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There’s a hole ripped open in the sky. The world twists and bends around it, like gravity’s fucked, like all the rules have changed and there’s nowhere safe to stand. Ashton can hear screaming, and chanting, and the shriek of wind. There are bodies in the air, bent at unnatural angles and hurtling towards the hole. They can smell blood and fear and magic.
They can’t move, can’t even speak. There are no words in this place, just horror and death. Their family is here. Their family did this. Their family is dying.
Ashton is falling up, too, into the hole, the soft skin of their small body slashed by debris, crushed by the weight of the air. And then suddenly they’re stone again. Before they can feel relieved, they impact, and it’s not the portal anymore; gravity has righted itself, and they’re bleeding out in Jianna Hexum’s courtyard, and they’re going to be left behind.
They jolt awake, gasping for air with lungs that are no longer filled with blood.
“ Fuck! ” They hiss into the silence of the room. FCG hadn’t been in their usual spot in the corner when Laudna helped them to bed, and they’d been too drunk and irritable to go looking for him. It’s fucking fine. Better this way.
Ashton feels like fucking shit. Their head aches worse than normal, which shouldn’t be a surprise. Probably a combination of the nightmare and how drunk they got before passing out. Drunk enough that fucking Laudna had to help them back to bed. They’re still not sure how that worked, exactly.
Mercifully, it’s still dark outside. The only light to pierce at their eyes in the small room comes from their own fucking brain, which is probably some fancy ass metaphor for how good they are at fucking their own shit up.
They groan, rubbing at their temple. The pain is making them nauseous.
“Ash?”
“ Fuck! ” They nearly jump out of their skin at the voice that rises from the darkness beside the bed.
“Easy, it’s just me.” There’s a pause, and then a small flame flickers out of the darkness, just bright enough to show Orym sitting up on a bedroll spread out in the limited floor space of the cabin.
“What the fuck, Orym? You scared the shit out of me.” The burst of adrenaline has shoved the nausea to the side, at least, but Ashton can feel another wave of pain pulsing in their head. They almost wish this had been a fight. At least they could have had a break from this shit if they were punching something.
Orym makes an apologetic face. “Sorry. I planned to sleep with the girls, but Fearne was restless. I think she wandered off after Chet. And Imogen…” He trails off.
Ashton sighs, nodding. He can’t exactly blame Orym for needing space from Imogen, after that brainwashing shit show. They’d wanted space from fucking everybody. “S’fine. Floor’s open.” Another night, Ashton might have offered Orym space on the bed, but right now they feel like if anyone touches them they’ll shatter into a million jagged pieces, like they had in their dream, and they’re pretty much at their threshold for pain. In fact, just thinking about the dream sends a spasm down their back, tension tightening the ache in their whole fucking body. There’s the nausea. They close their eyes and try to breathe through it.
They wish Orym would put out his fucking light and let them be miserable in peace.
But of course, he doesn’t. “Are you okay? It sounded like you were dreaming. And you look…bad.” He taps at his own temple to indicate the way his head is sparking violently.
“Yeah, m’fucking great. The world’s gonna end in ten days and half the team we’ve got trying to stop it thinks maybe we should be helping the assholes who wanna kill everybody.” They spit out, head spinning.
There’s a beat of silence. “Yeah. Stupid question.” Orym murmurs. Ashton wants to feel guilty. He really does. But he’s just too fucking tired. “I’m not okay either.”
“If Imogen flips I’m pretty sure we’re all fucking dead.” Ashton murmurs.
Orym nods. “Yeah, m’thinking that, too.” He sighs. “Good news is, we’re probably all dead either way. The odds are kind of stacked against us even without Imogen’s…stuff.”
Ashton laughs, the sound surprised out of them. “Yeah. It’s fucked up what passes for ‘good news’ with us, you know that right?”
Orym sighs. “Yeah, I know.” He pauses. “Do you wanna talk about the nightmare I was about to wake you up from, or should we pretend everything’s fine?”
