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You don't remember how it happened.
One second, you are fighting a monster none of you knew, deep in the darkness and shadows. The next, it feels like your brain is being split open in the middle.
As if someone or something tries to make its way inside, deeper even than the tadpole enbedded in your brain, deeper into whatever your mind holds.
All you can feel is pain. Gods, you almost feel like it is tearing your mind, your scalp, your brain out for everyone to see.
You wonder if that is what it is doing, if your companions are seeing you bloody and opened up, hands greedy to find whatever you have in there. Hands greedy to hurt you, to kill.
You wonder about Astarion, wonder if he's okay, wonder if he is seeing you being hurt and killed.
The image of his pained, saddened eyes turn up into your mind. The words he told you, about turning whatever you were into something real. The words that changed your world, changed his eyes forever when he looks at you.
Greedy hands hold unto the image that has popped in your brain, unto the information that you care about... No, that you love this man.
You can feel it greedily taking in all, the looks, the words, the touches. Arms around waists and lips on cheeks and fangs in your neck.
Your hands in his hair. Your fingers gently tracing his features as he sleeps, a rare sight in the night. The softness on his face when it's only the two of you.
The hands wrap around the memories, around your heart with everything it takes, every image of Astarion you have ingraved in your mind.
You want to growl, to snarl, to yell at it to back off, to get the fuck out of your head.
You feel powerless, trapped in hands that feel wrong, hands that hurt and take from you.
You hear a laugh, a weird laugh, monstrous and deformed and the hands release you.
You fall forward on your knees at the pain that shoots through your head and down your neck, and you barely feel the pain that settles in the bones of your knees.
You moan out, groan out, hands going through your hair, pulling at the strands, almost to try to get some relief but it still hurts.
You can't feel the hands but the pain is there, but you think you're free.
You blindly look up, expecting to see your companions, to see them horrified and ready to help you, to see Astarion.
To see his red eyes on you, to see the truth in them. The love he holds for you and the fear at whatever has happened to you.
But there's only darkness. A darkness so deep your eyes can't see through it. You can't see anything, only your scraped hands and the blurriness of your eyes through the pain.
You try to get up, but something holds you down, and then you see what you hadn't seen.
Chains around your wrists and around your ankles.
You barely have the strength to pull at them. All you can feel is the panic settling in your gut and over your chest, a weight so heavy you can hardly breathe.
What has happened? Did it take you somewhere? Where are the others?
You can't help but think of Astarion. Fuck, you hope he's okay.
He has to be. He has to be. You don't know what you'd do if he isn't. Don't know how you'll react if he's...
No. You can't think about that.
You try to pull at the chains on your wrists, but you feel sloggish in the worst ways, weak.
You've never liked feeling weak, never liked it, not since you have done everything not to be that little fearful kid you were once.
But you are just like you were now. Powerless, weak, in pain. Unable to know of your fate, or those of your friends.
Footsteps turn around you. A silhouette appears in a dark robe. You can't see its face.
It doesn't turn to you. It walks away from you, straight for something on the other side of the darkness.
The darkness isn't dark anymore, not truly. You can see walls. Grey, dirty, bloody. Cages and chains.
It's a jail, or some sort of jail. You've been trapped. The panic flows deeper into your veins. You can feel it coursing through your blood.
It doesn't stop. It keeps walking to the other side, and then you see it. See another person on their knees, chains around their ankles, and their wrists, and their neck.
Your eyes find curls that you know too well. White curls that your hands have went through, soft. You love his hair.
It's barely white anymore, with blood and dirt caking every curl and strand. It isn't perfectly styled like it's used to be, like he does every morning. It's messy, unruly, unkept.
You see his face then, bloody, pained, defeated. His eyes are hollow, in the same way they were when you first met. Empty.
The silhouette gets closer to Astarion and your heart becomes a wild thing. You're terrified. You can feel it in every bone and muscle of your body.
"No, stop! Get away from him!"
Your voice sounds desperate and broken even to your ears. Small. You cough, the pain in your temples even more present. You shut your eyes for a second, through the bolts of pain.
When you open them again, the silhouette lets out that monstrous laugh again, and all you can see is the knife in its hand.
