Chapter Text
Sylus:
Has anyone heard from puppy?
Zayne’s brow furrowed as he stared at the group chat.
He wasn’t supposed to be checking his phone during consultation hours, but a last-minute cancellation in his schedule had allowed him to catch-up on his patient records. Then his screen had lit up, and, well—
Zayne:
Weren’t you with him last night?
Caleb, the youngest in their little family, had a schedule that allowed him a three-day weekend every other week. Over the months they’d been together, they’d developed a habit of taking turns visiting him in Skyhaven when he was on call—the weekends he had to spend near the base in case of an emergency deployment. Those weekends, they would spend exploring the floating city or quietly keeping Caleb company in his DAA-assigned apartment.
It was something that Rafayel had suggested when he’d realized that everyone could only see Caleb every twelve days.
(“Simply unacceptable.” Rafayel said during one of their routine discussions. If there was one thing Zayne learned about being in a five-person relationship, it was that a significantly more intentional planning was needed to get all of them on the same page—both emotionally and logistically. “Unless we make Xavier your personal teleporter—“
“I don’t mind, actually,” Xavier piped up.
“Well. Hm.” Rafayel actually had nothing to say to that.
“I’m actually required to stay in Skyhaven during my active-duty weekends.” Caleb said, a flicker of regret flashing across his eyes. “And I’m sure Xavi can’t wait on me all the time.“
“Then,” Sylus said, after a short silence. “It seems we’re getting a bigger bed for your apartment.“
When he saw the hopeful joy in Caleb’s eyes, Zayne knew that bringing Caleb into this relationship was one of the better decisions he’d made.)
Sylus and Rafayel, who kept their own work hours, made the trip most often. They certainly did it more than Zayne and Xavier, whose schedules were more erratic. Sometimes they would come the night before to “pick up” Caleb—spend the night and make the trip back to Linkon together the morning after. Caleb never asked them to make the extra trip; had in fact told them many times that it was unnecessary, but they could see how much he treasured the gesture, the notion that they would make an effort for him.
Sylus was supposed to pick up Caleb last night.
Apparently, he had not.
Sylus:
He had to work overtime again last night, so he told us not to come. said he will arrive with the 10am train.
Mephisto is watching the station. no puppy. calls went to voicemail.
Rafayel:
uhhh hes not picking up my calls 2
His stomach churned. Caleb had been complaining about feeling out of sorts and sleep-deprived since last week. A nasty flu had been going around the base, he’d said, catching his squadron mates one after the other. This meant Caleb was picking up more patrol shifts, sometimes working three in a row before his captain forced him to take time off. Caleb would have volunteered to pick up more. He’d always been like this—going above and beyond for other people—since they were children.
There had been many arguments about Caleb’s self-sacrificing nature at the expense of his own well-being. Zayne had more than once reminded him to slow down and take breaks, but Caleb had brushed him off good naturedly, pointing out that Zayne also often did long hours and forgot his meals.
Birds of a feather, truly.
Zayne clicked out of the conversation to call Caleb, even though he knew his effort might be in vain—if Caleb wasn’t picking up calls from Sylus or Rafayel, most likely it was because he was asleep or incapacitated.
But Caleb had never not picked up his calls.
Five dial tones. A click. And then: “Ge?“
Caleb sounded hoarse, groggy. Zayne’s heart thumped with both relief and concern. He was familiar with this kind of raspiness.
“Caleb.” He said, trying to gentle his voice. “Where are you?“
“I -” Caleb dissolved into a coughing fit.
“You’re sick.” Zayne sighed. Dismay dawned on him in place of the receding concern.
“No, I…” Caleb groaned weakly. “I guess…?” He croaked, syllables slurred. “S’ok, I just… need to sleep it off. I’m going to- oh no… I need to call Sylus.“
“Dr. Li, your 10.15 is here.” Yvonne popped her head in after two soft knocks. Zayne gave a nod of acknowledgment.
“Sylus is going to be there in a few hours. Stay in bed - I’ll give him your keys.“
“Nnnoooo,” Caleb whined. “I’ll be fine…“
Zayne barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
“Of course.” He said, not quite able to keep the sharpness off his voice.