Ashton shudders. They hate when Orym looks at them like this. It’s too much, to feel like someone actually gives a shit what they see.
“Everything is fucking awful, but I don’t…” They trail off. What they really want is to go back to fucking sleep. Their head is pounding, and their whole body aches. But they can’t get the images from their dream out of their head. Even as vague and faceless as they are, the memories still sting. What had they told Laudna? That they remembered people who felt like family being torn to bits? Just the thought of it has their stomach rolling. “I think talking about this shit is what got it all stirred up in the first fucking place.” This is why he can’t talk to Orym. Not yet. If the world ends in a week Ashton wants to spend that time pretending he’s actually friends with these people. He doesn’t want to die with the memory of the betrayal he’s sure he’ll see on Orym’s face if he ever hears the truth.
Orym’s become more than a clue to Ashton’s past. He has. But he didn’t start that way. And as much as Ashton wants to believe the halfling would understand, they don’t know what they’ll do if he doesn’t.
“We don’t have to talk.” Orym says, finally breaking the silence between them. For a treacherous moment Ashton’s mind fills in all the things they could do besides talk in a room all to themselves. But of course that’s not what Orym means. And even if it was, the thought of being touched right now makes Ashton want to hurl themself over the edge of the skyship. “Is there anything I can do to help with that headache, or do you want me to just leave you alone?”Ashton considers that. They almost tell Orym they want to be left alone, that in fact he should probably find somewhere else to sleep. But if he leaves then it really will just be Ashton alone against the pain and memories, and they don’t want that. They’ve had a lifetime of that.
It doesn’t escape them that they didn’t tell Orym about the headache in the first place. They aren’t exactly being subtle about it, they guess. Still, they’re fucking touched that Orym gives enough of a shit to notice. Fucking low bar.
They shouldn’t ask for anything. They should just be happy Orym offered and not push their luck by taking him up on it. They don’t want to test this and find out, inevitably, that there are limits. Conditions. A loneliness at the end of the safety of this tunnel.
“I wouldn’t say no to some of that tea.”
Orym nods and gets to work.
Ashton lets themself float on the edge of sleep, the sounds of Orym digging through his supplies a comforting background—not directed at Asthon in a way that means they have to focus, but enough of a tether to keep their mind from wandering to darker things. The pain in their head won’t let them fall asleep, but they lie back down, trying to ease the pain in their body.
After a few minutes, the familiar scents of lavender and peppermint fill the small room, and Ashton cracks his eyes open just in time to watch Orym set a steaming mug on the small table beside his bed.
“Careful, it’s hot.” Orym cautions, as Ashton sits up and reaches for it. They nod, blowing on the contents a bit as they inhale the scent.
Truth be told, they’re not sure if tea was a good idea. They’re still nauseous, and the thought of ingesting anything right now makes their stomach turn. Then again, there’s something pathetically comforting about holding the warm cup in their hands and knowing Orym took the time to brew the tea inside just for them. It feels good to be taken care of.
Guilt gnaws at their stomach, twisting it even worse. They don’t deserve this.
They set the cup down without drinking from it.
Orym frowns. “What’s wrong?”
Ashton laughs bitterly. What isn’t wrong? They have no idea how they ended up here. They’re a fucking low rent goon from a nothing town who’s only useful because of some cosmic fucking accident they still don’t understand. And yet here they sit on a fucking skyship that they fucking own, surrounded by decent ass people for the first time in their life. Just in time for the world to fucking end. It would be funny if it weren’t so fucking depressing.
“Ash?” Orym’s hand hovers in the air between them, like he started to touch their shoulder but stopped himself. Ashton flinches back anyway. “Sorry.” Orym drops his hand.
Ashton groans. They’re fucking this up. “No, s’fine. M’just fucking nauseous.” It’s not the whole truth, and they’re pretty sure Orym knows that, but maybe it’s enough to keep him from asking more questions.
