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Fuck today.
Molly’s mind is in a swirl of panic and racing thoughts, but that one comes through loud and clear.
Fuck today.
One of his wrists is already broken when they strap him down to the table, and things only go downhill from there.
They ask him things, things he has no intention of answering, and he tells them so, cheerfully; best to be clear about that sort of thing right upfront.
Then the knives come out, and he laughs. In retrospect, it’s a bad idea, he’s big enough to admit that. He’s never claimed to be terribly smart. Far from it, in fact.
They start at his navel and work up, methodically slicing along the scars that are already there- small, shallow incisions that bleed and sting as fiercely as they had when his blade first made them. They’re not deep enough to be dangerous on their own, but he’s heard of this, ‘death of a thousand cuts’, though it’s always been metaphorical. He’s never expected to actually experience it first-hand. It’s an experience he can live without, he thinks, but his interrogators don’t agree. Every few slices they ask again, and he snarls, refusing.
Using his Maledict is purely accidental; the person wielding the knife slips, nicking him deeper than intended, and he hisses a curse in Infernal without much thought. The man screams, dropping the blade and clawing at his eyes. Before Molly can open his mouth again, one of the other men who’s been watching quietly from the side of the room darts forward and grabs his tail, twisting viciously; the snapping noise registers a bare second before the pain does, shooting up and down the length of his tail, agonizing, wrenching a scream from him as nothing else has so far.
He settles, shaking, and the man who still holds his tail leans over the table, making sure he has Molly’s attention. He squeezes his hand slowly over the break, drawing a pained whine from Molly. “Do that again and I’ll twist the end off this thing like the head off a chicken. Got it?”
All Molly can do is nod, trembling, as tears stream unbidden down his face. The man slides his hand further down and with a wicked grin twists his hand a second time. Molly can’t get the air to scream, choking as he mindlessly scrabbles at the tabletop under his claws.
They continue on with the knives for a short while after that, but it’s getting hard to focus on anything other than his tail and his wrist and what feels like the sting of a swarm of bees all up his front, throbbing in time with his hammering heartbeat. When they undo the straps and pull him up and off the table, his legs don’t hold him; he’s so used to using his tail for balance that the reflexive movement of it sends him to his knees with a groan.
“Get up.” The man- Asshole, he decides to call him, the same man who’d broken his tail- grabs him by a horn and pulls, but all it does is throw him off balance, and once Asshole lets go Molly falls all the way down, sprawling on the floor in a shuddering heap.
“I said get up!” Asshole kicks him in the ribs; it doesn’t break anything, but it definitely bruises. He tries, but he’s only working with one functioning hand and his balance is shot. Asshole kicks him again, and this time he does feel something give, and yeah- fuck today right in the goddamned ear.
Asshole pauses in the action of drawing back for another kick before a considering look comes over his face. Instead of kicking, he catches one of the sections of darkening, swelling tail under his boot and Molly goes very still.
Asshole grins down at him, his foot starting to lower. “Anything interesting to tell me?”
He can’t tell them what they actually want to know- the reason he and Caleb were sneaking around- but gods above and below, his fucking tail-
The man leans into it, putting more pressure on and Molly bites back a curse, grinding his teeth to keep from saying anything as the man crushes Molly’s tail under his boot.
“I’m waiting.”
Asshole twists his foot, and Molly doesn’t have words for the kind of agony that shoots through his tail as it’s ground into the stone, a scream ending on a sob pulled from him against his will. He can’t say- he can’t, he can’t, he can’t- but sweet Moonweaver, the man is reaching for the delicate spade at the end of his tail and-
“Wait! Stop, please stop!”
To his astonishment, Asshole actually does, but doesn’t lift his foot. “Yeah?”
Molly wracks his brain, tries to think of something, anything he can say that will appease him. Something interesting but harmless; something that has nothing to do with why they’re actually here.
“The man you caught me with always knows what time it is.”
He doesn’t know what he had expected to come out of his mouth, but that hadn’t been it. Too late now, though.
Asshole narrows his eyes and Molly hardly dares to breathe before Asshole is lifting his boot up and away. Molly collapses back to the floor in relief, shivering on the cold stone. Asshole gives the order to watch him to one of the other men, and leaves the room.
Things get hazy for awhile. Everything hurts so badly. He just has to hope they can escape, or that rescue comes quickly, before this gets any worse.
He’s drifting, floating along on the clouds of gray that keep swirling at the edges of his vision. The door to the room opens again, heavy footsteps and voices that slide over his awareness. There are hands on his arms, hauling him up roughly, and the pain crests over him, the fog finally swallowing him whole, until-
“Molly? Schatz, can you hear me?”
