem to blend together into something soft and warm, trading whispers and quiet smiles and with Nott by his side, Caleb understands this too. Maybe it’s this little collection of commonalities he finds in the other pair, but he finds himself...not relaxed, but more at ease than he expected. 

At ease or not, never in his life would he have expected this colourful circus man to show up. 

Never in his life would he have expected to care so much—to want so badly to keep that smile on his face.

Mollymauk is a walking contradiction, simultaneously straightforward and convoluted beyond solving. His smile is soft but his tongue is sharp. His laugh is warm but his hands are cold. And for all his levity, Caleb finds himself pulled into his orbit with no hope of escape. So they see each other again. And again. And again.

And then one night, while Nott is out with the girls, Molly comes to him.

“Look, I’m not expecting anything, really. You can say no. You can always say no.”

Caleb tilts his head. “What am I saying no to, Mollymauk?”

“Me. There’s a lot to unpack, I know—and you might not even want this. So feel free to say no. Things don’t need to change,” he says with a rueful little smile, standing in Caleb’s dingy apartment, beautiful and sincere. His jewels glitter from the street lights outside filtering through half-closed blinds, and those thick, lush eyelashes seem to flutter with every blink.

And that’s enough.

“I have a lot to unpack as well as I am sure you have noticed,” he replies, carefully taking the tiefling’s hands. “If you are alright with that, I will not say no. Not to you. Not to this.”

Lacing their fingers together, Molly leans in and whispers, “More than alright.”

So he doesn’t say no, and instead, he closes the gap between them and kisses Molly.

The kiss is sweet and chaste but it steals his breath away all the same. He feels Molly smile against his lips and in that moment, he finds himself hard-pressed to care about much else.

--

It’s easy taking the next step with Molly, easy trying to make things work. Despite their differences, and despite his initial misgivings, being with Mollymauk makes him want things to work out.

So he tries.

Caleb tries and their days come and go peacefully. They spend their time together and he starts learning more about the tiefling. For one thing, Molly is a terrible reader and prefers being read to. For another, whatever past is hounding him, it’s persistent. On bad days, whatever this looming darkness is, it sets Molly on edge and if he sometimes glances over his shoulder one too many times or starts at his own reflection, well, of all people, Caleb understands.

He hasn’t exactly led a clean enough life that he can simply waltz through without ever turning his head like Jester. Nor can he run through blindly with his fists at the ready like Beauregard. 

Still, his time here with Nott has been peaceful and with the addition of friends, his life is full. 

And with Molly there beside him, it’s full to the point of brimming. 

Molly is loud and messy and unashamedly himself. They share kisses in the privacy of their apartments and brush their fingers together in the company of their friends. But sometimes, in the dead of the night, after time spent in love, he catches Molly looking out the window. Silently bathed in moonlight with an unreadable expression on his face, the tiefling stands there, his mind somewhere distant.

Sometimes, he’ll follow and wrap his arms around the tiefling’s waist and trail kisses down his shoulder until he’s coaxed back into bed. Other times, he simply waits for his lover to return to him.

“I was once part of a cult, you know? My entire family. My only family. It was a terrible place to be. I only barely got out,” Molly whispers one night, lying back down.

Still a little groggy with sleep, Caleb reaches out and tangles his fingers in those thick purple locks. “Really?” he asks indulgently, unsure if the tiefling’s words were merely remnants of a bad dream.

Molly pauses and smiles. Pressing a kiss to his lips, he curls up closer against Caleb and closes his eyes. “I’m not sure. I haven’t decided yet.”

They leave it at that and Molly doesn’t bring it up again.

It wouldn’t be until much later that Caleb realizes the only thing Mollymauk was uncertain about was the success of his escape.

--

Their time passes so peacefully that neither of them notice the darkness stalking then until catches up to them. It happens one night when his friends drag him to a club for a fun night out.

That’s when things start shattering around them.

His head is throbbing and the room is spinning as the lights flash. The pulsing of the music seems to ooze from the speakers, filling the club up, thick, heavy, and electronic.

He shouldn’t have agreed to come no matter how anyone begged, no matter how prettily Molly fluttered his eyelashes and sang of rewards to come for his participation. But then, spotting the familiar curl of horns, Caleb downs his drink and wanders a little unsteadily out onto the dance floor. If he’s here already, he might as well make the most of it.

Reaching out to touch Molly’s arm, he blinks when he sees that the tiefling somehow found time to change. 

Now sporting a black crop top and jeans that hugged his everything, Molly raises a hand at him and beckons him closer, sidling up to him as he does. Caleb narrows his eyes, trying to focus his vision through the flashing lights and alcohol. The tiefling merely grins.

And it’s off.

Too predatory. Too sharp.

“Mollymauk?” he shouts over the music.

Molly’s face falls. “What did you just say?”

Just then—

“Caleb?”

--

Molly frowns when he sees his boyfriend disappear into the crowd. Weaving through the dancefloor after him, he prepares himself to drag a very drunk Caleb outside for consolatory kisses.

Instead, what he comes face to face with is a mirror image of himself. Or, a near mirror image. The tiefling standing before him is the same shade of lavender with the same horns, the same eyes, and the same tail. But where he’s covered in scars and tattoos, the one standing in front of him isn’t.

Blood draining from his face, he feels himself sobering up with dread. “Caleb?”

Caleb turns around, his unease turning into confusion into alarm. He pulls away from the stranger and takes a couple of steps back towards Molly then glances back at his duplicate. 

Meeting him the rest of the way, Molly takes Caleb’s hand and pulls the human behind him. He tucks their hands behind his back to hide his shaking and faces down the other tiefling. 

Crimson eyes narrow at him but then seems to—no, definitely picks up on his discomfort and smiles. 

At once, he’s reminded of running in the dead of the night, alone, desperate, and afraid. 

“Mollymauk.”

“Lucien,” he hisses back like a curse.

That only seems to make the smile grow wider and Molly feels his stomach churn and bile threaten to rise up his throat. Gesturing to Caleb, Lucien purrs, “Well, brother, aren’t you going to introduce me to this Caleb of yours?”

Brother.

No one’s called him that in years. He hasn’t called anyone that in years—hasn’t had anyone one to call that, not since…

All of a sudden, he’s aware of eyes on him from every angle.

Surrounded.

His vision starts to dot and narrow and his fingertips tingle numbly with panic. Molly glances about the club frantically for Yasha and spots her by the door with an empty drink in her hand. Without answering, he stalks past Lucien with Caleb, who wisely remains silent. 

As they move, behind him, Caleb suddenly freezes. He turns around, ready to lash out at the tiefling but sees Lucien walking away with a knowing look and a nod to the wizard.