You don't register that you're screaming, yelling. You're screaming Astarion's name, voice raw.
You fight against your own chains, and more pain and bruises bloom on your skin. You don't register them, you can't feel them. You can't feel anything, not your wild heart, not your broken voice, not the physical pain.
You can't, not when Astarion's red eyes turn to you in his last moments, not when the knife stabs down and goes through his neck. Again and again and again.
Your voice breaks on your screams. This can't be happening, this can't be real.
You can't be losing him. This can't be real.
But it feels real. It feels real when you see the blood spill out of his pale throat, when you see his eyes dim and dim.
He didn't even say a thing, didn't make a noise or say a word. You wish he did, wish you heard his voice one last time.
His eyes are dead, gone. There's no light, no stars, not the ones you see more and more as time goes on.
Your star is gone.
You feel dead, feel your heart ripped out of your chest by those same greedy hands. Your sobs echo and bounce off the walls.
Your eyes stay on his body, laying there in a pool of his own blood. He's gone.
He's gone and you're still here. Your heart still beats in your chest, even though you feel it break, even though you feel every pull and tear.
It hurts. It hurts and he's gone. And you're all alone. Your star is gone.
You can't see the silhouette move through your tears, can't hear its laugh. All you see is Astarion. All you hear is the knife stabbing through his skin and his last breath.
You barely register how its knife turns to you. You register the blood, his blood.
He's gone.
You don't even fight it or try to get away when you see the knife push down toward your throat. You even welcome it. At least, you'd be free of this pain.
You'd be free of the heartbreak and the grief that has wormed its way through your chest.
The knife stabs down and you expect the pain, but nothing.
Nothing but hands cradling your face. They're shaking.
They're cold.
"Come on, wake the fuck up darling," a voice growls, almost annoyed, but it also sounds pained, panicked.
You jerk out of whatever hold was on you. You gasp, the pain still everpresent against you skull, and you remember.
You saw Astarion die in front of you.
A sob is ripped out of your throat. Your vision is too blurry to see whoever is in front of you.
You're dizzy and disoriented and everything hurts. Your chest hurts so fucking badly.
The hands cradle the sides of your neck now, more firm. They're trying to catch your attention, turn your mind to them.
You don't want to. Not when you're grieving and crying and sobbing. You're falling into pieces.
"Darling, look at me," it sounds angry, but still panicked. Thumbs dig in the tender skin of your neck.
You blink away the blurriness, blink away to see Astarion's face hovering in front of you.
His hands. His voice.
His face is twisted out of his usual mask, the suave indifference he shows to most people. It's twisted in pain and fear. His eyes are wide.
You see relief swirl in the redness when your eyes finally register him, his presence.
"Gods, you scared the bloody hells out of us," he whispers, and it sounds terrified, even as he tries to layer it with coolness. His thumbs swipe at your pulse, any sign that you're alive.
You sob harder because it can't be real. It's a trick. It has to be.
His eyes are full of fear again when your sobs only get stronger.
"Hey, hey, hey, darling, what the hell is going?" Astarion tries to ask. He tries to be gentle and patient, but the panic is getting to him.
"You...this can't be real. You...I saw you die. I saw you bleed out. You're dead. You're dead and I couldn't do anything," your voice gets higher and higher at the words.
You shake like a wisp of wind could tear you to pieces. Your voice is a broken little thing. All you can see is the image of him dead, blood everywhere, eyes dimmed down forever.
"What are you talking about? I'm not dead. I'm right here," he groans out, and he takes one of your hands to try to intertwine his fingers with yours.
You rip it away, scared and unbelieving. You shake your head.
"No, no, no, I saw you... It stabbed you, again and again and again and.... I watched you die. You're gone, you're gone."
You sound hysterical. You're not there, not really. You're still back there in the jail. You feel like you'll stay there forever. Forever trapped in those images.
You don't hear Astarion turn to someone, his voice angry and demanding whatever answer he can get. But, you hear a voice answer him.
"It has to be a spell, from...whatever that monster was. An illusion, a fear so deep the spell could twist it around to..."
Your eyes finally register the others behind Astarion. Gale continues on to Astarion, and the pale elf only sighs and stops him with a gesture of a hand.
"Got it," he says finally before he turns back to you.
