Work Text:
The study of healing magic required the study of the body. Linhardt knew, in theory, the speed and pressure at which blood pumped through a body. The speed and pressure would obviously increase during the heart-pounding fear and excitement of battle. Linhardt knew blood could spray.
Seeing it in practice was entirely different.
As soon as the first thief was slashed open on the battlefield, he realized he was woefully unprepared. He tried to avert his eyes, only to hear Edelgard bark at him to stay vigilant, else he be cut down as well. So he forced himself to look. Part of him had assumed that he could work exclusively as a healer, off the battlefield, and spare himself from all this. After he learned that he would have to fight alongside the rest, he hoped that his distance from his foe as a magic user would spare him. He had underestimated how far blood could spray.
It got on his face and in his hair. It soaked through his clothes, buried itself under his fingernails, and stung at his eyes. He couldn’t tell how much of it was his, how much of it was his friends’, and how much belonged to the dead. When he got back to Garreg Mach, he ran to bathe himself. He tore off his clothes as if they burned and shoved them into a tub to soak until the water was stained red. Linhardt could barely look at it. He dumped buckets of water over himself again and again, scrubbing soap and coarse horsehair brushes over himself until his skin was raw and pink. Even for hours afterwards, when his body was clean and his clothes all hung to dry, he couldn’t stop himself from shaking. He no longer saw blackness when he closed his eyes. He saw red.
Unable to sleep, Linhardt went to the sauna, hoping the steam would force whatever foreign blood remained on him out of his pores. He wanted to sweat it out like a sickness. Maybe the sauna would even relax him, or at least exhaust him enough that he would be able to finally get some rest that night. When he entered, he found Caspar already there.
“Hey, Linhardt!” He waved enthusiastically, much too excited for the late hour. But then again, Caspar always seemed to have boundless energy, no matter the situation. “What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Caspar blanched at him, clearly shocked. “ You couldn’t sleep? You ?”
“It’s not that surprising. I usually stay up late reading, then take a lot of naps during the day.” Linhardt settled in beside Caspar. He placed his hands on his knees, but they kept shaking. He clenched them into fists to try and make the trembling stop and silently wished that Caspar won’t notice.
“I was getting so cold in my room that I kept imagining I was in a nice, warm, tropical jungle. Mind over matter, you know?” Caspar prattled, clearly paying no attention to Linhardt’s hands. “And then I realized, we have a tropical jungle right here at Garreg Mach! Well, not really, but we have the sauna! I didn’t know how late it would be open, but I wanted to come and check anyway and it turns out I could just come on in! But I was all by myself this late, which is so boring. The best part of the sauna is getting to hang out with everyone, so I’m glad you showed up when you did.”
There were so many times in Linhardt’s life when he’d been annoyed to no end by Caspar’s ceaseless chatter. He adored his friend, but Caspar would try to talk to him at the worst times; when he was trying to sleep, or read, or relax. But somehow hearing Caspar go on and on about absolutely nothing felt different that night. It felt calming. It felt normal. It reminded Linhardt of all the years they had known each other, of all familiar moments in his life when Caspar’s excited words had been the backdrop to a pleasant afternoon. Linhardt didn’t even realize his hands had stopped shaking.
“Woah, woah, Linhardt! Don’t pass out on me!”
Linhardt blinked his eyes open. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t passing out, I just got sleepy all of a sudden.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty late,” Caspar observed. “And I’m all warmed up now, so we should get back to our rooms.”
Caspar walked Linhardt back to bed, making sure he didn’t fall asleep on the way.
A few days later Linhardt was back to reading a treatise on Crestology under a favorite tree of his. He hadn’t forgotten the battle of the days prior, but he had managed to compartmentalize it. He had shoved it into a crate in the back of his mind, and if he didn’t lift the lid he could go about his day as usual. It would probably be fine.
“Is that for class?”
Caspar plopped himself down beside Linhardt under the tree.