He wakes up with a choked-off noise; he’s disoriented, his wrist is really fucking killing him, as is his tail, but he can’t move right, he doesn’t know what’s happening and gods he hurts. He panics, thrashing, but it only makes things worse. Something is making his wrist scream, his ribs are a wash of agony, and his tail- well, the less said about the state of his tail the better, but he can’t move, why can’t he- what did they do?
“Molly, please, you must be calm. Breathe with me.”
It’s a struggle, but he follows the voice, Caleb’s voice, and slowly he starts to regain control, his breathing shaky, but measured. As his panic recedes, he’s able to better tell what’s happening.
He’s sitting, back pressed up against a stone wall, and he can’t move because they’ve clamped his wrists into a wall-mounted pair of cuffs that keep his wrists pinned straight against the stone. His broken wrist throbs, and he thinks miserably of the damage he probably did to it in his panic. The cool stone feels nice against it though; he’ll take whatever he can get.
“Mollymauk?”
Caleb’s voice is quiet, worried and tentative, and Molly looks over at him.
The cell they’re in is bare other than them, no windows, one door. Caleb is on his knees in the center of the room, arms pulled behind him, and though he can’t see it, Molly can guess they’re chained that way. Around Caleb’s throat is a metal band with softly glowing runes that shift and move when he tries to read them; he’s seen this kind of thing before, and it pisses him off every time. Anti-magic restraints come in a lot of forms, but he thinks all of them are inhumane. It would explain why Caleb isn’t casting anything to get them out.
“Are you with me, Mollymauk?”
Molly nods, using his feet to push himself up from the slump he’s in to a more comfortable position, wincing when it pulls on his injuries. “Yeah, I’m- I’m here.”
The tension in Caleb’s shoulders visibly releases, and he sits back on his heels with a gentle rattle of chain. “That’s good. Are you alright? That is an awful lot of blood.”
Molly looks down, and yeah, that looks pretty gruesome. “I’m- well, I’m not fine , but it’s not as bad as it looks. Lots of little cuts. More uncomfortable than anything.
Caleb gives him a look. “ Ja, okay. What else?”
Molly considers- briefly- lying to him, but while it might make Caleb feel better in the moment, it could easily bite them in the ass later. “Broken wrist. Probably broken-” he shifts again and stifles a groan. “-no, make that definitely broken ribs, broken tail.”
Molly’s always been amazed at Caleb’s capacity to carry more than one distinct expression on his face at a time, and he’s not disappointed now; Caleb looks nauseated, horrified, and murderous all at once. It’s a neat trick. He wonders if Caleb will teach it to him if he asks nicely.
He looks Caleb over. There’s no injuries on his face, but the long sleeves of his shirt and the bandages around his arms make it difficult to tell if they’ve done anything to the parts of Caleb he can’t see. “So that’s me. What about you? You okay?”
Caleb half-shrugs, the sound of chain again sounding from behind him. “ Ja, I am alright. They seem to have focused most of their attentions on you.”
“The collar’s not hurting you, is it?”
Caleb smiles, and shakes his head. “No, liebling. It will not activate unless I try to cast something. It’s uncomfortable, but not painful. I should be alright.”
That’s not as bad as Molly had been expecting; he relaxes back against the wall as much as he’s able to relax at all, letting out a relieved breath and resting his forehead against one of his upraised arms.
“Why don’t you rest, Mollymauk.” ‘-while you’re able’ hangs in the air unspoken, but Molly nods, closing his eyes, and tries to get comfortable.
He’s having trouble falling into actual sleep, but he’s just dozing off when the door to the cell opens and he startles, biting down on a cry as what feels like his whole body protests the sudden movement.
It’s Asshole, and he’s come inside to stand in front of Caleb with his back to Molly. Molly knows he isn’t much of a threat right now, but it’s still a little insulting.
“What time is it?”
There’s a brief pause in which Molly is thoroughly confused, then Caleb answers, with hardly a waver in his voice. “Six o’clock in the evening.”
There’s another moment of anticipatory quiet, and then Asshole nods. “Right this time. Better keep it up.” Then he leaves the room, the door closing and locking with a click behind him.
“What the fuck was that?”
Caleb glances up at him from under his hair. “He wanted to know what time it was, so I told him.” His voice is carefully neutral, and Molly knows that tone; Caleb is saying something factually correct, but not inclusive of the whole story.
“Caleb.”
Caleb sighs, shoulders drooping, arms twitching behind him, and Molly knows him well enough to know if he had his hands free, Caleb would be running a hand over his face and through his hair right now.
