The Witcher (One shots)

What Lurks In The Shadows

(Lambert x Eskel
TW: This story contains past child abuse!)

Lambert recognised the room he stood in immediately and his heart lurched into panic. He wasn’t sure how he got there or what events had brought him back to that house but it wasn’t important. What was important was the scent of stale cigarette smoke filling his nose and the nauseating feeling in his gut as he watched his father shout and gesticulate at his mother. In his hand, he held a glass bottle, waving it around wildly. He was going to hit her with it. Lambert just knew it. Both he and his mother had been on the receiving end of that particular blow enough times to see the signs.

Acting on reflex but not regretting it in the slightest, Lambert moved over and pushed to stand between the two, ready to accept the brunt of his father’s anger and give his mother a rest. It was a dance he’d done many times before and his mother deserved a rest for once. He didn’t know what had sparked this latest tirade but it didn’t matter as long as his father’s anger was focused on him and not her.

“And you!” His father barely broke the pace of his rant, jabbing a thick finger in Lambert’s face. “You fucking worthless faggot piece of shit!” How did he know Lambert was gay? Lambert himself hadn’t come to terms with it enough to tell anyone until he was in his early twenties - by that time, far rid of this house. “You’re a fucking whore, i bet, just like you’re mother!” He spat in Lambert’s face, almost in his eyes. He set his jaw and knew fighting back like he so desperately wanted to would make things worse, both for him and his mother. “You know what we do with whores, eh? They get the fuckin’ belt!”

He seized Lambert’s arm in an iron grip, even as he heard his mother call out in the background. Why was his arm so skinny? This was the arm of a child. Even with his pathetically small arms, Lambert still struggled and did his best to throw a punch with the other as his father attempted to drag him from the room.

Lambert woke up before his fist collided with his father’s face.

He sat up with a hoarse scream, chin almost hitting his knees as he did so. The hand on his arm gripped even tighter for a moment before softening. When Lambert turned, he realised the grip belonged to his fiancee, Eskel, and not to his father like he’d first feared. The punch he’d thrown in his dream, that thankfully missed, had been aimed at Eskel. Fuck.

The sense of guilt Lambert felt only added to the pure panic coursing through his veins, simultaneously turning his limbs to water and making it seem as if they were vibrating straight out of his skin. His pyjamas clung to his skin, damp with sweat as his chest heaved. He cast his eyes around the room in a way that could only be described as manic, unable to stop himself from searching for any remaining traces of his father. Fuck! He was so pathetic. Maybe his father was right and he really was a worthless piece of shit.

As Lambert continued to berate himself internally, Eskel shuffled down the bed slightly so he sat in front of his love, releasing his arm once he was sure Lambert wouldn’t lash out again. The ginger couldn’t make out what he was saying but the tone and rhythm of his voice was soothing and he found himself trying to focus on it. Eskel smiled when Lambert’s wild eyes finally met his.

“Hey baby, you’re here with me in bed, it’s 2:33AM and you’re safe, alright? There’s nothing here that’s going to hurt you and even if there was, I wouldn't let it. You’re safe with me, baby, you always are…”

Eskel continued to speak soothingly, repeating the same intinations over and over as if he could make Lambert believe them by force. He never made a move to touch him though, for which Lambert was grateful. When he felt like this and his past caught up with him so violently, even something as simple as a hand on his back could make things worse.