It occurs to him to ask about it, to demand answers, but his body is set on getting away and he needs to go while his legs still carry him. He hurries over to Yasha and tucks himself behind her larger form and clings on to her belt, desperate for something to anchor himself to. The tingling numbness spreads up his limbs and it’s all he can do to keep his knees from buckling. 

Yasha glances back and makes a sound of concern and stands protectively over him without question, which he desperately loves her for.

He doesn’t keep track of what happens next, but suddenly, air refuses to fill his lungs or maybe he’s just not breathing right. The world is spinning and somehow, probably Yasha, he winds up outside the club on the ground, legs weak and overtaken by static. His friends have all gathered there, some drunk others sober, but each of them watching him with concern. 

“Molly, we’re outside now, you’re safe.”

The voice barely registers in his mind.

Stealing a glance over at Jester, he tightens his grip on Yasha, the tremors having travelled up his forearms. That’s right. She’s right. He’s outside. He’s safe.

Still, he can’t get the taste of blood and dirt out of his mouth.

Yasha leans down and takes his hand, placing it over her chest. He can feel her heart racing beneath his fingers. “Breathe with me, Molly,” she whispers. “Copy what I do.”

He tries.

The first few breaths are blocked by memories of dirt in his mouth and down his throat and choking and darkness and he’s digging and scratching but the light never comes. 

Hands cup his face and suddenly he’s staring at Yasha again and they’re both kneeling under a streetlight. “You’re out. You’re safe. There’s light. There’s air. Mollymauk, breathe with me. I promise I won’t let you go back under. Do you know who I am?”

He grasps her wrist tightly, his breathing still coming out in broken pants. “Yasha.”

His best friend. His charm. His Yasha.

His claws dig into her skin but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Good. Mollymauk, that’s very good. Do you remember how we met?”

It gets easier after that.

She continues talking him through the attack, gently reassuring him of his location and current situation, occasionally squeezing his hand to draw him back to the present when the pounding in his ears threatens to deafen him.

“We will take him home and make sure he is alright. Nott, if you wouldn’t mind going to Jester for tonight…” he hears Caleb reassure the rest of the group.

What a shame, Molly thinks dully to himself. He and Nott had worked so hard to get Caleb to join them on a night out, and now it’s all ruined and he can’t even sort his mind out enough to apologize for it.

“Wait, is he gonna be okay? What the fuck happened in there? Why’s he like this?” Beau asks, firing questions in rapid succession.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?” Jester’s voice floats through.

There’s slight shifting above him as Yasha answers, “No, he needs space. We’ll bring him home and give him time to rest, you know? I promise I’ll call you in the morning.”

Jester hums thoughtfully for a moment. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

“We’ll defer to your expertise, then,” Fjord says evenly. “Take care of him, Yasha. We’ll be waiting for your call.”

The group splits up and by the time he’s calm enough to be moved, he feels emptied out and brittle. Yasha scoops him up effortlessly and the relief of being taken care of and the idea of going home is enough to bring tears to his eyes. Tucking his head under her chin, he stares off into some middle distance and tries to concentrate on her warmth, refusing to close his eyes lest he fall asleep.

The apartment is a comforting sight to behold, even all the messes he’s been meaning to sort out seem to reassure him that he was there, that he didn’t just dream this place up. He’s led to the sunroom he designated as his bedroom and stripped out of all unnecessary clothes and tucked into bed.

“Sleep, Mollymauk,” Caleb whispers to him, a hand brushing back his hair. “Yasha and I need to speak, but we will be back shortly.”

He thinks to protest but his mouth hasn’t caught up yet. There’s a snap and a warm ball of fur curls against his chest, purring steadily.

Footsteps lead away and he hears dimly, “Caleb, what happened back there?”

--

Molly doesn’t know when he falls asleep but he knows this is a dream.

It has to be.

Even as he thinks this, he finds himself standing in a familiar place. The looming darkness of the unlit hallways and the smell of rotting flesh and blood. In that place, the two of them walked around with their heads held high amongst the other children, well aware of their status. Sure, the adults beat on them like any other, but death was never a threat for them—not like it was for the others. And in the dead of night, curled up together, Lucien would whisper to him his plans of escape, his dreams of freedom. 

Their freedom.

He believed his brother back in that moment. Believed they’d be able to make a clean escape. Believed things would work out without further sacrifice. He supposes that was a naive thought to have—too naive for someone in their situation. Even so, he watches himself trail after his brother like a stray dog, too young and desperate to know any better. 

Then the scene shifts and he’s watching his double’s back as he walks away with a small group of those who still believed. Lucien had turned from him not with disappointment so much as disdain and contempt. And while some hesitated, perhaps because of their likeness, others left him without so much a glance back, all too eager to follow in their leader’s footsteps.

Weak.

That’s what they called him.

Lucien could be charismatic in his cruelty. 

They all knew that.

He just never expected that cruelty to be directed at him.

Brother, he’d called out.

Brother.

Lucien never so much as paused in his step.

There are figures hovering over him now as he lies immobile. He’s not restrained but his limbs won’t move. His vision is blurring and he’s growing dizzy from the blood loss. Behind him, the ominous shape of some foreboding entity looms over them.

When the first impact of dirt his him, he opens his mouth to cry out in pain but nothing comes out. More dirt and the sound of shovels moving and his eyes are wide and darting all over, looking for an escape. Surely, they wouldn’t kill him like this.

The dirt hits the open wounds, digging into the cuts. It fills his mouth as he tries to scream, coating his tongue, choking him. Blood and tears blur his vision, a horrible mix of pain and fear and understanding. 

He’s going to die here.

He’s going to die he’s going to die he’s going—

He chokes out a gasp and sits up, drawing a shaky breath in. There are hands holding him steady and fingers running through his hair. Meaningless reassurances are whispered as he trembles and rasps the only word that comes with these nightmares.

“Brother…”

Chapter Text

The sun shining through the glass walls of the sun room startles him awake, though the mixture of warm sunlight and brisk morning air helps put him back at ease. Waking up sandwiched between his two favourite people helps calm his nerves, but Molly feels frayed and paper thin, like even the gentlest breeze would cut him open. And while he doesn’t remember the specifics of the dreams, he doesn’t need to. He knows exactly what happened and how he wound up here.

At his movement, both Caleb and Yasha open their eyes warily and let out twin sighs of relief at seeing him there and conscious. He tries to brush it off with a laugh when they wrap their arms around him, but he knows his smile is strained and eyes weary. 

Yasha holds him tight and mutters the same reassurances as she did last night: “You’re out. You’re safe. There’s light. There’s air. I’m here. I promise I won’t let you go back under.” They’re just words, but they’re enough to squeeze out the last of his tears, try as he might to stop them.

