A Crit & Fumble fan fiction story
In response to a joke request from the podcast crew, here is some Bastion-Maydor enemies-to-lovers fan fiction. This takes place over Episodes 5 and 6 (Crit & Fumble Season 5 – see critandfumble.com) and a little bit after. Minor spoilers? But also, not canon. Hope ya’ll enjoy!
Campfire Shenanigans
That night at camp, Bastion broods by the fire. Everything in the past 24 hours had gone horribly wrong. First, Malakar had brutally ended his undeath. He thought, that may be it, but then he was painfully brought through a haze of confusion by a witch. And then his friends had come back, only to turn on said witch. The witch, somehow tied to the only person Bastion had felt a connection with in this godsforsaken underworld, was brought low by him and his friends. And when her soul dispersed into a billion pieces, it also ended Ellie’s life…
A tightness clenches at his chest at the memory. He couldn’t keep her safe. He couldn’t help her. And his actions, and those of his friends, caused her life’s light to be extinguished prematurely.
Eyes eventually blinking back into focus, he spies Maydor from across the fire. That bastard is smugly sharpening his scimitars. Is it possible for someone to look more disgusting in the flickering firelight? Bastion supposes so as he glares, then shifts his view somewhere else. He spies Bastion’s two wolves curled up nearby. It’s too bad their master is a sack of shit. They’re good pups.
Ophelie and Cheri slink back from whatever they were doing and join the fire. Some small talk and chatter ensues, and Bastion starts to feel slightly better.
It’s late when they finally decide to turn in for bed. Maydor has fallen asleep in his camp chair, and Bastion grins, sharing a look with Cheri.
“Glass of warm water?” Bastion suggests.
Cheri grins gleefully and fills up a bowl with heated water.
Carefully, Bastion positions the bowl under Maydor’s left hand as it slumps over the armrest. He looks over at Cheri, returning her grin.
Just as Bastion begins to position Maydor’s hand in the bowl, the ranger’s eyes snap open.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Maydor spits in Bastion’s face. He does a quick *click with his tongue.
The water spills everywhere as one of Maydor’s giant wolves slams into Bastion, teeth barred but not quite biting into his skin. Bastion wrestles himself out of the dog’s grip and takes a swing at Maydor instead. The two men trade blows as Bastion tries to put Maydor into a headlock. The ranger slips from the fighter’s grasp.
Both breathing heavily, about five feet away from each other, the men level each other with a glare of absolute hatred.
“Fuck you.” Maydor narrows his eyes and clicks his two wolves to his side.
Bastion stares him down, and Maydor finally turns to head to his bedroll. Bastion makes an obscene hand gesture behind his back. “Prick.” He hisses under his breath.
A Dapper Dog
With the relative safety of Whispers Watch behind them, Bastion feels a sense of both ease and heightened tensions as the party continues on through their trials. Ophelie and Skuggi seem to have come to a tentative truce over whatever they were in disagreement about. Cheri keeps them focused on their mission. Bastion sighs in relief as he embraces his decisions and walks through the wall of shadowy spectres. He can’t help but notice the haunted look on Maydor’s face as he fights his way through, though. Or maybe that’s just what his ugly face always looks like when he doesn’t have that stupid scowl plastered on.
That afternoon, as they take a rest, cleaning their wounds from the battle with the dwarves and wrapping the burns from lava, Bastion gets Ophelie and Cheri in on his latest scheme.
“Do you have some fabric or something? To make little bowties for Maydor’s puppies?” Bastion asks quietly out of earshot of the ranger.
Ophelie and Cheri both clap with glee, loving the idea.
Once Maydor is soundly asleep, they slip Shangar some leftover meat and use mage hand to fix a newly crafted bowtie around his neck.
As they sneak away from where Maydor sleeps, they giggle and high-five.
“He’s going to be so pissed when he wakes up!” Ophelie laughs.
“It’s the best.” Bastion agrees.
Shangar
About an hour later, they’re woken by shouting. Bastion slides a hand into one of the steel gauntlets and grabs the newly found warhammer, looking around.
