Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nott and Caleb share a room. It goes without saying. The rest of party tends to split by gender but it has been established that the goblin girl and the wizard are a package deal. They have been sharing spaces with the rest of the Mighty Nein when needed, but it’s just more comfortable this way, especially when they are both worse for wear. A journey in heavy rain and a handful of battles with no more than short rests in between has worn them down. The goblin perks up as soon as the fire is lit and her damp cloak is off. Caleb does not.

He sits by the fire and stares into it. He hasn’t even bothered to undress, just sits and stares, shivering. Nott ignores him at first but the sound of his teeth chattering goes right through her and she is drawn to his side, to peer up into his face.

“Something’s bothering you. You’re very quiet.” She accuses.

Her own voice always has a rasp to it, but there is one in Caleb’s too when he replies, dryly “and usually I am so very chatty.”

There’s a funny expression on his face so she pauses to let his thoughts crystallise. Wait, that’s not it, more of a puzzled tilt to his brows. His lips part, quivering, before- “hepCH!”- a sharp sneeze. He manages to dip his head behind a sleeve before the next shudders through him.

Nott winces knowingly, golden eyes full of concern.

“Are you getting sick, Caleb?”

“Nein- I-“ a hand creeps up to hover weakly before his face, and he is overtaken by a few more. “HepCHssh!-hetPSch!”

“Entshuldigung...” he shakes his head groggily and fishes out a handkerchief from the pocket of his cloak for a quick blow. If any others of their party had been present, he might have been mortified, would have denied his state vehemently. But it was just Nott, who had seen the worst of him ten times over.

“I hope not, but this does not seem very encouragi- ah-“ He raises a hand to interrupt her before she can speak. “No a healing potion with not do much for this. If I am getting a cold, it will have to go away on its own.”

“Okay.” She twists her claws together uneasily as she sees how pale he is. She likes him, needs him, to be at the top of his game. For both of them. “You should take your wet things off, at least.”

“Ja. Yes, I will do that.” He acquiesces to her good sense and removes layers of wet clothing, arranges it to steam by the fire. Next he draws his books from his rucksack and lays each on the bed to inspect them for damage. The edges of a few are damp but none of the text seems to have bled, which is the main thing. Nott sits beside him on the mattress and attends to her own precious collection of coins, buttons and rings. She counts them out of the bag and then back in again, twice, and leans back in satisfaction.

Caleb relishes the little press of her back against his side as he reads. She is nice and warm. A ticklish cough bursts from his throat and throws him double before he can warn her. It is a loud, convulsive sound that seems too loud to come from the wizard’s skinny chest.

It makes Nott yelp and she skitters down to the edge of the bed like a cat with it’s claws out.

“Sorry! Sorry, you made me jump. I’m not used to you making sudden noises.”

“I cannot help-“ Caleb manages around the coughing. He draws a gulp of water from his flask which

burns his throat going down but quiets the cough for now. “You will have to get used to it. I do not wish to startle you every time I... ieh...”

With impeccable timing he hears his own voice go weak and needful with a series of hitching breaths. The sensation is so intense that tears gather on his lashes and though them he can see his goblin companion steeling herself for the explosion. He muffles three sneezes into his handkerchief and looks up at her apologetically.

“Bless you,” she says.

“I didn’t make you jump that time?”

“Oh, no, I could see it coming. You have a very expressive face.”

He snorts in amusement and that makes him cough again. She scoots closer and eyes him closely. She doesn’t like the pale cast of his face under the dirt, or the shadows under his eyes. The tip of his nose is becoming a sensitive pink.

“You look like shit,” she says sorrowfully. “Worse than usual. I could ask Jester if she cast healing on you, see if she can clear this up a bit?”

“Nott.” He says firmly, “Will you ease off, please? Listen. Healing spells aren’t good for common illnesses. The effect won’t last long enough to be worth the magic. Besides, I’m not asking Jester to cure a cold. I rely on her for healing pretty much every time we get into an altercation. The rest of this team are so much more-“ he searches for the word, “-durable- than your average human. It’s embarrassing.”

“Beau’s human.”

“Beauregard is a human tank. Do you see her needing healing left, right and centre?”

“Okay.” The goblin shrugs. It is difficult to get a goblin sick after all and her sinewy body can take quite a beating despite her size. “Okay, Caleb.”

He sees her concern and pats her fondly on the shoulder. “You worry too much. I am not delighted by the prospect either but such is life. Go on, my little friend, why don’t you go down to the bar and see what there is to eat. I will stay here with Frumpkin and see if all my books have made it through the weather unscathed.”

The cat materialises when his name is mentioned and curls comfortingly on the wizard’s lap, making it clear he isn’t going anywhere.

“Alright. Alright then. I’ll see you later.” She gathers her hooded cloak and returns the mask she uses to hide her goblin features. Anxiety always rises in her when Caleb is threatened, a ferocious mothering instinct coupled with the knowledge that he is her hope for the future. He is all she has. A drink will make the feeling better, so she makes for the stairs without a backwards glance and tries to enjoy the rest of the evening.

Chapter Text

“Caleb?”

“Caleb?”

He shakes his head and realises that Fjord has been calling his name for a while (a minute and forty-three seconds, the helpful voice in his head informs him) and the noise won’t stop until he responds.

“Ja?”

“You zoned out for a moment there.” His half-orc companion tells him. “Pumat is trying to give you your change.”

Ah yes, he is in the Invulnerable Vagrant and the familiar shopkeeper is trying to push a mix of silver and copper into his hands. For the ink and incense that he doesn’t entirely remember buying.

“Ja, yes, of course.” He takes it fumblingly and flushes red. What is wrong with him?

Fjord goes forward to pay for his own purchases. As he waits, Caleb notices how cold it is in the shop. His limbs prickle with goose flesh under his coat and he even shivers. Summoning Frumpkin the cat into his arms helps a little, but not enough. Why do the Pumats not use their considerable magic to heat this place better? He paces, trying to keep warm, but the movement jars the headache brewing behind his eyes.

Pumat number three’s loud voice isn’t helping the headache at all.

“Excuse me, Sir, we don’t allow animals in this establishment due to their being sensitive objects a magical nature…”

He turns to explain that Frumpkin is not, technically speaking, a real cat, but both Pumat and Fjord give him a strange look.

“With respect, you friend there looks a bit pale.” Pumat comments to Fjord. “Perhaps i could offer you one of our fine healing potions, for the road, because he looks like he might be needing it.”

