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Fabian doesn't know how it started. Perhaps it was one bad baby milk too many or the gnawing sense of emptiness festering in his chest. Maybe it’s the way he found out his Mama was moving out: a glib text on his crystal that talked of a mansion “too big” and stifling for her, Gilear, and their new baby. (The bank later called him about insurance, but Fabian was a few bottles deep by that point.)
He knows how it ends: with a molotov cocktail in his hand, sailing through the air in slow-motion. It arcs over the patio where he had fencing practice with Herzon before exploding with a crack! against Seacaster Manor, painting its gilded walls bright with red-orange flame and the stench of vintage booze and spoiled milk.
The fire is oppressive as it licks along the structures of the ship, devouring everything in its path. When the hinges of the front door begin to give away, there's a part of Fabian that wants to salvage it as he's hit with memories: of inviting his friends inside for the very first time; of Cathilda giving him a warm smile and a tight hug before she left; of Papa kissing his cheeks and forehead on the very first day of high school.
“You know I'll die before you, long before.”
Fabian wants to shut his eye, but the backs of lids are painted bright red–the same crimson staining his hands on the last night he saw his father alive–so he stares.
He can't bring himself to look away from how the living room turns to ash and dust. (He can never invite his friends over for study dates and parties here ever again. He can never see his mother slumped across the couch with a goblet of wine in hand and a sword in the other. He would never have to put the 80,000 threadbare count blanket over her again.)
Next to go is the kitchen where Cathilda would prepare his favorite comfort meal of kippers and green protein shake. It's the same place where his friends would find him looking for scraps of sustenance. Riz would shake his head while investigating for fresh milk while Gorgug would hand him some of the sandwiches his parents made, claiming they always made extra. It's where Kristen would doubt and wonder about some sort of food deity, leading Adaine to use Legend Lore on his refrigerator. Fabian cracks a grin at the memory. He's tempted to take out his phone and listen to the adventures of the hypothetical anthropomorphic world of food-people, one of Fig’s podcasts in addition to the Complicated Women series.
He misses them so much .
It's been a few days, and Fabian knows everyone is preoccupied as their senior year begins to rolls around. There's so much to ponder and prepare like application forms and teacher recommendation letters that Riz is always reminding them about.
But here he is, crying over spilled bad baby milk splattered all over the burning remnants of the place he once called home.
Fabian’s been stabbed, slashed, skewered; he’s known the pain of glass in his mouth, the agony of swords and spells slicing his skin. However, the ache that burrows itself in his chest, the one that threatens to cleave a deeper hole in the hollow of his heart – it’s familiar in its scope, but unfamiliar in its intensity, unable to be buried under busy schedules of classes, dance and bloodrush practice, and the call of adventures.
He’s already accepted these feelings, hasn’t he? He’s already lived with the empty silence echoing in loud halls, nothing to hide the heaving sobs he chokes down. No one to witness the tears he doesn’t let fall.
Fabian should be used to this. He shouldn't be frozen, stock-still, as ashfall rains around him and wood of his father’s old ship splinters and cracks in a slow, fiery demise. He should call the fire department or the bank or someone that will actually pick up instead of letting the phone ring and ring and ring, damnit, Mama why am I not enough for you –
Master, just hold on! I’m coming!
The voice in Fabian’s head cuts through the thoughts clouding his mind, filling his chest with a deep, searing pain that makes him choke through the smoke. The distant rumble of an engine draws nearer, and pulls up a small, green goblin riding atop it. Fabian blinks, but the sight doesn’t fade like a mirage in a hazy desert.
Hangman?
After tires screech to a stop, the Hangman’s engines rev up in a facsimile of a dog’s anxious while. You weren’t responding to me, Master. It was… terrifying to see you in this state. I had no choice but to summon your Ball to aid you.
“Fabian, are you hurt? What happened?” The Ball jumps down from the Hangman and races towards him. Fabian doesn’t know when he’s fallen on his knees. All he knows is the feeling of calloused, clawed hands holding his face; keen yellow eyes under furrowed brows scanning him for any sign of injury or curse; a slim, slender tail that curls around his wrist in a gesture of comfort.
The haze starts to fade from his mind as Riz’s touch grounds him to the present. “I’m–I’m okay.”
Slitted eyes narrow even further, Riz’s insight digging deep into him. Fabian tries a different tack: “But, the Ball, what are you doing here? Don’t you have that case with your mom?”
Riz shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. Just… stay with me, okay? Gorgug’s already getting everyone.”
No sooner than the words leave Riz’s mouth did the Hangvan come speeding through, coming to an abrupt stop in front of them. Gorgug is the first to act, practically jumping out of the driver’s seat.
“Fabian!” There’s no hesitation in how he bounds up to him, strong arms wrapping the half-elf into a tight embrace. Fabian inhales the familiar, floral scent of his fabric softener mixed in with the sharp smell of oil and something that’s distinctly Gorgug and feels himself melt into the softness of Gorgug’s hoodie. Gentle hands–capable of breaking him in two, but never do they mean to hurt him–rub small circles on his back, and Fabian tries to focus on the steady thrum of Gorgug’s heartbeat under his ear. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay…”
Their voices are muffled, but Fabian recognizes the urgent worry in his boyfriends’ voices. Riz has probably pieced together what happened (between the cracked crystal on the ground, the bottles of vodka, and a newly bought lighter, it’s not a tough case to crack) and is telling the others.
Fabian should defend himself. He should brush it off as another pirate’s tradition or a rich boy’s gambit or something, but all he wants to do is sink far below the waves that Seacaster Manor used to ride, surrendering his body to the whims of turbulent waters.
His friends would never let him drown.