“No, it’s for my own research. See?”
Linhardt held the book up so that Caspar could read the lengthy, academic title. Caspar leaned in, peering intently.
“You’ve got some gunk under your fingernails.”
Linhardt rolled his eyes. “As if you’re one to talk. You’re hardly the pinnacle of good hygiene.”
Linhardt set the book aside and examined his fingernails.
Blood. There it was, caked under his pointer finger. How had he not noticed it before? Was it new? Was it his? Or was it someone else’s, left over from the fight against those thieves? Had he been carrying it with him all this time. The thought revolted Linhardt from his very core. He had to get out of here. His clothes suddenly felt too tight. He wanted to throw them into a wash basin again, wanted to scrub his entire body until he was sure no trace of the battle could remain on him.
“Woah, woah, calm down! You’re shaking, and you’re breathing way too fast.”
Caspar’s voice sounded so far away.
“Linhardt, look at me,” Caspar tried again. “Breathe when I breathe, okay? I’ve got you.”
It took ages to get his breath under control. It felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes. But Caspar dealt with the whole thing better than Linhardt expected him to. He stayed by Linhardt’s side, didn’t even go running for a teacher or a healer like Linhardt would have expected him to, and Linhardt was grateful for that. He didn’t want anyone else to see him like this. And truthfully, he couldn’t imagine anyone being able to bring him back to reality the way his old friend could. Linhardt’s heart was still pounding by the time he finally stopped hyperventilating, finally stopped his body from quaking.
“What happened?” Caspar asked. “I’ve never seen you get like that before.”
“It’s…” Linhardt braced himself. He didn’t want to talk about it and make the panic attack start all over again. “It’s the blood. You pointed it out under my nail and then I just remembered our battle against the thieves and how there was blood everywhere and I-!”
Linhardt clamped a hand over his own mouth. He could feel the shakes coming back.
“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if it freaks you out that much,” Caspar said. “I don’t really understand why it freaks you out. I mean I’ve been in plenty of brawls, most of which end up kinda bloody. Never bothered me.”
While he was talking, Caspar had also been rubbing soothing circles into Linhardt’s back which, against all odds, actually helped.
“Just one of the many differences between us.” Linhardt’s voice was still wobbly, but he was able to manage an appropriately sardonic tone.
“Don’t you see a lot of blood as a healer, anyway?”
“I suppose I’ll have to, now that I’m being forced out of the classroom and onto the battlefield.” Linhardt dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when we have to go into battle again next month.”
Caspar’s soothing hand on his back stilled and Linhardt momentarily wondered if he said something wrong. He looked up from his hands to see Caspar staring at him with that determined glint he got in his eye right before he was about to do something very brave or very stupid.
“I’ll help you get over your fear of blood before next month’s battle, and that’s a promise!”
Linhardt didn’t really understand how Caspar planned to do that until the following week, when Caspar arrived at his bedroom door with a bloody nose. But it was not just any bloody nose. It was probably the worst bloody nose Linhardt had ever seen without the nose actually being broken. Red was smeared all the way down to his chin. When Linhardt opened his door, Caspar gave him a toothy grin through bloody lips. Linhardt almost closed the door in his face.
But he didn’t. Instead he stared resolutely at the floor and avoided looking at Caspar by any means possible.
“What happened this time, Caspar?” Linhardt asked.
“I just got into a little scrap, that’s all!” Caspar sounded far too cheery for someone bleeding that profusely. “And I thought you could help heal me up! It looks worse than it feels, I promise.”
Linhardt shifted nervously from foot to foot. He really, really didn’t want to deal with this, but it seemed cruel to turn his friend away when he clearly needed help. So he stepped aside and allowed Caspar inside, eyes carefully trained on the ground the whole time. Linhardt heard the sound of Caspar sitting down on his bed, and he said a silent prayer that he wasn’t getting any blood on the sheets.
