Real Big Subtle Things

“Call! Callum William Hunt, you lazy bum, wake up! It’s like noon already! Jeez, come on! You and Aaron have been sooo lazy lately! Get UP!” At that, a particularly fierce poke. A girl’s voice. Tamara. Ugh. Call didn’t really want to open his eyes. It had been so long since he had slept well…. And then he remembered why he hadn’t. the dream came back to him. All of it.“I let you and Aaron sleep for ages, but you had better wake up NOW! Aaron’s next! I’m going in his room after this! And I walked Havoc for you, you’re welcome!”
Hearing his name, Havoc barked.

Aaron.

The thought- the thought of him really woke Call up.
Woke him up like a triple shot of espresso with an entire six-pack of Five Hour Energy (that stuff was nasty; Call had smuggled some back from Asheville after winter break in Copper Year to see if it could be a reasonable alternative to coffee- after he had had fallen asleep twice in really boring Assembly meetings, because he had stayed up past midnight watching some of Alex’s new versions of ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ and ‘The Force Awakens,’ and Tamara, Jasper, and Aaron had ALL found it funnier to let Call snore and drool on the huge wood table; that was the reason after spring break, he had managed to cart an Alastair-tinkered with coffeemaker that could run on fire magic) forced down Call’s throat.

He met her eyes. Tamara saw Call’s expression. It was probably grim and full of thoughts of Master Joseph, Constantine, and the Chaos- ridden. She started to say something, but apparently thought better of it and broke off. He hadn’t really been honest with Tamara or Aaron the last week or so, but she could still obviously tell when something was wrong when he let her to. Not really like Copper Year, then. Control your emotions. Don’t let them see. Don’t let your face be like an open book. Because that’s really not helpful to anybody right now. Not helpful to Aaron. Of course, when he could use a poker face the most, against Master Joseph, his emotions couldn’t be more obvious. Of course.

And something was definitely wrong. “Have you seen Aaron at all today?” She shook her head. Call started to elaborate on the question, but Tamara was already running out his door, her two long braids swishing down her back. He swung his legs over the bed, onto the floor, wincing slightly at his left leg hit the ground, and, Havoc trotting behind Call, followed her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wasn’t there.
His bed had been slept in, but the comforter hadn’t been pulled back to suggest he had carelessly gotten out of bed or was forced out. Even though the blankets could have been easily straightened over by anybody, it might still count as evidence, according to Tamara. Who apparently over spring break two months ago, when she had insisted the three of them go on a camping trip to the Porcupine Mountains of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, and had ‘borrowed’ her parents’ massive Airbus A380 jet, had binge watched a gazillion of CSI and crime shows on the flight there, instead of sleeping like normal people (A.K.A Aaron and Call- if seventeen year old American mage Makars/counterweights, with one having the soul of the Enemy of Death, and the other basically the Assembly’s champion and the nicest person who ever lived, could be counted as normal) in the huge cabin. And now Tamara apparently thought she was a detective. Not that Call was complaining. Aaron needed all the help he could get, as fast as they could get it. Tamara’s ‘CSI detective’ skills was better than nothing. Aaron always laid out his clothes the night before, even if it was a weekend, and the holey jeans, ancient t- shirt, wristband with a gazillion stones, and even socks were draped over the top of the long dresser. He hadn’t gotten dressed. Call already knew that he wasn’t going to be there, from the dream. But the physical evidence was irrefutable.
Just as Call suspected.
Master Joseph had said something in Copper Year, in Call’s first dream-reality: If you agree, I can take you tonight. Obviously, Aaron hadn’t been given that choice. Call was still getting that choice. But he wondered how much longer it would be before he didn’t. Before Joseph just took him.

“One thing,” Tamara had obviously been following a much different train of thought as they surveyed the room. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us about these dreams? You say that they have been going on every night for weeks! Yeah, Aaron and I knew that you have the occasional one, and I think- I hope that you have been good about telling us those ones, for your sake, but- every night now? What did you think to win by not telling us? Your pride? Our friendship?”
She was maybe an half-inch shorter than Call, really tall for a girl, even though Call was pretty short, and got up right in his face. Her furious brown eyes burned right into him. Obviously she was still hung up over the dream-thing. For good reason. Call didn’t know exactly why he hadn’t told them, but- “Well, Callum Hunt, I have something to tell you. You may have barely gotten by for twelve years with only your dad as a friend, but Aaron and I and Celia and even, God forbid, Jasper, are your friends, and have been for five years, so you had better start treating us like it! And when you promised to not lie to me and Aaron, lying by omission was definitely included in that deal!”

She stalked out of Aaron’s empty room without another word.
Call felt frozen. He stared after her, like whatever magic Joseph used in the dream-reality was affecting him in ‘real life.’ But this was so much worse. At least, in the dreams, Call knew what to do if he could: Resist Joseph. Kill him if he could. Don’t be evil. Don’t be Constantine. Easy choices, compared to this. But how could he argue with Tamara over something he knew was wrong? That he had done anyway? Especially when he didn’t have any clear reason, especially to himself, for doing so? When he really didn’t have any reason at all? But there was one thing he could do.

