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Unholy sounds come from the gym of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, the sounds of violence and murder and a lot of screaming from teenage girls – not ones in danger, not by a longshot, but ones with a well-deserved bloodthirsty rage and a need for revenge finally being satisfied. The clashing of metal, the sounds of spellcasting, the groanings of a beast dying twice-over… it’s all somewhat unpleasant of a background noise, to say the least, as Fabian Aramais Seacaster sits on the bleachers of his school field, alone, in the falling ashes of the greatest fight of his life.
He should be happy. Could have been, if today had gone differently.
If is such a big word, for one so short. In those two letters rests so much weight, so many possibilities, infinite alternate realties only accessible through hope and denial, all holding a brighter reality than the one Fabian finds himself now.
Of course, if is not what’s real. What’s real is that Fabian is so, so deeply unhappy.
The battle was incredible, that’s for certain. He did brilliantly. They did brilliantly - all of them, together. A team of equals. Riz especially, with the killing blow that shook the whole building, well-enacted and so well-deserved, for him and his family and his legacy. If things were different, he’d have told the whole of Elmville of their exploits by now, and have the entire town shouting out their names in adoration.
But there’s only one person that Fabian would like to brag to, and he’s dead.
That fact doesn’t feel right, or real. It feels heavy and sharp at the edges and he doesn’t want to touch it but he has to, doesn’t have a choice as it rests heavy on his chest. It’s hooked under his ribcage like an anchor and it’s sinking itself into him, forcing him to drown. Every second that passes is another moment longer that his father has been dead. The knowledge of his death feels one step removed, like something he can’t quite grasp in his hands, as if it’s not firm enough yet to hold onto as fact.
There’s a loud slicing noise followed by the gushing of blood echoed from the gymnasium and Fabian would spend the time to close his eyes to wince, but anything longer than a blink and he can see the edge of his sword, silver and shining and stabbing directly into his father’s body.
It’s too much, too soon, and even thinking about not thinking about it is enough that, now the action and adrenaline has died down, tears burn at his eyes and there’s no air to be found in all the great outdoors surrounding him, not even in this cold breeze that sends shivers through to his bones, not enough that could make his lungs catch up to speed.
His father was a proud, strong man. Fierce in all ways, unrelenting and bold. Every day of his life, Fabian was told to harbour those qualities, look for them within himself and display them with bravado, enough so that the world believes it, even if you don’t. Every day of his life, Fabian has done that to the best of his ability, under the watchful eye of his father, as full of love as it is expectation and a standard that he so desperately wanted to meet, more than anything.
Obviously, his father is proud of him, Fabian reminds himself, finding himself muttering it under his breath as if it were a prayer. Obviously. He used his dying breaths to say so. Obviously.
He just wishes he could hear it one more time, properly, rather than in the echo of a voice that one day will fade from his memory. A voice that, from this moment onwards, he walks further and further away from in a way that terrifies him, a path he is not yet ready to follow. This path, the path of being the man of the house, the Seacaster, was destined for him from the day he was born. His name was worn like a title, a badge of honour, a legacy to step up and step into when the time was right.
This wasn’t the right time. It was too soon. Too abrupt. Nowhere near glamourous enough. Nowhere near the time in his life where Fabian had managed to prove himself, to… to earn it, he imagines. That thought sinks in like a dagger and he puts his head in his hands, tucking his feet up closer to his chest and curling up small, wishing he could sink right into the shadow of Bill Seacaster instead of having to face the light.
It was in the message delivered by the Hangman, the ringing truth that told him that his father found it wonderful that Fabian is so different to him. He said it in his dying minutes – it’s going to get so much better with each new one.
Fabian should believe it. hell, he’s more than used to believing each word out of his father’s mouth as if it were gospel; he could have told him he hung the stars in the sky and Fabian would have taken it in as truth. But this is different. This is an acknowledgement of himself in a way that Fabian can’t, yet. The very idea of being inherently good just by being, not by being Bill Seacaster’s son?