They're all looking at you, panicked and scared. Scared that whatever had you has broken you now. Scared that you're gone somewhere in your mind forever.
It's the sight of the others that sends an electrochoc to you, some sort of clarity.
Astarion has your face in his hands again, and you want to relish in their coldness, in his long fingers that wraps around the hair at your temples, in his thumbs moving and swiping at your skin.
You want to but you're scared. You're terrified still, even though you feel the daze start to lift off.
You're terrified that this is just another illusion, that this relief is just another jail, that you're seeing him because you want to see him there when he's gone.
"I am not dead. Nothing has killed me. I swear that it's me, right here," his voice is firm in his words, his eyes in yours. "Remember that one time you tripped in that stream? And how hard I laughed because you looked an image in that water?"
The daze lifts off further. His words push it away. Clarity starts to settle in your mind.
"Or everytime I suggest we just let people to their fate and you turn those beautiful eyes to me, to glare at me? As if I should care enough to help others," he chuckles, rolling his eyes, but his thumbs still swipe at your pulse.
You feel your heart slow down, with every word.
"Or how you decided my tent was yours and now I have to sleep with two...strays at my feet and a bed cuddler?"
You let out a deep sigh, a big breathe going in your lungs. You nod, slowly. You remember, of course you do.
You remember everything about him, about the two of you. Every detail you've kept to your heart, every little piece of information he gives you, every real piece of him he hands to you. You remember everything.
"You're...really here?" You sound so pathetic, so small, you feel like a helpless kid and not the unofficial leader of whatever this has become.
Astarion hums and his forehead meets yours in a surprising gesture, one he wouldn't do normally in front of the others, gentle and soft and caring. But he does, right now, to reassure you (to reassure himself).
"I promise, darling."
You feel a sob go through with your breath. Your hands, forgotten on your thighs, reach for him, for his shoulders. You fall into him, unable to hold on anymore.
His arms find their place around your waist, his nose in your hair as you cry in his shoulder. You don't hear what he says, soft reassurances.
His hands rub the small of your back and your nose digs in his shoulder, the smell that is him there and you sigh in relief.
He's there. He's alive. He isn't gone.
All you can feel is relief, so deep, so strong in your gut.
You don't know how long you stay there, how long he keeps you in his hold, how long your companions watch over the two of you.
"We should be moving," you hear Lae'zel say over you and you know she's right.
You can't be staying here. It's too dangerous. Who knows what could happen? What else could attack you?
Astarion helps you up and you feel him hovering beside you, his hand still at your back. It doesn't move the whole way back, doesn't move even when Karlach gets on your other side and you smile thankfully at her.
You thank Shadowheart when you feel the touch of her magic on the back of your head, when you feel the pain lessen and you don't feel as dizzy.
Astarion's hand never leaves, his eyes almost only on you the whole way. You can barely hold yourself up when you get back to the inn, when Astarion's arm holds you up and the others hover around you.
He brings you up to your room, without a look back, without a word to Jaheira or any of the people in the inn. You don't have the strength to say anything either.
It doesn't hurt as much, but you feel this ache at the back of your skull, this ache behind your eyes. Your body hurts.
Astarion helps you to the bed and sits you down. You look up, wondering what is happening in his head, what his next action will be.
He crouches in front of you, between your legs. His hands settle on your knees.
"How are you doing, my love?" He asks, softly, his thumbs always moving on the dirty knee patches of your pants. It makes you remember the bruises that ache on them, the way you fell on them hard.
You sigh, head hanging low, but your hands reach for his jaw. You still need to touch him, reassure yourself in the fact that he's solid underneath your touch.
He won't disappear, won't be just an illusion.
"M'fine. Head still hurts. Well, everything hurts honestly," you chuckle without humour. It's the truth. Everything hurts in your body. You feel exhausted, sick.
He hums with a tilt of his head and strands of white curls fall upon his forehead. You move them away from his eyes, back behind his pointy ears, fingers grazing the tips.
His eyes flutter at the touches, long white eyelashes moving over his eyes. You can't help but detail how the light of the room hits them, how they look over his cheeks and then how the redness of his eyes looks deeper.
