❝ REST EASY ❞
༄ synopsis. caleb always kept his promises, even to the point of dying before you. ༄ warnings. funeral. grief. loss. character death. angst ofc. ༄ pairing. caleb x reader. ༄ word count. 3k. ༄ an. saw somewhere that caleb’s callsign is ‘maverick’, lmk if i’m wrong.
when you were younger, caleb promised you that he would protect you from everything. it had been an offhand comment, made in passing, said so easily, so casually, that you hadn’t thought twice about it.
but caleb was always there.
walking you home. standing in front of you instead of beside you. shielding you from things before you even knew you needed protecting.
what you didn’t realize then, what you should have realized, was that caleb never made promises he didn’t intend to keep.
when you were kids, he was the one pulling you out of trouble before you even knew you were in it. the one who stood in front of you, not beside you. the one who made sure fear was never something you had to carry alone.
he used to shake his head and say, ‘if i ever take my eyes off you, you'll probably walk straight into the lion’s den, grinning.’
so he never did.
when a kid shoved you on the schoolyard, caleb shoved back harder, fists curled so tight his knuckles turned white. when you scraped your knees, he carried you home without a word, his grip solid, unyielding, while he muttered under his breath about how you ‘collect bruises like they're going out of style.’
and when you cried, he wiped your tears with the sleeve of his shirt, pressing a crumpled paper flower into your hands, like that alone could stop the world from hurting you.
but things changed when you got older.
you stopped letting him fight your battles. you found your own footing, learned how to stand on your own. you learned how to throw a punch, how to set your own broken bones, how to keep moving even when it hurt.
caleb never stopped watching, though.
even when you didn’t notice.
even when you pretended you didn’t need him to.
the day you told him you wanted to be a deepspace hunter, he didn't just freeze.
he shattered.
his breath left him in a sharp exhale, like you had just knocked the air from his lungs. his fingers twitched at his sides, hands balling into fists before dragging down his face, like he was trying to physically push the thought away.
‘please tell me you're joking.’
you laughed, expecting him to roll his eyes, maybe tease you, maybe remind you that you always said you hated deep space, that you got restless when the sky felt too big.
but he didn't.
instead, he looked at you like you had just told him you were already dead.
his hands found your shoulders, too tight, too desperate.
‘do you even know what that job does to people?’ his voice was raw, strained, barely holding itself together. ‘it’s not like the stories. it’s not some grand adventure. it’s danger, it’s war, it’s dying alone in a place where no one can reach you.’
his fingers trembled as they brushed over your jaw.
‘and i can't stop it.’
his amethyst eyes burned into yours, but there was no anger there, no lecture, just something hollow and breaking, something that terrified you more than anything else.
because caleb never looked afraid.
and now he did.
he let out a shaky breath, his thumb ghosting over your lips, hesitant, reverent, like he was trying to memorize you, like he was already losing you. he looks broken. it terrified you. you didn’t recognise this boy.
‘you can’t go first.’
his voice cracked, and you felt it in your chest. your heart constricted.
‘i won't be able to handle it.’
for the first time in your life, you saw it.
the unbearable thought of your absence unraveling inside him, twisting, tearing him apart from the inside out.
he had always been bigger, faster, stronger.
but he wouldn’t be if you left first.
but now—
here you are.
standing at his funeral.
keeping his promise.
your hands are shaking, fingers curled so tightly into your palms that your nails leave crescent-shaped welts in your skin. you press harder, chasing the pain, grounding yourself in it. if you let go, you might fall. you don’t trust yourself to stay standing otherwise.
the air is thick, too still, too heavy. it presses down on you like a weight you were never meant to carry. every breath feels sharp, like broken glass slicing down your throat.
the radio crackles. the sound cuts through the silence, sharp and intrusive, like it has no place in a moment like this.