“You told him I always know what time it is.”
“I- yeah. I did.”
“Why did you tell him that?”
Caleb sounds merely curious, not at all accusatory, but Molly can’t help but flinch slightly at the question. “He- fuck, I just wanted him to stop, okay? He’d just broken my tail in two places, and was about to- and I just- I needed him to stop, and it’s the first thing I could think of that was interesting but not related to why we’re actually here.” He doesn’t feel shame often, but he feels it now, a flush of embarrassment making his face heat. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have even said it, but-” But he’s weak, is what. He couldn’t take what Asshole was dishing out, and he bartered information about Caleb for a reprieve. He hadn’t really thought about it that way before, but now that he is thinking about it that way, it makes him feel ill. For fuck’s sake, he slices himself open on the regular and he can’t take a little torture?
“Molly, it’s alright.”
Molly looks up at Caleb, incredulous. “It’s really not. What happens if he asks you and you get it wrong?”
The way Caleb presses his lips together in a flat line is answer enough. “Fuck. I thought it was harmless.” A pained expression flits across Caleb’s face, and it catches his attention; he doesn’t think he’s meant to see it, but now that he has, he can’t unsee it. “What?”
Caleb’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times before words come out. “You know I could not always do the time thing.”
“What? I thought it’s just a thing you can do. Like your memory, or knowing directions.”
Caleb shakes his head. “Nein, it’s a matter of training. As is the direction thing, actually.”
Training? Molly’s brow furrows in thought before his stomach sinks again. “Ikithon?”
The smile that tugs up the corners of Caleb’s mouth is more rueful than anything, and he nods. “Ja.” He straightens up, mouth turning down in an exaggerated frown as he says, “I am training you to be the leader of your squad. That is a position that will require specificity and precision.” The voice is different than Caleb’s normal speaking voice, deeper, the accent not the usual soft Zemnian that colors his words, and Molly realizes these are Ikithon’s words. “That week was...well, it was difficult, but in the end I learned what I needed to.” He looks down, shaking his head as he huffs a small laugh. “I was very proud of myself that last day. Prouder perhaps than of anything else I had accomplished to that point, which thinking back on it is kind of stupid. But I was young then.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I had a lot yet to learn.”
Molly opens his mouth to respond, but the door opens before he can, Asshole striding through, barely sparing a glance at Molly as he moves to loom over Caleb again. The expression on Caleb’s face hardens from introspective to irritated in a span of seconds as he looks up at the other man. “It is seven forty-five pm.”
Asshole doesn’t say anything, and Molly can only guess at the expression he wears before he turns and leaves, going right back out the door without saying a word. As soon as the door closes it’s like Caleb shrinks, settling back with a tired sigh.
“You should rest, too, you know.”
“I know.” Caleb rolls his shoulders, settling on his heels again. “I will. Just not yet. Why don’t you close your eyes a while.” He lifts his chin, using it to gesture toward Molly. “Maybe some sleep will help.”
Molly can’t help but snort. “I don’t think a nap is going to fix this.”
“No, probably not. But it won’t hurt.”
Molly shifts, trying to find a comfortable position, and even manages it mostly. As long as he doesn’t move, the pain settles to a dull angry throb that he can mostly tune out. He’s starting to get hungry and thirsty, but he’s going to ignore that as long as he can and hope for the best.
Asshole comes back in a few times through the night, and though Caleb’s voice gets more tired throughout, his answers are always right, and they’re left alone. If Asshole is getting impatient or upset about it, there’s no outward sign, and frankly it’s making Molly nervous.
He’s dozing again, slipping in and out of sleep when the door opens again. Caleb’s still knelt in the middle of the room, but doesn’t move at the sound, head hanging low, hair covering his face, and Molly wonders if he fell asleep sitting up. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’s ever seen Caleb do, but it makes him worry after the other man’s spine.
Caleb’s head tilts up, blinking blearily as Asshole comes to stand in front of him. The light from the cell’s torch catches a glint in Caleb’s eyes, though he doesn’t look entirely present.
“What time is it?”
“It’s-” Caleb blinks, looking dazed, and Molly sits up straighter, pulse starting to race. He’s seen that look on Caleb before, when Caleb’s stayed up all night reading. Hasn’t he slept at all?
Asshole leans in, and Molly can hear the smile in his voice. “Well, wizard? I asked you a question. What time is it?”
“It’s...it’s…” Caleb’s getting agitated, and Molly tenses.