It’s too much. He’s not enough. And he’s without the guiding hand that could have taught him to get there.
Fabian’s nails dig into his arms hard enough to almost draw blood, he curls up closer within himself on the cold metal bench of the bleachers, and tries so hard to remember the breathing techniques he’s seen Adaine use in the prevention of a panic attack. It doesn’t seem to be working and so he sits there, and shakes, and trembles, and shivers some more.
As he’s wrapped up in his own head, entangled in the heavy ropes that link from thought to never-ending thought, he fails to notice his friends approaching and surrounding him, presumably finished with whatever business they had to resolve after killing a dragon in the gym. They had been the ones to usher him to sit down and take a breather, all knowing what had happened but, obviously, with far too much on their minds to truly address it, even during the long rest they were lucky enough to have. Fabian hadn’t spoken much during that, and that in itself led to a silent, knowing agreement between the other five bad kids that an intervention was needed as soon as the most pressing issue was over.
They climb the bleachers, hushed whispers passed between them before silently moving to surround Fabian, huddling almost instinctively.
On his left, Riz sits himself down, so much smaller than him but for once feeling so much bigger, his chest puffed out in a defensive, apprehensive way, his eyes roaming the area in front of them as if on the lookout for more danger. Fabian feels a tail, thin and familiar and flicking defensively, curl around his back as if to align their bodies closer, as Riz’s small hands, now clean from the earlier fight, hold onto his forearm.
Fig moves to his right, as protective as Riz seems to be, too, full German Shepard mode, and none of them have the heart to tell her she’s far too soft for it. Her eyes burn not with rage, but a fierce protectiveness fuelled only by love, her concern evident in the way she bites at her lower lip and in the way she mimics Riz in hugging Fabian’s arm, turned into his side and leaning against him.
Gorgug, so much taller than all of them, even Fabian, sits himself on the row below, leaning himself back to rest lightly against Fabian’s legs as if he’s something of a weighted blanket. His hair flops back onto Fabian’s knee as he tilts his head at an awkward angle to look at his friend, eyebrows knotted in worry and… maybe rage, which is strange, Fabian finds himself thinking. Anger on his behalf.
Kristen and Adaine follow suit and sit on the row behind Fabian, moving in unison to each rest a hand on Fabian’s back and shoulders, the girls working in unspeaking solidarity to rub his back, gentle, small circles, a reminder of their presence. Kristen pauses to fix part of Fabian’s hair and he can’t be mad at it, especially as the holy power of yes! works from her fingertips and heals him further. At the same time, Adaine pulls tissues from her jacket and hands them down to Riz, to hand to Fabian in a sense of quiet solidarity and teamwork.
They sit in silence, for a while, a circle of protection with Fabian at the epicentre, for once stripped of bravado and with his heart exposed and bleeding, silent tears rolling down his face. It’s him who speaks first, lifting his head from his hands and wiping his eye with the sleeve of his letterman jacket as he looks around at the chorus of the concerned faces of his friends.
“I… I’m sorry, for this. There are things to be getting on with, you know, legal issues, I presume, and Gorgug, I saw you talking to the half-orc and Zelda and –”
Fig slaps his hand as if he’s a child reaching for a hot stove and Adaine starts to swear at her, but Figureoth Faeth, as she is known to do, powers through. “Cut it out with that bullshit, Fabian Seacaster, or so help me Gods, I’ll freakin’ do more than slap you.”
“Is this meant to be inspiring?” Fabian asks, eyes wide in shock but feeling more of a person than he has in the past hour.
“Yes. Listen, I learnt from Kristen, I never said this would be good.”
“Hey –“ Kristen begins to interrupt, and is quickly silenced as Fig moves onwards. Fabian catches her rolling her eyes and it’s enough to bring about a weak smile.
“You’ve had a shitty day. A real shitty one. You don’t need to push that off because you don’t wanna burden us, or whatever. We’re friends. We’re meant to help.”