“Who the bloody hell- who’s been messing with my wolves?!” Maydor shouts out.
Bastion eases the hammer back to the ground, sighing in relief. He smiles and looks over to Ophelie, catching her eye gleefully. Then he looks over to Maydor, the ranger is fussing with the necktie on his wolf. He mutters angrily to himself.
Bastion walks over, “Keep your voice down, we don’t know what’s out here.”
Maydor stops what he’s doing and levels Bastion with a glare. “Was this you?”
“What?” Bastion plays dumb. He looks to the brown bowtie Maydor is fiddling with, quite unsuccessfully. “Shangar is looking quite dapper.”
“Don’t touch my dog.” Maydor spits. “Any of you!” He looks around at the others and turns back to his work, muttering to himself.
Bastion shrugs and turns to leave as Maydor eventually gives up, leaving the tie on his neck. He snaps his fingers, and Shangar disappears, bowtie and all.
Bastion hides a grin, Operation Dashing Dog a success. He walks away, pausing for a moment. Does Bastion seem more tired than when they lay down to rest? Internally shrugging it off, he turns and continues to walk back to his bedroll to pack up and prepare for the next leg of their journey.
Distracted
That night at camp, Cheri asks Bastion, “So what’s the plan for Maydor tonight?”
Bastion is lost in his memories. Images of Ellie mixing with Opal, words of demons echo in his head. Promises made and lost. “Sorry, what?”
“Tonight’s plan to fuck with Maydor,” Cheri repeats. “Got any ideas?”
“Hmm,” Bastion thinks for a moment. “You know, I had a few ideas, but none of them really feel right. I’ll let you know if I come up with something good enough, though.”
Cheri nods and goes to get more stew.
Tonight’s small talk is subdued, as Opheli helps Skugi with his multiple burn wounds. Bastion flexes his hands, feeling phantoms of the chain burns.
The night goes on
Cheri tries to bring the mood up, but Bastion’s heart isn’t in it. Eventually, it’s only him left at the dying fire as he starts his watch. Knowing he’s not paying enough attention, he stands and walks towards Maydor. Perhaps a little prank is what he needs to get his head back in the game.
The wolves are in the place wherever they go when they’re not on the same plane as Maydor and the others. Bastion feels a tug of remorse, he kind of misses them.
The coal in his hand feels heavy as he sets his eyes on Maydor’s slumbering body. The bags under Maydor’s eyes seem to be growing, his moustache more dishevelled by the day. Bastion frowns. His thoughts of drawing coal over his companion’s face fade, and a flicker of something else creeps in from his subconscious.
He can almost ignore the pull, but not quite. A warm feeling in his stomach, a draw to push the bangs out of Maydor’s eyes. He shakes his head, this exhaustion must be getting to him, and walks back to the smouldering fire to complete his watch.
Ignar
The next day, they face Ignar, a behemoth of molten lava, breathing fire and turning life to ash. Bastion is in his element. Determined to make up for his blunder with Malakar, he digs deep and finds the strength within himself to meet this foe head-on. Trading blows, relying on his friend’s spells and distanced attacks, Bastion feels the fight turning in their favour.
Seconds go by. The demon is brought low. Bastion relishes in the victory of battle for a moment. Until he looks around and notices Cheri crouched over Maydor’s still body.
Bastion rushes to her side, “What happened?” he asks her.
Cheri is panickedly pulling out a potion of healing. “Just help me get this into him.”
Bastion hesitates for a split second before complying and putting his hands on Bastion’s face. It’s unnaturally cool despite the heat of the furnace they sit in. He leans Maydor’s chin back and opens his mouth while Cheri pours the potion down his throat.
Ten, twenty, sixty seconds pass. Bastion looks at Cheri, matching her panic. Finally, coughing and sputtering comes out of a convulsing Maydor.
“Ugh, what the fuck juat happened.” Maydor sputters.
Bastion realizes his hands are still caressing the other man’s face. He lets go and hides them behind his back, shuffling a few paces away to give Maydor some space.
“You almost died,” Cheri says quietly.
Maydor sits up slowly and looks around. “Did we get him, though?”