“Time’s up.” Molly waits for Asshole to hit Caleb, but he doesn’t, instead turning to face him , a grin on his face, and Molly looks up at him in surprise. “Oh, he didn’t tell you?” The man saunters over to Molly, and around his side he can see Caleb, eyes gone wide, definitely awake now, and he’s tilted forward, shoulders straining as he pulls against the chains holding him back.
“No! Stop, bitte! It’s...it’s nine-thirty! Please!”
“That’s right, but you took too long. I told you what would happen.”
The dread grows in Molly’s belly, and it’s like seeing an oncoming arrow. He know it’s going to hit, and he know it’s going to hurt, and there’s no way to stop it. Molly, shaking, tilts his head up to look at Asshole’s face. He’s trapped at the mercy of a man who delights in making him suffer; there’s no way this ends well for him. He clenches his jaw and braces as best he can. Caleb’s listening, watching. He needs to try to be strong.
Asshole takes a knee in front him, a smirk on his face. “We already sliced you up a bit.” He reaches out and drags a finger roughly down Molly’s chest, reopening some of the cuts, and Molly flinches, but stays quiet. “Your wrist wasn’t intentional, but I’ll count it. I’m generous that way.” He plays at contemplative, and Molly knows- knows that Asshole has already decided what he’s going to do; he’s just toying with Molly because he can.
The man hums, looks over to the side and down, and Molly’s control starts to slip. He knows exactly what Asshole is looking at.
“How’s that tail feeling?”
Molly cringes, and Asshole’s smile only widens.
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” Asshole reaches, leaning over, and Molly can’t watch, scrunches his eyes shut and turns his head away. Fingers close around his tail and lift, a strangled noise escaping past his lips at the movement despite the fact he’s clenching his jaw hard enough to ache. He intentionally tugs at his broken wrist, hoping it will distract him, but he very quickly realizes there’s nothing that can distract him from Asshole gripping on either side of one of the breaks in his tail and bending it back and forth. A scream tears out of him, and all thought of putting up a strong front for Caleb evaporates. Once he starts, it’s like a dam breaking; he can’t control the sounds he’s making, isn’t even aware what most of them are, far too absorbed in the screaming agony in his tail. After a moment Asshole moves to the other break and gives it the same treatment; the gray fog is back, creeping in at the edges of Molly’s vision, swirling into bursts of stars even with his eyes closed. Caleb’s yelling, but it’s hard to tell what he’s saying over the sound of his own cries. Everything hurts so much he doesn’t immediately notice when Asshole stops and sets his tail back down with exaggerated care on the floor.
He’s shaking uncontrollably, sobbing, and he so badly wants to curl into a ball but can’t, the cuffs keeping his wrists pinned. There’s a hand in his hair, tousling it almost playfully, and then Asshole is heading for the door. “Back later. Keep better track next time.”
The door shuts, locking, and for a few beats there’s silence other than the harsh sounds of their breathing and Molly’s occasional hitching sobs.
“Mollymauk, I am so sorry.”
It takes him time to gather himself again to speak. He wants to pass out, isn’t sure he’ll have a choice about it in a moment, but he wants Caleb to know. “Not your fault, cariad. I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have told him.” He gets his eyes open, ignores the gray swirls that float across his vision, and finds Caleb watching him, eyes still wide, tears streaked down his face and looking gutted.
“Molly-”
Molly’s already shaking his head; it makes him dizzy and he has to stop after a second, letting his head drop to his arm again. “Nope, no. Only so much guilt to go around, Widogast. Finite supply and I’m using it. You’ll have to...to...figure out something else.” The pull of unconsciousness is strong, and it’s a mercy when it pulls him under.
He wakes up some time later to the sound of the door opening, but he doesn’t bother opening his eyes. He expects to hear Asshole asking Caleb about the time and startles, eyes flying open, at the feel of a hand on his shoulder.
It’s one of the other guards holding a water skin, and all the thirst he’s been doing his best to ignore suddenly surges to the forefront of his mind. He licks at his cracked lips, but holds himself back, waits until the man puts it to his mouth and tilts it before making any kind of sound, convinced that if he acts too needy they’ll take it away just to spite him. The man doesn’t, though, letting Molly drink deeply before pulling it back, and it’s a struggle not to beg for more. To Molly’s relief, the man heads to Caleb next, and Caleb is equally silent through the process, though whether that’s a conscious choice or not he can’t tell.
There’s a smokey smell like a cook fire in the room and Molly’s stomach twists. The water’s helped revive him some, but he’s still hungry, and the smell reminds him of the bacon Beau carries in her pockets.