Caleb tries to protest but Fjord adds, “You do look a bit peaky, gotta say.”

“It is nothing.” He insists. “Come Fjord, we have taken enough of Pumat’s time, I think.”

As soon as the heavy door of the invulnerable Vagrant has swung to a close, Fjord moves to block Caleb’s progress down the street. The human man always looks like he could stand a three nights of sleep and a good meal, but today he looks considerably worse. There are shadows under the blue eyes and the lids look so worn he can see the tracery of delicate veins there. He has less colour than Nott’s porcelain mask.

“Uh, not to be personal, but Pumat has a point. You look like death warmed up.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.” Caleb finds his words catch in his throat. Clearing it makes him cough painfully. He follows Fjord’s astute gaze to the fist he has pressed into his chest, and lowers it guiltily.

“C’mere, let me-“ the half orc grips his shoulder too firmly for him to squirm away and presses the back of his hand against Caleb’s neck. His eyes narrow.

“Bit of a fever there, I think. Where’d that come from all of a sudden?”

The action is businesslike but the attention makes Caleb’s stomach flip between pleasure and shame. He wants to shake it off, but the moment the touch is gone he feels lonely in the absence of it. “No idea.” He says honestly.

“Better go back and get some rest, and let Jester have a look at you.” Fjord advises.

Caleb squirms. No need to waste a spell when he can surely sleep this off. Besides, his head is pounding hard enough that loud, vivacious interrogation is the last thing feels like right now. “Maybe.” He compromises. “I will go to my room any case.”

He turns towards the direction of the Inn but the cobblestones waver and shift before his eyes. He reels drunkenly and the only reason he doesn’t fall is the sudden pressure of a strong, orcish arm against his elbow.

“Danke.” He whispers.

“No problem. I got you.” Fjord affirms, gently righting him again. “Are you, uh, gonna be okay to walk back on your own? You need a little company?”

“Oh, nein. I can manage,” He gently, but firmly removes Fjord’s arm from his own. He is flushed in the face now, the blue eyes are glassy and bright, but he is standing straighter.

“Are you sure?” Fjord presses.

The look Caleb shoots him is unexpected. There’s that streak of pure fire that they occasionally see in battle. Evidently their wizard has just decided that this is a battle, one he intends to wage without help.

“I said I can manage, thank you Fjord.”

“Okay, okay.” Fjord holds his hands up in surrender. “Off you go then.”

Fjord watches as Caleb makes his way down the street, just to be sure. He thinks he can see the man’s thin shoulder shaking through his coat, some deep ache in the bend of his back, but his step is steady enough after that initial wobble. He considers popping back into Pumat’s for the extra healing potion, then decides again it. Caleb is a grown man who has clearly seen some shit. If he wants to handle this himself, let him.

Chapter Text

It’s Caleb’s third day straight in the library. There are some astonishing books here, so many he barely knows where to start. Beyond that the very atmosphere of the place is intensely smoothing. muted whispers, gentle steps ringing on marble floors and the hush of heavy parchment turned by reverent fingers. Feels like safety. Feels like home. Feels like the answers to all his problems are in here someone and he if could just search for long enough, he might find them.

Well okay, there’s one problem books might not be able to solve. That would be the sore throat, runny rose, and headachy feeling that has set up behind his eyes. He had put it down to the dry atmosphere, but by day three and finding it no better for numerous cups of tea, he’s resigned to coming down with a cold.

Luckily, Caleb has an almost limitless capacity to ignore the needs of his physical form. With enough handkerchiefs and a knack for pinching sneezes to silence lest they disturb the other patrons, his day of study is a success.

It’s only when he leaves the warm, dry confines of the library that he starts to really feel it.

There’s a cold breeze that makes his nose drip mercilessly and his eyes water.

He is very grateful to return to the tavern where the rest of the Nein are waiting. The dry, tickling feeling hasn’t left his nose, however, and no sooner has he come through the doors than three quick, itchy sneezes slip out.

“Bless you, Cay-leb!” A lilting, accented voice calls sing-song across the tavern.

“Danke, Jester.” He nods his head to his blue-skinned friend where she sits on a low stool with her sketchbook and a glass of milk.

He would slip right by her and up to his room to rest up but another round of sneezes knock him dizzy.

“Bless you again!” Jester laughs. “Was it very dusty in the library? I could use thaumaturgy to blow the dust off of your clothes, you know.”

He resigns himself to pausing to chat. “Nein, nein. No need. Where are the others?”

“Shopping. Well, Beau has gone to do some Monk training things, and everyone else has gone to trade in all those weapons that we found for something better. You could probably catch up to them if you hurry. Hey…”

Caleb startles when she rises suddenly to stand and stare seriously into his face with her hands on her hips. Before he can flinch away she grips his chin and tilts his head from side to side, a pout on her lips. “Oh no, Cayleb, you don’t look very good at all.”

“Danke.” He says again, “so you tell me. Repeatedly.”

She frowns. He squirms. Is it so obvious on his face?

“Ok-ay then.” She shrugs. “Don’t come crying to me when you’re miserable later. Well, I know you won’t. Don’t come crying to me when I have to make Yasha sit on you and hold you down while I heal you from some kind of stinky plague.”

He has to cough and clear his throat a few times. “I appreciate your concern but I do not have some kind of plague. I have a cold or some shit, it’s not worth a spell. Trust me that I have survived much worse. I am going to go sleep it off.”

“Oh, okay.” She relents sadly.

For a moment he wonders if he should have let her cast a lesser restoration on him. It wouldn’t last long but it might kick the groggy, congested feeling that is making him too tired even to read. The feel of her cool hands might have been nice too. But that is foolish thinking. If he lets himself have some softness now, he might get used to it and miss it when it is inevitably gone. Better to wait it out. Instead he turns from her, smothering a cough against the sleeve of his coat.

He almost makes it out of the room before his breath snags into gasps. He manages to tuck his handkerchief around his nose and turn his face away to sneeze, but he doesn’t need to look around to see Jester wince at the sound. He sounds exactly as bad as he feels.

“Cay-leb?”

“Ja?”

“Hope you feel better soon.”

Chapter Text

It's still raining slightly, a misty drizzle that patters on the canvas over the wagon. The water doesn't fall so much as hang in the air for them to walk through. It gets under the collar of cloaks, into boots down the back of necks as they secure the horses for the night. The party's wizard dismounts and lands with a squelch on the damp ground. The action jars his aching muscles and the damp sets him shivering as he watches his breath escape in plumes into the fog.