“Ge…” Zayne could hear the guilt in Caleb’s voice, because he could be such an idiot about these things sometimes.
“Drink some water if you can, but don’t move if you feel dizzy. One of us will be there soon.“
He disconnected instead of waiting for Caleb’s answer and returned to his chats.
Zayne:
Caleb is sick. Likely a bad flu.
Sylus - could you make sure he’s all right?
I’ll leave his keys with Yvonne.
Sylus:
On our way, darling.
Xavier:
Im around the area
Ill go on ahead
Rafayel:
wait xavi arent u on patrol
Caleb would not be pleased that Zayne told everyone about his condition, but he knew that there was no talking his partners out of it.
He locked his phone and stepped out briefly to hand over a set of keys with an old but well-cared-for plush keychain in the shape of an apple, and a message to Yvonne to let Sylus in if he had a break in his consults.
**
Sylus:
Going to bring our puppy home.
Zayne:
With the express?
Do you think he’d feel strong enough for it?
Sylus:
I suppose this is a good time to tell you that I have a private jet.
Zayne:
Ah.
I guess the reason for using one never came up.
Sylus:
Its parked at the base.
That explained why Zayne never knew about the jet. He still refused to step into the N-109 Zone except if it was a life and death situation.
Zayne:
Please be careful.
Sylus:
Of course, sweetness.
Rafayel:
well be fine sugar dun worry
xavi and i will make sure of it
Zayne:
Thank you.
I’d feel much better having him here.
**
Silence and darkness greeted them when they stepped into Caleb’s apartment. The only source of light was today’s headlines scrolling across Caleb’s kitchen window hologram.
Sylus grimaced. This was one of those overly-modern conveniences that would never be found in their home. Considering how old he was, Sylus thought he’d done remarkably well in adjusting to technological innovations, but he drew the line at tech that listened to your conversations. There was something to value about being able to feel the weight of what you were reading or own a copy of your favorite art forms.
Rafayel breezed past him, stepping over Xavier’s hunter boots, a pair of leather gloves, a set of weapons harnesses and a hunter uniform jacket—strewn across the floor on a straight line to Caleb’s bedroom. Sylus picked up the jacket and draped it over Caleb’s sofa. It seemed like Xavier had actually left in the middle of patrol. It wasn’t like him to be haphazard about his gears, so he must have been worried about the youngest.
Sylus understood the feeling. They didn’t get to deal with human sickness very often… or at all. The first time Luke and Kieran caught the flu that confined them on their beds for days, Sylus threatened a local doctor with a painful death if the twins didn’t recover within the allotted time.
When he stepped into the bedroom, he found Caleb and Xavier curled up together under the blankets, fast asleep, the younger clinging tightly to their pale-haired partner. Caleb’s face was flushed, his hair matted and his breathing labor. His shoulders shook with minute shivers, even though his forehead looked damp with sweat.
Rafayel pressed his knuckles on Caleb’s forehead and hissed.
“Feels really warm.” He said, a frown knitting his brows.
On the other side of the bed, Xavier stirred, as if woken by the sound of the door unlocking.
“I made him take paracetamol an hour ago.” Xavier said, rubbing one eye. “I wanted to cook him soup, but his fridge is empty.” He sounded put out about it.
Sylus smiled. Xavier, bless his little star, believed with all his heart that he was a good cook. Sylus and Rafayel had tried everything—from honest feedback, to cooking together to improve his skills (they weren’t the most skillful cooks, either, but one did not live through several hundred years and not master a dish or three). The best they could do was to prevent the worst of Xavier’s mistakes.
Xavier pushed himself up, halting when they heard Caleb’s whine.
“Xavi,” Caleb slurred, fingers weakly clutching at Xavier’s shirt. “M’cold… Don’t go.“
“Oh, baby,” Rafayel stroked Caleb’s hair. “You don’t feel too good, huh?“
Caleb blinked blearily at Rafayel, confused. “Rafa…” He murmured. “How…” And then he saw Sylus and froze for a split second. He made a noise reminiscent of a beached sea lion and burrowed deeper into his pillow, pulling his blanket over his head.