Closing his eyes, he exhales shakily and asks, “It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

She indulges him because Yasha has the gentlest soul he’s ever had the pleasure to come across. “Which part?”

“The club.”

“Real.”

“The chicken suit.”

“Dream.”

“Bathtubs on the wall?”

“Dream.”

“Bicycle on a chandelier.”

“Real but not last night.”

“...Lucien.”

Yasha tightens her hold around him. “I’m sorry, Molly.”

He heaves a sigh and shakes his head. “Don’t ever be sorry, dear. It was worth a try.” He tries for a smile but falters. “Remind me, why did we even go out last night?”

“You wanted to have fun. We all did,” she reasons. “What happened wasn’t anyone’s fault. No one knows if it could’ve been avoided, you know?”

Molly’s still too strung out to argue, settling, instead, for running his fingers over the claw marks marring her arms. “You should’ve let go.”

She shakes her head and kisses his horns. “It’ll take a lot more than a couple of scratches for me to ever let go of you.”

That doesn’t alleviate the guilt entirely, but he manages a more sincere smile. Kissing her cheek in thanks, he mutters, “My charm. My Yasha. What did I do to have someone as amazing as you in my life?”

“You’re you, Mollymauk, and that’s more than enough.”

He bows his head, humbled by her love.

“Do you know what he wants?” Yasha asks gently.

How do I best protect you, she means.

His lips twist into a wry smile. “No, but I know him. Lucien was always the one with the brains. I’m sure he’ll let me know soon enough.”

I don’t know, he means.

--

Caleb, bless his heart, brings him breakfast in bed and sits and reads with him for the rest of the morning, uttering reassurances whenever he tries to apologize. There’s a look of understanding in Caleb’s gaze and Molly recalls the times he’s been on the giving end of this kind of care and how soft and warm it made him feel to be trusted with such vulnerability.

He doesn’t know if Caleb feels the way he did, but he gives in and curls against the human’s side while Yasha takes calls outside in their living room, doing her best to update the others on his status. 

Taking advantage of their time alone, he taps Caleb’s arm, immediately pulling the man’s attention away from his book. “Ja, Mollymauk?”

Molly frowns. “Listen, there’s an explanation for last night. Well, not so much an explanation but some backstory, I guess.”

“I’m sure, but I have told you—”

“No, you’ll eventually need to know this…” His throat thickens at the thought of speaking about Lucien and his past. How could he explain growing up in such a dark place and never knowing any better? How could he explain watching children disappear and feeling pleased knowing he wasn’t as disposable as the rest? How could he explain losing his brother because of a disagreement over their shared freedom and being left to die as a result?

How could he explain the feelings of betrayal and anger, but also relief and longing at seeing his own face in that club?

He managed to tell it all. Just once. He told his story to Yasha and he hadn’t been able to do it sober.

“Maybe not right now,” he mutters, giving up for the moment, “but I’ll eventually find a way to tell it to you. To all of you. It’s a lot, but you could’ve guessed that. And just so you know, my view on the past hasn’t changed. But if it’s going to show up like this...well, until I find a way to tell you, can you do me a favour and try to keep this one thing in mind?”

Caleb frowns. “What is it?”

Molly thinks of the eyes watching them from around the club. How he failed to notice them earlier is beyond him, but the thought of putting his friends in such a vulnerable position makes his stomach knot up with dread. He digs his fingers into his palm, his claws piercing skin to the point of bleeding. “I don’t know what he said to you, but please, Caleb, stay away from Lucien. He’s...my brother is dangerous and you don’t know what he’s capable of and I can’t—what if you get hurt?”

--

Taking Molly’s hand and gently uncurling his fingers, Caleb brings his hand up to his lips and presses kisses to each of his knuckles. The tiefling watches him unsmiling, waiting for confirmation.

He thinks back to the club—back to the dark of the night, the heavy beat of the music and flashing lights. He remembers Molly’s hand, shaking but firm. 

And ‘Lucien’, that double of his lover with the too-sharp smile and calculating gaze.

Lucien, with unbroken skin and bare horns.

Lucien, who hissed in his ear as they walked past, voice low and taunting, “Do you even know who he is? This traitor. This coward.”

Caleb brushes the hair out of those crimson eyes, revealing smeared make-up and bruises from his restless sleep. “I will not seek him out,” he promises. “I swear to you, Mollymauk.”

While he may not know much of Molly’s past before the circus, he knows enough of him now to dismiss those claims.

Finally, Molly relaxes and smiles, leaning forward and resting his forehead against his shoulder. “Good.” After a beat, he chuckles, though it comes out frayed. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“Where else would I be?” Caleb asks, perfectly seriously. Molly hadn’t flinched in the face of his past. No, he gently ran his fingers over the scars running down Caleb’s arms and whispered his condolences—he thanked Caleb for finding a way to survive until now. Until they could meet. How could Molly ever think a psychopathic brother would be enough to scare him away? 

The realization hits him then.

“I love you.” Sitting back, wide crimson eyes stare back at him, the surprise in them mirroring his own. “I love you, Mollymauk,” he says again, more for his own affirmation than anything.

Molly surges forward and kisses him. “You horrible wonderful man. You can’t just say something like that when I look like this.”

Caleb laughs in between their kisses, his heart feeling full to bursting. “I can and I do. Ich liebe dich.”

“I love you too, Caleb Widogast,” Molly sighs against his lips, his own lips curled into a smile. “Now you’ll never be rid of me. Shame though, I guess we’ll never be able to convince you to come out clubbing with us ever again, huh?”

He huffs. “It is not an impossible task, but you may have to work harder at it next time.”

“I do love a good challenge,” Molly quips half-heartedly. “Maybe not any time soon though. Not until I know you’ll be safe.”

Glancing down, Caleb asks softly. “And what about you?”

Crimson eyes blink. “What about me?”

“Are you safe from this person?” he asks. 

The tiefling stills at his question, his smile fades and his eyes go distant, seeing some private scene play out before him. Caleb knows what that’s like all too well.

Rubbing his thumb in soothing circles over Molly’s hand, he asks again, “Mollymauk, are you safe from Lucien?”

Molly looks to him and he sees the lingering fear and uncertainty and heartbreak but in a blink, they’re gone. “I’ll be fine, Caleb.”

“But not safe,” Caleb points out.

A smile tugs at the tiefling’s lips. “Nothing gets past you, does it? I’m...as safe as I can be. I have Yasha and I have a feeling you’ll be staying here for the next little while. A Yasha and a smart and handsome wizard who both love me, really, what more could a tiefling ask for?”