The guard finishes with Caleb and goes, leaving them alone again. Caleb is still kneeling, slumped forward and rocking slightly though he pauses and looks up when Molly calls his name. He looks haggard, the circles more pronounced under his eyes, and again, Molly is struck by how tired he looks.
“Love, did you sleep at all last night?” Molly keeps his voice non-judgmental, but Caleb’s shoulders still inch up towards his ears.
“No, not after he-” Caleb takes a stuttering breath, and tries again. “No. I did not.” He moves out of the kneeling position with a wince, carefully unfolding his legs from under him so they’re out front, one stretched toward Molly and the other bent to help him maintain balance. “I use the sun to maintain my awareness of time. It becomes difficult to mark time accurately if I haven’t seen it for awhile. If I sleep, there is a substantial chance I will lose track.”
Molly stares at him for a moment. “You can’t just not sleep.”
“And if I lose track again, what do you think he will do to you next?” Caleb’s looking at him now, his eyes burning with intensity. “I have no doubt that a mind like his can be devilishly creative, and I for one do not feel inclined to watch him practice his art on you. I could barely watch last night, please don’t ask me to do something intentionally that will cause you more harm.”
Molly rests his head back against the wall with a noise of frustration. “You can’t stay awake forever, Caleb. Eventually your body won’t give you a choice in the matter.”
“I don’t need to stay awake forever. I only need to stay awake long enough.”
Long enough- long enough for escape, long enough for rescue, long enough for something to change. At his best, Molly likes to think he’s an optimist, expecting the best of circumstance and the people around him. At his worst, he knows it’s not that he’s an optimist, but rather that the world is often a terrible place, and he’s just a contrary bastard. So while he of course hopes for rescue, hopes for escape, the more practical parts of him know that’s not more likely to happen just because he wishes it to be so. There’s a real likelihood that one or both of them will end up dead, or possibly something worse.
He’s trying very hard not to think of all the things in the ‘worse’ category.
He and Caleb stare at each other another moment before Caleb drops his gaze back to the floor, the fight going out of him.
“Caleb-” Molly takes a breath and lets it out slowly, choosing his words with care. “When he hurts me again,” Caleb starts to protest, but Molly swallows and keeps going, forcing his voice even. “When he hurts me again, I don’t want you blaming yourself. I know you will, and that’s bullshit. I’m the one who told him about the time thing in the first place because I couldn’t take a fucking interrogation.” A wounded noise slips from Caleb, but Molly presses on. “If this is anyone’s fault it’s mine, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am I’ve put you in this position, love, because I am. So very sorry.” Caleb’s shaking and there’s very little Molly wants more right now than to be able to hold him and tell him it will be alright. “I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. I wish I could take this burden from you, but I can’t do that either. The only thing I can do right now is to tell you that whatever happens, I love you, and don’t blame you. This is the fault of my own stupidity and that asshole’s sadistic streak. Nothing more.”
“I want to believe you.” Caleb’s voice is quiet and pain-filled, and it makes Molly’s heart ache.
“Then do.”
Caleb smiles sadly at him. “Were that it was that simple.”
In that moment the door opens again and this time it is Asshole. He throws a grin at Molly before turning to Caleb.
“And how are you this fine morning?”
Caleb scowls up at him. “It’s not morning. It’s twelve thirty-seven pm.”
“That it may be, but-” Asshole swiftly kneels down in front of Caleb, leaning forward into Caleb’s space far enough and fast enough that Caleb falls back onto the floor, landing on his bound arms with a pained grunt and a clatter of chain. “It’s only a matter of time until you fuck up again, and when it happens, I’ll be waiting.” Asshole glances over his shoulder at Molly and winks, the look in his eyes making Molly go cold, ice slipping down his spine and collecting like a pit in his stomach. “I have plans for him.”
With a grin, Asshole stands and heads back out the door, but not before tossing a salute at Molly. “I’ll be seeing you.”
Once he’s gone, Caleb rolls over and with some effort gets back to his knees, settling in a kneeling position again. “I will not let him hurt you.”
“That’s sweet of you to say, cariad, but he’s playing with us. He doesn’t need an excuse, he just enjoys making us suffer.”
“Ja, and if I can keep him from doing that for even a little while longer I am going to.”