“I told Gege that you didn’t need to come.” Caleb said, voice muffled.
“Now that would be ridiculous.” Sylus approached the bed and tugged on the corner of Caleb’s blanket. Upon Caleb’s resistance, Xavier simply pulled on his side of the blanket and exposed their youngest, even more flushed and dishevelled. Sylus frowned.
“How long have you been sick?“
“Yesterday.” Caleb mumbled. Sylus raised an eyebrow. “…morning.“
Sylus would bet that Caleb had powered through the symptoms way before that.
“You told me you had to work late last night.“
“…I did?” Caleb, to his credit, knew better than to lie to him. At least he realized that he’d done something he wasn’t supposed to, if the guilt in his tone was any indication. His expression reminded Sylus of Pearl, their kitten, when she knocked over one of Zayne’s potted jasmines down the ledge.
It would be cute, if it wasn’t so exasperating.
Zayne had warned them about Caleb’s near-pathological reluctance of inconveniencing other people, often to his own detriment. It was a legacy of a painful childhood—one that Caleb hadn’t shared the full story of, but one that they were all more than aware of.
(One day, Sylus would burn the whole corporation to the ground, and no one would be able to stop him.)
Sylus rubbed his temple with one hand.
“So you worked overtime last night even though you were sick.“
“There was no one else—” Caleb dissolved into a series of harsh, racking coughs that tightened something in Sylus’s gut. The twins succumbed to bouts of flu and sore throat every other year, one always following the other, but he didn’t remember them coughing like this.
“He needs a doctor.” Rafayel murmured, echoing his thoughts.
“Yeah, he’s going home with us. Love, could you…” Sylus gestured at Caleb’s day bag. Rafayel hummed and made his way to the nightstand to collect Caleb’s phone and wallet. Owing to his training, Caleb was the most organized and prepared among them, always ready with a bag packed with his essentials. Small blessings.
“No, guys, really- I’m fine. I need to go to Base—” Caleb sat up, before coughing again, this time somehow worse than before, enough that Xavier started rubbing his back, shooting Sylus a dubious look.
“Obviously not.” Sylus drawled. “We’re taking you home.” So we can actually take care of you for once. He knew better than to say the last part out loud.
Caleb’s gaze drifted to his desk, where his tablet sat. “I need to submit that report before midnight or the squadron gets flagged for an incomplete roster.“
“Caleb.” Xavier’s voice was gentle, but his hands were already moving, gathering the blanket. “Your captain can file a medical exemption.“
“But it’s my-” The protest died in another cough, and Caleb let his head fall back against the pillow, closing his eyes. “She shouldn’t have to cover for me.“
“And I’m sure she would rather you don’t infect what’s left of your team.” Rafayel chimed, packing Caleb’s tablet into his bag. A good concession, Sylus thought, or Caleb would never agree to go home.
“Where are you parked?” Xavier asked.
“Right in front of the corner store.” A slightly dingy bodega across Caleb’s apartment that Sylus might have purchased, sight unseen, without telling anyone. The roof had a perfect line of sight into Caleb’s living room. No one needed to know that.
Xavier nodded, before disappearing for a minute. When he returned, he was in his full hunter gear.
“Will you get my sword?“
“Mm. See you downstairs, Angel.“
Sylus knew what was coming. It didn’t make it less entertaining to watch.
“Xavi-!” Caleb yelped as Xavier carried him in his arms like the world’s biggest burrito, blanket and all. Caleb was taller and broader than Xavier, with an athletic build and stamina demanded by his combat pilot training. But even Sylus and Rafayel hadn’t discovered the limits of Xavier’s power in the decades they’d been together—even with that infernal collar around his neck – and they had engaged in fights that levelled entire forests.
“Sorry, baby.” Xavier said, though he didn’t sound very sorry at all. “Just hold tight for a bit. Close your eyes if the jump makes you dizzy.” It shouldn’t, with Caleb’s Evol being what it was.
“I can walk,” Caleb squirmed. The knit in his brows betrayed his stubbornness.