'this is skyhaven to maverick. maverick, do you copy?'
you don’t breathe. you don’t move. the question hangs in the air, unanswered.
out of all the promises caleb made, you had always hoped he would break this one. he had made it sound so simple back then. like it was a certainty. like it wasn’t something he would ever have to prove.
but he didn’t break it.
he kept it.
and now, he’s gone.
the radio crackles again, and the voice that follows is calm, detached, unshaken.
'maverick, this is skyhaven making a final call.'
your throat tightens. the words hit like a fist to the ribs, knocking something loose inside you. tears burn your eyes, spill hot and unrelenting down your face, but you don’t make a sound. you won’t let yourself.
you can’t even see him. there is no casket, no body to bury, no grave to kneel beside. just a flag-draped podium where his presence should have been.
you got the stories in bits and pieces, filtering through the layers of horror and disbelief and the curl of your own desperate fingers around your ears.
his body was lost in the fire. swallowed whole by the explosion. burned to dust.
gone before he ever had a chance to be saved.
the aftermath was more crucial than the explosion. your own heartbreak was the most painful — gone with caleb, empty vesseled and unbeating heart.
you were a hunter. a fighter. trained to survive. conditioned to protect. you have spent your whole life knowing how to fight for the people who matter.
and yet, here you are.
standing here, fists clenched at your sides, shoulders trembling, stomach twisting.
unable to save the one person who mattered most.
the radio hums again, static stretching out into silence.
'maverick has gone west.'
the words land like a killing blow.
you’ve heard them before. over the radio. in passing. whispered in mourning. spoken in honor of pilots who never made it home.
but it shouldn't be him.
never for caleb.
your breath shudders, ragged and uneven. your stomach twists violently, nausea curling at the edges of your grief. you try to steady yourself, but your legs feel weak, the ground beneath you unstable.
'he has flown his final mission. he is now cleared for one last flight.'
your fingers curl into fists, arms shaking. you don’t want to hear this. you don’t want to accept it. you don’t want this to be real.
the radio crackles one last time. then silence.
and it is unbearable.
his uniform was neatly pressed, his gloves tucked into his belt, his dog tags resting cool against his chest. every detail was in place, crisp and methodical, like he had all the time in the world. like this was just another mission, just another day.
you stood by the doorway, arms crossed, watching him pack the last of his things. you had seen this routine before—him neatly folding his spare shirts, tucking an extra pair of gloves into his bag, double-checking that he had everything. it was muscle memory by now. for him. for you.
'take care, alright?'
you tried to sound casual, but it didn’t quite land the way you wanted it to.
he smirked, stuffing the last shirt into his bag before glancing at you.
'you know i always do.' his voice was light, easy, like this was nothing. but his eyes told a different story. they lingered too long, steady and searching, taking you in like he was trying to memorize every detail.
he stepped closer, his fingers brushing over your wrist before reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. his touch didn’t leave. his fingers lingered at the back of your neck, his thumb tracing lightly over your skin.
'i always make sure to come home to you.'
the words settled between you, heavy, unshakable.
you swallowed against the tightness in your throat. 'yeah, well, maybe try staying out of trouble for once. that’d make things easier.'
he let out a breath, half a laugh, half something else. 'as if your job is any safer.'
your brows pulled together, but before you could argue, he shook his head.
'no, really. my job is dangerous, sure. but yours?' his voice dipped lower, more serious now. 'your job will always be more dangerous.'
you blinked. 'that’s not true.'
'it is,' he said simply. 'when i'm flying, at least i have a destination. a mission. a way back. you? you're always out there, always on the ground, always in the middle of it. you don’t get an eject button. you don’t get altitude. you don’t get a second chance if something goes wrong.'
he paused, searching your face.
'when i’m up there, you’re the way home.'
your throat tightened.
'caleb—'
'no, just—' his fingers pressed in gently against your skin, like he needed you to hear him. 'i know what i signed up for. i know what it means to fly. but you? you scare me more than anything else.'
you let out a shaky breath. 'i know what i’m doing.'