He could’ve asked for the world then and Caleb would’ve razed everything to the ground to make it happen.

--

Their lives continue as he spends his nights at Molly and Yasha’s apartment. Their friends come and go, insisting on accompanying the tiefling everywhere, never leaving him on his own. And complain as he may, it’s not hard to see the relief in Molly’s eye at the promise of company. 

A week goes by and it almost seems like everything returns to normal, like it really was just as much a coincidence as Molly tried to convince everyone and himself.

But then one morning, leaving the apartment, he suddenly hears his name being called. Turning his head, he freezes.

A lavender tiefling waves cheerily at him.

Caleb frowns and begins to stalk away, but then he hears, “Should I go up and say hello to my dear brother instead, then, Caleb Widogast?”

That gives him pause. He knows Molly is armed and able, but he thinks back to the tiefling’s panic attack and subsequent nightmares where he cries and claws at the air, desperate to free himself. Turning back around, he scowls. “How did you find him?”

Lucien smiles, still too dangerous to be welcoming. “It wasn’t hard. I have my ways. He is my twin.”

In the light of day, it’s easy to spot all the differences between the two. There’s a sharpness to Lucien that Mollymauk lacks, an edge that’d been dulled by kindness and love. And while Molly goes out of his way to establish rapport, Lucien does so for dominance. “What do you want?”

“Just a little chat, Caleb. I didn’t think you’d be so feisty. Is this why he likes you so much? All that fire? It’s a good thing we’re resistant,” Lucien replies with an easy laugh. He radiates the type of confidence and charm that lures people in and keeps them there, but Caleb’s had more than his fair share of charming tyrants.

“We have nothing to talk about,” he says dismissively. It’s impossible to hide his uneasiness, but he refuses to show his fear.

Crimson eyes so familiar yet foreign size him up and he holds himself still, breath and all. He won’t let anyone see him squirm. But for all his differences with Molly, Lucien has the same uncanny ability to make him feel seen right through. 

After a moment, Lucien shrugs. “You’re right. You won’t be swayed. How disappointing.” Tail swishing, he turns around as if to leave. “Let me tell you this—as a favour for looking after my brother. You seem like a smart man, Caleb Widogast. I hope you know a lost cause when you see one.”

He waits until Lucien disappears and then another three minutes before going on his way. 

Frowning, he considers turning around and going back to the apartment. But Lucien’s gone and Fjord’s on his way here as they planned. Uneasily, Caleb continues on his way to work and makes a note to warn Molly when he gets home.

--

He watches the door swing open and the familiar figure of a lavender tiefling emerge from the building. Alone for once but not particularly anxious. 

Good.

They set it up this way, after all.

There’s a shift and all around him, shapes and shadows freeze, suddenly at attention—at his attention, waiting for his cue.

Ignoring them, he decides to watch a little longer. The tiefling walks down the street, greeting his neighbours and the neighbourhood vendors, who return it with equal cheer. This development is new, he notes, not that they had anyone to practice friendliness with back then. But even so, he supposes he’s always been the more sombre of the two.

The sunlight glints off the jewellery dangling from an identical pair of horns, and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t like them—or the tattoos running down the side of the tiefling’s face and neck. With all these colourful additions and modifications, Mollymauk has gone and set the two of them apart.

But then again, Mollymauk did that a long time ago.

Lucien follows his brother in the shadows, the rest of the lurking shapes following along, still eager and at the ready.

Mollymauk glances around nervously for a moment as if sensing their stares now that the crowd has petered out into a quiet street. Perhaps that’s exactly what happened. They were raised to take note of these things, after all. Poor instincts led to pain and worse and the two of them learned very quickly under that pressure. But what does it matter now?

He thinks of his brother—his twin and how the two of them used to huddle together, shivering in each other’s arms in that cold and dark place. He thinks of his brother clinging onto him, watching him with wide eyes, and following after him in everything he did. Except that one time.

That one time when he was trying to save them both...

And then everything fell apart.

Giving his cue, he watches the shadows scatter into position and sighs, turbulent waves of pity, anger, and fondness warring inside him. “Oh, Mollymauk. My poor Mollymauk...you should’ve just stayed dead.”

--

There are eyes on him. For all he knows, they’re not even trying to hide it anymore. How did they know? Was Fjord’s car troubles their doing? He wouldn’t put it past Lucien—it’s surprisingly benign if anything.

He’s running. His lungs are burning and his heart is threatening to burst through his ribs. Taking a sharp turn, he continues down the side street, the feeling of eyes never leaving him.

The sun is shining bright in the sky and he distantly wishes he could enjoy it without shadows stalking him. He says shadows, but he knows who they belong to.

Skidding to a halt in the middle of an alley intersection, Molly spins on his heel and unsheathes his swords. The adrenaline keeps the panic and tremors at bay, but it does nothing to soothe his fear or the dread pooling in his stomach. He bares his teeth, his tail lashing about violently as he eyes the approaching shadows.

“Hello, brother dearest,” he suddenly hears. “You look frightened. Is something wrong?”

Molly pivots again, this time to face his mirror image. Lucien struts over to him with the confidence of an apex predator lording over his prey, and right now, Molly feels every bit the part. “Lucien, what do you want?” he hisses, shoulders tense.

Lucien brings a hand up to his heart and steps forward. “Want? Can’t I just want to see my beloved twin? I’ve missed you, you know.” 

Bristling, he holds up his scimitars and shifts, doing his best to keep all of the Tomb Takers in sight. 

“Can’t I just come to warn him that the past is hot on our tails? I still worry about you.”

“I’ve let go of all that stuff,” he mutters.

“But it hasn’t let go of you,” Lucien replies lightly.

One by one, the shadows approach and surround him, a mix of familiar and new faces.

“They’re after us to finish the job, you know. They know it failed and they know you escaped,” Lucien says coolly, somehow looming despite being the same height. “We don’t have much time and even less with the work it took to find you.”

Molly furrows his brows and looks around. “This isn’t how normal people go about warning others.”

His brother laughs. Gods, he used to be so proud of himself for making Lucien laugh. “No, but we were never normal, were we?”

“I’ll give you that one,” he mutters. “Alright, considered me warned. What more do you want, Lucien? Shouldn’t you be running? Getting away from here before they catch up?”

“Oh, they’re already here and they’re looking. It’s only a matter of time until they find one of us. I’ll be leaving tonight. You can still join me, Molly. I can forgive you for everything you did,” Lucien says generously.

He blinks incredulously. “Everything I did? You’re the one who left me!”

“Because you refused to come! I did everything short of dragging you away with me!” Lucien hisses. 