Gorgug nods, twisting around in a way that must be superbly uncomfortable. “Fig’s right. I mean, yeah, I did kinda meet my real dad – and got it right, for once! – but I have all of forever to deal with that, and… I don’t know, it’d be shitty of me to rub it in your face after…” He trails off, then, looking almost disappointed in himself. It stirs something in Fabian that leads him to reach out and tussle Gorgug’s hair, ruffling the white streak to be ridiculously displaced.
“Don’t be stupid, Gorgug. You’ve missed the mark on this one many times, my friend, you can be happy to have found him. You…” he pauses, a moment long enough for half a realisation. “You don’t have to squander your own happiness because of what’s happened to me.”
“Well, you’ve said it yourself there, haven’t you?” Adaine asks, her voice soft as she treads the newfound landmine field of Fabian’s emotional vulnerability. “We don’t have to rid our emotions for you, nor you for us. Your dad just died, Fabian. That is awful, and we are so, so sorry. Which is why we’re here.”
Kristen nods enthusiastically, ginger hair bouncing in front of her face with the sudden movement, so full of gusto. “All of us love you, Fabian. We’re not just an adventuring party, we’re an adventuring family.” A chorus of groans, then, but all so fond. “Hey! I’m right. We’ve dealt with some shit, you guys helped me through my whole crisis, and we’re here to repay that.”
“Not because it’s a debt.” Riz speaks for the first time, lifting his head from where it had rested against Fabian’s arm, cuddled close. “It’s not payment like that. It’s repayment because we love you, man. And we all need each other.”
“Thank you, the Ball.” Fabian looks at him and nods with a burning ache in his chest, looks at all of them. “Thank you, all of you. It… This is hard. This is fucking hard. I know we’ve all had hardships and been in danger.” A quiet mumble of ‘I went to hell on the first day of school, yeah.’ from Gorgug that pulls a chuckle from Fabian that he only feels guilty about for a brief moment. “And I know things are going to keep being hard. This is just… harder than I’m used to.”
He sees his friends nod in understanding. It’s Fig who responds first – “It’s shit. Life can be super fucked up. It can knock you down and kick you in the balls and keep kicking. All we can do is act as nut guards for each other to try stop the pain just a bit, or be the ice pack that cools it down after.”
Fabian snorts another laugh then, wiping his eyes – or, eye, he remembers – before retuning his arm to its original position, letting Fig hug him close again. “Thank you, Fig. Beautiful metaphor.”
“Sue me. Grief ain’t pretty. It feels like what I imagine being kicked in the nuts feel like. We’re just the ice pack squad, helping you through it.”
“I think we should stick to being the Bad Kids, not the ice pack squad.” Gorgug smiles as he throws his two copper in, pulling a face at Fig and laughing himself as she aims a kick at him, misses drastically even with those hulking, wedged boots of hers.
“Agreed.” Fabian nods, sighing long and slow. “Thank you, guys.”
The silence settles over again, the group hugging each other closer, somehow, until one by one the other teens are called off to their individual homes. Adaine and Kristen leave with Jawbone, who quietly hands Fabian a card with out of office contact hours on and a serious promise that any time Fabian calls, he’ll answer. The girls kiss his head as they leave. Fig leaves not long after and Gilear looks fucking terrified as he examines her for injuries, Fabian notices, in a sense of admiration and bitter, stomach-turning jealousy before it turns itself back around into gratefulness that Fig has that, even if it is from Gilear. When the Thistlesprings arrive, they greet Gorgug with a million and one kisses to the cheek, swarming him and then promising in a firm and reassuring way that their home is open to anyone who needs it, Wilma giving Fabian an especially kind squeeze of the hand and a packed lunch she’d brought with her before they leave, too.
Then, it’s just Fabian and Riz.
“You know…” Riz begins, squirming in his seat as he searches for words. “I… I know what you’re going through, with the whole dead dad thing. It’s a shitty club to be a part of, but. I don’t know. I’m right here with you.”
