Chapter Text
Burning. He's burning. Across his ribs and his arm. Seems a bit specific to be the hells, honestly. Isn't the whole point the all-over eternal flames?
And what is that wailing? Death is awfully loud. It's growing clearer, words putting themselves together from the terrible noise. What is she saying? She? Of course it's her, no one else can howl like that.
"Wake up!" The anguished plea blazes clearly, unconsciousness lifting.
Astarion opens his eyes.
Karlach is slumped across his stomach, bright flames curling from her hair. Her skin is unbearably hot. The horrid keening is from her, a stream of beseeching sobs from her mouth.
"Wake up, please, Astarion."
He's so tired. Even with her skin activity searing his own, he's bone-cold. Colder than even the time in the tomb. His eyes flick around, finding hazy figures. With terrific effort, he raises a hand and rests it on the armor of Karlach's back, shielding himself from the worst of the heat.
"Karlach, darling, you're burning me," he says weakly.
The tiefling jumps at his words, scrambling to sit back, welted flesh left behind at the points of contact. Her eyes are tear-bright, wide with shock. Her entire face breaks into a splitting grin of relief and her sobs stop, turning to little hiccups as she calms herself.
"You're okay! Right? You're really here?"
Astarion wants so badly to sit up but everything in him screams at the idea. His head throbs. "Before I say I'm okay, could you refresh my memory of how we got to this point?"
Karlach brushes dirt-streaked hair from his face, careful not to make contact with his skin. "We got into a fight. It went bad. I didn't see the first couple times you were hit. You took a sword through the chest, Astarion."
"Did I?"
"Yes. And I couldn't get to you. None of us could. Not quick enough to stabilize you. And then we thought the revivify failed somehow. You just… wouldn't wake up."
The agony in her eyes gives Astarion a rare desire to apologize. The wailing. It had all been Karlach. Has he ever heard anyone cry like that? Let alone for him?
"I'm here, Karlach," is what he settles on. He holds out a hand to her, then thinks better of it. Now that she's calmed down a bit, the flames have dissipated from her hair, but the heat rolls off her in waves timed to the pulse of her engine.
She looks away, tucking her hands to her sides where she won't accidentally set anything alight. Something close to shame bubbles in her chest, under the rumble of the engine. The burn marks on Astarion aren't helping the matter, either.
The other figures are closer now, where Astarion's tired eyes can see them. Gale. Lae'zel.
The former looks entirely exhausted, shoulders slumped, though he gives a small smile. Lae'zel is covered in blood and viscera, her mottled skin barely visible under the scrim of red.. Astarion can see that she's in pain behind her stoicism. Her arm twists strangely, bending where it shouldn’t.
"Karlach," Lae'zel says, her voice startlingly gentle, "He's okay. We need to get back to camp. Gale is too tired for more spells and my arm is broken. Come on."
Karlach nods, but Astarion is in no condition to walk. Lae'zel could probably carry him, if she wasn't contending with her own broken bones.
Instead, they wrap Astarion in several layers of fabric and leather so that Karlach can hold him safely. Gale manages to scrape up enough energy to cast a bit of protective magic over the outermost piece, a last shield. He looks considerably worse for the effort.
Karlach scoops Astarion up, and a shooting pain lances through his ribs. He cries out, taken aback by just how much his wound hurts. Karlach murmurs an apology, shifting him in her arms. Something in him recoils at being carried like a small child, though he's too tired to protest.
It's a long walk back to camp. Karlach's gaze is far away, head turning over on itself. Her body aches, but adrenaline dulls the pain. All that matters is getting to safety.
Over Karlach's shoulder, Astarion watches as Gale helps Lae'zel navigate the steep sections of terrain. The fact that she's letting him is worrying in and of itself.
Gale seems physically sound, save a few small cuts here and there. His eyes, though, are deep-sunk and haunted. Astarion doesn't envy whatever spell he's been subjected to.
As they stumble into their cluster of tents, everyone in camp (minus Withers, always the unbothered little shit), scrambles to their feet and rushes over. Karlach pushes through the crowd, stopping in front of Halsin. Her eyes glow with a worried intensity.
The druid's eyes are wide. Astarion wheezes as he's passed into another set of powerful arms, but he manages to bite back an undignified whimper.
"I'll fix him up. And put some pressure on that thigh, Karlach. I know you won't let me help until Astarion's sorted. But I'll see to you next, no arguing."
Astarion realizes he somehow hasn't seen Karlach's injuries. He assumed she's okay, given that she hauled him back here. But as he's taken away, he looks her over, and can't believe his eyes.
There's broken arrows sticking out of her side, her back. Claw marks across one shin. And a great cleaving gash is carved into her thigh, still actively oozing blood. Something is wrong internally, too. She holds her hands over her stomach, a great bruise across her midsection.
And yet she had carried him back. It hadn't even been a question. A strange mix of emotions bubbles up, but before he can sort them out, Halsin is laying him back on a bedroll.
"You took a serious injury, Astarion," Halsin frets.
"Believe me, I can feel it."
Halsin chuckles, then goes digging through one of his chests. After a bit of clinking from the glass bottles inside, he produces a healing potion. It's larger than the ones Astarion normally carries, a different shape too.
"Sip on this. I'm going to work on your ribs now."
Astarion does as he's told, uncorking the bottle. The contents are terribly bitter and he gags, then immediately winces as the motion aggravates his chest.
The druid helps him out of his armor, the stiff leather practically shredded. He's going to need a new set.
Halsin kneels beside him, laying huge hands on his chest and stomach. Astarion grits his teeth and resists the impulse to snap at Halsin for touching him. Halsin is safe. Halsin is safe. He repeats it to himself over and over again until his neck stops prickling.
The druid recites a strand of rumbling words, palms glowing faint blue. Astarion feels himself relax, head dropping back as the pain eases. He sighs, eyes flickering shut, and lets the sensation of cool water wash through him.
Halsin pulls away. "All patched up. I took care of the burn on your chest, too. The one on your arm just needs a little bit of salve on it and the potion should have it fixed by morning." More quietly, “Did Karlach burn you?”
Astarion nods. Halsin just sighs. “Poor girl. She’s got the biggest heart of all of us. And yet she’s stuck, alone, by her own body. I just hope that mechanic finds a way to fix her engine.”
Astarion silently agrees as Halson picks him up again, the pain in his chest now nothing more than a dull ache, and takes him to his little corner of camp. He thanks Halsin, shimmying under his blanket.
Halsin pats Astarion's head. "Let me know if you need anything." Strangely the gesture doesn't provoke anything negative in Astarion. He touches his hair where Halsin's hand has been, once again confused.
Gods, he's exhausted. As soon as Halsin is gone, he wraps himself up tightly in his blanket and shuts his eyes.
~~~
Karlach winces as she pulls fine thread through the ripped flesh of her thigh. Halsin watches, grimacing.
"I'm sorry I can't do that myself, Karlach."
She shakes her head, starting another stitch. "Don't worry about it. It's not the first time I've had to patch myself up."
Halsin frowns. "That's all well and good, but you can't fix everything by yourself. I can tell you've got bruised organs and fractured ribs. Healing potions only go so far."
She snips the suture. "I know, Halsin. It's not like I've been dealing with this for a decade or anything." Karlach immediately feels bad for snapping at the druid. "Sorry. I know you're just worried."
"It's okay. At least let me use healing word?”
Karlach nods, listening as Halsin recites a few quick phrases. It's like rain peppering over her skin, soft and cooling. The sensation is gone in a few heartbeats. The throbbing ache in her stomach quiets to a whisper. The punctures left from the arrows grow shallow. A relieved groan escapes her. "Thank you."
Halsin plies her with potion bottles, telling her he expects them to be consumed by sunrise. She nods, making a show of sipping on one until the druid is satisfied. Much as she loves Halsin, his hovering can be suffocating.
She stands with a wince. "I'm going to go for a walk. Need to clear my head before I go to sleep. I'll yell if I need anything, before you go worrying."
Halsin gives an amused, long-suffering sigh, "Don't suppose I can convince you to stay where I can see you, hmm?"
"Not a chance, big guy."
He chuckles and starts packing his things into a bag. "Very well. I'll be with Lae'zel and Gale for a good while, I think, so you know where to find me."
Karlach nods and limps away. She stops by her tent, changing into her lounge clothes. The leather and linen cling to her form, a comforting embrace. She can feel the magic for a moment, protecting the garments from her skin. She grabs Clive and tucks the bear under one arm, then heads for the edge of camp.
She passes Astarion's tent, slowing. Karlach can't tell if she wants him to be awake just now or not. But the inside of the tent is dark and silent. She moves on, doing her best to ignore the disappointment that answers the question for her.
The walk is less than relaxing. Navigating twisted roots and jumbled logs is hard enough on two sound legs. Her injured thigh trembles under the strain of her travel. Finally, she sits down on the smooth stone at the top of a small waterfall.
Alone at last, Karlach's composure breaks. She sobs into Clive's soft fabric, holding the stuffed bear close. Her leg hurts something awful after the exertion of getting out here. The new wound throbs, a significantly deeper injury than her old scars of misery. It’s puffy around the stitches, significantly more irritated after the journey out here. She pulls the cork on a potion and downs it like a shot. It soothes the gash, but not the raw feeling in her chest.
Gods, she hadn't realized how deeply she cared for Astarion until she'd seen that metal push through him. Until he didn't stir as Gale cast revivify. If she still had a heart, it would have seized then and there.
And she'd managed to hurt him more, burned him. For the millionth time she curses her engine, curses Zariel and Avernus and everyone and everything that had turned her into this glowing-hot monster. A monster destined to be nothing but a tool, or to die. What a happy thought.
All cried out, Karlach dangles her feet over the edge of the stone. She hugs Clive, her one bit of comfort from home, and stares silently out at the moon-polished forest.
~~~
Astarion fully expects sleep to take him, given the amount of shit his body has been through in the last day. But he's proven wrong. As he lies there, his thoughts wander.
Karlach. Kind to a degree he finds a bit nauseating. He doesn't show it, of course, but he resonates with her story. The parts she has shared, anyway. Strange, how different they are for all their misery in common. He wonders if she would be just as bitter and hostile as he is if she were given two centuries to fester. Or would her caring heart (or lack thereof) prevail?
He can't get her wailing out of his head. The memory of it echoes in his ears. His heart, still and quiet, feels like it's twisting. She had been crying for him. Had anyone cried for him the way she had? He doesn't think so. Maybe his parents, though he never saw the aftermath of his turning. He couldn't bear to return to them as a vampire. Best to let them think he's been long dead.
Faded memories of his family unravel from where he's kept them buried. It's hard to remember their faces. He's forgotten so much. He can't picture his mother anymore, not really. The general shape of her face, the color and length of her hair is still there. But he can't conjure the slope of her nose, can't recall where freckles fell across her face. Were her favorite earrings green or blue? Details slipping, slipping, slipping away to time.
Astarion sits up, unable to take his thoughts any longer. His usually comforting blanket feels suffocating. He scrambles to his feet, nearly knocking over one of his shelves. Several bottles fall but remain unbroken.
Astarion darts through the shadows of the camp. Logically, he knows he doesn't have to be so secretive with this group, but old habits die hard.
A mellow voice calls out to him. "Can't sleep?"
It's Halsin, walking back from Lae'zel's corner of camp. Astarion freezes. He turns around, fighting to keep his voice from wavering. "Just need to go for a walk."
The larger man looks him up and down, as if he could sniff out an injury with merely a glance. Hells, he probably can. "Enjoy your walk. If it doesn't help, I can brew you something that will help you get some rest."
Astarion nods, then slips away into the trees.
His feet carry him towards the sound of running water. Moonlight catches on the rippling surface of the stream, little sparks of silver in the dark. He follows the winding course, the soft rush dampening the noise in his own head.
The stream slips over a short cliff, a falling watery ribbon. Astarion startles. At the edge of the rocks, feet dangling over the side and staring at the sky, is Karlach. He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should approach.
He hops over the stream, wanting her company. She twists her head back, hand going for her axe, but stops. "Astarion? What are you doing out here?"
He sits down beside her before answering. Even with an arm's length between them, he can feel the warmth of the air surrounding her. "Couldn't sleep is all."
"Same here. I keep thinking about the fight today."
"Thank you for bringing me back to camp."
"No big deal."
Deep breath. "I hadn't realized you were injured. You could have made it so much worse, carrying me."
She looks over, an amused gleam in her eyes. "You're worried about my health? Did you hit your head, too? Or am I speaking to a different Astarion?"
He pokes her shoulder, quickly, to avoid a burn. "Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of caring about the wellbeing of my companions."
"Shocking!" She throws her hands up, laughing.
Astarion chuckles too, but he looks away.
Karlach's grin fades. "Hey, I'm just messing with you. I know you care about us, Astarion.”
A frustrated sigh. "You're right though. I don't know how to stop being so frigid. I've been like this," he gestures to the entirety of himself, "longer than I was alive. You don't exactly get to show or be shown kindness with Cazador."
"It's not quite the same, but I get it. The Hells aren't exactly friendly, either."
Astarion gives her a sad smile. A warm hand is suddenly resting near his own. He doesn't pull away.
They sit like that for a long time, the stream song and starlight swirling around them. Astarion steels himself and scoots a sliver closer. This desire to be near Karlach, it aches. And it's terrifying. Why does she make him feel like this?
Astarion is taken by a sick wave of self-loathing for his weakness. Maybe the tadpole is the reason he's feeling this way about Karlach. Yes, that's got to be it. He doesn't get to have these feelings, no. It's just the stupid little worm carving tunnels in their brains.
Karlach can sense Astarion's walls coming back up. He seems to scrunch in on himself, pulling away. Her stomach twists, hoping she can stop it before he's cut himself off again.
She tilts her head, "You can come closer if you want. No touching, of course. But I don't mind."
The offer catches Astarion off-guard. He's unused to the offer of comfort. No one wants to be near a vampire. He chances a look up, finding Karlach's eyes warm and genuine.
Tentatively, he shuffles to close the space between them, until they are nearly hip to hip. Astarion's stomach is doing all sorts of flip flopping. Even his usually still heart is twitching with the nerves coursing through him. He can feel it fluttering under his ribs, trying to beat properly. He's not even touching her and yet his body is in overdrive.
"There you are," Karlach whispers, tilting her head. She swallows nervously. "I- I wish I could hold you in my lap."
"I wouldn't mind that." The words are out before he can stop them and the tips of his ears turn pink with what little blood is in his system.
Astarion wants Karlach in a way he hasn't wanted anyone in a long time. Holy shit she deserves someone better than himself. She's been alone for so long, he won't be able to give her everything she needs. Not with how irreparably broken he is.
"Karlach, I-" he stutters, wishing he could just fade away.
"Hmm?"
"I'm enjoying this, whatever we have going on between us. Very much. But I need you to understand that I'm not what you need." I'll only end up destroying you.
"And what exactly do you think I need, elf boy?" Her voice is teasing, though the undercurrent of uncertainty doesn't go unnoticed.
Astarion stares at the dirt, shame coursing through him. "Someone who can be a better partner, who can touch you the way you want to be touched. Because I don't think I can. Not… not anymore."
Something hot and wet drips to the dirt. She's crying. "Astarion, in case you haven't noticed, I can't exactly be touched by anyone." She tries to lighten the mood, tapping the glowing engine under her skin. "I got the ol' chastity belt add-on."
Astarion snorts.
She keeps on, smiling at him through tear-bright eyes. "I like being around you. Really. You make me laugh, and whatever you may think about yourself, I know you're a good person. One who's been dealt a shit hand, but good all the same." Her voice breaks. "I thought I lost you today. I was so scared, Astarion."
Something inside Astarion is crumbling, leaving a yawning chasm in his ribs. The emotions are too much. He can't identify them as they swirl chaotically in his head. Oh goodness, he's crying. When did that start? He doesn't deserve her kindness.
And once the tears flow, he can't stop them. He's sniffling, choked little whimpers escaping him. Searing embarrassment floods him at his lack of control. Karlach aches to hold him and curses her engine for the millionth time. "Easy, easy," she says lowly. She's crying too, tears steaming where they hit the ground.
"I'm okay," he sniffs. "Just tired, I think."
Karlach respects his unwillingness to talk about his emotions, feeling Astarion closing off again. Still, sad as it was, she cradles this moment of vulnerability. She's the only one to have seen underneath the haughty mask.
She hums a half-remembered tune into the darkness, banishing the awkward silence that stretches between them. Astarion recognizes it from somewhere long ago. He stills, listening to her rough voice as she flicks pebbles into the stream below.
They stay like that for a long time. The night is chilly, but Astarion doesn't feel it. Not with Karlach's perpetual heat bubble enveloping them. He sprawls out on the rocks, unwilling to go back to camp yet, and just as unwilling to be alone. Odd behavior for himself, but then again being around Karlach makes him feel all sorts of unusual things. He's not sure when he falls asleep.
The next thing he knows, it's morning. The sun is a fair bit off the horizon but not over the treetops just yet. He snuggles deeper under the blanket, pleasantly warm.
Wait a minute. Blanket? He looks around, finding Karlach snoring softly behind him, curled up on herself, her own blanket wrapped around her tail and one leg. She's holding Clive to her chest. Heat radiates off her even in the depths of her slumber, though her engine glows more faintly. Cute, that it grows quiet when she does.
His confusion recedes, remembering last night. The rock beneath them isn't exactly the most comfortable bed, but extended exposure to Karlach's body heat has warmed it to a cozy degree. Now that just leaves the question of the blanket, because he's quite sure neither of them had one.
The scent on it is a clue. It smells strongly of pine and soil. Halsin, probably. Had he gotten worried and come out here looking for them?
Karlach stirs as the sky brightens. "Good morning, Astarion."
He starts to sit up, already regretting leaving the little warmth pooled under the blanket. "Did we really stay out here the whole night?"
"Yep. You nodded off and I didn't want to wake you." More quietly, "First time I've seen you sleep without all the twitching and stuff."
Astarion realizes she's right. For the first time in ages, he hadn't had any nightmares. Not one. The usual pall of anxiety that he had to tamp down every morning is at the far edges of his mind.
"It was good sleep," he concurs, not sure of how to express just how thoroughly relaxed he is. Mentally, anyway. His body is another matter. "Hells, my hip is killing me."
Karlach laughs and props herself up. "My shoulder isn't much better." Hesitantly, she adds, "Maybe a bedroll by my tent would be better next time?"
Astarion is blushing furiously, no denying it this time. What would the others think? And holy shit, when did he start caring about that?
"No pressure!" Karlach says quickly.
His stomach lurches with anxiety, but there's that warmth in his chest again. "I'm not sure. Let me think on it?"
She gives him a reassuring smile. "You got it, soldier."
"So where exactly did the blanket come from?" He runs his nails over the thick wool.
Astarion's suspicions are proven correct as Karlach answers. "Halsin came out here looking for us. He seemed happy to find us together. Saw you sleeping and went back to camp to get the blankets, since I didn't want to interrupt your rest."
"Wait, did he tuck us in?"
Karlach laughs, folding the blanket. "Would you have expected any less? For half a second I felt like I was a kid again. Just needed a nightlight and we'd be set."
Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose, chuckling. "That man is something else." He looks up, "Nightlight? Can't you see in the dark?"
Karlach reaches to helps Astarion to his feet, sighing as she realizes once again she cant so much as offer a hand to the vampire. "Just because I could see in the dark doesn't mean I wasn't scared of it."
He hops a fallen tree, Karlach clambering over after him. "Hard to imagine you afraid of anything," he muses.
"I'm afraid of a lot, actually. I'm just glad I'm brave. Wouldn't have told you how I felt otherwise. Wouldn’t have made it out of Avernus, either."
They take their time walking back to camp, taking in the morning birdsong.
Astarion expects more reaction than they receive as they return to the circle of tents. He anticipated judgment, perhaps a sneer or two. Not the casual welcome. Friendly smiles from all, minus Lae'zel, who doesn't smile at much anyway. Her lack of a barbed comment is telling, though.
Karlach sighs, "Well, soldier. I think I'm heading out for the day. Goblins to kill and all. See you tonight?"
Astarion nods. He's still much too weak to join the party. Halsin is going in his place, and Wyll in Lae'zel's. Come back safe, he wants to say, but it freezes in his throat. Instead, he gives a sharp smile. "Smash some heads out there."
And then Karlach is walking away, off to fasten her armor, sharpen her blade, and likely eat a massive breakfast.
Astarion goes to his tent, shutting and tying the flap down behind him. He grabs his blanket, wrapping the frayed fabric around himself. His chest still aches. Peering down into his shirt, only the faintest line just below his sternum is any indication of his earlier death. He shivers, not wanting to think about it. His brain, of course, turns to the other pressing matter.
He feels good with Karlach, like there's something still gentle in him. Through the tender warmth, though, tendrils of dread worm their way through his gut. They're cold, sharp, and laced with the memory of the last time he grew close to someone, what had happened to them, what awful things had befallen them both.
It can't happen to Karlach. She's dealt with enough. To bring Cazador's wrath upon her is something Astarion could never forgive himself for. He rocks back and forth, realizing that he cannot have this, no matter how much he wants it.