“You were going to use someone else as a stand-in for us!” he retorts.

Scowling, his brother gives a dismissive wave, putting an effective end to their argument. “That’s enough, Mollymauk. We’re both out now. There’s no point in having this discussion again. That was then and this is now. Will you come with me or not? I’ll even let you bring your…’friends’ with us.”

Protectiveness flares up within him, indignation pushing the fear aside if only momentarily. Raising a blade, he snaps, “I didn’t escape one cult only to drag my friends into another.”

Lucien looks unmoved, a familiar expression of disdain settling on his face. “That’s your answer then? Even after I made all this effort to reach you? Again? This is your response, Mollymauk?”

“No.” He feels a twinge in his neck and his brother’s eyes go black. “This is.”

“You’ve gotten bolder,” Lucien laughs, a hint of pride in his voice. “But you forget.” 

Molly hisses as red lines begin spreading across his body, marking him—cursing him. He looks up to see blood trickling down Lucien’s collar as he draws his own blade and smirks.

“I can do that too.”

Chapter Text

He fights. 

He fights for his life and he loses.

Surrounded on all sides and distracted, it doesn’t take long for him to go down. Even with his strength sapped and blood spilt, the thoughts continue speeding through his brain, telling him to flee—telling him to survive.

The Tomb Takers have retreated back to the shadows, leaving him alone with his twin standing over him, an impassive expression on his face. 

“Lucien, please,” he pleads, grasping at his brother’s leg, his hands slick with his own blood. “Please, don’t do this!”

Crimson eyes look down at him, so similar to his own but so much colder. Crouching down, he coos, “Oh, Mollymauk—my Mollymauk. You’ve always been mine, haven’t you? Mine to love, mine to keep. And I do love you, still. More than anyone ever will. More than anyone ever could. No matter how you hurt and break my heart, brother.”

Even amidst the panic and the rapid thumping of his heart, Molly can feel it breaking at the conviction in his brother’s words, twisted as they are. This person was once his entire world and even now, a part of him, a younger version of himself wants to reach back out. But more than that, his need for survival kicks in. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get home and warn the others. “Luce, I can’t go back—” 

His grip slips but Lucien reaches down and pulls him up by the front of his shirt. Smiling, Lucien brushes the hair out of his face with deceptive tenderness and says, “Oh, my Mollymauk. It didn’t have to come to this but just like before, you made your choice. So just like before, if only one of us gets to be free…” A dark chuckle. “Well, it certainly won’t be you.”

“Brother…”

Lucien lets go and he’s falling and falling and falling.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to say goodbye to your friends.”

--

Caleb returns later that day to an empty apartment. The anxiety from earlier hasn’t gone away but it’s a relief to know that Molly is out with Fjord and Yasha’s expected back later that day. 

He paces the apartment, idly picking up Molly’s clothes off the floor and hanging them back up in his wardrobe. Once the tiefling returns, he’ll see how clean this place is and tease him mercilessly for his productive worrying. 

But that’s alright because Molly will be there. He’ll be safe and he’ll kiss the anxiety away and that’s worth any amount gentle teasing, Caleb thinks as he picks up another jacket.

--

The apartment is a clean and humble one. Sparing a subtle sweeping glance across the space, he feels disdain welling up at the simplicity—the domesticity of the scene. 

This is what he lost his brother to.

There are candles, half used scattered across different surfaces. The couch is worn with a colourful blanket thrown across one of the armrests, the corner tucked away under the cushion. 

On the wall, murals cover whatever wallpaper coloured the flat before. Each wall paints a different scene: a field of blooming flowers, the dimly lit stage of a circus tent, the sunny scenery of a beach and a quaint seaside town. There are trinkets scattered about and books that obviously belong to the wizard and the barbarian woman—Molly never was a keen reader. No, that had always been his job, he thinks, running his fingers over a gaudy tapestry draped over the back of the couch.

There’s a warmth here he doesn’t know how to describe.

So many items of colour and comfort. 

So many things they never had growing up.

From the back comes a shuffling noise and said wizard pokes his head out from one of a bright, sunlit room. He gives a distracted nod, his hair messily tied back and fingers stained black with ink, and he mutters in that soft accent of his, “Ah, welcome back, Mollymauk. I missed you earlier. Can you come here a moment? There is something I need to tell you.”

Adjusting his coat—no, not his coat. 

His brother’s coat. 

Adjusting Mollymauk’s coat, Lucien puts on a smile and swaggers over and presses a kiss to the man’s lips. It was always been Molly’s job to be the distraction while he went about collecting information and planning their escape, but he supposes playing this role has its perks too.

Caleb smells like a blend of smoke and scented candles, no doubt thanks to his time spent in this place and around his other half. The kiss is chaste and Caleb is only half paying attention, eyes darting back to the desk in the room where a half-filled page sits, covered in symbols and runes beyond his comprehension.

What a shame for such a smart man to be so taken up with such a dead one. He could use a wizard like this in his group for magic and more.

“I’ve missed you too, darling,” Lucien purrs, deepening the kiss, wrapping his arms around Caleb’s waist and walking him back towards the bed.

Going willingly, Caleb allows himself to be guided back until his knees hit the bed and he falls back against the mattress with a soft exhale.

Running his tongue over his fangs, Lucien follows him down, eyes locked onto those parted lips. At the very least, this hour will be an enjoyable one for them both.

Then he feels something sharp at his throat.

“Who are you and where is Mollymauk?”

Carefully glancing down, he sees a knife in Caleb’s hands. Those endlessly blue eyes are cold and stony, and the sight of them sends a shiver down his spine to the tip of his tail.

He laughs. “What gave me away? Was it the words? The walk? ...the kiss?”

“You are nothing like him,” Caleb growls, pressing the knife deeper against his throat but careful not to draw blood. “Drop that form.”

“I can’t. Give me an hour and it’ll go away on its own, Caleb, though I suppose it won’t make much of a difference,” Lucien replies, leaning back and getting to his feet. “The face won’t change much anyway.”

“Lucien,” the human hisses, the ice in his gaze melting away to a fiery anger, barely contained. “Where is Mollymauk.”

Another shiver runs down his spine and he wishes he had more time to play with this one. Heaving a sigh, Lucien shakes his head. “And here I thought I was doing you a kindness by giving you one last goodbye.”

Caleb narrows his eyes. “I will get answers from you one way or another. I suggest you stop and tell me where Mollymauk is.”

The suggestion seems to sink into his muscle, tensing them up. He freezes and locks in place for a moment but snaps out of it and smiles with amusement he doesn’t feel. “That’s a cute trick.”

“We do this the hard way then.”