Fabian turns to him, realises at some point Riz stopped holding his arm and started holding his hand, his two little hands clutched carefully around one of his own. Fabian nods at him solemnly. “Shitty club to be a part of, indeed. But, I don’t know. I feel… guilty, in a way. To claim that title. People had it so much worse than me – you were so young when your Father died, Fig has had her whole thing, Gorgug has only just found his Father, and we all know that Kristen and Adaine’s parents are fucking psychopaths.”
“You’re right about that, sure. But you’re also really fucking stupid, Fabian, do you know that?”
“I’m sorry, the Ball, what?” Fabian asks, blinking down at his friend in shock, not used to the harsh tone being taken with him, especially not now, when everyone had just been so gentle and tactful or at least more so by their standards – and sure, Fig had slapped him, but that’s just Fig.
“You’re fuckin’ stupid.” Riz shrugs, smiling up at him. “Not half an hour ago you said that Gorgug doesn’t have to crush how he feels for you. But you’re expecting yourself to do that for us, comparing our trauma like it’s some sort of competition. Pack that shit in, because it doesn’t help anyone. You’ve been put through the ringer today, dude, and we’re all worried about you.”
“Huh.” Fabian breathes out a laugh, not quite sure if he’s impressed, scared or touched by the harsh, firm love being shown to him. “You’re right, I suppose. Very insightful, the Ball. I’m glad you’re here and not Gorgug.”
Riz flashes a smile, sharp teeth showing. “He’d probably ask if you’re his dad.”
“Probably. Poor Gorbag.” Fabian laughs, shaking his head fondly, finding that his heart is as heavy with love as it is hurt. Weird, how those two are often found hand in hand. Luckily, though, with Riz’s hands around his own, he can focus on the love side of it.
Sklonda appears at the bottom of the bleachers, waving up to her son and Fabian, gesturing over to the car, signalling that it’s time for them to leave the school and get some rest. That sparks a fear in his stomach that rises fast, like a pot boiling over and Fabian tries to gulp but can’t, bodily functions shutting down at the idea of having to return to Seacaster Manor, with the blood and the smoke and the memories and his Mother and –
Riz is communicating something in gestures and expressions to his mother, who seems to understand immediately, nodding and getting on her crystal quickly. The boy turns to Fabian, squeezing his hand tight. “You wanna come stay at mine, tonight?”
“I…” Fabian begins, trailing off almost immediately, mouth hanging open slightly as tears fight their way right back up into the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill. Being understood without words, having his needs read so effortlessly, before he can even articulate himself? It’s not something he’s quite used to. It’s something he doesn’t know how to express gratitude for, yet, despite feeling it in a way completely new to him, so, so glad he’s best friend is the world’s greatest detective. “Yes, please, if that’s alright.”
“Of course, dude.” Riz nods and smiles, giving a quick thumbs up down to Sklonda, who only smiles fondly in return. “She’s on the phone to Cathilda now, I think. It’ll probably do them good to have some time without you there, just… I don’t know. To do adult stuff, sort everything out. We can just hang out in the meantime. I could show you my mystery boards and – no, that’s dumb, sorry.”
“No,” Fabian finds himself saying, quicker than he thought he could. “No, it’s not dumb. I think I’d like that.”
Riz nods, smiles, doesn’t say anything. Fabian steels himself, manages to.
“Hey.” Riz looks up at him again, head cocked to the side. “Thank you. Really.”
“’S’alright.” He shrugs, as if this kindness is nothing, when really, its everything.
“Okay. Yeah. Thank you, the-- Riz. Thank you, Riz.” Fabian nods back at him, a smile shared between them soft and quiet.
The anchor in his ribcage doesn’t remove itself, of course. But even then, when the wound is so fresh, it begins to settle. Slow, bit by bit, patient. A healing and an adjustment to a new reality.
He may not have his father, but he has his friends. People who love him just the same. People who will love him in absence of the love he struggles to find for himself, guiding him towards being able to start that search.
And that’s enough. That’s a start.