They’re at a stalemate, and Molly lacks the energy to keep pushing. His ribs are a dull ache that spikes each time he forgets himself and breathes too deeply. His broken wrist has gone distressingly numb after the struggling he’d done earlier, and he worries that there’s some sort of irreparable damage. In any case there’s nothing he can do about it, and he supposes if it’s a choice between it being numb and being agonizing, he’ll choose numb. His tail…
Molly glances over and down in dismay at the wreck of his tail. The two breaks are obvious, the normally elegant curve interrupted by abrupt angles where there shouldn’t be any. The places around the breaks are swollen smooth and shiny and gone a much darker purple than the surrounding skin, and as much as it hurts it’s a constant effort to remember to keep it still; it’s draining in a way he hadn’t expected, and even though he feels like he hasn’t been awake long, he can feel the pull of sleep calling him again.
He doesn’t realize he’s closed his eyes until a noise startles him, and he jolts awake with a groan.
“Ssh, schatz, it’s just me. I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.” Caleb shifts, the sound of chain shifting behind him, and Molly drifts off again.
He resurfaces a little while later, feeling better for having slept even if it wasn’t especially comfortable or restful. He wiggles the fingers of his uninjured hand around, trying to get circulation flowing again, and flexes his shoulders as much as his cuffs will allow, sighing quietly at the small pops he gets out of them. There’s a sound he can’t place, and after a moment he realizes it’s Caleb, rocking again and murmuring quietly to himself. Molly listens harder, trying to pick out the words, and it’s something he recognizes, the words to Caleb’s Fire Bolt cantrip, though that doesn’t make any sense. Caleb’s still kneeling and hunched in on himself, and Molly’s about to call out to him when the runes on the band around Caleb’s throat flare a blue so bright it’s blinding. Caleb’s whole body seizes, a high-pitched whine of pain the only noise that escapes him. A second later the light from the collar subsides and Caleb slumps sideways, barely catching himself from falling at the last moment.
“Caleb!” Molly’s wide awake now, and the smell from earlier is back, stronger, pervading the room; the smell he’d thought was bacon, that he now realizes is very much not. “Caleb, what are you doing ?”
Caleb’s shaking from the after-effect of the shock, the muscle spasms setting the chains jingling behind him. “St-staying...awake.”
“Fucking hells, Caleb-” Molly mutters, horrified, as he watches a small wisp of smoke float up lazily from under Caleb’s hair. “What are you thinking? It’s not worth-”
“Do not say that.” Caleb’s still trembling, but his words are firm. “Do not say that you’re not worth it. Look at what he has already done to you, what you have suffered in the short time we have been here. How can-” Caleb’s voice breaks, and he shakes his head. “A little shock is a small price to pay to keep you safe a while longer.”
“A little shock? You absolute ass,” Molly hisses. “If it were the other way around, would you consider it such a small price to pay? If it were you over here beat to shit and sliced up, and me over there with the collar on trying to keep track, are you telling me you’d be okay with it?” Caleb hesitates to answer, and Molly knows he’s gotten his point across. He softens his next words. “I know you want to protect me, love. I get it, and that’s a good impulse, and I appreciate it, but do you know what it’s like watching that happen? Think of how you felt watching him hurt me last night, then imagine me doing it to myself on purpose. How do you think that feels?”
Caleb’s expression crumples, and he sounds heartbroken when he says, “I do not want to help him hurt you, Mollymauk.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re not.” Molly tilts his head to the side, letting it come to rest on his good arm again. “I promise you, you’re not. Everything he’s doing, he’s doing with no help from you; he’d be doing it anyway. You’re just a prop. A very pretty prop, mind you, but a prop nonetheless.”
This pulls a wet laugh from Caleb, which was Molly’s intention. Molly takes a moment to breathe, watching as Caleb collects himself. “I don’t want to fight with you, Caleb. This whole experience, this is shit just all around. I’m sorry we’re both here, and that this is happening, but-” Molly takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “I am glad that I’m not alone.”
Caleb lets out a breath, deflating. “Ja. Me too.”
Caleb falls asleep, as Molly knew he would. The fact that it was inevitable does nothing to staunch the flood of panic from Caleb when he wakes up, sprawled on his side on the stone floor. He jerks awake, chain rattling, and fights to get back up to his knees as he mutters rapid-fire Zemnian, getting more and more agitated.
“Caleb, please, it’s alright.” All Molly can do is watch as Caleb fights to breathe past the panic.
“It is not alright.” Caleb is curled forward, bent near double on his knees, his forehead practically on the floor as he shakes. “Molly, I...I don’t know...the time, I don’t know the time, and he will come back and ask and it will be wrong-”
“Caleb-” Molly tugs fruitlessly at his arms again, stuffing down the worry that it’s getting harder to get them to respond. “Caleb, love, I need you to breathe with me, can you do that? One thing at a time, yeah? Breathing first. Can’t do anything else if you aren’t breathing.” Molly takes loud, obvious breaths, willfully ignoring the burning stabs of pain from his ribs on each inhale. After a moment, Caleb follows, breaths gradually starting to slow. Molly’s barely gotten Caleb calm when Asshole returns.