“Yes, but this makes me feel useful.” Xavier pressed a kiss on Caleb’s temple. “So indulge me, hmm?“
Caleb finally settled on putting an arm around Xavier’s shoulders. The fact that he hadn’t thrown himself off Xavier’s hold told Sylus everything he needed to know about how weak he must have been feeling. With a final nod at Sylus, Xavier disappeared in a flash of light.
“His Evol is so convenient,” Rafayel remarked, Xavier’s sword and Caleb’s day bag in hand. “Well, come on then, love. Before our sugarplum dissolves from worrying.“
**
Zayne:
I’m home.
Rafayel:
were leaving now sugar
give us an hour
Zayne:
How is he?
Rafayel:
bad :(
Zayne:
How high is his temperature?
Rafayel:
burning
nasty cough
Zayne:
I see.
Zayne was silent after that.
Rafayel tapped the corner of his phone against his lower lip with a hum.
He brushed away an errant hair from Caleb’s forehead, fast asleep pillowed on his thigh, and murmured, “Oh, you’re in big trouble, puppy.“
*
The jet was one of those overly-modern conveniences that Sylus had learned to tolerate.
It was something necessary for survival and blending in. He couldn’t very well whip out his wings and fly across the country to conduct his dealings, and teleporting over such long distances was a pure waste of energy.
He could appreciate these conveniences particularly in urgent situations like these, Sylus thought as he sat on the pilot seat, where they needed speed over aesthetics. Xavier buckled in beside him.
After he charted the course back home, the jet was pretty much flying on autopilot. Sylus glanced at Caleb, restless and feverish on Rafayel’s lap, and knew that he’d made the right call to bring him home. It would make him feel better. It would make all of them feel better having Caleb at the Bay Home.
The Bay Home had been the first real test for their relationship.
It was one of Sylus’ many hidden properties, a sprawling manor situated on an islet not far from the Whitesand Bay. Sylus had acquired it—the entire islet, not just the property—years ago.
A meadow stretched behind the manor towards the beach, bleeding into the white sands from which the bay derived its name from. Every spring, the meadow turned into a field of colorful wildflowers. It was a most peculiar phenomenon—the islets around Whitesand Bay were not the most fertile, but theirs was an exception to the rule.
When Sylus saw that meadow, felt the land call out to him, he knew that he had to own it. It was sacred ground, steeped in hundreds of years of draconic blood and history. It provided an ancient kind of protection that was almost untouchable by modern threats. It would be somewhere safe for them to take shelter. Something permanent they could build together.
Neither one of them had had that for what felt like centuries now.
Still, building a home, putting down roots wasn’t an urgency until Zayne and Caleb came into their lives.
Sylus hadn’t expected them. By the rules they had established for themselves, Zayne and Caleb shouldn’t have been a part of the plan. Attachment to short-lived mortals was akin to putting down payment for future heartbreak, Rafayel had said once.
But when Sylus finally met Zayne, he had felt a familiar pull—one that he felt only twice before: when he met Rafayel and Xavier, innumerable years ago. It was a kind of certainty that made him realize that he’d waited a lifetime to find them, even though he didn’t know he was missing them in the first place. It was the same pull that he’d expected to feel when he finally met Caleb.
The jet’s slow descent brought him back to the present. As he went through the motions of powering down, he heard Rafayel’s gentle voice from the backseat, coaxing Caleb awake.
Sylus carried Caleb down the jet’s steps into the salt-tinged air of the coast. The manor loomed ahead bathed by the golden afternoon light.
“Almost home, puppy,” Sylus murmured, adjusting his grip as Caleb stirred, whimpering something unintelligible.
Now, bringing Caleb back to where he’d be most safe and cared for, Sylus felt the familiar contentment spread through him, the dragon in his soul settling with satisfaction. His lovers. His treasures. Safe in the lair he had built for them. Zayne and Caleb still kept their family home in the city, but they chose this place more and more often. Chose him. Chose them. The Bay home had become home not through obligation, but through choice, through love offered freely and accepted with the same freedom.
“How is he doing?” Zayne asked.
“No change.“
The doctor’s nod was terse. “The master bedroom?” Zayne’s voice was even, but Sylus could sense the anxiety in the normally stoic man in the minute twitches of his hands, as if he wanted to take over, but realized that it would probably be quicker and more comfortable for Caleb if Sylus carried him in.