'so do i,' he murmured. 'doesn’t mean i worry any less.'
he exhaled softly, lowering his forehead to rest against yours for a second. just a second. just long enough for you to feel the weight of it all. then, without a word, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, slow and lingering, before settling his hands on your waist.
he didn’t pull away.
his arms wrapped around you, holding you there, pulling you into his chest, tighter than usual. it was different this time. the hug lasted too long, like he wasn’t ready to let go, like he was memorizing the way you felt against him.
you listed to his uneven inhale, exhale, his chest warm against your cheek, the spot where his heart thuds steadily. you felt his breath against your hair, warm and steady, but when he spoke again, it was quieter than before.
'i love you, you know that right?'
your chest ached at the softness of it.
'of course i do.'
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands moving up to cradle your face. his thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, slow and careful, like he was trying to map out the details of you in his head. all the contours on you face, depths, highlights, sinking in, popping out, slopes, textures, tones.
'no.' his brows furrowed slightly, his expression heavier now, something unreadable in his purple eyes. 'i don’t think you know by how much.'
you opened your mouth, but no words came.
then, after a moment, he let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin.
'will you miss me?'
will you miss me?
will you miss me?
will you miss me?
the question felt heavier than it should have.
this question holds a vice-grip onyour heart. he always told the truth. always, always the first one to admit what he felt.
you had missed him before he even left. you had missed him in the way he stood there, uniform neat, bag packed, already halfway gone. you missed him in the way his presence had always filled the room, grounding you without even trying.
you missed him in the spaces he would leave behind—the empty chair at the table, the sound of his voice teasing you over the comms, the warmth of his hand at the small of your back, guiding you without thinking.
and you missed him now, standing right in front of you.
you forced a shaky smile, trying to push past the lump in your throat. 'you’re not even gone yet.'
'that doesn’t answer my question.'
his voice was soft, but pointed. he already knew the answer. he just wanted to hear you say it.
you exhaled, your fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform, holding onto him just a little longer.
'you know i will.'
you wished you had said it more. wished you had said it like it was pulling you apart. wished you had said it the way he needed to hear it, the way he meant it.
but you didn’t.
and you didn’t know it was going to be your last conversation.
the final words come through the radio.
'rest easy, maverick. we have the watch from here.'
your knees nearly buckle.
the roar of aircrafts cuts through the silence, engines rumbling like distant thunder. the sound reverberates in your chest, too loud, too final, shaking the air around you.
you tilt your head upward, watching as they carve through the sky in perfect formation, wings slicing clean through the clouds.
you don’t blink. you don’t breathe.
your nails dig into your palms, grounding yourself in the sting, in the pressure, in anything that might keep you from collapsing.
and then, just as you knew it would, the lead plane slowly pulls away.
the movement is precise, calculated. one aircraft breaking from the group, separating from the others.
gone.
the missing man disappearing into the sky.
your heart clenches so tight it feels like something is tearing inside you.
'may you have fair winds, clear skies, and a smooth landing in the heavens.'
your breath shudders.
your hands are shaking.
you wanted to hate him.
hate him for keeping his promise when you begged the universe for him to break it.
hate him for leaving you behind.
because he had promised to protect you first.
but how could he protect your heart if he wasn’t here anymore?
you close your eyes, but it doesn’t help. the grief doesn’t settle. it presses against your ribs, tight and suffocating, demanding to be felt.
tears slip down your cheeks, silent and unstoppable. a prayer forms on your lips, but it never makes it past your throat.
because he was supposed to come home.
he always came home.
but not this time.
this time, he kept his promise.
and you were the one who had to live with it.
the rain stings against your skin, sharp and cold, soaking through your uniform, pressing into your bones. the storm rages above you, the sky alive with violent winds and rolling thunder, shaking the ground beneath your feet.
your mission had already gone to hell. comms were down. extraction was uncertain. the others were missing.
you were alone. or at least, you thought you were.
then—
a crack of wood.
your body reacts before your mind catches up. you spin on instinct, pistol raised, finger hovering over the trigger, breath caught in your throat.
the storm howls, wind cutting through the trees, shifting the shadows. you scan the darkness, your pulse hammering against your ribs.
then—
a figure.
standing just beyond the reach of your flashlight, barely visible through the mist and rain. unmoving. watching.
your stomach knots.
this site is restricted. no one should be here.
you tighten your grip on the gun, keeping it steady, keeping yourself steady.