He takes one look at the expression on Caleb’s face and grins.
“Oh, little wizard.” He kneels down next to Caleb who flinches back, still shaking, and gods, Molly hasn’t wanted to kill someone so badly, on such a deep visceral level, in awhile. It’s as he’s thinking this that he has a sudden realization, and he feels like the worst kind of idiot for not realizing it sooner.
Caleb’s wearing a magic suppression collar-
-but he’s not.
This is a terrible idea, an awful idea; this is the sort of idea that would normally get him chewed out, and rightfully so.
But-
-he sees the look of horrified panic on Caleb’s face, and it’s no effort at all to push his anger, pain, and frustration into the Infernal he spits at the man who put that look there.
“You’re the worst sort of coward, aren’t you, picking on chained prisoners.”
Asshole jolts in surprise with a startled noise of pain before whipping around to face Molly.
Molly grins, fangs flashing. “That’s right, nitwit, I’m talking to you, you magnificent moron.”
The man flinches again and stands, blood dripping from his nose, and Molly goes for one more as Asshole lurches towards him. “I’ve met sharper loaves of bread, you- ” Molly doesn’t get to finish the last one as Asshole slams his fist into Molly’s side, and his vision flashes white, his ribs grinding in ways ribs weren’t meant to.
“Awfully chatty now, aren’t you?”
Molly can’t answer, still fighting to breathe; gods it hurts so much. He finally manages a shallow breath. “Well-” Molly coughs, and tastes blood, the stabbing pain in his ribs not receding, and that’s probably very bad. “Couldn’t- let him- let him do all the talking.”
Asshole is smiling at him, and Molly smiles back, though it falters when Asshole grabs him by the throat- “I think I’m done with hearing you talk for awhile.”- and squeezes.
If it was hard to breathe before, it’s impossible now; Molly struggles, desperate to dislodge Asshole’s grip, but his hands are pinned and Asshole’s in close. He tries to kick, and Asshole sits on his legs. Black spots are filtering across his vision, and he’s quickly losing the ability to fight; he feels oddly like he’s floating, like the connection to his body’s come loose.
Caleb’s yelling, and Molly keeps seeing flashes of light- Caleb trying to cast past the collar- and he really wishes he’d stop; he’s hurting himself needlessly.
Molly’s vision has tunneled down to almost nothing, only able to see the grin on Asshole’s face because he’s so close. He’s seconds from passing out again when there’s a loud noise and the door to the cell shudders.
Asshole looks over in confusion, hand still around Molly’s throat as the door shudders again a few seconds later.
“What the f-”
The door splinters and cracks down the middle, the two halves flying inward. One half narrowly misses Caleb, but the other hits Asshole and knocks him back, forcing him to release Molly’s throat. In the doorway is a large, shimmering, purple and pink swirled lollipop.
It really shouldn’t surprise Molly that their rescue, when it arrives, is both magnificently well-timed and a force of unrelenting chaos, as actions of the Mighty Nein tend to be.
The ensuing fight is very quick and very messy, and Molly can’t bring himself to feel even a little sorry for how thoroughly Asshole gets defeated.
It’s still very hard to breathe, and his throat aches and burns as he drags air through it, but for the first time in days he’s not worried. Asshole is dead, and his friends are here. Nott, Fjord, and Jester are with Caleb, trying to get his chains and collar off. The jolts had knocked him out partway through the rescue, and he’s only just starting to come around.
Now that they’re more or less safe, Molly’s crashing, all the adrenaline that had flooded through him with Asshole’s hand around his throat gone, leaving him shaking and shocky.
“Molly?”
He opens his eyes, not remembering when he’d closed them and looks up to see Yasha knelt in front of him, face a mask of concern, and he smiles at her.
“Hey, storm cloud. Nice to- to see you.” The spots in his vision are still there and getting worse; he goes to draw a shallow breath and he coughs, feels and tastes the blood that flecks out of his mouth.
Yasha’s eyes go wide in alarm, and she turns, yelling. “Jester, get over here now!”
“No need- to- to panic.” It’s a fight to keep his eyes open, he knows he should stay awake, but it’s hard. He can’t breathe, he’s so tired, and in so much pain, he can’t imagine they’d fault him if he took a short nap.