Call could apologize.

He turned, giving Aaron’s cavernously empty, silent, shadowy, room one last sad stare, and limped painfully out, crossing to sit next to Tamara on the couch. She ignored him, and the only sign that she’d noticed him/that Call had ever existed in the universe at any time was that she turned away and found the opposite wall, lightly crusted with minerals and a small, magic- powered kitchenette (installed by Aaron in Silver Year, finally breaking and yelling that he was tired of lichen) extremely fascinating.
“Tamara….” She went mysteriously deaf. This was going to be hard.
Well, duh.
“I’m really, really, really sorry about not telling you and Aaron about the dreams,” he rushed out. Her eyes slowly flickered back toward him- not her head. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you before, except that- I don’t know,” Wow. He was even worse at explaining than he thought. Well, can’t stop now. “I guess what I am trying to say is that I’ll never hide things from you again,” Call saw her frown, imperceptibly, and hurriedly continued, ”You probably won’t believe me. I know I promised the same thing in Copper Year- and here I am, apologizing about breaking that promise. You probably shouldn’t believe me, if all of what Master Joseph spews about Constantine is going to hold true. This is all my fault. My fault that the Cold Massacre happened. My fault a thousand people are dead. Dead! My fault Aaron- Aaron is gone. But I promise, that as long as I stay Call, or me, or whatever, because I realize that that makes me sound that I can’t control Constantine’s choices, because I should, I should take responsibility for my choices, that I won’t lie to you. Ever again.”

All was quiet. Call stared at the rocky floor. He realized he was still in the sweatpants and t-shirt he wore to ‘sleep.’ Even Havoc, probably picking up on Call’s emotions, (but hopefully not), plopped down on the floor and took a nap. Call didn’t want to break the silence, didn’t want to maybe lose one of the only friends he had left. Was she really that mad? Tamara got scary when she was angry, at first a red-hot temper that hardened into a steely calm that was almost worse than all of the fire.

And then Tamara turned around, fast as a Chaos- ridden, and punched him in the arm.
“OW!” Call yelped in surprise. It hurt. “What was that for?”

“Because, you idiot, didn’t I just tell you I was your friend? That we all are your friends? Yeah, I was mad about you not telling me and Aaron about the dreams. Yeah, you definitely deserved that punch, because I don’t think you were listening when I gave that whole speech about being your stupid friend. Maybe it will knock some sense into you.” She started to grin, but caught herself hastily- probably remembering Aaron. That while Tamara was giving a ‘friendship talk,’ he might be being tortured by Master Joseph. In pain. The thought was agonizing Call, too. She shifted slightly. “Well, I will be your friend, if we all get through this. If. “

She paused and stood up. Started to pace. Call watched her start to think. Start to plan. For Aaron. “How are we going to explain away his absence?” His. She might have been just using a pronoun. But Call wondered if saying Aaron’s name was too hard, now. Like it had just sunk in. Which it shouldn’t have. they were going to bring him back. they were. He had to.“We can hole up in here, in our room, for the rest of the day, and maybe tomorrow, because most people know about that kitchen Aaron put in, and figure we are just being reeeal lazy on a weekend. But on Monday, if we’re lucky and even get to Monday without people wondering where he is, we’re-”

“But on Monday, we’re screwed,” Call offered. Tamara nodded, frowning.

“There’s no easy way to explain it to the Assembly. The truth would, obviously, get you tried unfairly and executed as an enemy, (sorry, bad pun), of the Assembly, if not Alastair too, and it really doesn’t make sense at all if we leave out the whole you-being-Constantine thing. I think maybe we could concoct some sort of story, but the Assembly is usually really good about picking out liars and omissions, and in the end it really wouldn’t do any good, just waste more time looking for Aaron, and get all of us killed. Including Havoc.” She hesitated, then said,” Actually, after you, Havoc would probably be the first person, thing-”

“Wolf,” Call muttered. She gave him a dirty look. Not helping.

“-to be executed by the Assembly.” Yeah. She was definitely right. ‘Accomplices,’ like Alastair, Aaron, Tamara, and Jasper, who had known about the whole thing and not told the Assembly, might, might, get off on a lighter charge, but the huge, scary, probably rabid Chaos- ridden wolf with the hellish multicolored coruscating eyes that was the ‘little pet’ of the Enemy of Death, and seemed to obey him without question, would not get a chance. Especially since he couldn’t speak for himself. None.

Man, she was cheerful, Tamara. Alastair… Call didn’t know really what to think of his ‘father.’ On one hand, (or soul, should he say), Alastair was his pretty awesome dad, even though he knew that, however much he tried not to, Alastair might always subconsciously be looking for signs of Constantine in him, but on another- Alastair was a best friend, almost a brother. Almost Jericho. Which wasn’t weird at all. But the mention of Alastair did give him an idea.

“At least Master Rufus, defintely, will notice on Monday, when he isn’t there. And then we’ll have to explain to the Assembly, which, as I just said, is not a great idea. We need backup. Just the two of us aren’t going to be able to pull any excuse off. An outside influence,” Tamara continued.