“Caleb, you want the first watch with me?” The other human, Beauregard, hails him from across the camp.

“Ja,” he agrees. His body is aching for sleep but he will have to take a shift at some point and doing it now will be better than having to drag himself out of his bedroll in the middle of the night. Besides, Beauregard is good company and she won't fuss like Nott might.

He makes a point to stash another handkerchief in his pocket before he comes over and and settles beside Beau on the driver's box of the wagon where the slight elevation gives a better view. Not that there is anything to see but waving grass and straggly forest in the distance, all of it dewed with rain that glistens in the twilight. The last birds of the evening call from high in the sky. It would be peaceful if it wasn't for the distracting sound of his own teeth chattering. 

 Eventually the rain slackens enough for the two to put their hoods down. Caleb peers out into the blue distance, trying to breathe around a mounting ticklish feeling in his nose. He is trying not to sniffle, a habit he finds infuriating on other people let alone himself, but does give nose a hard rub with his knuckles. It doesn’t help. Apparently he is squinting at the horizon, because Beau asks in a low voice, 

“What are you staring at?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve got a really funny look on your face. Do you see something?”

He has time to glare at her over the prayerbook clasp of his hands before the sneezes hit and he flinches off to the side. It is an unexpectedly harsh sound to come from a quiet and skinny wizard. 

“Whoah, someone's getting the plague!” Beauregard raises an eyebrow in a mix of sympathy and horror.

“I-” the protest is turned into another shoulder-shaking sneeze and it seems ridiculous to deny it so Caleb just shrugs.

“Fucking bless you.” Beau says, almost admiringly.

“Fucking thank you.” He echoes tiredly. 

“You sound sick of that shit. You tried taking a potion?”

“They don’t do very much for a common cold.” He shrugs. “You should know that.”

“Oh, I don’t really get sick.” Beau boasts. Caleb mentally stores that away to taunt her when she proven wrong, but it rings true enough. She is much hardier than him, though that is admittedly not difficult. 

“I’m not sick sick.” He defends himself. “It’s just a- ah- Aeesshcue! ” Another sneeze. Oh, this is undignified. 

“Sure. Whatever.” She agrees, shrugging. 

What he likes about Beauregard is that she assumes he can handle his own shit. Following that conversation they move onto other things and his condition is not mentioned for the rest of the watch. It’s really nice being with another human sometimes.

Chapter Text

Caleb thinks maybe the rest of the Nein allow him more time on the wagon would be fair, because he can use the time so profitably in transcribing spells or at least resting to recover the magic he has spent. 

He doesn't complain, if he can read rather than ride he is much happier, especially today 

Today Mollymauk is the one riding with him. They sit beside each other and Molly is quiet for once. The teifling occupies his hands with his deck of tarot cards. He shufffles them in intricate patterns and pulls the same card from the deck again and again, then makes it appear from each of his pockets in turn. Caleb idly casts 'detect magic' and is amused to see his companion is working with sleight of hand alone.

It would be a peaceful journey if it weren't for how his nose is bothering him. The itchiness of the night before has settled in the back of his nose and it seems like every time he gets into the flow of writing he has to turn and fish out his handkerchief for a convulsive, “ hetPSch! ”

From horseback a little way away, Nott calls, “Bless you, Caleb!” and gives him a wry, sympathetic look. He shrugs back at her.

The first ten sneezes or so, his travelling companion doesn't react at all. Molly can read people well enough to know that intrusion into Caleb's reading time is nearly always unwelcome, and Caleb is grateful for this. It is hard enough to concentrate as it is, with the wind ruffling the pages and the cold making his fingers shake as he writes. It also makes his nose drip and he swipes it with his coat sleeve until his nose is raw and red. That is what forces the realisation that he is indeed getting sick. Verdammt .

The needling sensation of another sneeze makes his lip curl and he is forced to set down his transcription in order to draw a handful of chaotic breaths. At least it allows him time to dig out his handkerchief, tuck it around his nose and mouth and brace with a hand against the nearest firm surface before they slam through him.

When he looks up, he realises that what he is leaning on for support is actually Mollymauk.

“Bless you!” The teifling smiles, amused.

Another sneeze, another “bless” and he looks up to see Molly eyeing him. He shrugs in response, sniffles deeply. “I am very sorry, Mollymauk. If I am disturbing you I can move elsewhere?"

“Not at all,” Molly says easily. “Stay where you are, you're providing insulation. Sounds like something's really getting to you.”

Caleb flushes. Getting sick is nothing to be ashamed of, he knows that, but the attention makes his stomach swirl hot and cold just the same.

“It's really nothing.”

“As you say.” Molly agrees.

Caleb gives up trying to read, after that, though he keeps his book open, waiting for his focus to return. Gods he's tired. He just needs a few minutes. He just needs- Needs-

Waking feels like being dragged up from the bottom of a swamp. 

His throat feels as though it is on fire, his sinuses are hot and clogged and an ache behind his eyelids warns him against opening them to the light. Ugh. He has fallen asleep on the cart, still sitting but with his head propped against something soft that is just enough to protect his neck from any jolts. 

As for what has woken him, it must be the low thrum of familiar voices. 

He hears Nott’s concerned rasp, “- should wake him up- ” and a baritone murmur, “- Let him sleep, he’s not bothering-” 

That second, less familiar voice is very close by. So close he can feel the vibrations of it coming through his side where he rests against-

-against-

He has fallen asleep against Mollymauk. 

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

Caleb is properly awake now, with a jolt of embarrassment-induced adrenaline swirling up through his gut and his thoughts buzzing. Nott is going to laugh. Molly is going to laugh. Jester will never let him hear the end of this. And he is so tired, still, and he feels so awful that he can’t care quite as much as he should. 

It seems that they haven’t noticed Caleb is awake, so he weighs the options in his head. Getting up will mean facing his symptoms, moving out of the warm press of coat and tiefling body heat and facing a combination of concerned questions and mockery. That sounds like far too much to deal with. Better to keep his eyes closed and feign sleep for as long as he can away with it. The heavy throb of his head is calling him so firmly to sleep that he is sure he can muster the real thing, given ten more minutes.

He turns his face away from the light and into what he now knows is Mollymauk’s shoulder. The space between arm and collarbone is at just the right height to protect his neck from aching, and he can smell the characteristic mix of incense and perfume that marks the teifling’s clothing. Gods, he hopes his nose isn’t dripping on his coat. It feels too stuffed for that to be likely, but he gives a testing sniffle to be sure and feels Molly’s arm tighten around him comfortingly. 