Seeing the flames licking at the wizard’s fingertips, he takes another step back and holds his hands up. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want to damage our precious Mollymauk’s coat, now would you?”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation and it’s all he needs to make his escape. Lucien hears Caleb shouting his name and scrambling out of the apartment after him but he’s faster.

--

Caleb is standing at the door to the building, panting but focused as he scans the streets, committing every face to memory.

He got away—Lucien got away.

And he had Molly’s coat. While the misaligned scars and the tattoos may have been a product of magic, the coat was real. He felt it, knew the texture of it intimately.

Lucien had Molly’s coat and he was there to say goodbye.

He should’ve gone back earlier. He should’ve listened to his gut. He should’ve warned Molly about his brother. He should’ve waited until Fjord arrived. 

He should’ve done everything right but here he was instead.

Fires dance at his fingertips, ready to be unleashed and set everything ablaze in the name of love and vengeance. He needs to go after Lucien but the more rational part of his brain tells him he can’t do it alone.

--

The rage is overwhelming when the news is broken to her. The world seems to narrow and grow red at the edges. It takes all her control not to lash out in that room, at Caleb who is hunched over and has his face buried in his hands.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Yasha says, her voice soft and dangerous. Her arms are crossed as she leans against the wall in an effort to stay still. “No matter how the skies called me.”

Caleb shakes his head but doesn’t make a rebuttal. It’s clear by the look on his face that similar thoughts—perhaps those exact ones—plagued him. Taking a shuddering breath, Caleb mutters, “The others should be here soon.” Then, “I’m sorry.”

Yasha glances over at him, her fists still balled. Their combined guilt is enough to fill this humble apartment. Molly would laugh and call them both ridiculous if he ever saw them like this.

But he isn’t here right now.

The words of forgiveness don’t find their way out, not when that should be Molly’s job.

“We’ll get him back,” she says instead.

She won’t fail him—this colourful soul so dear to her. She won’t fail him like she did Zuala. She won’t run away and she won’t be alone this time.

The door suddenly bursts open and Nott and Jester come running in, shouting “Caleb, are you alright!?” and “What happened to Molly!?”

Caleb finally looks up for a moment before casting his gaze back down and rubbing his arms guiltily. “He’s gone. Mollymauk is gone. Lucien took him.”

Beau enters the room after the pair with a deep scowl. “Lucien? Molly’s creepy brother? But why? How do you know?”

“Because Lucien was here and he said he was doing a kindness by saying goodbye,” Caleb recites darkly. The fire behind his eyes grows and Yasha doesn’t envy him and his perfect memory. “He had Mollymauk’s coat.”

“Shit,” Fjord mutters. “So my car this morning…?”

Their wizard nods. “His doing, most likely.”

“That still doesn’t answer why,” Nott mutters, fingers thoughtfully scratching at her chin. “Yasha, you know him best. Do you have any ideas?”

It takes a moment to push the rage aside enough to think clearly. She thinks of their time spent in the circus, of quiet nights spent under the stars, of drunken nights sharing their deepest stories. This story isn’t hers to tell, but she’s sure Molly will forgive her for this if it means getting him back.

“Well, Molly used to be in a cult…”

--

“...he told me he crawled out of his grave empty but he knew he had to keep going. That’s when Gustav and the circus found him. Things came back to him quickly after that and by the time I joined, he remembered everything.”

The story has Caleb squeezing his eyes shut. Nott’s holding his hand tightly, her claws digging into his skin as she listens. The discomfort is a welcomed distraction from the turbulent thoughts whirling through his mind.

“So did Lucien want Molly to join him or something?” Beau asks. “I doubt Molly would just go with him. And you can’t keep someone by force indefinitely—especially not Molly.”

Images of the tiefling twins, young and scared, refuse to leave his head. He sees them huddled together in the dark, they’re cut into by knives, their entire world lit by nothing more than the occasional torch. How blindingly bright the world must have seemed when the sun rose for the first time in their lives. Caleb scrubs his eyes with his free hand and pulls Nott in close, wishing he could have Mollymauk in his arms to hold and comfort. 

“I don’t think that’s it, Beauregard,” he says. His throat feels tight and his stomach is churning. “Lucien considered Mollymauk a lost cause. I...Jester, perhaps you could scry on him?”

She nods and turns her backpack over, dumping out the contents, revealing a handful of precious stones. They help her lay out the stones in a circle as she prepares the ritual, lighting the floor up with an eerie green glow. “C’mon, Traveller, I really need your help finding Molly please!”

Her eyes go blank and everyone holds their breath.

There’s a long moment of silence and then Jester lets out a gasp. “Molly! He’s...he’s unconscious but he’s alive. He looks hurt.”

Caleb’s heart lurches, his nausea growing with dread. Nott rubs his hands comfortingly but the gesture stops when Jester begins speaking again.

“It’s dark. I can’t really see any clues. They have him in a small room. There are no windows or torches and the walls are all stone.” Her voice trembles as she whispers, “Oh no, Molly’s going to hate it there.”

He thinks of Molly’s bedroom and how the sun would stream in from all directions during the day. Molly and Yasha found an apartment with a sunroom because he wasn’t good with small cramped spaces, Molly had told him once with a nonchalant smile—because it felt too much like a grave.

Jester continues describing the scene to the best of her abilities until her time runs out looking dejected. “I couldn’t find anything helpful and no one was around.”

“You did your best, which is more than what we can do right now,” Beau reassures her.

Fjord nods. “At least we know he’s alive.”

For now, none of them are willing to say.

“What if you scry on Lucien? Maybe we can just beat an answer out of him instead,” Nott suggests.

Yasha shifts and straightens her stance, her knuckles still white from gripping her crossed forearms. “Find Lucien. He’ll know where Molly is,” she says, her voice soft and thunderous all at once. “We’ll make him tell us.”

“Okay,” Jester agrees. She takes a deep breath and the floor lights up once more with her magic. “Let’s do this, Traveller! …I see him! He’s still wearing Molly’s coat…wait, he’s saying something to a tabaxi lady…” A frown tugs on her lips. “’Get ready to leave’.”

--

They’re in the middle of packing up their meagre belongings to leave town for good when he senses something off—something dangerous. He looks to Cree and asks, “Did you feel something?”

“No, did you? Is something wrong, Lucien?” she asks warily, feline eyes immediately scanning the area for danger.

That gets some of the others’ attention.

Lucien frowns and shakes his head. With a wave, he dismisses their concern. “No, get back to packing. We’ve already stayed too long. If everything goes as planned, we won’t have to run much longer.”

There’s a mumbled cheer from some of his followers. He thinks to admonish them but he’s grown tired of running too. They’ll have the peace he promised them soon. All for the price of the other half of him.