Ophelie walks over, supporting a limping Skuggi. “Ya, we did.” Then nodding at Bastion. “We got him.”
Dreams
They find a satisfactory location to rest. It’s far from ideal, but in this dangerous land, Bastion knows it’s probably the safest they’ll find for a while.
The warmth of the earth here means they don’t need a fire tonight, so Cheri gets a small one going for cooking purposes only.
Bastion tries not to eavesdrop on Ophelie and Skuggi’s arguing. He doesn’t care about the whims of some far-off god. Trying not to think about Ellie, thoughts of the toy horse torture him instead. He curls up on his sleeping mat early, closing his eyes and attempting to shut the noise of the world out.
When Bastion awakens, the smell of fire and brimstone is ripe in his nostrils. He can’t see anything and just feels an ever-present something pressing into him. “Bastion, you haven’t been using your gifts.” The voice goads.
Bastion turns, but still sees nothing in the blackness.
“What are you afraid of? Reaching your true potential? Protecting your friends?” The voice continues, its deep and hungry voice digging into Bastion’s insecurities. “What are you going to say to her? When you fail.”
Bastion wakes again, but this time for real. The tattoo burns on his skin as he blinks the sleep away. It’s dark out, but he can see. The weight on his chest is gone. Something moves on the edge of their makeshift camp. Bastion stands, grabbing his sword, to quietly investigate. Not yet raising the alarm to wake the others.
Distractions
His relief is palpable when he sees the movement is caused by his ranger companion. Maydor sits with his legs slung over the edge of the cliff. Seemingly lost in thought.
“Room for one more there?” Bastion asks.
Maydor turns, and Bastion expects to see Maydor snarl and say something snotty back. But his expression is… soft, almost. His features less hawklike in the faint aura of night. Maydor nods, shuffling over to make room for him.
Bastion sits, their knees less than a foot apart. He stares outward, not really seeing anything.
“Having trouble sleeping, too?” Maydor breaks the silence.
Bastion nods, “Bad dream. You?”
Maydor lets out a long sigh. “Something like that…”
Minutes pass and Bastion enjoys the companionable silence. His mind finally begins to quiet just a little. A new clarity comes to him. He chances a look over at Maydor, who is staring out at the expanse below them.
“You know, you had me really worried today,” Bastion admits.
Maydor shrugs, “You and I both know the crew wouldn’t have mourned my loss for long.”
Bastion nods, “Maybe you’re right… But, I would have.” And it’s true. The longer this adventure has gone on, the more Bastion has realized that despite Maydor being an absolute bastard… as much as he hates the guy… there’s something about him he just can’t imagine living without.
His eyes wander
He lets his eyes wander over the other man’s face. Maybe truly seeing him for the first time. Old scars healed over. One that looks like a burn, just beneath his hairline. Then, his hand twitches involuntarily on the ground behind him.
The movement gets the ranger’s attention, and Maydor turns to look at Bastion. Feeling caught staring, Bastion feels his cheeks begin to heat up. His eyes flick down as he wets his cracked lips.
When Bastion looks up again, Maydor is fixing him with a heated stare. But it seems different than the glares he’s used to. They lock eyes for a few moments before Bastion begins to shift uncomfortably and looks away. He lifts his hands onto his lap to keep them from doing something else.
“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” Maydor says, his voice low and void of its usual vitriol. He cocks his head quizzically.
Bastion fidgets, “Maybe I’m just thinking about- what would be a good distraction, from all the noise in my head.”
Maydor nods, glancing down at Bastion’s hands in his lap. “You know, I know of a few distractions that could work in a place like this.”
Bastion looks back up and meets Maydor’s eyes. A fire seems to be coming from them as they reflect what little light the space holds. “Oh yeah?” He licks his lips again.
Maydor nods, slowly. “Only if you’re willing, of course.”
Hope dangerously wells in Bastion’s stomach. A feeling he’s seldom let himself have crawls out from the darkest depths of his manhood. “You have my attention.”
Maydor smirks. “Well then, shall we find a spot a little more… private?”