Nott’s voice fades in- “-catch it and then you’ll be screwed-” and Molly’s response, “It’s really, really hard to get a tiefling sick. I’ve got ten times the stamina of this guy.”

He thinks it sounds affectionate, but it’s hard to tell. He does feel guilty for catching ends of conversation that are not meant for him, for forcing himself upon a companion in a way he never would if he was entirely himself. 

He manages to will himself back to sleep out of sheer self-consciousness.

Eventually the embrace has to end, as all good things do. In this case, when Caleb wakes again he can feel his nose beginning to run freely and he will not subject Molly or anyone else to that.

He raises his head with a groan and tries to dig in his pocket for a handkerchief. 

“Ah, good morning sunshine! Well, good afternoon.” Mollymauk’s cheerful voice makes his head throb. 

“Hallo.” He manages, raspy and congested. Where is his handkerchief? He knows it was in his pocket but it is hard to search when ticklish coughs are spilling from what feels like the bottom of his lungs. 

Molly moves to give him space and graciously turns his head, pretending to ignore his companion’s distress. It is impossible to ignore the set of stuffy sneezes the wizard smothers against the sleeve of his coat. 

Caleb opens his eyes to find a lavender-coloured hand extended, offering a square of silk which is just as richly coloured as any of Molly’s belongings. “Need this?”

No. No , that is too much. Far too good for the likes of him, even when he is at his best. A blush races up his neck and he glowers at Mollymauk with as much pride as he has left. 

 “Nein, thank you. There’s really no need.”

Precious ruby eyes, big and searching. “Caleb? Let me at least-”  

“ Nein . Go back to your cards.”

The hand withdraws, the silk hankie disappears into a pocket in that ridiculous outfit and Molly reverts to a playful shrug. “As you say.” 

With that, the tiefling vaults to his feet and moves to the front of the cart to spark some conversation with Fjord where he is driving the horses. 

Caleb is left sniffling and frowning. Alone with his book, just the way he likes it.  This is how things have to be. It’s all he deserves. 

Chapter Text

Of all the times to get sick, for once his timing is not too bad. The Mighty Nein are between jobs and have a few days to spend in the Xorhaus. Caleb Widogast had been planning to spend them in the library catching up on his studies.

It seems that the moment he opens the book and summons Frumpkin onto his lap as a reading companion, the scraping soreness that has been in the back of his throat for days becomes a lancing pain every time he swallows, forcing him to cough and clear it nearly constantly. His nose is quickly too stuffed for him to breathe through. He swears to himself then feels a rush of gratitude that this did not happen while they were on the road. He isn’t sure he could accurately throw a fireball in this state, let alone anything more complex. 

Despite the fire he can’t seem to get warm. A blanket over his lap helps a little and his cat helps a lot but shivers still trickle down his limbs with increasing frequency. He is going to have to get a hot drink or something for his throat, or he’ll never be able to concentrate on this transcription. 

He intends it to be a very short interruption, to get back to his reading chair and the warmth of the fire as soon as possible. Upon standing, he realises he is dizzier than he had thought. Descending the stairs to the kitchen requires keeping his hand firmly on the wooden banister. 

The kitchen is mercifully quiet and empty apart from a familiar tall figure with a shock of bright pink hair, occupied with peeling and coring apples. The room is as still as a painting. Low light from the enchanted baubles overhead blesses the fruit with a sheen like precious stones. 

Caleb feels a swell of emotion at the scene. It’s the little things; Beau and Fjord’s boots kicked off by the door, a novel open face-down on the table, a half finished glass of tea. The house is warm and lived-in and safe. It is home. He’d never thought he’d live somewhere like this again. Some feeling rises in his throat and he swallows against it. 

That slight sound is enough to prompt Caduceus to turn. The same light illuminates him from behind, an improbable furry angel. 

“Mr Caleb?”

It seems Caduceus doesn’t need to touch Caleb to gauge the man’s fever. The moment he walks into the kitchen, the firbolg looks up and eyes him with considerable concern.

“Oh my, that’s not good at all.” He says, by way of greeting.

“Hm?” Caleb manages. “Oh, I just came to get a glass of water.” As if on cue, he starts coughing again. Even to him it sounds harsh and unpleasant.

“No, no, come here.” Caduceus approaches and leans down to look Caleb over carefully.

“You’re really very warm. I think you have a temperature.” He says gently. “You should be resting.” 

“Perhaps a little, but I have a lot to do today, I am perfectly ok to keep working on my spells.” 

That is all very well but he finds the world swimming at the edges; the firbolg blurs to a rose-edged smudge until Caleb can scrub a hand over his eyes. He manages to find the edge of the table with an outstretched hand and lever himself onto a chair. It feels good to sit down. The short walk downstairs has made his legs and back ache. He looks up guiltily to see Caduceus standing over him, eyebrows raised. 

“Caleb,” those pink sapphire eyes are turned on him with their full force of kind persuasion. “I know what’s normal for humans and I know you can’t be comfortable with your temperature so high. Let me give you a spell and I’ll make you some tea.” 

Actually that does sound like a good idea. He nods in surrender. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

Caduceus rests one of his hands on Caleb’s shoulder and casts healing word . Caleb knows that spell doesn’t require contact, but finds himself grateful for it nonetheless. 

“Spells are not actually too good for common illnesses.” The firbolg says apologetically. Caleb knows that too. “Give it a second to kick in.” 

So he sits and waits while his friend boils the kettle and selects pinches of ingredients from the wall of dark jars. He endeavours to wait without making a fuss, but the spell seems to have made the congestion in his nose shift in a way that sets him sneezing. With his handkerchief firmly over his nose and mouth he manages to smother the sound to a strangled “– ngkt !” The price of the quiet is a bolt of pain through his throat. 

“Ah – ngkt !” And again. 

“Bless you.” Not too quiet to escape Caduceus’ notice, then. 

He nods his thanks and doubles immediately with another sneeze.

“ CHssh-ue !” Neither quiet nor polite, but it doesn’t hurt quite as much. 

“ Bless you!” Caduceus calls over his shoulder. “So, some upper respiratory symptoms with the fever, yes? Let me see what I can find.” He adds a sliver of gnarly-looking root to the teapot and swirls it thoughtfully.

“Now, will you come and drink it with me? I could use some company.” 

Caleb swallows. He should be reading, he should be working on that new spell, he shouldn’t be wasting everyone’s time, he should-  Who is he kidding? His vision is too blurry to read and he is shivering harder now. 