He refuses to linger on that thought and goes back to packing when he feels that twinge again. Turning to his people, he barks out, “Pick up the pace and stay here. Be ready to leave once I get back.”

Leaving no room for argument, he follows the feeling that set the hair on the back of his neck standing. He knows this feeling. It’s bloodlust. It’s anger. And it’s all focused on him. 

Tail lashing about, he walks farther away, not willing to risk the Tomb Takers. Not when they’re so close. Not when he gave up so much for them.

“Subtlety isn’t your strongest suit,” he calls out.

Footsteps approach and he can feel barely the contained rage of several beings nearby.

Lucien takes off running.

His pursuers follow.

--

Taking a sharp turn around the corner down an alleyway, he doesn’t risk a glance back. He doesn’t have to.

He knows what’s there—he knows who’s there.

His lungs and throat are burning but he continues running—between the buildings and into the shadows. Behind him, footsteps follow, some heavy, some light, all determined to catch him. The shadows stretch from the streetlight, the threatening forms of the raging barbarian and shrieking goblin encroaching ever closer.

There’s a crash from above.

Lucien swears under his breath.

The monk must be trying to get him from above.

Ducking down another path, he finds a fence in his way. Grinning, he uses his momentum to leap up onto a dumpster and over the wire meshing. He lands on the other side and continues running, barley losing any speed.

He pivots around another corner and smirks to himself. Now all he has to do is hide and wait the stubborn bastards out—Lucien skids to a halt, his smile dropping at the sight of Caleb.

With his hand held out and fire dancing on his fingertips, the wizard’s piercing blue eyes glimmer in the dim light. They’re mesmerizing and intriguing but Lucien knows the flame lit from within isn’t for him. 

But that doesn’t mean he can’t try. Tail snapping at the ground, he puts on his most charming smile and lets his hand drop subtly to his sword. “Why if it isn’t Mister Caleb?”

Caleb narrows his eyes, the flames flaring up dangerously. He may be resistant to flame but being set alight would still hurt. “You should, how do you say, cut the shit, Lucien. Tell me. Where is Mollymauk?”

Chapter Text

Putting on a smile, he shakes the images of his brother beaten and unconscious out of his head. “It hardly matters now.”

“What do you mean by that?” the wizard demands.

All around him, the other figures are closing in now. Lucien allows himself a smile and chuckles. Whatever threat they’re trying to use, he still has the upper hand. “It means whatever you want it to mean.”

The flames grow, a combination of anger and desperation. “We have different ways of making you talk.”

He arches a brow. “That’s not a nice way to talk to someone you’re trying to get answers from. Especially on a night like this.”

“What the fuck’s he saying?” the monk asks, catching up with a staff in her hands.

“On a night like this?” Caleb furrows his brows and reluctantly spares a glance up to the sky. 

Lucien waits, curious to see if the wizard will understand. With a warring heart, he hopes they will but he also needs this to work. “A beautiful night like this.”

The monk holds a staff up to his throat and scowls. “Stop speaking in riddles or I’ll just punch the answer out of you!”

He scoffs even as he prepares to fight. “So vulgar.”

“On a night like this,” Caleb says again. “On the night of a new moon?”

A frantic chuckle works its way out of him. “Mister Caleb, you are sharp. The new moon. The darkest of nights. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” 

Looking up, he exhales quietly. With this, they’ll finally be free.

--

The outdoors is as dark as the underground cell and he hates it. If it wasn’t for the faint silhouettes of trees, he wouldn’t have known the difference. Even with his eyes, he can make out grey shapes moving around him, busy with preparations. Despite being in the center of it all, no one seems to notice him.

Tugging lightly at the ropes binding him, he finds them taut and unyielding. His fingers have gone numb and he can feel the rough hemp cutting into his wrists. Underneath, he can feel the hard edges of the stone platform he’s resting on.

Even without looking, he knows what it looks like. The smooth, polished obsidian with delicate rivets on the edges that run down the length of the platform. And under that, another sheet of stone. Round and delicate, this lower piece will be intricately cut and precisely carved.

Exhaling shakily, he glances back up at the sky and wishes he could see even a sliver of moon. The Moonweaver can’t help where she doesn’t shine.

That day had been a new moon as well.

With the world so dark, he feels claustrophobic even in the open space.

There’s a sudden lull in noise and he lifts his head as much as he can with the rope lashed around his neck. The figures have stopped moving about and have started gathering around him.

Molly’s heart drops and he starts tugging at the rope harder.

As the crowd stops, one steps forward, brandishing a knife.

The first cut stings and elicits a hiss from him. Beads of blood pour from the wound, sliding down his arm freely and dripping onto the tablet. 

His breathing grows shallower with every slice, his vision blurring with panic. It’s happening again even though he worked so hard to get away. He’s going to die like he was supposed to two years ago.

--

They go running from the car and over toward the clearing Lucien told them about. Catching the tail-end of the chanting, Caleb feels his heart seize at the silence. The woods around them are eerily still as if even the animals had been scared away.

Casting a spell usually used for retreating, he speeds his pace up to match Beau’s as they go running in. Behind them, Nott and Yasha race to catch up while Fjord brings Jester along in a loud clap of thunder.

When they reach the edge of the clearing, they’re met with the sight of hooded figures standing in a circle. Under the moonless sky, their jet black hoods blend in seamlessly with their surroundings. If it wasn’t for the night vision granted by his transmuter stone, none of this would’ve been visible.

A figure in the middle raises a knife and the chanting starts again.

--

Chest heaving to stay awake through the pain, his eyes flicker up to catch the dull glint of the knife raised above him. Narrowing his eyes he hisses and watches with satisfaction as the hooded figure wavers, reaching up to wipe the viscose black ichor from their eyes.

But he doesn’t see it. Eyes rolling back, he succumbs to the darkness for a moment only to let out a gasp as the blade plunges into his sternum. Molly glances up at the hooded figure and hisses, spitting in their face with as much disdain as he can muster.

There’s a dark chuckle. “We’ll make sure it’s done right this time,” the figure mutters, and they take the blade and twists.

With a gasp, Molly looks up to where the moons should be and feels the life drain from him. As his vision fades, in the distance, he thinks he hears a scream...

--

The fire is spreading uncontrollably as Caleb falls to his knees. Flames licking their way over bodies and grass, the entire area is lit up, revealing the gruesome scene before them without mercy. The smell of burning flesh and the sight of Molly going limp on that altar is too much. Bile rises to his throat and he barely manages to choke it back down.