“The peppermint will help with that.” Orym nods towards the mug of tea. “I wish you’d said something. I’d have added ginger to the mix.”
Orym’s not being judgemental, Ashton knows. He didn’t mean the comment to be admonishing. Still, Ashton bristles. “You’re not my fucking mom, m’not gonna whine about everything that’s fucking wrong with me and expect you to fix it.”
Orym bristles, too, which is a testament to how much Imogen got under his skin earlier—he’s usually unflappable in the face of Ashton’s temper. “I offered, Ash. If you didn’t want help you should have just said so.”
“Well it’s fucking new to me to have people follow through on this shit, okay?! Fuck! ” The shouting has made their headache worse. Frustrated tears prickle behind their eyes. This is all so fucking absurd. It doesn’t matter. It can’t.
Humiliatingly, Orym softens. This would be so much easier if he would stay mad; yell at Ashton about how they’re an asshole, storm out of the room, maybe break something on the way out. There’s a script for how people are meant to leave when he pisses them off that Orym never manages to follow. Ashton doesn't know what to do with the prospect of being forgiven.
They sit in silence for a while, Ashton breathing too fast, trying not to cry; Orym watching them like he’s trying to figure out how to approach a startled, wounded animal. Ashton should blow up again, should keep pushing until Orym’s deep well of patience for their bullshit finally runs dry and he leaves. He’s going to snap any second, as soon as he thinks of the right thing to say. Any second now.
Orym speaks first. “Not everyone is going to leave you out in the cold, Ash.”
They blink. They hadn’t realized Orym had been listening to their exchange with Imogen earlier.
“If she doesn’t, well, she’s leaving you out in the cold, isn’t she?”
“She’s done it before.”
“It’s what they do.”
Orym’s watching them, a determined expression in his eyes, like he’s going to get this message across no matter how much Ashton kicks and screams. Like this is a hill he’s prepared to die on. “The world doesn’t have to work that way. I’m sorry you've been made to believe that it does.”
Ashton looks away. “You have no idea how the world works for someone like me.” They gesture at Orym. “It’s different for you, I get that. You’ve got…people. Family. Someone who gives a shit about you. You always have. But me? I don’t even know what happened to my parents. All I know is they chose to get messed up in some fucked up cult shit, and it got hem killed. Probably almost got me killed, too. I was fucking there. They brought their kid into it. And they left me alone . No one at Greymoore’s gave a shit about me. The only people who ever cared left as soon as shit got bad. So yeah, our worlds are fucking different, Orym. Because you’re…it’s just different for you.”
Orym’s voice hardens. “I’ve lost people, too, you know.”
“Yeah.” Ashton huffs. “But not cause they decided to leave you behind.” Orym’s jaw works, and Ashton knows they’re close to the right buttons to get him to leave. They hesitate. Orym snapping at Imogen is the closest to angry Ashton’s ever seen him. He doesn’t think he wants that ire directed at him.
“No. But I know how easy it is to believe the world is bad. It’s a lot easier than hoping the world can be good.” Orym waits until Ashton is looking at him to continue. “But the world can be good. Even after all of the bad.” He shrugs. “I think you know that, otherwise why would you be fighting so hard to save it?”
That hits Ashton like a blow to the gut, because Orym’s right. Of course he’s fucking right. And yet.
“I believe the world can be good.” They nod. “It’s just never been fucking good for me. ”
Orym holds their gaze for a long moment. Ashton thinks he’s about to say something, but then there’s a quiet knock at the door. They both jump, and Ashton winces at the sudden movement. Fuck, they hurt.
“Orym?” The soft voice is unmistakably Fearne’s. Orym raises an eyebrow at them, as if asking permission. They nod.
“Yeah, Fearnie, I’m in here.”