“Oh Molly… ” There are hands on his side, small and scalding hot, and he whines, trying to pull away. “Shhh, Molly you have to let me heal you.” There’s a surge of warmth through his side and he chokes on a noise that would be a scream if he had the air for it as his ribs shift back into place and his lung re-inflates. When the magic subsides he can breath easily and pain-free, and he sags against the wall, shaking with it.
“Thank you, dear.”
“Not done yet, let’s see what else- oh no.” She shuffles over to his side. “Oh Traveler, Molly, your tail.” Her hands rest gently over both breaks, and he knows it’s her, knows she’ll never hurt him, that she’s helping, but he can’t stop the reflexive flinch and whine when her hands make contact. “I know, I know, I know, I am so sorry, I know this must hurt terribly, but I have to fix this. Take a deep breath, Molly.”
He does as she asks, closing his eyes, and as he exhales she unleashes a spell into him; this time he does have the air to scream as his tail realigns and the bone and connective tissue knit back together. By the time she’s done he’s dizzy with relief and glad for the grounding feel of Yasha’s hand on his shoulder. Jester sits back on her heels and gives him a critical once over. “I know there is more to do for you, for Caleb as well, but it would be better for you to be out of the restraints first. I think Nott almost has Caleb out of his, and then she can get you out of yours. Is that okay?”
Molly nods, looking over toward Caleb and is pleased to see they’ve gotten the wretched collar off of him, though his stomach turns at the bright red band of shiny burns around his neck where the collar had shocked him. Fjord has Caleb sitting up and leaning against him as Nott sits behind him, picking the locks on his cuffs. Another minute goes by before she has him free, and Fjord helps him unsteadily to his feet, Caleb’s knees almost giving more than once. They manage to get him over to where everyone else is waiting and they tuck Caleb against Molly’s side while Nott gets to work on the lock for Molly’s restraints.
The feel of Caleb’s warm weight against him is incredibly soothing after the last couple of days, and it’s an almost physical pain that he still can’t get his arms around the wizard. While they’re waiting, Jester heals Caleb’s neck and the bruising at his wrists from where he’d struggled. Caleb’s looking much better now, to Molly’s relief- he still looks exhausted, and will need a good long rest in a comfortable bed, and they both need something to eat, but his color is already much better than it was.
“Okay,” Nott’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. “I’ve just about got it, if you guys could get his arms?” Yasha gets one, and Caleb the the other; there’s a soft click, and the lock pops open, allowing Nott to swing the front piece of the cuffs away. It’s a good thing Yasha and Caleb are helping because Molly quickly realizes he has no control of his arms and he groans as blood starts to flow back in. Yasha gently sets his right hand down on his lap, rubbing circles on his palm with her thumb, but Caleb is still carefully holding his left arm, the one with the broken wrist. It’s just as bad as Molly had feared, swollen and bruised a deep plum, with an imprint from where the cuff had pressed into the swelling. He still can’t quite feel it, but there’s a dull bone-deep ache that promises agony.
“Oof. Here, hold his arm out a little further, Caleb? Thank you.” Jester puts careful hands over his wrist with an apologetic glance up at him. “This one is also going to hurt. I’m sorry, there’s just so much damage…”
“That’s quite alright, dear, I know it’s necessary.” Molly gets a weak grip on Yasha with his other hand and braces himself. “When you’re ready.”
Jester’s hands spark with magic, and he manages not to scream this time, though it’s a close thing.
“There we go!” Jester says as she pulls her hands away. She looks up at both him and Caleb, frowning. “I know you two need a bit more but I have to wait until tomorrow to be able to do it. You were both kind of fucked up, you know?”
“I think I’ll be alright until then.” Molly looks over at Caleb to find he’s looking down at Molly’s throat with concern. Caleb reaches gentle fingers up to ghost over the tender spots Molly can feel from Asshole’s attentions and down to some of the slices on his chest. “They’ll keep ‘til morning, love, I promise. Nothing a little tea and honey and some sleep can’t fix. In the meantime, I don’t know about you all, but I would be utterly delighted if we could please get the fuck out of this place.”
Fjord and Jester help Caleb up while Yasha just scoops Molly up into her arms entirely, and Molly grins up at her. “Beau is going to be so jealous...where is the angry one, anyway?”
Nott pipes up before Yasha can answer. “I think she’s punching information out of a guy. We should probably go find her before she turns him to paste.”
Nott gets her copper wire out to Message Beau, and Molly closes his eyes, leaning in against Yasha’s chest to get comfortable for the ride out. He feels something brush the top of his head and when he opens his eyes and tilts his head to look, Caleb is just lowering his hand. Caleb smiles at him, and they share a look, both of them relieved, exhausted, and glad to finally be leaving this place behind them.