“Ja. Yes. That would be nice.”

He allows himself to be led to Caduceus’ rooftop dwelling.

It is warmer here, magically heated in the same way as his native Cemetery. The air has a pleasant, earthy smell and the captured sunlight from emanating from enchanted globes is easier on his eyes than the bright lamps in his library.Caduceus’ huge oak tree stands proud, it’s roots curving into the base of the tower like possessive fingers, creating inviting nooks and crannies perfect for resting. The firbolg leads him to one where there are cushions and a low table to place the tea set. The angle of the trunk invites him to slump against it. 

He sneezes again, finishes with a groan. “ Ghh. When is this going to stop?”

“When you’ve had enough rest to let your body heal.” Caduceus says sagely.

 It isn’t what Caleb wants to hear. The wizard realises he is still hoping his companion might  have some magic up his sleeve to just get this over with, so he can get back to his usual 

routine. For him to just take all the pain away. It’s a childish urge, but a powerful one. 

He settles for sipping the tea. It’s good; spicy and hot enough that he can feel it going down and radiating warmth into his tight chest. A hint of honey coats his throat, taking the tickle away for now, and he thinks he might be able to breathe through his nose again soon.

Caduceus is smiling at him, head tilted in interest as he holds his own cup.

“S’good.” Caleb tells him, slurry with tiredness. 

“I’m glad.” Caduceus says. ”Are you still feeling chilly?”

“Ja.” Caleb murmurs. “Can’t seem to get warm.” 

“That I can do something about.” Caduceus smiles. He disappears for a moment into his shack, and returns with an armful of thick blankets. He settles them over Caleb’s lap, where they provide a comforting weight. “Is that better, darling?” 

Caleb nods.

 “Now, just sit quietly there and drink that. I’m going to do some work around the garden, but you call if you need me, okay?” 

Caleb nods. He manages to sit long enough to finish the tea, then lets himself slump until he is laying on the cushions and looking up at the shifting patterns of light through the canopy. 

He must have dozed off, because he wakes feeling truly horrible. He hears a familiar, deep voice asking him a question. He cracks his eyes open and the light seems to sear through his skull. 

He goes to answer, sneezes thickly against the blankets.

“Wildmother bless you, Caleb.” Caduceus murmurs fondly and reaches to rub the man’s back. His fingers pause and then migrate up to the back of his Caleb’s neck and a frown deepens on his face. “Whoah, hey, your fever’s way up. I think you need to be in bed, hmm?” 

“ Far.” Caleb despises the whine in his own voice, but his limbs feel like lead and the stairs back to his room are steep.

“My room is right here.” 

Caleb’s pupils go big when he realises what his friend is implying. 

“I couldn’t possibly-” he tries to say, but his fever-addled tongue can only manage a mush of Zemnian and common that doesn’t make any sense at all. 

The Firbolg nods sagely, as though he has made an excellent point, and adds “Yes, I think I’d better pick you up. Just for a moment.”

“Wait- please- oop -”

Caleb’s  limbs are bundled from under him. Caduceus cradles him close to his chest with one arm under his knees and the other to keep his head from lolling too painfully. Caleb’s vision lurches at the sudden movement and so does his stomach, and he wonders if he might throw up, or pass out, or both. Maybe Caduceus hears the dragging gasp that provokes, because he stands still and holds him tighter, presses his head into his chest and strokes through his hair for comfort.

“There, easy now. I’ve got you. I think…” he pauses to open the door to his little hut with one hip, “that if you’re feeling badly enough to let yourself be carried, doesn’t that mean you deserve to be carried? Just a little?” 

Caleb doesn’t reply, just tries to concentrate on the flood of sensation that is being lifted, being held. He is freezing, he is shivering so hard in Caduceus’ arms that he can hear his own teeth chatter. In response the firbolg holds him a little tighter.

A gentle impact as Caduceus sits down on the bed, and Caleb is shifted from his friend’s grasp onto a firm, low mattress. Compared to the bodyheat of a moment ago, the sheets are cold and unwelcoming, sparking soreness on his over-sensitive skin. He grits his teeth so as not to seem ungrateful but a convulsive chill chases along his limbs all the same. 

“Oh, you’re really shivering.” He hears Caduceus say. “Come here, sweetheart.” 

He is gathered up again and the blessed warmth is back. He curls into it like Frumpkin finding a spot of sunlight in winter. Caduceus manages to settle himself to sitting, with his human friend curled against his chest and supported with one long arm around his back. 

Caleb wants to rest there in Caduceus’ arms, he doesn’t want to move ever again, but his stuffy nose is still so ticklish and the change in position has only made it worse. He needs to turn his head away, needs to do something before he sneezes all over his friend. He squirms weakly, trying to find a handkerchief from his pocket, and whines under his breath when his fingers react with fumbling slowness. 

“What is it?” Caduceus’ voice is soft and concerned.

“Wait, I have to-” He gestures helplessly to his running nose then bucks into a sneeze against Caduceus’ chest. It’s wet and painful and deeply embarrassing. He feels blood race up his neck in a chaotic blush and he keeps his eyes closed as if they can pretend that didn’t just happen. 

“Oh! Bless you!” 

“Sorry- excuse me- CHssh-ue ! CHssh-ue ! ...m’sorry,” he manages. He doesn’t know if it’s for the mess or for falling ill in the first place.

“Trust me,” Caduceus actually laughs, “I’ve seen worse than a few sneezes. Bless you-” he adds preemptively as Caleb winds up for another. “There, are you done?”

Caleb sniffles and shrugs. “Ja. Gott. I’m so sorry.” 

“Hey. It’s okay. It happens. I’d rather have that than blood. Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

“S’cold…” Caleb actually pouts a little. 

“It won’t be, look-” 

Caleb feels a whisper of magic, recognises distantly that Caduceus has used some spell to warm the bedsheets for him. He could have done that himself, should have thought to try it, if he had any spells left in him. So stupid…

It’s much better. This time he allows himself to be bundled over, lets Caduceus pull the blankets up over his shoulders and tuck them in around him. When was the last time someone tucked him in…? It doesn’t bear thinking about, so he doesn’t. He is so, so ready to sleep but Caduceus is nudging him, trying to push something into his hand.

“ Hmmf? ” 

“One more minute, then you can sleep. Blow your nose first, sweetheart, or you’ll regret it later.”

“ Nein .” That would involve raising his head and some modicum of effort. Ugh. 