“… Sy?” Caleb mumbled as Sylus made his way towards the bedroom, trying not to jostle him too much. Sylus could feel his breath against his neck. It was worryingly hot. “Home?“
“Mm. Rest. We’ll take care of you.“
When his head touched the pillow, Caleb seemed to realize where he was and tried to sit up. Sylus easily pushed him back down with a hand on his chest.
Pearl, their four-month old kitten, climbed up the bed and sat on Caleb’s lap. Good girl.
“Where do you think you’re going?“
“M’sweaty - I’ll dirty the bed…” Caleb pawed at Sylus’ hand. It was cute, but Sylus was too busy thinking that their youngest was an idiot.
“And where do you think we should put you?” Rafayel peered from behind him, not quite able to keep the incredulity in his voice.
“The guest bedroom…“
“Absurd.” Zayne interjected. “Help him sit up. I need to check his lungs.” Zayne addressed Sylus, putting on his stethoscope. “Please.“
Sylus obeyed, making space for Zayne as the doctor sat across Caleb to slip the stethoscope under his sweatshirt.
“Ge…“
“Take a deep breath.“
Caleb’s voice faltered, as if he knew of the futility of arguing, but Sylus could see that particular flatness in his eyes—the hollow compliance he’d recognized in their youngest: doing what he must, hating every second of it. Before Caleb could take a full breath, he dissolved into the same ugly barking coughs they heard in his apartment.
Zayne frowned.
“Try again,” His voice softened. “Slowly.“
After a few tries, Caleb managed to breathe as instructed, but nobody missed the way he grimaced from what likely was pain.
“Does your chest hurt when you breathe?” Zayne’s tone was now tinged with worry, and that was rare enough that Sylus shifted his full attention to him.
Zayne was a consummate professional as a physician. Nerves of steel developed from his tenure as a combat medic, Sylus reckoned. The doctor was not prone to dramatics. Sylus recalled one memorable instance where Zayne had to give curbside first aid to a road worker who sliced his forearm clean off in a freak accident.
Sylus had stood on the side with bags of barbecue supplies, watching Zayne calmly instruct the screaming man to breathe and please keep your arm (what arm?) up while I apply pressure, sir. Sylus, could you please ice the severed hand, please? I bought a bag of ice for the cocktails. Thank you.
They returned home two hours later with a fresh bag of ice for Caleb’s experimental sangria and continued with their weekend barbecue plans, if slightly delayed. Sylus had gained a whole new appreciation for their dear doctor afterward.
That was to say: if Zayne was worried, then there was likely a cause for worry.
“Hospital time?” Xavier asked from the door of their bedroom, likely keeping a respectful distance so as not to crowd Caleb. Sylus could see Zayne’s jaw clench as he considered his options. Finally, the doctor exhaled after a moment of silence, and shook his head.
“It’s pneumonia. I’m certain. We’ve been getting patients with similar symptoms for weeks. I’d rather he stay here than be exposed to more pathogens.“
“Your call, dear.” Sylus said. “Tell us what to do.“
Sylus didn’t remember ever being sick once he came into his dragonkin heritage, an untold number of years ago. Rafayel had his bouts of illnesses, but he’d usually just disappear to the depths of the ocean (or submerge himself in his bathtub) until he felt better. Similarly, Xavier had never failed in sleeping and eating any sickness off and away in a few days’ time.
Put simply, none of them knew how to care for an actually sick person.
“Symptoms management—plenty of rest and lots of fluids, no caffeine.” Zayne rattled out more instructions as he rummaged through the medical kit that he must have brought back from the hospital.
“Soup should work, right? Should I prepare some soup?” Xavier asked. He sounded a little uncertain. Sylus could relate. He, however, was certain that Xavier shouldn’t go anywhere near the kitchen.
“It’s okay, love, I’ll order in.” Sylus could hear the welcoming chime of their usual food delivery app from Rafayel’s mobile phone and he inwardly thanked his partner for his quick thinking.