She frowned even more, and stopped her pacing in front of the couch. Snapped her fingers in Call’s face. “What?” he asked, slightly annoyed.

“I’m judging that by the fact that you’ve spent the last five minutes mentally levitating out in space that you have an idea?” Tamara shook her head, two long braids whipping around. “No, scratch that, I’m not judging. I’m hoping.”

“Oh- um, what? Never mind,” Call muttered, noticing her exasperation. “I do, actually.”

“Yeah? Well, pray tell.” She studied his expression more closely. Havoc woke with a snort. Tamara’s eyes narrowed. “Wait-” she hesitated. “You aren’t seriously going to suggest that you go with Joseph, and exchange yourself for Aaron? No.” She said, with extreme emphasis. That had actually been Call’s idea, and he shrugged, as if to say, ‘you have a reason? Or, better yet, an idea?’

Apparently, she did have a reason. Or a few. Which was good. Really good. It wasn’t like Call loved the Constantine-exchange idea, much, either.
“As much as I hate to admit it,” Tamara rolled her eyes, and started pacing again,” you two are like the brothers I never had. Annoying, crazy, and impossibly good/creepily, not-your-fault evil, Makari brothers, sometimes, but losing either of you is unacceptable.” She started pacing even faster, which started to bug Call. Maybe Constantine had been OCD. “Well, unfortunately, what seems to be the ‘happy version’ of events could be if you refuse to go with Joseph, and in repercussion, Aaron dies for it. It’s gonna be awful, and all the damn people are going to hate losing the ‘nice’ Makar, and having to deal with you, instead,” Tamara said, with an almost-smile tugging one corner of her lip, but not,” but at least the Assembly’ll still have you for a Makar, grouchy as you might be, to defend against Joseph.”

The thought of Aaron dying was so unthinkable that Call couldn't do anything but just sit there, stunned, even though he didn’t especially want to hear the ‘unhappy version,’ so Tamara continued anyway.

“But if you go off with that creepazoid ‘Master’ Joseph, and he kills Aaron anyway, either as spite, as a ‘safety precaution,’ because Aaron is dangerous to them or God forbid, to set Constantine off somehow, just somehow to send you over the edge, because, I guess, he is your counterweight.” And maybe a lot more, Tamara’s pointed look said. But don’t tell me. I don’t especially, really, want to know. Though I’ll be best woman at your wedding. And throw you a crazy party the night before. He couldn’t help it. Call blushed. Though this really wasn’t the time, he wondered about Celia. She and Tamara had held hands about a gazillion times in the Refectory and Gallery. Like she could read his thoughts, Tamara gave Call another pretty harsh look. We’re not talking about me. This is about Aaron. And you. Constantine.

“Or all three. They are all pretty good reasons.” She stopped pacing right in front of Call, completely, absolutely, serious now. “I’d bet anything that Joseph’d be hoping for a parallel with you and Aaron and with what did happen to Constantine and Jericho. Except- it might be even easier. And- if Aaron is gone, and you- you become Constantine, somehow, Joseph could easily have you crush the Assembly. They were winning, last time.”

“Except he forgot to bring a few more Chaos- ridden, and they all died in agony at the Cold Massacre. Also, my mother killed a ton of people with a weapon called ‘Peace’, and then with her dying breath, shattered my leg and tried to let the world know who I am with three words that actually summed it up pretty well. I’ll avoid doing that. Hmm… Number one on my Evil Overlord (Tamara, I should also copyright that sometime, after I complete my quest for world domination; remind me if we aren’t all dead) mental checklist: Do… not… attack… a… glacier… cave… in… South America… filled… with the helpless… unless… bringing… at least fifty… Chaos- ridden.”

She glared at him. “That was not funny!” Tamara crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. “Not funny at all. Was it supposed to be? That shouldn’t be funny at all. Death.”

And suddenly, Call felt like she was right. He shouldn’t be sitting here, in their warm, comfortable, rooms, in what certainly appeared to be reality, at the Magisterium, making awful jokes and showing off puns about blood and icy death and his mother and the Enemy of Death, while Aaron was most likely being tied up and tortured RIGHT NOW, experiencing real blood and tastes of icy death and never knowing his mother and all this because the Enemy of Death forced his soul on Call as a baby.

And Call had been joking about it.
Joking about everyone being dead.
Joking about being evil.
Joking about world domination and massacres in icy caves.
Joking about his own mother hating him.

Maybe she should hate him, if he tossed death around so lightly.
When Aaron didn’t take it lightly.
And Aaron was-
Gone.

And it was all Call’s fault.

All of it.

But maybe he could try to fix it. One weeping wound at a time.
Maybe. The blood poured out and the pain went deep.
Call didn’t know, not anymore.
Not with Aaron gone.
His balance
But he could try.

Havoc turned over, still out, and began yipping a little bit. Call could’ve sworn he was barking in his sleep. Maybe having a dream of eating squirrels and fetching large fallen tree boughs?

“Actually, Tamara,” he said slowly. “I might have another idea." Space does have its benefits. "Why don’t we steal somebody's tornado- um, ether phone, and call Alastair? Then- maybe we probably could figure it out from there?”