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masterqwertster · 2 years

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Ashton's talk with Laudna in E49 has battered me with ideas, so here's a short fic that has made me teary eyed, so I'm inflicting it on all of you.

Be perfectly warned that suicide ideation is very much a part of this because of the FCG martyrism, and it's almost definitely not handled well because these people don't really know how to handle it. Including me. I wrote this on vibes and emotions and zero experience in real life.

Enough On AO3

Sometimes you have to break the bone again if it’s to have even a remote chance at healing properly.

Ashton knows this. Their bones don’t break easily, but they’ve done the damage enough, set enough people to rights, to be perfectly aware of it.

And the thing is, medicine is medicine. Physical or mental, it’s the same sort of principles. Sometimes time and proper treatment will set you right, and sometimes you’ve got to bleed the poison, reset the break by breaking it again.

He’s tried, so fucking hard, to be gentle with Fresh Cut Grass. Hoped, maybe uselessly, that time and proper tending would fix the aeormaton’s broken parts.

And it’s worked in some places. Grass has found the backbone to not let everyone walk all over them (even if they nearly gave him a fucking heart attack first exerting that backbone against fucking Hexum).

But not this one. One of the important ones. And fuck, Ashton’s pretty sure they’ve reached the point where gentle just can’t cut it. This– This is going to hurt.

-------------------------

“Ashton, why aren’t you saying anything?” Imogen demands.

He can’t bring himself to look away from the campfire Bells Hells is gathered around, planning another desperate job. It needs to be done. He’s told himself this since Grass offered up that stupid fucking plan. Again. And he knows, if not now, then when? Will he ever make the point?

…Sometimes you have to fuck around and find out.

“Why should I? It’s not like Fresh Cut Grass cares how I feel.”

It’s bitter, so fucking bitter on their tongue, but they need to break so he can mend. And with the words out there, they realize how fucking tired they are of pretending that every time Grass does this it doesn’t hurt them.

“Wha–?! Ashton, that’s not true! I care a lot–”

“You don’t fucking show it!” Ashton cuts them off, growling. “I told you, my one fucking rule for being a part of this crew. One. Do you even remember what that rule is?”

“...W-we don’t… we don’t leave anyone behind?”

The answer is so fucking hesitant, and Ashton hates it, hates himself a little for pushing it that way. But sometimes to be cruel is to be kind, and Fresh Cut Grass is too fucking stubborn for this to sink in any other way.

“And what the fuck do you think you’re doing every time you offer to go on a suicide run on the off chance we just might have a better chance at success? Huh?”

“Y’all can bring me back–”

“Not if we’re dead too! Not if we can’t find some powerful fucker willing to even fucking try. ”

Ashton hasn’t forgotten how fucking close they came to not finding help in Whitestone for Laudna. How that fucking asshole lord would have undone all their hard work if that stupid undead bitch haunting Laudna had been present, despite having done nothing to the bastard in thirty fucking years with a Laudna who didn’t have a whole crew to help keep her in check. He thinks the holy baker might try to resurrect Grass if they supplied the materials. But anyone else? He has doubts others would even believe there is a soul to retrieve from death.

“But it’s not about whether we can bring you back from death or not,” Ashton says softly. “Not really. It’s about you, Fresh Cut Grass, fucking choosing to leave us all behind like that.”

“But the Changebringer says–”

“It’s a fucking coin, Letters. You’re the one who comes up with ideas of suicide. There’s no fucking goddess whispering in your ear, ‘Hey, you should fucking kill yourself.’ There’s just you, wanting to die, and that fucking coin you’re using to justify the idea.”

Ashton’s not against them finding religion. Hell, having a divine guide post will probably help. But. The blind and absolute faith in that fucking coin isn’t religion. It’s Grass still avoiding having active control over their own fucking life. And if the fucking Changebringer is actually answering every dumb fucking question Fresh Cut Grass asks that coin, Ashton just might have to find a way to send her to fucking Ruidus.

“I– I–”

“So if you want to fucking die so bad, get it over with. Because you’ve made it pretty fucking clear that us caring and wanting you fucking here, with us, doesn’t matter.”

They’re panting, drawing air through a running nose as tears they refuse to let fall gather in the corners of their eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore, Letters. Not when you’re making it inevitable because we’re not enough. I’m not enough.”

He laughs hollowly, and whispers, “I’m never fucking enough.”

And that was too far. Too vulnerable in front of the whole crew. They’re on their feet and gone from the camp to find something to hit before anyone can say anything. Or if they do say anything, Ashton doesn’t, can’t, hear it.

I’m never fucking enough.

Parents that had more interest in whatever fucking ritual killed at least one of them than being there to raise him into an adult. Friends who were family that wouldn’t risk the consequences of his more-than-near death experience, who couldn’t even be bothered to fucking come back for him years later.

That was the fucking realization he’d come to after waking up to only Milo. He thought he’d buried it deep enough to never pass his lips, make it real–

This is why he saved broken conversations for Laudna. The old spook understood without having to say the actual words because she had real fucking similar bullshit. And she bore it with a lot better grace than he did. It was comforting to think he could get there one day, maybe.

And maybe the Hells were different from whatever the fuck Hishari was, from the Nobodies. They were certainly trying. But Letters was breaking what little was left of their heart by being no different. Grass wanted to martyr himself more than he wanted to be here with Ashton, and the rest of the Hells.

I’m never fucking enough.

Ashton roars and punches the boulder they’d found.

--------------------------------

They stare at the retreating form of their best friend.

They’re panicking. They don’t– they can’t– Dancer is already gone– Not Ashton too–

He’s moving forward after them. He hasn’t got a clue what to say, what to do, it’s so terrifying to have to choose what to do, but there must be something. Why can’t the fucking Changerbringer give him more than a yes or no answer? The coin can’t choose for him like this!