Linhardt sat next to Caspar, staring at his friend’s feet now. He raised his hands to the general vicinity of where he thought Caspar’s face was. They lit up with white magic. He thought they might be shaking, too, which annoyed Linhardt because he wasn’t even looking at the blood anymore.
“Hey! Can you really heal me without even looking at what you’re doing?”
“I can try,” Linhardt grumbled his response.
“But how are you ever going to get over your fear of blood if you won’t even look at it?”
Linhardt was so taken aback that he snapped up his head to look at Caspar. He immediately regretted it and looked away again. “Is that what you think you’re doing here, Caspar? Giving me exposure therapy?”
“I don’t know what exposure therapy is. I just thought if you saw blood in smaller amounts before a big battle, it would make it easier.”
“That’s… exactly what exposure therapy is.”
“Oh. Then yeah! That’s what I’m doing.”
Linhardt felt the tug of his magic stitching over the last of Caspar’s wound. With a relieved sigh, Lin allowed the glow to fade from his hands.
“Could you wash up in the basin over there? I can’t even look at you when half of your face is covered in blood like that.”
Caspar lingered for a moment. “You sure you don’t want to look? I’m not even hurt anymore or anything.”
Linhardt glared even harder at the floor. “I’m sure.”
Caspar sheepishly shuffled over to the washbasin and cleaned up.
“Okay, I’m good now.”
Linhardt dared to look up. Caspar had managed to get his entire face soaking wet, but all the blood was indeed gone.
“Sorry,” Caspar mumbled. “I thought I was helping.”
“Please tell me you didn’t pick a fight this morning just so you could show me your bloody nose.”
“I didn’t!” Caspar insisted. “It just happened and I thought it was a good opportunity to show you some of my blood.”
Linhardt shuddered at that particularly grotesque turn of phrase.
“Can I sit down again?”
“Now that you’re cleaned up you can do whatever you like.” Linhardt thought about it and quickly amended that statement. “Within reason.”
Caspar found his place beside Linhardt once again. “I wish I could help you feel the way I feel, you know? The exhilaration of a good fight, the way it gets your heart pumping. That great feeling when you win and you feel like you’re the strongest person to ever live! The satisfaction of protecting people! There’s nothing like it.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to experience fighting the way you do, Caspar, and not just because I’m training to be a healer,” Linhardt said. “The truth is, I wish I could just live in a pillow fort filled with Crestology text books and never have to step foot on a battlefield ever again.”
Caspar tilted his head to the side. “But crests are passed on through bloodlines. Wouldn’t you have to deal with blood at least a little bit if you want to study Crestology?”
That made Linhardt pause. “I never thought of it like that before.”
The next day Linhardt was sitting at his usual spot in the library when Caspar approached him, carrying a stack of books that was almost as tall as he was.
“Are you lost?” Linhardt asked flatly. “But, no, that wouldn’t explain all the library books.”
“These are for you!” Caspar dropped the books unceremoniously on the desk Linhardt sat at, causing the stack to wobble precariously. “I got them from Hanneman.”
“Oh. Thank you, I suppose,” Linhardt said. “But you do realize there are plenty of books already in the library, don’t you? You didn’t need to bring in even more.”
“These are special!” Caspar insisted. “They’re Crestology textbooks, just like you said you wanted, but I made sure these ones all had anatomy diagrams in them!”
Linhardt blinked at Caspar. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Caspar was still trying to help him get over his aversion to blood. Caspar never gave up on anything, much less when it came to helping someone. Still, his determination always left Linhardt a little in awe.
Cautiously, Linhardt took the first book down from the stack and opened it. He flipped through until he found a diagram, a map of veins running through the body. He looked at it. He read the article next to it. And he felt fine. Better than fine, even! The text was well-written, and he soon found himself lost in reading and note-taking for his research. He spent the next couple of hours looking through the books Caspar had brought, while Caspar himself sat nearby, bouncing his leg and looking bored out of his mind the whole while. But he stayed nonetheless, just in case Linhardt panicked and needed someone by his side.