"Do you want to clean up?" Astarion asks and you nod, ready to slip off the top of your armour by yourself, but the sudden movement makes you go dizzy.
Astarion catches you before you can fall forward, with a sigh and a shake of his head.
"Would you let me take care of you, instead of trying to do it all by yourself?"
You smile awkwardly, almost embarrassed to let him see you like that.
You're used to being the one others count on, the one that is strong and the support. You're not used to be taken care of.
"You don't have to..." You try to say but he gives out this little laugh, this smirk and a roll of his eyes.
"Gods, please, is that your way to force me to say I want to? Because I want to. I want to take care of you."
You laugh and cringe at how it feels behind your eyes, "Sorry, I just... I'm not used to it all, sorry."
He mumbles, telling you to stop apologizing, as his hands slowly peel away every layer of your armour and then of your underwear.
"You always insist on...taking care of me. Which, well, I'll never say no to. I think I deserve to be taken care of," he says in that snarky, confident tone of his that has you breathe out a small laugh. It would have made you laugh harder another time, another day. "But, I want to take care of you too. I do, which...is not something I've ever felt the desire to. Not before you."
His last words are whispered, soft, almost too truthful to make it pass his throat but they do. You feel the last parts of your fear and your uncertainty melt away, especially when his hand softly move your hair out of your eyes.
"Okay, Astarion. Okay," you simply answer, letting him guide you to the bath, body pliant and weak as he washes you.
His hands are soft upon your skin, dirt and mud and scars and all. His hands are even softer when they find your hair, when they massage your skull.
All you can do is sigh, all but goo in the warmth of the water and the coldness of his hands.
You open your eyes to look up at him, his eyes ever so focused on you, white curls out of their perfectly styled hairdo he does every morning.
You think you like him like that a bit too much. Ruggish and muddy and without any barriers or any of the practiced pretenses he puts on.
You tug at one of his hands, and his eyes finally meets yours, questioning your gesture. "Will you come in the bath with me?"
Your question is so quiet, knowing that if he wasn't so focused on you, or, well, a vampire, he would not have heard you. You feel almost shy, unsure.
Unsure of if he would feel comfortable with what happened to you, or with his own things that keep plaguing him day and night.
Astarion tilts his head to the side, "You don't owe me anything."
"I know. It's not about...that. I just...want you in here with me. For comfort. Nothing else."
His eyes rake over you slowly, making his decision silently, before he takes off his own armour and underwear, slipping behind you in the water.
You lean back against his chest for a while, just feeling his cold skin against yours, his hands on your knees. You don't move, chanting your own head that this is real, he's here, and you're here, and everything's fine.
You only move a few minutes afterward to turn to him, soft hands ready to clean him this time around.
"You don't have to..." Astarion tries to say but you ignore his words.
"I know. But that's what partners do, right? You take care of me, I take care of you."
He closes his eyes with a sigh, "I guess. Cheesy, but, if you say so, darling."
You let out a little laugh, cleaning him softly and slowly, always waiting for his nods before you do anything, never wanting him to feel unsafe or go into his head in...worse moments.
You finish with his hair, taking out the dirty and the blood, detailing the way it curls around his ears and over his eyebrows.
You slowly caress his cheekbones, "All done."
Astarion sighs and opens his eyes. He doesn't say anything. You know he wouldn't know what to say, feels like this is all too cheesy and intimate. You know he still has a hard time with intimacy and words.
You just smile at him and lay a kiss at the corner of his lips.
"I'm exhausted, and I'm sure you are too, with...everything," his hand swirls around the air to gesture at you and your head and what you had experienced. "I suggest we go to bed."
You nod and let him guide out of the bath, back into the bedroom, and into underwear and one of the shirts you stole from Astarion to go to bed.
You slip under the blankets as he puts on his own nightwear, before he finds the space behind you, arms around your waist, hands on your stomach.
You don't know when you fall asleep, half scared of what you'd see if you do, if you'd see Astarion dead again in front of your eyes, but his form around you makes you feel safer, more comfortable.
You don't know when you fall asleep. You don't feel the kiss pressed into your hair and you don't hear the words he whispers afterward in your hair.
You don't remember telling that you love him, but he hears it, dead heart squeezing in his chest.
You don't dream of your fear.