Laudna steps between them, hides Ashton from his sight. Hands from behind halt his forward momentum.

Part of them wants to lash out. That’s Ashton, leaving. Ashton, who found them and cared for them and refused to leave them even though they murdered their associates, tried to do the same to Bells Hells– Why is the line drawn here? It’s the Changebringer making the choice, not them. Ashton didn’t blame them for snapping, didn’t think that was their choice. So why not this? And they’re not being allowed to go after him.

The others must be able to see the rising stress, because the hands loosen, Laudna’s posture softens as she crouches down to be eye level with him (he can’t see Ashton’s silhouette beyond her not again not again).

“Fresh Cut Grass, I know you’re upset, but you can’t go after them right now,” she softly says.

FCG thinks it’s meant to be soothing, but it just winds the stress a little tighter.

“Ashton loves you, don’t you ever doubt that. They’ve told me themself,” Laudna reassures him. “But, you also worry them, a lot, with your ‘desperate attempts at martyrism.’” He can hear the quotes as Laudna sing-songs the phrase. Of course he’s desperate. Look at all the blood he’s spilled. He has no blood of his own to spill in penance, just a mockery of life to offer in turn. “Honestly, you worry me, and the rest of us, I think, with that. And if you can’t stand by a decision to stop trying to unnecessarily martyr yourself, then any apology you would make to Ashton, any promise to do better, would be empty. And I think you know how Ashton feels about empty words and promises.”

And he does. Ashton hates when others don’t keep their end of a deal. He’s never said anything to Ashton that he doesn’t mean, only ever even lied to help his friends.

“...I-I don’t– I don’t want to give them an empty promise, but I don’t–”

An angered roar echoes back to the camp, one they know well. Ashton.

Not just anger either. Pain too. And their mind flashes back to the Spire by Fire, that first time Ashton let them and Imogen into his mind in hopes of finding answers about his past. He’s dead, just leave him. The flood of anger and pain that their Calm Emotions couldn’t restrain once it had been released. And Fresh Cut Grass has caused it this time.

“H-how do I fix this? I don’t know how to fix this,” FCG whines.

He loves to help other people with their problems, but when he’s the problem– Dancer told him to stay away, but he doesn’t want to stay away, can’t stay away. Not from her, not from Ashton. But staying away is the way he was told to fix it, so if he went as far away as possible…

“It’s not going to be easy, Fresh Cut,” Orym says, gently turning them to look at him. “But the first step is to listen to what Ashton was saying.”

“B-but I was listenin’.”

“And what did you hear?” Orym patiently asks.

FCG opens their mouth to reply, only to be cut off.

“Not their exact words, FCG. How would you say what they were saying?”

They ponder this. It was a lot . And very hurtful. And Ashton was hurting as much as he was hurting them.

It’s not like Fresh Cut Grass cares how I feel.

I’m not enough.

He’s dead, just leave him.

I’m never fucking enough.

“Ashton… feels like I don’t care about them?”

“Why?”

I told you, my one fucking rule for being a part of this crew.

There’s just you, wanting to die, and that fucking coin you’re using to justify the idea.

I can’t do this anymore, Letters. Not when you’re making it inevitable

It’s about you , Fresh Cut Grass, fucking choosing to leave us all behind like that.

“...Because… because… he thinks I’m makin’ bad choices? But I’m not good at makin’ choices! I don’t know how. ”

Chetney snorts. “Well you’re not going to get any better with that attitude. Take it from someone who actually remembers the past four centuries, part of living is learning from your mistakes and bad choices. And you’re gonna make a lot of ‘em before you actually get good at anything. But you,” and he points a chisel at Fresh Cut Grass, “are refusing to fucking learn or make new choices. And that’s the real problem. Can’t fix shit, can’t improve it, if you’re not willing to do something different.”

“...And what should I do different?” they desperately ask.

---------------------------

Ashton’s not sure how much later it is when they hear the creak of Fresh Cut Grass rolling their way, the soft exchange of words between him and Fearne (she’d followed him because Bells Hells didn’t let anyone go off alone if they could help it) before hooves clomp away.

“I’m sorry,” FCG says.

Ashton doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move from where he’s reclined against the boulder.

“I… didn’t realize how much y’all cared about me bein’ here. How much you cared.”

“I told you before, a while back,” Ashton points out.

“...I might have thought that had to do with how useful you found me.”

“If it was about useful, I would like money better than you. You can get anything with money if you have enough of it.”

They can hear the creak of Grass nodding his head at that.

“I feel real guilty about the people I’ve killed.”

Ashton cracks an eye open at the admission.

“An’... I guess I thought dyin’ doin’ somethin’ good could make up for that? The others said if I wanted to really make up for murderin’ innocent folks, I ought to live and do as much good as I can for as long as I can.”

A soft grunt of acknowledgement leaves the genasi’s chest. “And are you?”

“I think I need to try. I want to try. And… I don’t want you to leave, like Dancer did. And I don’t want to leave you, like the Nobodies did. So, I’m really, really sorry, Ashton.”

Ashton lets out a big sigh. Then, in a surge of motion, they’ve drawn Fresh Cut Grass close, pressing their forehead to Grass’s faceplate.

“I told you: I want to be happy because you’re making me happy. That it would make me so fucking happy if you’d stop offering yourself up like a piece of meat. If you can do that, Letters, for real, then I’m here. For as long as I’m breathing and as long as you want me, I’m here, buddy.”

“I’m gonna try, Ashton. I promise.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr3 #cr c3 #cr campaign 3 #cr spoilers #cr c3 e49 #fanfic #ashton greymoore #fresh cut grass #fcg #fcg critical role #bells hells #this one's kinda sad y'all #happy ending though #MQfic

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