The door cracks open, and a wave of seafoam green hair peeks through. Ashton can just make out the shape of Fearne’s horns in the dim light. “I thought you’d be with Ashton.” She comments, looking entirely unsurprised by the sight of the two of them alone in a room together.
“You finish with Chet?” Ashton can hear that Orym regrets asking as soon as the words start to come out of his mouth. Fearne moves closer, and the devilish smirk on her face surprises a laugh out of Ashton.
“For now.” She purrs. Ashton shakes their head, momentarily distracted from how terrible everything else is by her mischievous charm. “Thought I’d come check on my other boys.” She hesitates, looking at Ashton. “Or…”
“‘Boys’ is fine.” They say, waving her off and then regretting it when the movement hurts their shoulder. They feel Orym’s concerned gaze on them, but it’s Fearne that actually comments.
“Well. You look like shit.” Her gentle tone is incongruous with the words. Ashton can’t even bring themself to bristle.
“Feel like fucking shit.” They agree, groaning and leaning back against the wall.
Fearne settles on the floor next to Orym, who leans against her furry thigh as if on instinct. “Well, what are we doing about that?” she asks, and it’s so matter-of-fact, so calm, that Ashton finds themself fighting back tears again.
“Nothing to do. Fucking sucks, but it is what it is.” They wipe at their eyes, pretending to massage away their headache. Fuck. They don’t know how to handle two people giving a shit about them.
Fearne looks to Orym, who shrugs, eyes on Ashton. He seems to have decided not to push them to accept any more help. They feel a little sad about that, even though it’s stupid. Of course Orym would give up on them. It only makes sense.
“Orym made you tea?” Fearne asks, nodding towards the mug left untouched on the table.
“Mmm.” Ashton agrees.
Fearne picks up the full mug and sniffs at it. “But you didn’t drink it.”
They shrug, closing their eyes, suddenly too tired to reply out loud. They should have just accepted the tea instead of making an ass of themself.
“They’re nauseous.” Ashton hears Orym whisper to Fearne. They’re too fucking exhausted to care about being talked about as if they aren’t sitting right here.
“Hmmm…” Fearne hums, like she does when she’s trying to figure out how much trickery she can get away with. They hear movement, feel the shift of air around them as Fearne reaches out. Ashton braces for it, is about to flinch away and lash out, but then the movement stops, and Orym’s voice comes, quiet again.
“Not tonight. Don’t touch them.” Ashton cracks their good eye open just enough to see Fearne’s hand reaching for his pocket, Orym’s small fingers wrapped around her wrist to stop her. If they weren’t so irritable it would probably make them smile. It’s such a Fearne thing to do; pick his pocket to make him feel better. And such an Orym thing, to stop her. “Actually, Fearnie, can you bring Mister out for a second?” Orym asks, voice a little louder, almost…excited?
“Sure, of course.” Fearne replies. Ashton opens their eyes all the way and watches as Orym releases her hand, and she brings the scorched fingers close to her chest and whispers into them. A burst of flame appears in her lap. Ashton blinks against the sudden illumination, vision clearing as the fire solidifies into the shape of Mister, who chitters inquisitively up at Fearne. “Say hello to your uncle Orym, Mister.” Fearne instructs him, and Mister scurries into Orym’s lap, head tilted up to look at him. Orym smiles down at the wildfire spirit.
“Hello, Mister.” Orym glances up at Ashton, his face lit by the orange glow emanating from the monkey’s body. His eyes are hesitant, like he’s afraid if he speaks Ashton will snap at him. They guess that’s fair; they’ve been an asshole tonight. “Ash? How do you feel about Mister touching you?”
Ashton pauses. Just as he had when Orym offered to help with his headache, Ashton realizes that, other than not offering Orym a place on the bed with him when he first woke up, and the small flinch away that happened even after Orym had stopped himself from reaching out to Ashton, he never told Orym that he couldn’t stand being touched tonight. He wonders how Orym can tell.