Xavier had a Cookbook boasting the “4,782 easy home-cooking recipes for cold-dishes, stir-fries and soup” (they never counted). Knowing Xavier’s cooking skills, it was probably full of “cold dishes” recipes of one ingredient, like a raw zucchini, julienned, not even salted. Caleb, who happily cooked for everyone whenever he spent time at home, had peeked into the book just the once and emerged with a confused frown. He’d decided to stick to his own recipes.
“No, Rafi, I can do it, please—” Caleb had not given up, despite looking like he would fall over if Sylus did not have a hand behind his back.
Rafayel said, “I sure hope not.“
“But—“
“I’m going to draw your blood.” Zayne cut him off.
Caleb looked distressed. Sylus didn’t think he was scared of needles, but given his childhood, well. None of them quite fully knew what Caleb went through.
“It’s just the flu, it’s not a big deal…“
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Zayne cut him off. “You need to notify the DAA that you need a minimum one week of leave. I’ll write you a doctor’s note. Your arm, please.“
“No, don’t—” More coughing. “I’ll- I’ll be fine by Monday.” Caleb croaked, in a manner that inspired no confidence at all.
“You most definitely won’t. Arm, please.“
“Ge, please- If you write me a note, I’ll have to get a medical clearance when I return. I can’t-“
“Caleb.“
Zayne spoke in his quiet, firm tone Sylus was used to hearing when he took work calls. This time, however, it felt like the temperature in the room took a noticeable plunge, so much so that Sylus wondered if Zayne had found a way to exert his Evol through his voice.
Caleb shut his mouth so quickly his teeth clicked.
“Give me your arm.” Zayne said, his tone measured, clipped. Caleb offered his arm without protest, pushing his sleeve up, but Sylus saw how his expression shuttered, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Caleb’s arm had patches of pale, discolored skin; odd hairline cracks not dissimilar to fracturing ice. Zayne’s hand stilled, only briefly, unnoticeable unless one had the preternatural perceptiveness of dragonkins.
(They knew the story behind those scars, and the journey Zayne had taken in order to make peace with them and to convince Caleb that what he felt for the younger boy was love, pure and unadulterated by penance.
Because Caleb would accept nothing less. Caleb deserved nothing less.
Still, all of them were more than familiar—and forgiving—of that split second of faltering when faced with the biggest regret of your life.)
Quietly, Zayne went through the motions of drawing blood—alcohol rub, vein puncture, two vials of blood tucked in a protective container, used needles into biohazard disposal bags. His movements were economical, precise; his face devoid of emotion, and he did not look at Caleb once.
In the cold silence that hung in the air, Sylus replayed Rafayel’s words in his mind: oh, you’re in big trouble, puppy.
“Ge,” Caleb tried again. “Please, I’m fine… I-“
“Stop.” That seemed to be the snap that turned Zayne’s ice from cold to cutting. “Stop saying that. You’re obviously not fine. You always do this. Why did you think we-” Zayne visibly bit back the rest of his retort.
Caleb looked ready to cry—his eyes, the color of deepspace blue-violet, glassy with fever and misery.
“I’ll get this tested.” Zayne stood up. He made his way towards the door, but at the last second, turned to Rafayel and said, “he needs warm fluids, and… I’ll text you.“
“We’ve got him, sweetheart.“
Zayne nodded and left.
“I’ll go with him.” Xavier lingered at the bedroom door, still in his hunter gear, watching Caleb’s chest rise and fall. He crossed the room and paused at Caleb’s bedside. His hand hovered, before touching Caleb’s cheek. “It’ll be fine. Get some rest, yeah?“
Caleb nodded.
Xavier glanced at Sylus. “You’ll call if-“
“We’ll call,” Sylus said.
Only then did he follow Zayne out.
Sylus exchanged a sidelong look with Rafayel.
“Well,” He sighed. He pulled their youngest closer and threaded his fingers through his hair. “What do you need, pup?“
Caleb nuzzled his face against Sylus’ belly without a word, seeking comfort. Sylus was reminded how he’d earned his nickname.
“I, for one,” Rafayel moved closer. “Am going to take another bath, since my morning session was interrupted.” He cradled Caleb’s cheek and tilted his head towards them. “Wanna join me? I think a warm bath would make you feel better, yeah?“
Caleb nodded.