He doesn’t move, but doesn’t shy away when he feels Riz awkwardly press his lips against his forehead and his clever fingers running through waves of silver locs. Gorgug starts singing a calming melody under his breath, just like he used to do to calm down.
It sends Fabian to a flashback – of cold, lonely nights when he couldn’t sleep, and Mama wouldn’t stir from her pod, so he asked Cathilda where Papa was. She told him tales of grand exploits on the seas and sang him halfling lullabies until he fell asleep with the feeling of her hands patting his head.
(He misses her so much. He knows she’s off being a badass fighter on the Leviathan, the same way his father is kicking ass in Hell, but he misses them so damn much. He wants to take these memories and store them in a treasure chest. He wants them to remain like shining jewels and glittering gold, not eclipsed by an empty future of deafening silences echoing in a house that is too big for just him.)
It takes a while for Fabian to get the words out, stuck as they are in his throat like a fishbones, painful and sharp as they scrape out of his mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t–I don’t mean to bother you all–”
“Fabian, you’re never a bother!” The blurred figure of Fig looms before him through the tears, and even without the effect of a Calm Emotions spell, he finds the tension leaving his shoulders. “I don’t know why you’re setting your house on fire, but as Archdevil of the Bottomless Pit, I gotta say, I’m liking the new look.”
A wet, almost hysterical laugh bursts from his lips. A hand on his shoulder makes him look up. Adaine stares into the wreckage, mouth pressed into a concern line. He remembers the ashes of Abernant Mansion and winces. “Adaine, I’m–”
“I would’ve done the same thing,” she whispers. She pulls out a silken, embroidered kerchief from her jacket and hands it to Fabian. He doesn't need it, but the care behind the gesture makes him take it anyway.
Kristen nods sagely beside her. “Same. Speaking from experience, you really don't have to stick with something if it doesn't serve you. Better get out as soon as possible before it’s too late.”
“But you don't have to deal with it alone, Fabian. You literally call me to help look for your missing AirPods when they're right there on the couch. You can call us for these things.” He’s still combing through Fabian’s hair, but it’s a little frantic, a little desperate, some of Riz’s high-strung energy coming through. He’s never one to leave something well enough alone. It’s one of the things Fabian loves about him.
Gorgug's arms tighten around Fabian's in a similar way to Riz's tail wrapping around his wrist. So strong, so secure, so sweet. Even as his heart rate increases under Fabian’s ear, his voice muffled as he pleads, “Please . We want to be here for you. It's scary, not knowing what's going on with you. You don’t have to tell us everything – well, maybe tell us if the reason you’re doing this is to escape Chungledown Bim –”
Fear chills Fabian to the bone as he shudders. “It’s not… it’s not him. It’s me. It’s something– something’s wrong with me. It hurts so bad. Nothing I do seems to help anymore. I can’t… It’s not enough, I’m not enough –”
The words come out of him in a babbling stream, the metaphorical dam broken as the feelings rush out of Fabian with all the force of a tsunami: waves of fear that his loved ones would continue to leave him; tides of resentment towards them for doing so; riptides of anger at himself for being so needy and for being upset at them; ripples of self-pity at how much he still needs them.
He breathes a little easier after it’s all out in the open, like debris floating in an ocean after a storm.
“...Do you want to talk to Jawbone about this?” Kristen asks at the end of his confessional, a prophet to a sinner. But she’s all compassion and understanding, throwing him a lifeline in the middle of the stormy waves of his emotions.
“Wh-what?”
“Cure Wounds can do a lot, but it can't heal–” She points to her chest. “–what's in here. That's why we have meds and therapy and stuff.”
“Yeah?” Fabian lets out a shaky exhale. He dabs the handkerchief at the corner of his eye.
Adaine nods. Her voice is firmer, stronger now. “You have a mental illness, and that is fine. Honestly? I think we all do at this point.”
“It does seem to be unavoidable with what we do,” Riz concedes with no short amount of resignation. “I haven’t talked to him yet, but my mom says she’s super concerned about how I haven’t slept in literal years.”
“I think my mom really needs to go to therapy,” Fig whispers almost conspiratorily. “About how she’s slept, but with people. Probably not to Jawbone, though.”
Gorgug’s eyes are wide and dark, backlit with concern and warmth as they stare into him. Usually, Fabian has the urge to preen and impress, hiding all his flaws and feelings, but Gorgug has a way inspiring him to be brave. “Is that something you wanna do, Fabian?”
“...Maybe,” he concedes, sparing one more glance at the burning remnants of his house. The fire has eaten away at everything at this point, the highest point of the blaze having happened when Fabian was lost in the throes of his own feelings. He’s left with an empty spot of blackened, charred wood and debris. Empty. “Can I stay with you guys for a bit? We don’t have to do anything, I just…”
“Wanna have a movie night at Mordred Manor? I’ve been trying to get Ayda to watch Pirates of the New Caribbean since forever.” Fig smiles at him.
“That’s a classic,” Fabian murmurs. “Can we have some kippers too?”
With a little twist to her mouth, Adaine pulls out some B-grade 5 GP kippers out of her jacket.
With that, the girls pile into the Hangvan. Riz immediately hops up on the motorcycle with only a little bit of grumbling from the Hangman. Fabian slides his arms around the tiny figure and feels Gorgug’s weight settle behind him, earning more than a bit of grumbling for the Hangman. It’s only when Fabian thinks, Thank you, you’re the only one I trust with them, that gratitude, relief, and pride flood the motorcycle's engines.
Fabian Aramais Seacaster doesn’t look back at the smouldering remains of his childhood house. He keeps his eyes forward, anchored to the present by the two boys who would do anything to see him smile again. He’s buoyed by the girls who would burn the world if he so much as asked.
In the end, the ship once known as the first Hangman goes down but doesn’t take the captain with it.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
– "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley