Chapter Text
He didn't need this undo stress. He really didn't.
He had enough of it to begin with. Between a new “home” in constant risk of crumbling to the damnable dirt from whence it came, his own demons ever at the back of his mind, and the horrors lurking just outside the boundary lines, watching and waiting for any sign of weakness.
It was enough to be worried about just existing up here. More than enough to cause Dismas to drink himself to sleep more nights than not.
So when he said, confidently, that he did not need anything else in his already fraught life to be worried about, he meant it.
Yet here he was.
His leg bounced anxiously as he sat at his normal stool at the tavern, nursing the same tankard he had been slid hours ago when he arrived.
It was a week on from the last expedition leaving for the Ruins.
Dismas did not usually fret this much for expeditions, normally to have several of their companions away from the Hamlet was typical. And Dismas was more than confident in… most of his newfound coworkers’ abilities. He had been working alongside them for almost a year now, after all. But this mission in particular irked him… mostly because he had not been permitted to join it.
His hand gripped his tankard tighter, the leather of his gloves creaking slightly against the wood. Remembering the Heir’s words as he had dictated who would be undertaking the journey:
Junia, for her healing verses. Sarmenti for his quick dagger and comforting jests. Reynauld for his bolstering commands and his stunning blows…
And Baldwin.
Baldwin. For his stalwart bulk and devastating strikes.
It was not that Dismas was disappointed to be given a week off, or that he doubted Baldwin’s abilities with the greatsword that was nearly bigger than he was, but…
It was just… he had never not accompanied Reynauld on forrays. They had begun this work together and the Heir Darkest had not yet seen fit to separate them…
until now.
They worked well together. As much as Dismas had hated to admit it when he and the Crusader had been forced together by the Heir in order to reclaim his long abandoned property. Dismas’ speed complimented and balanced out Reynauld’s heavy, slow bulk. Likewise, Reynauld made up for and could shield the far more vulnerable highwayman.
More than that, the two were incredibly used to working together. Sure Reynauld still barked orders like a general, a habit he found impossible to break when in the thick of heady battle. But when push came to shove, Reynauld and Dismas were in sync enough to understand how the other worked and how to support each other. Even without words. They were an unstoppable team, if Dismas said so himself.
And he did.
And yet…
“Baldwin’s blows will serve better for this mission, Dismas. More than one heavy hitter is required for this foray, you understand.” The Heir had said, apparently sensing some of Dismas’ dismay (perhaps it had shown on his face.)
Dismas had just nodded at the time. Said nothing of his internal thoughts of how often he had seen the skeletons and lingering cultists of the ruins dodge out from under the Leper’s blows, no matter how focused his mind was. He’d kept his mouth shut because as much as Dismas had a sharp tongue he also knew better than to talk back to the Lord of the Estate. But still it itched at him, like a particularly aggressive tick.
“You ever going to drink that?” A drawling voice from behind him crowed. In years passed this sudden intrusion into his internal monologue might have startled him enough to cause him to reach for his dirk. But now he could recognize Audrey anywhere and couldn't be surprised by the woman anymore.
He grumbled into his tankard, “Can’t you leave well enough alone, woman?”
Audrey chuckles, part humor, part annoying jab at his innermost thoughts— because she knew him better than most, and knew perfectly well when he was sulking. She slipped herself up into the seat beside him. Her hands playing with a few of the gaudy rings on her fingers.
“I’ll take it off your hands if you aren’t gonna drink it.~” She wheedled, placing a hand on his shoulder which Dismas promptly shrugged off.
“I’ll drink it when I drink it.”
“You wooont. You’re going to nurse it till your big hunk of tin man comes back and then you’re going to leave a perfectly good pint here wasted.”
Dismas frowned deeper into the untouched swirling liquid, saying nothing in response because he knew she was right. He’d been waiting on the bells all afternoon after all. The bells that would toll to tell him when the expedition had returned. The bells which would toll to tell him Reynauld was safe. That the Crusader had not perished because Dismas wasn’t there to watch his back…
But of course he’d never tell the woman she was right, over his dead body. So he just slouched a little lower and huffed an irritated noise into his un-drank liquor.
Jubert passed by and gave Dismas a look which lingered between sympathy and annoyance, which was at least fair enough in Dismas’ mind. Normally he would have given up half his last paycheck by now. Instead all he was doing was taking up a seat. But still, the man hadn’t kicked him out yet and Dismas was grateful. He nodded at the bartender, trying to convey some of the gratitude, and decided that once Reynauld was back and his spirits were improved, he would buy a round for the whole tavern.
Maybe he could even get the Crusader to join them…
“You know he’s gonna come back, right?”
Audrey was still at his elbow, but it seems she had softened minutely, staring at Dismas. He however continued to frown.
“I don't know shit sweetheart. Not unless I’m there to see it.” He said.
“Look, whatever else happens Junia’s not going to let the big lump get offed. Who else is gonna sit with her in mass and pretend not to listen to her gossip?”
Dismas gave a small snort, but he had to admit she had a point, he had been on the receiving end of Junia’s healing warmth many a time. He’d watched her heal worse wounds than he’d ever seen, he had no doubt she could heal Reynauld from most anything.
“And Baldwin’s not that bad.”
“He misses more than he hits!” Dismas bit back. His mind returned to Baldwin, the bitter taste reappearing in the back of his throat.
The leper was fine. A bit of a stoic sod at times, but a good man nonetheless. Dismas didn't enjoy the sudden distaste he had grown for the man. But when he had been picked over Dismas himself to watch his now-oldest friend’s back… well suddenly ‘fine’ didn’t seem good enough.
“You’re only saying that because you’re worried about your boyfriend. Besides, even if he can’t hit for shite, he can still be a meat shield.” Audrey had obtained her own flagon of ale now that it was clear Dismas wouldn't share his. But as opposed to him, she seemed to have no qualms about drinking hers down.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Dismas groused, his ears slightly warm. But Audrey ignored him.
“Tin man’s not known for breaking rank, which means he’ll have a nice, squishy wall of Leper between him and all them nasty bone men down in those halls.” The former-heiress beside him continued. Her tone was ambivalent, but the simple fact that she was taking the time showed just how concerned she was. Dismas felt a touch of warmth in the pit of his stomach… he must have been doing a lot of moping around if she was trying this hard to cheer him up.
He sighed and scrubbed his face roughly with his gloved hand. It did help to imagine Reynauld, clad in his plate armor, shouting rallying cries from behind the bulk of the leper.
When he pulled his hands away from his face he managed a slight smirk in Aubrey’s direction.
“…thanks sweetheart.” He said finally, to which Audrey just tutted, tossing her hair.
“If you really want to thank me, you can pay my tab for the evening. Some of us require pay for our services.” She said,
Dismas snorted “Didn’t realize you’d taken up work in the cathouse.” He teased, but he was still reaching for his coin purse.
“If I had, you couldn't afford m-“ Audrey started to bite back but paused.
Her and half of the whole tavern went silent, as distantly, bells from the survivalist’s waystation began to ring. Dismas’ hand had stopped midway to his purse, eyes wide as he listened.
One toll.
Two tolls.
Three…
Four.
Dismas nearly breathed a sigh of relief— four tolls; one for each person spotted returning. That meant they were all safe, but then—
A fifth bell toll rang out in the hamlet, and with it a wave of murmurs in the tavern. Dismas didn't even hear them. The second the fifth toll had sounded he was off his stool and running. Through the door into the town square with its bustle of constant repair, its old hanging tree and the statue of the Heir’s ancient ancestor standing tall and proud.
Dismas saw none of this as his feet pounded him down the road in the direction of the gate that separated the hamlet from the wild lands beyond. His blood ran cold in his veins.
Five tolls.
One for each hero returning to the hamlet, and a final one to signal that aid was needed. That there was something wrong.
What had happened?
He was not the only one responding to the fifth chime. The bustle of the town was increasing, as Doctors and Clerics spilled from the Sanitorium and Abbey respectively. Voices thronging through the little hamlet as all pondered what could have gone wrong. Lingering anxiously, most unwilling to leave the safety of the hamlet.
Dismas kept running, his heart going a mile a minute in his chest as he approached the gates, his mind racing with possibilities, all of them bad. Thinking maybe if he just ran fast enough he could spare Reynauld whatever fate might have befallen him.
It was after he passed the gate and crested a hill that led down the Old Road that he spotted them; Four figures silhouetted against the slowly setting sun. Immediately Dismas knew something was wrong. All of them were standing, but two of the figures were seemingly having to hold onto the third. Who was writhing and wheeling in their grip. Dismas swallowed hard, throwing a rare prayer up to the Light as he hurried the hill down to meet them.
As they came into better view Dismas’ stomach dropped out.
They looked horrible, all of them. Their eyes wide and filled with horror. Bloody, and bandaged and beaten. Sarmenti had an arm in a makeshift sling. Junia had blood slowly dripping down her face into an eye nearly swollen shut. Baldwin’s armor was in bad shape and his hands shook, his bandages were soiled with more than just the normal shows of his leprosy.
And Reynauld…
Reynauld was writhing like a cat being forced into a bath. Twisting and contorting as Baldwin did everything in his substantial power to keep a hold on him and continue him forward. At some point in the fray the Crusader had lost his helmet and— Dismas realized with a hollow pang, his greatsword. Reynauld’s armor was bloody and the man underneath seemed still to be bleeding heavily from several wounds to his side and chest where his heavy armor had been pierced and torn. With every squirm of his bulk came another pooling of crimson blood on the ground.
Junia was trying to speak.
“Reynauld please! Calm yourself! We’re nearly there, but you’re bleeding, I need to heal you.”
But the Crusader was having none of it, roughly smacking away the Vestal’s hand which had been raised in a gesture of supplication to the Holy Light. And when he spoke, his voice was pitched with panic.
“None of your fowl curses, witch! Get thee away from me, all of you! I’ll not let you drag me to the dark!”
Dismas’s eyes were wide and a cold sweat had broken out on his brow and palms despite his harried run. He had never heard Reynauld rave like this.
Others, yes. It was not rare for an adventurer to be dragged to a cell in the Sanitorium, ranting and howling about the horrors they had witnessed in the depths of the wilds.
But never Reynauld.
Somehow in Dismas’ mind the man was too sure. Too steadfast in his faith to be swayed to such ravings by the dark things of this estate.
Dismas was never so devastated in being wrong.
“Oh thank the Gods, it’s the Highwayman.”
Dismas was roused from his shock by Sarmenti’s voice. Left without the use of one of his arms it seems the jester had been left to handle the group’s loot and remaining provisions and had been able to spot him first.
“Come give us a hand with your boy toy won’t you??”
Dismas ignored the clown’s comment in favor of speeding up and finally meeting the four. They looked even worse up close. Every scuff, cut, and injury stands out in stiff contrast.
“What in the seventh hell happened?” Dismas started to say but his voice was cut off by—
“Dismas-!”
He barely had time to brace himself before the Crusader had managed to squirm his way out of Baldwin’s firm grasp and nearly tackle him. Even still the wind was knocked half out of him as Reynauld, a much larger man than he, was suddenly clinging to him as if his life depended on it.
“Rey, wha-?” He tried to say but the knight was already speaking.
“You live, thank the Light. Come! We must away from these foul loathsome servants of the beyond!” He said, his mistrustful eyes on the rest of his companions as he did a strange dance of trying to defend Dismas from their friends, while also trying to keep himself as far from them as possible. It would have been funny if this situation were not the furthest thing from funny Dismas had ever experienced.
“Reynauld calm down ya bucket head, ya aren’t makin’ any sense!” Dismas interjected. Putting his arms around the knight’s middle just to try and keep him still, staunch some of the blood which was still flowing. Dismas was very quickly becoming worried that if they didn't hurry, Reynauld would bleed out under the delusion that his friends’ healing magic was heresy.
He exchanged a worried glance with Junia who gave a desperate shrug. Tears pricking the corner of her good eye.
“We were ambushed by something… we’ve never seen anything like it…” she murmured. “Tall and gaunt and… robbed in yellow…” she shuddered. Reynauld continued to pull at Dismas’ coat as if trying to pull him away.
“It had a chattering skull for a head, gazed out from a glowing blue iron cage.” Sarmenti said with something between a mad giggle and a sob, Baldwin nodded gravely and when he spoke his voice was distant and shaken.
“It fought with the conjured aspects of friends, fallen and… Otherwise...”
Reynauld whimpered like a frightened dog.
“Reynauld tried to charge it,” Junia whispered, “but… it opened its cloak and… and..”
“We must retreat-! Dismas please!” Reynauld’s voice was getting weaker and hoarse.
“What we need is to get you all to Para.” Dismas said firmly. “C’mon tin man. You lot.”
And so Dismas walked. Holding Reynauld who clung to him. Mumbling words about heretics and skinned faces in the dark. His sweat smeared and bloody face pressed so close to Dismas’ that he could feel the tenner of his panicked breathing. It caused his stomach to do odd little flips as they walked— or more aptly, as Dismas dragged the Crusader on.
The holy knight’s footprints left bloody track marks with every step and Dismas’ panic grew ever more gnawing.
It seemed the whole town had come out to meet them.
As they crossed through the Hamlet’s high, wrought iron gate, others began to approach and join them. Boudicca on the outskirts of town holding her wild greataxe took one look at the situation and quickly moved to help the ailing jester, who was flagging under his injuries and the weight of the packs. The hellion decided it was just easier to pick up the spindly man as well as all of the goods he carried.
William, flanked by his great shaggy wolfhound, loped down from the survivalist’s lookout, slotting easily under Baldwin’s bulk as the leper began to stumble. The hound moved to Junia’s side and pressed against her for comfort. The nun nearly bawled as she pressed her trembling hands into wiery-soft dog fur.
Reynauld on the other hand, seemed to grow twice as anxious with every person he saw. Pressing back against Dismas as if he was trying to force the other man back towards the gate all the while muttering frantically to himself.
“It’s not safe. Heretics, witches, black hearted brigans, they will gut us like pigs.”
“Rey, c’mon. They’re our friends.” Dismas tried to say, continuing to barely manage to pull the knight along. He had sometimes imagined wrestling with the crusader, in one way or another. But never like this.
“Dismas I- I can't protect you here, my sword, it took my sword, we cannot face this foe- '' The desperation in Reynauld’s voice nearly made Dismas ill. Though perhaps that was just him suddenly realizing that his right pant leg and boot were sticky with Reynauld’s blood.
“I don't need you to protect me, let me take care a’you Rey, c’mon now. We’re safe. We’re gonna get this figured out.” Dismas tried to keep his voice steady and calm like the Vestals did when others came back afflicted, begging at their skirts for penantance. He ignored the voice screaming panic in the back of his own head, if he could keep Reynauld calm, he could be calm himself.
“Reynauld, listen to me, you’re safe, I’m safe. Just trust me!”
The soldier in his arms had begun to tremble like the last of the autumn leaves facing an oncoming stormfront and Dismas wasn’t sure if it was from the blood loss or the anxiety still seeded deep in Reynauld’s soul. But either way Dismas’ words seem to reach him somehow because he stopped squirming as much and simply clung to the thief, his face buried in the man’s hair, eyes squeezed closed like a child trying to hide from a monster under their covers.
Light above how Dismas had secretly longed for this kind of closeness with Reynauld.
In the middle of the night as he lay awake in his bunk in the barracks, or else round a campfire in the wilder lands with sleep not forthcoming he had sometimes thought about what it would be like to be completely enveloped by the Crusader. Held close and safe in his arms. To perhaps wind his clever fingers into the man’s well kept brown hair and beard, or else sneak under the heavy layers of plate and gambeson to the man underneath. To make the stoic holy knights breath quicken and stutter under the work of his fingers and mouth.
But all of that felt hollow now. Reynauld was so close and Dismas was getting a taste of what he had secretly longed for, but at a terrible price. To see the holy man brought so low with terror made Dismas’ once stone cold heart ache.
The scattered, odd group of seven turned a final corner and Dismas allowed himself the slightest breath of relief. The town square was crowded with people. Townsfolk, adventurers, and what seemed to be the entire host of both Sanitorium and Abbey.
Dismas silently thanked the Light.
“Para-! We need you-!” He called loudly, some of his desperation peaking through in a slight crack in his voice. It was harder and harder to stay level headed when Reynauld was muttering frantic prayers in his ear, as if the man was giving himself last rites.
The townsfolk whispered nervously, Adventurers had come back injured and stark raving mad before but it was never easy… and to see those so resolute in their faith in the Light and so steadfast in their defenses fall so far and so fast… it was naturally frightening. Dismas saw Audrey near the front of the crowd, a rare look of concern passing across her face. But Dismas couldn't think about that now.
Boudica did not wait for anyone, simply striding forward in the direction of the flock of doctors and their Sanitorium halls. Passing off the collected loot to the Caretaker who could just barely be seen lurking in the crowd.
A collection of Vestals hurried forward murmuring prayers and comforts to the Leper and to Junia who fell into the embrace of her sisters gratefully, the gentle hound still dutifully at her side.
Another senior Vestal of the church made to approach Reynauld and Dismas, her hands already outstretched as if to help, but before Dismas could warn her, she got too close and Reynauld was howling again.
“I’LL NOT LET YOU TAKE US DAMNABLE HELLSPAWN-!” He bellowed, strength somehow returning, despite the blood loss to the point that Dismas had to dig his heels into the dirt and nearly dead weight himself to keep the Crusader in place. The unfortunate Vestal froze in place, eyes wide as a frightened doe. “THIS IS A TEST OF MY FAITH! I SENSE IT! YOU VILE CURRS SHALL NOT SUNDER ME FROM THE LIGHT! I SHALL SEE YOU ALL HANG-!”
“Reynauld stop! Stop!” Dismas shouted. Pulling himself up to put his hands on either side of the man’s face and bring his darting eyes away from the crowd surrounding them, down to Dismas’, trying to force their eyes to meet. Because for some Light-forsaken reason the man had decided that Dismas was the only trustworthy person here and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to take advantage of that. “Rey, c’mon, it’s me, you’re back, snap out of it- PARACELSUS!”
The name was shouted over his shoulder desperately as he tried to hold Reynauld’s panicked gaze. Surely if anyone could sort this out, it was the bird masked maniac.
“D-Dismas…” Reynauld’s voice dropped. Barely a murmur between them.
“Yeah, you big lumbering idiot. I'm right here. You’re home.”
There was the briefest moment in which Dismas looked into Reynauld’s icy blue eyes and thought he saw a moment of clarity behind the panic. A moment of recognition.
But in a flurry of movement out of the crowd that clarity vanished back into the haze of animalistic fight or flight reflexes brought on by the paranoia of the abominations which they fought.
Paracelsus had finally arrived, a team of similarly suited doctors and apprentices hurrying along behind. Paracelsus herself was holding a, frankly terrifyingly large syringe of amber liquid.
The moment they were within a few feet Reynauld roared again. Dismas had to wrap his arms tight around the struggling man’s upper body, pinning his arms in a desperate attempt to stop the man flailing and hitting anyone nearby. Even still the man fought like a caged bear. All the while screaming oaths and desperately calling to the Light to deliver him.
“Reynauld afflicted eh?“ Paracelsus’ voice hissed close by Dismas’ shoulder, checking her syringe idly while leaning in to look at Reynauld’s wild eyes. “Well… can't say I won’t enjoy this a little.”
“Is this the time, Para??” Dismas growled as his feet nearly left the ground from a particularly heavy twist from Reynauld.
There was a low chuckling. “Always, Dismas. Now hold him still.”
It was all he could do really. He was not about to let Reynauld go any time soon. He figured it was better for him to handle the brunt of Reynauld’s struggling. Better him than the other doctors who had descended in a close ring around the two of them, most of whom seemed like it would only take a light tap to send them flying. Some were trying to aid Dismas in holding the injured man still, others were trying to assess the numerous wounds along the Crusader’s body. It wasn’t currently much help, and in Dismas’ mind seemed more likely to set Reynauld off more, but what else could they do?
“Reynauld look at me!” Dismas’ voice cut above the howl of the other man’s lunacy. Causing him to falter. His wild, animal eyes found Dismas’ own and they stared at each other. Dismas tried with all his might to radiate calm, to instill some peace between them. Find that moment of clarity he had seen before once more.
“Dis-?” Reynauld’s voice cut off in another howl and even Dismas jumped as Paracelsus beside him suddenly struck, plunging her needle into the Crusader’s exposed side, where something unspeakable had torn apart his armor. Dismas looked away for just a moment to watch the plague doctor inject whatever drug she deemed necessary deep into Reynauld’s side, his grip slackening just slightly as he hoped beyond hope whatever the Plague Doctor had thrown together would work.
And in that moment Reynauld pulled his arms finally free from Dismas’ hold. Dismas cried out whirling back and suddenly worried the man would finally start swinging at him. But instead of a frontal assault, Reynauld was instead clinging to him again. Whole body radiating desperation and terror.
“Dismas do not forsake me-! Help, do not let them take me-!”
His throat was dry, the hands of the doctors were descending again. Out of the corner of Dismas’ eye he saw one of them was preparing a straight jacket.
The highwayman tried to open his mouth, to say some comfort to him, but no sound came from him.
“Dismas please-!”
It was horrible to hear Reynauld beg, like he thought these were his last moments on earth. He had started crying slightly, more out of animalistic terror than anything else and unconsciously Dismas’ hands had come up to hold Reynauld’s face, wipe away the offending tears cutting tracks in the blood but the Doctors were trying to push him off, to be able to access their patient.
“Rey-“
“Dismas, I love you. I love you, don't let them take me-! PLEASE! Don't let them take me!”
Dismas’ whole body went rigid as he stared wide eyed and open mouthed at the crusader. Whose voice was growing weaker and weaker, pitching up until it reminded Dismas of the rabbits he had watched the other brigands trap and kill for meat and pelt when he was a much younger man.
It felt like he’d been gutted. Like one of those rabbits.
“Reynauld..” it was all he could say, and it was soft. Barely more than a whisper.
Paracelsus’ physic had done its work. Reynauld’s eyelids were drooping and his movements were slowing. Or maybe, Dismas thought in a sudden panic, he really was just dying, teetering on death’s door right in front of him.
“Don’t leave me-!” Reynauld made one final reach for the highwayman before his eyes rolled and he went fully limp. Collapsing into a waiting gaggle of doctors, who Paracelsus began to shepherd towards the Sanitorium.
All Dismas could do for a long while was stare in the direction they’d gone. His gaze stricken and hollow.
He stared for so long that a majority of the town square cleared out. Worried residents resigned back to their daily tasks. Adventurers returning to the tavern or the guild hall to talk in lowered voices about the afternoon’s events. Occasionally someone would pass close enough by him to pat him on the back or shoulder, or else murmur some word of sympathy to him. But Dismas was unaware of anything around him. All he could do was continue to stare in the direction of the Sanitorium. As if Reyanuld was going to return any minute, whole of body and mind again.
Dismas just stood there, body going cold and numb as the sun began to set in earnest and the shadows grew long. Until a gentle hand was laid on his shoulder.
“Dismas..?” Audrey asked, slowly, tentatively.
He did not respond. He did the first thing that he could think to do.
He ran.