Chapter Text
Byleth’s heart ached when he realized the sounds of Dimitri’s demented yells no longer made him flinch. It was just another sound on the battlefield, another thing to be noted in the back of his mind. No different than the clash of Sylvain’s lance or the shattering screech of Anette's spellfire.
Byleth shook his head. Just another thing he didn’t have time for. He thought as a bird-like beast blotted the sky and cast the rolling fields into shadow.
“Ashe!” Byleth roared while slashing aside a lancer’s blade. “Aim your sights for-” Byleth’s command died in his throat as he glanced at Ashe’s back.
Where Ashe’s back should have been.
Byleth felt something metal lodge into his shoulder, but all he could do was stare at the empty saddle of Ashe’s horse as it whinnied. It screamed and stamped at the ground where the crumpled form of the archer lay, his grey cloak soaked to crimson.
The fresh red of blood was so vibrant against the Ashe’s light hair.
Byleth felt his stomach turn, but it took another flash of hot pain against his side for him to snap back to reality. His eyes quickly assessing the battlefield.
There were two arrows in his shoulder. Ingrid’s pegasus wings were stained pink, Mercedes was quickly being cornered by cavalry knight, Anette’s exhausted breaths were audible even from where he stood, Felix’s blade had shattered as he resorted to spellfire, Sylvain and Dedue were practically drowning in a battalion, and Dimitri--
Dimitri was covered in red. His ragged hair was dripping in it as he screamed. His lance was a blur, only visible as a streaking crescent of silver as he cut people into bodies and sprinted through the viscera into the next wave of enemies. Byleth watched him vanish into the wave of black armor and sighed, placing a hand on the arrow in his shoulder.
“Sothis,” Byleth whispered, reaching for the magic he knew was somewhere inside him. “Bring me back to before this battle.” He felt the tug of the Divine Pulse and cast one last look at what once was Dimitri.
Byleth felt a pang in his chest before the magic that flowed over him. It warmed his chilled skin and for just a moment, he felt at peace. For the first time since he woke up beneath the rubble.
“With all the red and blue,” He heard himself say as a shattering sound filled his ears. “It almost looks like Duscurian wildflowers and Forget-me-nots, Sothis.”
He closed his eyes as he felt time rush through him, flooding every sense until the smell of blood and roar of iron faded away into the overwhelming power of a goddess turning back the hands of fate.
It took a moment for his world to stop spinning.
But when he opened them, the sight before his eyes was far from a war-torn field covered with beasts and cavalry. A sweet smell filled his mind as he struggled to take in the sight infront of him.
A neat little flower bed lined with gleaming marble bricks. Filled to the edges with perfect little bundles of pale blue petals and small velvet wildflowers.
“Sothis,” Byleth choked as the heat of the greenhouse began to seep into his armor. “What have you done?”
“Professor?” Byleth froze as a voice called out. Byleth felt himself turn as his eyes met gentle grey ones framed by golden hair. Mercedes. Swathed in an academy uniform and looking much younger than when Byleth saw her last. If his brain wasn’t currently frozen in terror, he would make a very foolish wager at how much younger. A wager that frightened him to his core.
Five years.
“Oh my!” Mercedes said before Byleth could make any sound other than a very pathetic sounding wheeze. “You’re hurt, Professor!” She ran over, barely dodging the line of watering cans as she quickly placed hands onto his bloodied shoulder. Byleth wondered if her hands always looked that way, perfectly clean with rounded nails and fingers so dainty and smooth he almost wanted to apologize for having to ruin them with his dirty armor. His Mercedes’s hands always seemed to be covered in blood, or ointment, or parchment ink. Perhaps all three at once. And littered with tiny scars and spell burns, a story told on her skin of the hardships of war.
But this Mercedes’s eerily clean hands simply lit up with holy magic as he felt his skin begin to stitch itself together.
“How did you get hurt on school grounds, Professor? And why are you in your armor?” Mercedes fretted as her magic sank deep into his bones, warming him better than the greenhouse humidity. Despite himself, he gave his startled student a wry smile.
“Be glad the arrows aren’t in me, too.” He said as her eyes widened, and mouth dropped open with shock.
“Professor!” Mercedes started. Perhaps a bit dark. He chastised himself as he began to form his apology.
“I’m sor-” But he was rapidly cut off by a loud giggle
“Did you just joke, Professor?” Mercedes said with a wide smile, her hands jumping to her mouth as she grinned. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you do that!”
“Please take your hands from your face, they’re dirty.” Byleth said, the words flying out of his mouth before he could stop them. Mercedes just smiled brighter.
“Ah, right! Sorry, Professor! I’m just so pleased! Me and Annie were beginning to think that you couldn’t make jokes,” She said with a lighthearted laugh.
“I make jokes,” Byleth said, feeling oddly defensive as this strange young version of his Holy Knight laughed at him.
Where--
When was he? Byleth scrambled to think as Mercedes finished up her healing spell. If she didn’t hear him make a joke, then it was before winter five years prior. But if there are Duscurian flowers in his flower bed then he must be on rather good terms with Dedue, so it ruled out the early months. He felt his mouth twist as he looked at Mercedes clean off her arms with the water from the cans beside them.
“I was helping out the Knights clear out some bandits after training yesterday,” He lied easily. “I must have been rather exhausted; I don’t recall my walk into the greenhouse.”