“Trust me.” And he does trust Caduceus, so he does so. Then he falls into thick sleep as though a rug has been pulled out from underneath him.

Caleb doesn’t sleep for long - One hour thirteen minutes says the part of his brain that never stops counting- and it feels like forever or no time at all. The dreams that came were hot and black and chaotic. He is glad to wake and be out of them. 

“Hmmm, let’s have a look at you,” a rumbling murmur from a familiar bass voice. He feels the weight of Caduceus settling next to him on the bed. The Firbolg presses the back of his hand to Caleb’s forehead and nods, his expression sympathetic but not worried. There is a little tickle of magic, possibly some sort of diagnostic spell that Caleb never bothered to learn, and his friend nods. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna be fine. Looks like you just have a bad cold.” He sighs fondly and amends this to, “a really bad cold, poor thing. Can you sit up and drink some tea for me?”

Caleb obeys passively, though levering himself up to sitting is an effort that tires him out. It’s hard to drink hot tea when he feels so hot himself. He does so partially because he’s seen the healing powers of Caduceus’ tea first hand and partially because his friend would be incredibly hurt if he turned it down. So he sips, coughs a little, snuffles helplessly through a blocked nose. 

He has to put the mug down in a hurry to sneeze hard into the crook of his elbow. 

“Bless you, Caleb. Hmm, you managed to get yourself really sick sweetheart. You need to eat more, and sleep more, too.”  Caduceus says, reaching to rub his shoulders afterward. “How are you feeling now? Anything I can do?”

“I’m okay.” Caleb manages shakily. “Just hot. And achy.” 

“Yeah. I know you’re really warm but I’m not going to cool you too much, you need the fever to burn the virus off, okay? It’ll break soon and you’ll feel so much better.” 

Ja. Caleb knows this intellectually, but hearing ir  in that deep, soft voice is very reassuring when he feels like his skin is on fire. With a little prompting, he finishes the tea and lies down again.

“That’s it. Try to get back to sleep. That’s what you need right now.” Caduceus encourages. 

This time it takes a while. He hears Caduceus leave the shack and can track the little sounds of his working in the garden outside. Caleb feels very close to sleep but instead he lies and lies there with his eyes closed, his thoughts racing unpleasantly. He summons Frumpkin and the cat tries to take his customary position on Caleb’s chest but the weight makes his clogged lungs work too hard. Frumpkin on his lap or his legs is too heavy and hot. Frumpkin not touching him is unbearably lonely. Frumpkin’s purring makes his head ache but the silence is no better. Caleb tosses and turns miserably, bleeding heat into the atmosphere for an hour and a half before sleep finally claims him. 

Chapter Text

It is hard to judge the time without a sunset, but when Caduceus’ body feels like he has been working for a few hours and his chores are done, he makes his way to the shack to check up on his guest. The fever heat and stuffy air of sickness are tangible as soon as he opens the door. The wizard is sprawled in sleep on the low mattress with his limbs splayed and the blankets kicked off. His cat is as near as he can be without touching. Evidently the chills have passed and his temperature is rising again. It should be due to break soon, if Caduceus is any judge.

 The human man is flushed under his freckles. One arm is pillowed under his head and the hand is turned upward but clenched and tense even in sleep. His wrists look impossibly delicate, the tendons in his arms standing out like cords, while the multitude of scars stand out in vivid white. Caduceus is bony himself but he has a layer of fur and lean rangy muscle with it. Caleb just looks like he could use a good meal. 

He says, “Hey there Mister Caleb,” to judge how deeply the man is asleep. No answer. Must be pretty deep. That’s good. Still, he mustn't get too cold, no matter how he feels, or his body will just crank his temperature higher, so Caduceus finds the thinnest sheet he has and drapes it over the man.

Caleb does stir at this, trying weakly to push it off. 

“Okay, okay, but it’s there if you need it, alright?” He murmurs. 

Caleb maybe nods, maybe it’s a twitch as he falls back into whatever dream has his eyes flickering behind their lids. 

He’s not in any danger and he is as comfortable as Caduceus can make him, so that will have to do for now. 

He leaves the sleeping wizard and pads softly down to the shared space to greet the rest of the Nein.

They are gathered in the kitchen, some eating and others just keeping company. It is so, so nice to come down to them, it’s like having a family.

Jester raises her head and gives him a great big smile. “Caduceuuuuus!  Where have you been all day? I found the soup you left though, it was really good!” 

“I’m glad.” He tells her, then explains, “Caleb’s not feeling too well, so I’ve been looking after him a little.”

“Oh.” Jester’s eyes go big with worry. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Fjord echoes. The others turn their heads. Nott tenses like she’s ready to spring up the stairs to her boy’s side.

“Oh, he’ll be fine.” Caduceus reassures them. “Just a nasty cold, but he has a fever with it that’s making him pretty uncomfortable. He’s in my bed sleeping it off.” 

That news causes an amused clamour when Beau blurts, “and he told you?” at the same time as Jester’s- “he let you-?” and Nott’s outraged, “he didn’t tell me ?!”

 “Seriously Caduceus,” Jester adds “did you, like, drug him or something? I really need to go see if he’s okay right now.”

“No, no.” It is very unusual for Caduceus to be firm but he is now. He actually raises his voice just a touch and holds up a hand to stop the enthusiastic teifling in her tracks. “What he needs is rest and for you lot not to bother him. If he gets too much attention he’s just gonna feel guilty and try to get up.” 

“That’s true, actually.” She sits down in defeat. 

Even Nott shrugs in agreement. “If you’re sure it’s just a cold? And you’ll let us know if he needs anything from us?”

Caduceus puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Hey. You know I will.”

So that’s that. 

Caduceus takes the time to eat some of the soup he made earlier and also heats a bowlful to bring up for his patient. He also brings some more tea and a glass of the fruit juice he knows Caleb is fond of. He has to set down the tray to quietly open the door. Even then it rattles loudly, but that doesn’t matter because the wizard is already awake.

Caleb's dreams are always awful, but these are worse. He knows he’s dreaming, because nothing makes any sense, but the usual combination of smoke and flames and guilt is heightened by the physical feeling of burning up. He wakes enough to make out the walls of the room wavering as though in a heat haze and falls straight back into a dream where the space gets smaller and smaller. Something is wrapped around him, binding him tight, holding his arms still so that Ikathon can cut them open-

Caleb wakes from falling, gasps as though smacked into the mattress from a great height.

He sits instinctively to make it easier to breathe as he coughs and coughs and coughs . His chest hurts ferociously and he is absolutely soaking in sweat. 