The next time Caspar tried to help Linhardt overcome his fear, Linhardt didn’t even realize it was happening. Caspar had simply volunteered himself and Linhardt for kitchen duty alongside Raphael. Caspar then suggested Raphael chop the vegetables while he and Linhardt cooked the stew. Raphael turned out to be somewhat of a butterfingers with a knife, and he nicked himself a couple of times while chopping. Linhardt healed the small cuts for him easily before suggesting that maybe he and Raphael should switch kitchen jobs. It was only when the meal was done and they were leaving the kitchen that Linhardt noticed how widely Caspar was smiling at him.
“What?” Linhardt asked.
“That was nice of you to heal up Raphael like that.”
“Well I wasn’t just going to let him bleed all over our vegetables.”
“But he was bleeding,” Caspar pointed out. “And you didn’t freak out or anything. You were totally fine.”
The realization hit Linhardt belatedly. “You’re right. I was, wasn’t I?”
Soon there was only one week left until the battle at the end of the month. Linhardt was doing his best to mentally prepare himself. Then Byleth brought them out on an extra mission a week early to deal with more bandits in the area. Linhardt had not mentally prepared for that.
The anticipation was the worst part. Linhardt was a ball of nerves during the entire march to the bandits’ den. Caspar marched alongside him the whole time, and for once in his life Caspar refrained from chatting Linhardt’s ear off. Instead he just stayed near Linhardt, a comforting presence amid the chaos of anxiety. When they finally arrived right outside the bandit’s den, Caspar turned to Linhardt and squeezed his shoulder.
“It’s nothing scary, okay?” Caspar said. “It’s just anatomy, like in your textbooks. Healing people is just like healing Raphael’s hands.”
Linhardt didn’t trust his voice at the moment, so he nodded instead. Caspar nodded back and then turned to walk towards the frontlines. Linhardt started to follow.
“Hold on, Linhardt.” Byleth’s voice cut through the fog in his brain. “You’re staying back here.”
“I am?” He didn’t understand. “But don’t I need to heal everyone who gets hurt on the frontlines?”
“If they get hurt, I’ll make sure they’re able to retreat far enough to get to you,” Byleth announced. “Caspar made a good point to me. Since you’re our only healer right now, we can’t risk you getting hurt yourself and leaving the rest of us unable to recuperate. You should stay back where you’re better protected.”
“Caspar told you all that?”
“Yeah, I was surprised, too,” Byleth said. “Never took him to be very strategy-minded. Goes to show I should never underestimate my students.”
Petra got a nasty gash on her arm that Linhardt closed up for her. Hubert was inflicted with a curse from an enemy mage that Linhardt needed to undo. And that was it. The battle was over quickly and Linhardt never even saw the enemy.
On the march back to Garreg Mach, Caspar jogged to catch up with Linhardt. He had some mud smeared on his face, but he looked otherwise unharmed.
“How are you feeling?” Caspar asked.
“Not as bad as I thought I would,” Linhardt replied honestly. “I might have some nightmares about that awful cut Petra got, but it could have been a lot worse.”
Caspar frowned. “I don’t want you to be having nightmares! I totally thought you’d be better after all the progress you’ve been making.”
“But I am better, that’s what I’m saying,” Linhardt insisted. “I’ve improved so much, and it’s mostly thanks to your help. I don’t think I’ll ever be as comfortable around blood and violence as someone like you, but I don’t want to be.”
“Huh.” Caspar considered this. “I guess if you feel better, then that’s the most important part. Though I kinda wish you were more comfortable with violence, just so we could spar together!”
“Please,” Linhardt said. “The reason we don’t spar together is because my magic and your brawling are completely incompatible. You haven’t built up any resistance to magic. I’d have you incapacitated in seconds.”
“Would not!”
“Would too.”
“Would not!”
They went back and forth like that for a while. Linhardt had never imagined he could feel so lighthearted after a fight.