Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dreams started two months before Caleb turned thirteen. Not every night but most of them and they were always the same. There was a boy sitting in a bedroom, dark-haired and roughly Caleb's age. He could never see the boy's face – when it wasn't buried in his knees, he was usually staring out the window – but Caleb could hear him crying. Deep wracking sobs that echoed through the room and made his shoulders shake.

The other boy was always crying as though his world was ending and all Caleb wanted to do was make him stop. But when he tried to speak, he had no voice and when he tried to move, his feet stuck to the floor.

Caleb was a ghost in the dreams, present but unable to interact with anything. So he just tried not to listen, giving the other boy some small bit of privacy. He wouldn't want anyone else to see him crying and in the moment, he often forgot that this boy could not be real. Caleb only realized that he was dreaming once he woke up again, a hard knot of sorrow aching in his chest.

It was weird and it hurt and he hated it, but he didn't know how to make the visions stop. Caleb had never been able to control his dreams like some people and he didn’t feel like he could ask anyone else for advice.

His friends would probably just laugh at him for dreaming about another boy and Caleb didn’t want to bother his mother when she’d been acting strange since the beginning of the summer. Evelyn Danvers had always drunk a lot of alcohol, but now she'd started drinking herself to sleep most evenings, often falling unconscious right there on the couch. She had also started watching Caleb much more closely, staring at him like he might disappear if she dared to blink. She hadn't looked at him like that since the time he'd caught pneumonia but when he asked her what was wrong, she wouldn’t tell him. His mother kept saying that everything was fine even though he knew that was a lie.

Caleb worried but there was nothing he could do about it. He just tried to keep her happy, making sure that he did well in school and met his friends out of the house. His mother had never had a problem with the other boys before – she’s the one who made sure they hung out in the first place – but now her face twisted strangely whenever Caleb mentioned them.

So he kept his silence and after the first few weeks, his nightly visitor became almost comforting. Sure the dreams were weird but they were also regular. They were something he could count on and at least Caleb knew that one other person was more miserable than him. He needed that reassurance when his mother began drinking even more and he started to find her passed out with a bottle when he got home from school.

Indeed, Evelyn Danvers was far from sober when she summoned Caleb into her study and finally told him what was wrong. He didn't believe her at first. Everyone knew that witches and wizards weren't real; his mother might as well have told him that he was a unicorn. Why should he believe that magic was not only real, but dangerous, addictive, and scary as all hell? Why would he believe that his father had been a wizard and the power stole his life?

However, when his mother sobered up, she told him the same story and then she showed him proof. She drove Caleb to an old house far past the edge of town, the sort of place where people got murdered on dark and stormy nights.

Honestly, the place looked ready to fall down and Caleb could barely believe it when his mother went inside. She walked into the building as though it was physically painful, every step deepening the grimace on her face. But his mother kept going and Caleb could only follow. He wasn’t going to leave her in a place like this alone.

She led him up to the second floor via a narrow stairway and then took a deep breath before opening the closest door. When he walked inside, Caleb saw a small bedroom, as dusty and rundown as the rest of the house. But what caught his eye and made him shiver was the gnarled old man sitting by the fireplace.

“Caleb, it’s time for you to meet your father,” his mother said with a voice like broken glass. “The two of you have much to talk about.”

The words made no sense. Caleb's father had died when he was still a baby - that's what she’d always told him - and the man by the fire looked nothing like the picture on their mantelpiece back home. This man was old, older than anyone that he'd ever seen. His body was twisted and broken and all Caleb wanted to do was run away. But he couldn't; his mother's hand was gripping his shoulder and keeping him in place.

“I told you that magic broke your father,” she said bitterly. “This is all that's left of him.”

“She is right, my son,” the old man told Caleb softly, a dry rasp like dying leaves. “I was young and foolish and I threw my life away.”

“But magic is impossible; it's just a fairy tale,” he protested. Caleb didn't want to believe this. If he accepted that magic was real then he had to accept the rest of it and this man was not his dad. His dad was dead and his mother had simply lost touch with reality from drinking too much alcohol. Caleb found it easier to believe that she had paid some nutcase to pretend to be his father than in magic and the rest.

However, before he could say anything else, the old man's eyes turned black. Caleb stood frozen beneath that inky gaze as something wrapped around his waist. It felt like a rope but when he looked down there was nothing and he could only watch in shock as his feet slowly left the ground.

“What the hell?!” Caleb stuttered, his legs kicking wildly.

This was real. This was insane and impossible but somehow it was real. Caleb couldn't deny it any longer; how could he deny the truth when he was levitating off the ground? It only lasted for a moment, his feet hitting the floor as the old man fell back gasping and Caleb watched in horror as new wrinkles appeared on the wizard's face. Because the old man must be a wizard and if his mother was telling the truth about magic, maybe this really was his father after all.

So Caleb looked at him, trying to feel some sort of connection, some inner knowledge that called from blood to blood.

But he didn’t know this man. Whatever her faults, Caleb's mother was the one who'd raised him and he felt a growing anger toward the man sitting before him. If this unnatural aging was caused by using magic then his father must have decided that power was more important than his family and that made him a dick in Caleb's mind. His father might be old and helpless but he wasn't the one who had to watch his mother drink herself to sleep and Caleb was pretty sure that he'd never forgive the bastard for choosing as he did.

“What's the point in having magic if it turns me into that?” he bit out scornfully.

“Power,” his mother answered. “Power calls and a Danvers always answers; the need is in your blood. On your thirteenth birthday, you will receive a taste of magic and you must learn to Use in moderation before you turn eighteen. You must learn to resist temptation before coming into your full powers; the lesson that your father never mastered. He grew too fond of power, too used to tilting the balance in his favor when a challenge came his way. I asked him to stop for our sake but he didn't have the strength. However, you will do better, darling. I am sure of it.”

And what could Caleb do but promise he would try? His mother was so hopeful, so confident that he was better than his father, and Caleb wanted to prove that she was right. Even if he still thought that this whole thing seemed insane.