As his vision clears, he realises the blankets had wrapped around one of his arms and his struggling had pulled it taught. He unwinds it and feels where the cloth has pressed ridges into his flesh. Every inch of his skin feels itchy and dirty and wrong.

The door clicks open quietly but he still jumps like he’s been slapped.

“Oh, hey sweetheart, you’re awake.” Caduceus' voice is steady and gentle. 

Caleb swallows guiltily as he remembers where he is. He has made such a mess of Caduceus’ bed, he is disgusting and he’s surely overstayed his welcome. The Firbolg must have come to ask him to leave- 

“Hey, hey, leave that alone, hmm? There’s no need for that.” Caduceus says suddenly.

For what? 

Caleb follows his friend’s gaze and realises his wrists are crossed so that he can scratch compulsively at both forearms at once. He must have been doing it for a while; he can feel the soreness now and see his scars standing out like spilled candle wax against reddened skin. He lowers his hands. 

“That’s it.” Caduceus encourages with a smile. 

“...dreaming.” He manages. His voice is a wreck.

Caduceus nods. “Just a dream though, you’re right here in the Xorhaus with me now.” 

Caleb doesn’t need telling that. He is quite capable of orienting himself after a nightmare. He has been doing it nearly every night for years, in fact. But it’s nice to hear someone else say it. It’s nice, too, when the firbolg comes to sit beside him on the bed and takes his chin in one hand, tilting his head slightly to look him over. Caduceus leans his cheek onto Caleb’s forehead to compare and nods, satisfied. 

“Looks like your fever broke. That’s good. How are you feeling?”

Caleb shrugs. It’s true, he doesn’t feel hot any more, he just feels wrung out. He feels like he has been run over by a cart and left in the rain. 

“Pretty rough, I bet.” Caduceus answers for him. “Poor thing, you look exhausted still.”  His big hands smooth over Caleb’s back, lift his hair from his neck and begin to rub the ache from his muscles. “Is that okay?"

Caleb nods. It’s more than okay. He sniffles thickly and tries to sit still but he really needs to blow his nose. Caduceus notices at once, passes him a handkerchief and moves away to collect the things he’d brought up with him. Blowing makes Caleb need to sneeze and he doesn’t want to because he knows it’ll scrape his throat raw. He sniffles again instead and scrubs underneath his nose with the heel of his hand. He feels beyond pathetic.

Caduceus returns with a glass of juice and offers it. “It would be good if you could drink something.” He prompts, “You’ve lost a lot of fluid in a short time.”

“Feel like I am a fluid.” Caleb manages a weak smile. “Sorry about your bed.” 

“Never mind that. Sheets can be washed.” Caduceus says easily. “But what about you? You could go down to the spa and have a bath? I could help you, if you’re not up to walking just yet.”

Caleb considers this as he drains the glass. It would be good to be clean but there is a distinct swim at the edges of his vision when he turns his head too fast. His legs feel far too heavy for walking anywhere just now. 

“Maybe later...” He says. 

“That’s fine, sweetheart. Don’t worry about that right now.” 

So he doesn’t. That's about all the conversation Caleb has in him, so he lies back down again. He feels Caduceus take the pillow from him briefly and manhandle him to one side to replace the sheet underneath him with a dry one. He accepts a clean shirt too and manages to wrangle it over his own head.

The effort has him ready to fall asleep again and he doesn’t want to, isn’t ready for the dreams to start all over again. Frumpkin senses this. The cat paces up and down at the foot of the bed, giving voice to a low, miserable mew. 

Caduceus reaches to pet Frumpkin and then looks up at Caleb, questioning.

Caleb was okay until then, honestly. He was just fine. But something about his friend’s honest, compassionate gaze, an expression of care and concern that is for him, whether he deserves it or not…. A lump forms in his throat and he feels tears rise like a tide. He swallows, shakes his head, presses his eyes firmly closed so they don’t spill out. Ridiculous.

“Do you want me to come sit with you for a bit?” Caduceus says softly.

Caleb nods.

He doesn’t open his eyes again but he feels the weight of a lanky firbolg settle beside him, then he feels a warm, steady hand smoothing his hair from his brow and cool, dry lips pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. 

Caduceus lies down next to him, a little way away at first. Caleb isn’t feeling good with words right now, but he rolls over and sort of snuggles backwards into Caduceus’ orbit until his friend takes the hint and closes the gap. One arm drapes over him and comes to rest lightly on his arm. 

“Is that okay? Not too much?” A bass whisper behind his ear.

“It’s okay. Thank you.” Caleb affirms. 

“Good. That’s nice. I’d like to try another spell, then do you think you could go back to sleep for a little?” 

Caleb nods assent and feels the cool whisper of Caduceus' magic course through him. It doesn’t do much for his stuffy head but it takes the edge of the aches and relaxes his nerves somewhat. Perhaps that’s the placebo effect of knowing someone is making an effort on his behalf. Whichever it is, Frumpkin seems to approve. The cat settles in littlest-spoon position in front of him, purring like an engine. That is all Celeb needs to send him back to sleep.

Caleb wakes groggily. His impeccable sense of time tells him that it is morning; he has slept the whole night in Caduceus’ bed. He does feel better for it; his sinuses are hot and achy, his throat is raw and his lungs tight, but he no longer feels feverish. He sits up on one elbow and rubs tentatively under his nose, trying to dull the ticklish feeling. It doesn’t work and he smothers his face against his forearm to sneeze once, twice, three times in miserable succession. 

“Bless you.” A familiar voice from the other side of the room, scratchy and worried. Not Caduceus- just Nott. The goblin woman is sitting criss-cross applesauce at the end of the mattress, apparently waiting for him to wake. At the sudden motion she looks up, big yellow eyes meeting his for a second before he sneezes again.

“Thadk you,” Caleb says thickly. “Hallo Nott.” 

While he recovers, she crawls up to his side of the bed and inspects him closely. “‘Deucey said you were better, but you look like shit.” She says mournfully. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He says honestly. It has only been 24 hours but he is still not entirely used to her leaving his side. The fact she let him out of her sight and into Caduceus’ care says a great deal about how safe they both feel in this group. He adds, “trust me, I am feeling a lot better than yesterday. Caduceus gave me some tea and a spell for the fever. Now I just feel like I have a cold.”

“Okay then. Caduceus had to go out, but he says you should have some more tea when you wake up. I could bring it for you...?” It’s a question. She is half expecting him to refuse or at least make it himself. 