Next to him, Beau lets out a shout and runs into the foray followed by Yasha’s scream of rage. The cult members break their formation and fall back in surprise and fear.

Caleb doesn’t see them, his sight solely focused on the figure in the middle, who seems unfazed by the fighting and is continuing the chant on their own as Mollymauk’s blood runs from the altar to the stone slab below.

Forcing his knees to straighten, he takes in a shuddering breath and marches forward. Behind him, Nott lets loose a bolt that sends a cultist to his right tumbling to the ground while a burst of miniature unicorns suddenly appear to his left, giggling as they pierce another. 

He raises a hand and fires one bolt after another after another at the person still chanting in the center. The first bolt hits but the chanting continues.

Then the second.

Then the third.

And then...silence.

There’s smoke drifting from the grotesque hold now seared into the back of their head through the hood. Slowly, the large figure starts leaning forward and slumps over on the altar.

The fire doesn’t stop and burns away at the rest of his head.

Caleb doesn’t manage to hold back the vomit this time.

--

He’s drifting. 

Opening his eyes, he’s back in the temple and Lucien’s at his side with a book in his lap and a pleased smile on his face. “You have to keep it down, Molly. I got my hands on a good one today!”

Curiosity piqued, he leans over. The words on the page don’t come as naturally to him as they do his brother, but that doesn’t stop him from joining in on the fun. “What is it?”

Lucien holds up the book for him to inspect. “It’s the book they use for ritual days. They’ll notice it’s gone so we don’t have much time. Good job distracting them.”

Molly preens. Their success depended on his skills. The better he did, the more time his brother would have with the material. “So? What are these rituals, Luce? Are they important?”

Why were people dying for them?

Brows furrowing, Lucien shakes his head. “I can’t read this. The chant’s not in a language we know.”

That’s less exciting. Deflating, he rests his head on his brother’s shoulder and sighs. “We did all that for nothing then?”

“Not for nothing. There are notes in here. I think they might be trying to bring back something or bring something to the world? They’re vague,” Lucien mutters, finger hovering over the words as he reads. 

They flip the page and come across an elaborate drawing done in red. Molly immediately huffs and nicks a finger on his teeth. Using his own blood, he adds a subtle line to the drawing and laughs. “There! That’s what they get for keeping us holed up here! Let’s see them summon anything now!”

Chuckling, Lucien follows suit and adds another line to it. Even upon closer inspection, their additions are near impossible to tell apart. Outside the door, footsteps approach. The two of them slam the book shut and Molly leaps to his feet.

With a nod, he takes off running down the dark stone corridor, barreling into the person while his brother sneaks off the other way to return the book.

He gets punished for this but it’s easy to put up with. Because his brother is there after to treat his wounds.

Because with every book Lucien gets his hands on, the closer to freedom they are. 

Because they can’t stay in the darkness forever however used to it they may be. 

Because Lucien promised him the sky.

--

Opening his eyes and waking from that nostalgic dream, the first thing he notices is the pain and the smell of burning all around him. What was once shrouded in darkness is now lit up in flames and the glow of magic. 

Above him, replacing the cloaked figures, six familiar silhouettes hover around him, some of their shoulders shaking, tears glistening in the dim light of the flames. He tries to reach up, to move his hands, but in his weakness, he only manages to curl his fingers around the fine blood-soaked dust coating him.

A hand clasps his and he doesn’t have to look down to know it’s Yasha. Her large, calloused hands tremble as she leans forward into his vision. “Molly, I’m so sorry.”

Exhaling, he gives her the best smile he can manage. “What for?” His voice is small and hoarse but all the world seems to quiet for him.

“Mollymauk, Jester had to revive you. You were gone and we almost didn’t make it on time,” comes a choked voice to his right.

Ah, only Caleb can manage to sound so concerned and guilty over something beyond his control. His voice brings a smile to his face without even trying. “But you made it. That’s not nothing.” Closing his eyes, he can hear Jester fretting over him and working her magic. The pain dulls and settles to something far more bearable.

Tugging at Yasha’s fingers, she understands immediately and scoops him off the altar—off the pool of his own blood. “What do you think they were trying to do here?”

Molly spares a glance down at it and reaches out to run his finger over the two additional lines carved into the summoning circle. A laugh works its way out of him. “Who knows? Who cares? It wouldn’t have worked. That’s what they get for keeping us holed up…”

Content, he curls up into Yasha and lets her carry him away from the carnage. Fjord offers to stay behind with Beau to talk to Bryce while the rest of them bring Molly home.

A piercing stare suddenly prickles his senses.

Looking up, he catches sight of a pair of familiar crimson eyes watching him from afar. They looked just like his but with an air of detached authority he could never muster.

“Is Lucien still alive?”

Caleb nearly runs into Yasha’s back as she comes to a sudden halt. “Why do you ask?”

Wrapped up in Yasha’s shawl, Molly peeks back at him. “You wouldn’t have found me without him. Or, not this quickly. Not in time.”

His mind is still groggy from being freshly resurrected, this is something he can’t go without knowing. 

“He’s alive but he’ll be super sore for a few days without a good healer. Beau made sure of it even though Yasha made sure we did not kill him. I’m not sure if you consider that good or bad news,” Jester tells him with a shrug.

Molly’s not entirely sure himself as he glances up at Yasha who merely shrugs. “You would’ve been sad. Caleb also punched him.”

This piques his interest far more. With a lazy grin, he asks, “Why, Mister Caleb, you punched my brother?”

“He was an Arschloch,” the wizard mumbles back sheepishly, “and we were short on time.”

Chuckling quietly, he agrees, “He is that. Thank you for coming to get me.”

There’s nothing he wants to do more than to pull Caleb close. As if reading his mind, the man takes his hand and rubs it comfortingly. “There is no reality in which we would not come for you, Mollymauk. But, that being said, please never do that again. I know it was not your fault but please. My heart could not bear it.”

Pulling Caleb’s hand close, he nuzzles it lightly and curls back up against Yasha. “Forgive me, Mister Caleb, but it’s okay. I think it’ll be fine from now on. It’s over.”

When he looks back again, the eyes have disappeared.

“…it’s finally over. Just like he always promised…Brother…” Molly whispers, lowering his gaze.

Seeing the frown on his face, Jester asks, “Molly, are you okay? I’m out of magic but we have potions at home.”

He shakes his head, his eyelids getting heavy. “I’m as fine as can be, my dear. Nothing a bath and a little sleep won’t fix.”

“We’ll get you home. Don’t worry,” Yasha reassures him, holding him closer still.

The skies are brightening and he feels a weight lift from his chest. No more running. No more looking over his shoulders. No more endless darkness. He nods and closes his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, home sounds perfect.”