'don’t move, or i’ll shoot.' your voice cuts through the wind, sharp, commanding, unwavering.
but the figure takes a step forward. no hesitation. no fear. lightning splits the sky for just a second, you try to determine what kind of wanderer it is—
but you see him.
broad shoulders. familiar stance. the presence that should not be here.
your stomach lurches, your world tilts. it’s not possible.
'stop.' your voice wavers now, your hands trembling. 'i said don’t move.'
but he doesn’t listen.
then, his voice.
'pipsqueak.'
your breath catches. your hands shake. and in pure instinct. you load your gun. because this isn’t real. this must be a trick. must be his evol.
his power, his ghost, his memory. something playing with your head.
it can’t be him. it can’t.
then—
you see it.
the pendant hanging from his neck. the apple. the one you gave him.
your mind stutters, your body locks up, unable to process what you’re seeing.
that was his.
he promised he’d never take it off.
you shouldn’t let him come closer. but you do. and he steps forward, slow, and careful, like he knows you need time to believe it. like he doesn’t want to scare you away.
and you're not. because it’s him.
caleb.
his hair is longer, messier. his jaw is sharper, his shoulders broader, his body somehow more muscled, like he has been built for something heavier, something harsher.
he looks stronger. and yet, he looks tired. he's pale and tired, not the same caleb that you used to know and has always loved. he was nothing but an empty vessel of what he used to be. there’s sadness in the slope of his shoulders, how he meets your eyes and just stares. you ached to wipe away the darkness underneath them.
then, you see it. his arm.
metal.
not the sleek kind, not the kind that blends seamlessly, but raw, exposed, incomplete. bolted together like a machine that wasn’t supposed to exist. wires spill from the joints, sparking faintly in the rain.
then, electricity crackles through it.
and suddenly, he jerks.
his body tenses as a shock ripples through him, his breath hitching in pain.
your heart stops.
he takes another step, another jolt.
his face contorts, teeth grinding, a hiss of pain slipping from his lips. like something is stopping him. like a dog collar designed to keep him from getting too close.
your stomach drops.
someone did this to him. someone made him like this. darkness is far too prominent, like suffocation trying to scourge some relief, he's breaking his own body. but he doesn’t stop moving. he keeps pushing forward, his entire body fighting whatever is trying to hold him back.
lightning flashes again—
and you see it all.
the scars. the bruises. the exhaustion deep in his face, carved into his features like he’s been living through hell.
then his eyes meet yours.
and they are still his. still amethyst. still full of something deep, something heavy, something so desperate it makes your throat close.
his breath is uneven, his voice wrecked, hoarse, raw. 'it’s me, baby.'
your chest caves in. you can’t move.
you convince yourself to run, and then you felt the magnetic draw of caleb, caleb, caleb, the faithfulness you never asked for, but the feeling that clung to your skin and eats away your insides.
your gun is still raised, hands still shaking, mind still screaming at you that this isn’t possible.
you buried him. you mourned him. you listened to his final call.
but here he is. standing in front of you.
alive, alive, alive.
there’s no hiding the hysteria in your voice. your knuckles turning white where you gripped the pistol, and there’s angry marks in your skin where you’re trying not to cry. your body trembles, every part of you screaming, aching, breaking under the weight of it all.
soft, roaring thunder, and deep glacial blue. your heart doesn’t know what to do, and falters. caleb is alive. but not the same.
‘i’m sorry it took me so long to come home.’
* last radio call — designated officer will call the fallen responder’s unit number or name over the radio, marking their final sign-off and acknowledges their service. * missing man — where one aircraft pulls away from the group in a flyover, symbolizing the pilot’s departure. * gone west — used in aviation to signify a pilot’s passing.