To her surprise, Caleb nods gratefully. “Yes please, that would be nice. Thank you, Nott. Do you think you could bring my book as well? Then we could sit together.” 

Of course she can.

By the time Caleb actually makes it down from the tower it is midday. Caduceus returns and checks him over before allowing him out of bed, which Caleb tolerates with as much grace as he can. His head feels like it’s plugged with cotton and the cough has gotten more persistent, but he feels better in himself. With a few spare handkerchiefs tucked into his pocket and Frumpkin as a warm weight around his shoulders, he feels ready to return to his usual routine.

He runs into the Jester in the dining room. Her exotic sapphire skin looks out of place among the homely pots and pans. She wears an apron and an expression of contentment as checks on something sweet-smelling in the oven. She straightens as he walks in.

“Hey, Cay-leb!” Her accent gives his name that sing-song quality that means he can never be sure if she’s teasing him. She dusts her hands on her apron and crosses to him.

“Should you even be up? Caduceus said you had a pretty high fever and you shouldn’t get a fever with a cold, you know, unless you’re really run down. Let me feel-” She reaches out her hands for him. 

“Jester-” he holds up a hand in warning and manages to turn his head and smother three sneezes into the crook of his arm. It makes his head spin and when his vision clears Jester is laughing at him, but fondly.

“Bless you, Cayleb!” 

He laughs too, and doesn’t duck this time when she catches his face in both hands and frowns at him. He feels a blush race up his neck when she smoothes a thumb over his cheekbone.

“Well, I don’t think you have a fever now. Honestly it’s kind of hard to tell because I run hot, but you look okay. For you.”

“Danke, Jester.” 

“You should probably have a bath, though. You’re pretty stinky right now.”

Okay, he is fairly sure she is teasing him. A bath sounds really good though. His back aches from laying for so long and the steam might loosen the congestion that makes him sound like he’s speaking through concrete. 

“Hey, you go put your things down and I’ll run it for you. Go on.”

“I can- he begins but Jester gives him a stern look and he shrugs, relenting, “Ja. Okay. Thank you. That would be nice.”

The bath is indeed excellent. Something in the bubbles Jester has put in it makes him sneeze ticklishly, startling Frumpkin every time, but then he would probably be sneezing anyay. He soaks for nearly an hour, feeling the warmth seep into his bones. 

As he towelling his hair dry afterwards there is a knock on the door. 

It’s Beauregard.

“You naked?” 

“Nein, I am dressed now.” He affirms. “Come in.” 

She slouches against the doorframe, eyeing him through the steam. 

“Hey, so I, uh, heard you weren’t feeling well. You look okay now though, so that’s good I guess.” She spreads her hands, awkward as ever, but Caleb can see past her gruffness to genuine good-will. “But, uh, just kind of wanted to say if you ever need anything from me, all you gotta to do is ask, you know?” 

Even yesterday he might have brushed her off. Today her voice is still a little loud and makes his head hurt, but it also touches him. 

“What Beau said.” That’s Fjord’s voice. He comes to stand behind her and nods at Caleb. “Even when we’re not fighting anything, you still gotta keep yourself healed up, alright.”

“Ja. Okay. Point taken. Thank you.” 

They hover for a moment until Fjord suggests, “Why don’t you come upstairs. I don’t know what Caduceus cooked but it smells real good.”

The dining room is bright with magical lamps. Caduceus is setting out bowls for everyone, Nott and Yeza are already seated and chatting fondly. Yasha is stoking the fire. He knows it’s not for her benefit, with her barbarian blood, but for his, and feels the chill at his limbs lift as soon as he reaches the threshold. Fjord, Jester and Beau take their places at the table at once with a bustle of cutlery and chinking of glasses that makes his sensitive head swim.

It’s very loud in there, very busy, and he is not ready for the weight of all their eyes on him. He honestly doesn’t feel hungry. Whatever good smells Fjord was enjoying, Caleb can’t detect them through his stuffy nose and he knows every swallow will hurt his throat.

He feels sniffly and gross and vulnerable and unfit for company. His instinct is to apologise and retreat to his room to suffer alone. It would be so easy. They would all understand if he said he felt too sick to sit with them.

He is about to make his apologies when Caduceus approaches and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. The firbolg gives him a sympathetic look that makes his lovely, almond shaped eyes turn up at the corners. His hair is bound up out the way of the food, showing the fine rose-coloured down on the shaved part of his skull. He looks soft and welcoming.

“Hey, it’s good to see you up. Do you think you can come and sit with us? I made stew for everyone, but mostly for you. Nice and easy to swallow.” 

“Sure.” Caleb finds himself saying. “I’ll give it a go.” 

“That’s nice,” Caduceus says happily and turns to fetch Caleb a bowl. 

It is nice, actually. Caleb manages to eat a little, mostly to make Nott and Jester stop giving him looks, but there is no pressure when he pushes the rest of bowl away. The hot meal makes his nose run and sets him coughing enough to interrupt the conversation, but Beauregard just leans over to thump him on the back and keeps right on talking. Caduceus passes him a clean handkerchief under the table without drawing attention and noone complains when he turns away to use it. 

After the meal he is persuaded to drink a glass of wine and join the rest of the Mighty Nein in the shared space Jester has coined the ‘happy room’. He feels a little weak and shivery, and is about to cross the room to grab a blanket when Yasha tosses one over to him.

“Here, you should have this one,” she says, indicating the delicate embroidered wildflowers over thick wool. “It’s my favourite.” 

“It’s beautiful.” He agrees. 

The wine has gone straight to his head. He can feel the relaxation seeping through him.  Soon he is yawning and leaning back against Caduceus on the sofa, staring into fire as the chatter of his friends flickers out of focus. 

His nose is still bothering him. He sniffles softly, trying not to draw attention, then gasps when the itchy feeling flares suddenly and throws him forward in a sneeze.

““ Ah-Tsssh! Ah-tssh-ue ! ...ugh. I’m sorry.”

“Wildmother bless you, sweetheart,” Caduceus says fondly.

It happens again, loud enough to make everyone’s heads turn toward him, which sends a blush creeping up his neck. But there are no disgusted glances, just a few raised eyebrows and absent-minded blessings as they return to what they were saying.

As if they don’t mind. As if he has every right to be here, whatever state he’s in. As if they want him around, whether he is contributing right now or not.  

He does feel better for the soup and the spell and the company. More than that, he thinks he can feel something deep within himself start to heal. 

It may take a long time, but with these people it might just be possible. 

END.