“He’s warm.” Orym adds. “And Fearne, I think you could ask him to lie still, and he’d do it, right?”
Fearne nods enthusiastically. “Oh, yes, he’s a very good listener, aren’t you Little Mister?” She scratches under his chin, and Mister chatters happily.
Orym is looking at them so…hopefully. Like it’s his own pain he’s trying to find a solution to, not theirs. Ashton considers it. Mister definitely doesn’t feel like a person. There’s something different about the idea of letting him touch them. Something tolerable. “Okay. We can try it.” They shift on the bed, lying back down. If they’re doing this, maybe it’ll be enough to actually let them go back to fucking sleep.
Fearne scoops Mister out of Orym’s lap. “Okay, Mister, you give Ashton good snuggles, okay?” She kisses him noisily on his little fiery nose and then holds him over the bed, fingers wrapped around the monkey’s sides under his arms. Mister hangs limply in her grip, the tip of his flaming tail just ghosting over Ashton’s leg as he awaits further instructions. Orym was right, he’s pleasantly warm. “Where do you want him?” Fearne asks.
Ashton laughs again, for the second time since Fearne showed up. It’s just so ridiculous. This powerful Fey being is offering him her magic fire monkey as a heating pad. They sigh. “Here.” With their right hand Ashton gestures at the point where their left shoulder meets their neck. It’s hard to be sure when they’re hurting like this, but they think that’s the worst of it. Maybe if that spot eases, their headache will fade. Ashton’s putting a lot of faith in the painkilling capabilities of a shit-slinging monkey, they’re well aware, but they’ve done weirder shit since joining this group.
Fearne places Mister gently on the bed at Ashton’s neck. She’s careful not to brush their skin, even though she has to lean over them to reach. “Okay, Mister, you sleep right there and make Ashton feel better, okay?” Mister curls up obediently, fur pressed against their skin.
The warmth sets in immediately. It’s strange; Mister’s form flickers with fiery light, as if he’s wreathed in living flame, but his touch doesn’t burn like it seems like it should. Still, it’s a heat slightly more intense than the heating pad Orym has used on Ashton before. Within a minute, Ashton can feel the muscles in their neck relaxing. They’d been right; Mister is different than a person. His closeness is a comfort, with no dread attached.
Ashton lets out a quiet groan. “ Fuck. ”
“Is he okay there?” Orym asks, concern lacing his voice.
Ashton hums their assent. “Yes. Good.” Their eyes slip shut.
Fearne’s pleased voice meets their ears. “My son is very talented.”
Orym laughs. “I’m going to sleep in here tonight, if that’s still okay with you, Ash?” They hum a ‘ yes ’ again. “Do you want to find the girls, or are you staying here?”
Ashton can hear Fearne shake her head, even though they feel sleep tugging at them. “I’m with you Orym.” He hears the sound of fur on cloth as she settles down on Orym’s bedroll. Ashton can imagine Orym curling up on her flank. They smile sleepily. Much as he doesn’t like the thought of there being sides between them in all this shit, it’s nice to know Fearne’s on the side of releasing a thing that’s literally called a god eater is bad. It makes Ashton a little less afraid of what will happen if Imogen turns.
“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep like that?” Orym asks them. Ashton can hear the exhaustion creeping into the halfling’s voice, and suddenly he remembers all of this started because Ashton woke Orym up with his nightmare.
“Mmmhmm.” They murmur, a little of their pleasure marred by guilt. Here they are again, taking things they haven’t earned. Benefitting from the use of these people who consider them a friend. Orym can think the world doesn’t work that way all he wants, it doesn't change why Ashton joined this group.
Mister is snoring next to their ear. It’s distracting. They decide they can worry about that tomorrow. Or the next day. Or maybe never, if things go really poorly on the solstice.
“Goodnight, Orym.” Fearne sing-songs. “Goodnight, Little Mister. Goodnight, Ashton.”
“‘Night.” They breathe, and drift off into darkness.