“Oh my, you really shouldn’t overwork yourself like this!” Mercedes said with a little pout. Byleth tried to tamp down his smile. At least her fretting never changed with age. She gave a small sigh “I suppose we do have the ball coming soon so that will be a nice change of pace.”
The ball. Byleth groaned inwardly. During that month it seemed his students were physically incapable of talking or mentioning anything else other than that hellish event, though he supposed it helped in this very specific situation. Any error he made could be excused by exhaustion or overwork. He nodded to himself.
“I must get back to my duties,” He said, as he began to make his way to the doors. “Thank you for the help, Mercedes.”
“Professor, I would suggest you go to your room and rest!” Mercedes fretted as he shook his head.
“I really must get back to my-” Byleth’s hand froze on the door as his eyes landed on a pair of figures walking from the dorm rooms, their argument becoming audible as they got closer.
“Sylvain, you can’t hide in my room every time you hit on the wrong girl!” The small figure whined in a poor attempt to sound stern. “This is the second time this week!”
“C’mon, have a heart, will you? Look you can just sit in there and study and I’ll just sit on the floor and-” Byleth didn’t think that Sylvain had changed much in the five years of war. His hair was kept its same wave of orange, and his jaw had the same sharp edge as always. But as this one bound towards him, the changes were obvious. His eyes were bright and vacant of the purple shadows that plagued the army. And every step seemed to bounce him forward as he ran up with a raised hand and a shout. “Mornin’ Professor! Defend a guy over here won’t you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Professor.” The figure said with a tired sigh and a helpless little smile.
Byleth felt his stomach turn as he stared down at the sweep of grey hair and the soft curve of his student’s cheeks. Did Ashe always look so young? So small?
Byleth’s mind warred in shame and rage as the three students stood in shocked silence for a moment before--
“What?” Ashe said eyes wide as Sylvain suddenly burst into peals of laughter next to him.
“Wow, Professor! Ice cold!” He shouted with glee as he began to poke Ashe in the side. “Mercedes get some healing magic for this little boy cuz he just got burned!” Ashe’s face began to flood red as he swatted away Sylvain’s hands. Byleth paused. Ah, I said that aloud.
“Professor, don’t you think that’s a little--” Ashe began to pout, which frankly did not help his case.
“My apologies, Ashe. I meant to keep that to myself.” Byleth said, inclining his head as Ashe seemed to blush brighter when Sylvan let out another bark of laughter.
"Ha-ha! That means he was thinking it,” He said as he placed an elbow on Ashe’s head, using him as a headrest while Ashe muttered something about being average height. Byleth stared at the antics as an odd feeling crept up his throat. He refused to name it and he also refused to give into the stupid desire to touch Ashe’s uniform coat. Just to confirm that he was there.
“Hey, Professor? Are you alright? You’re looking a little green.” Sylvain said, his smile fading as Sincere Sylvain, as Byleth dubbed it, made an appearance. He sighed and shook his head.
“Just a bit tired,” He said truthfully. There was just so much emotion. Everything was loud and strong and bright. Byleth spent his time as a child alone with the quiet tutelage of his father, emotion was practically nonexistent. Something only reserved for special occasions, like a fine bottle of wine. And seeing the monastery gleaming and bright with no rubble, and his students still young and squishy faced with smiles that rivaled the polished windows made him feel drunk off his own endearment and guilt. “I think I will retire to my room,” Byleth said finally as his students nodded.
“Alright, if you say so.” Sylvain said, the small downward curve to his mouth still present.
“Let us know if there’s anything we could do to help!” Ashe said his eyes gleaming with determination as if the knife in Byleth’s chest needed anymore twisting. The two boys walked off towards the feast hall as Mercedes stared at him.
“I’m fine, Mercedes. Go eat your dinner.” Byleth said with a sigh as her eyes seemed to bore into his. Byleth refused to let himself be unnerved by the younger version of his healer.
It didn’t work very well. Her eyes seemed to scan his whole form for a few long moments before she gave a curt nod.
“I’ll go check on you later,” Mercades said with finality. “Have a good rest, Professor!” She said clasping her hands together and dashing after her classmates. Byleth let out a heaving sigh and began to walk to his quarters, the warm feeling in his chest growing. Where they always so sweet? Byleth thought wryly. He recalled his early academy life being fraught with lectures, scolding skirt-chasing students, dueling prickly ones, cooking with gentle ones, and training with-
“You seem to be in a bright mood, Professor.” A voice said to his side. “It’s quite a sight to see, if you don't mind me saying.”
All of Byleth’s thoughts died in his mind, seared by the very sound. He seemed physically incapable of stopping his head from turning.
Dimitri, easy smile on his sweat-slicked face as he walked. His academy uniform perfect and pristine, vibrant blue against pressed black. Golden styled hair sweeping over the warmest eyes. Sincerity oozing from every gesture and step.
Byleth felt his feet move before he could think.
“P-Professor?!” Dimitri stuttered as suddenly Byleth ran towards him and threw his arms over his shoulders. His hands scrabbling against the soft blue fabric of his cape as Byleth held him desperately, his head pressing into the pauldron on his shoulder.
He smelt lightly of sweat, laundered soap, and faintly of the oils he must use in his ridiculous hair.
Not of blood and iron. Not of sliced flesh and the ash of ruins. He was smiling. Smiling. Not the manic grin of a madman drowning in his own rage and insanity. This Dimitri had a darkness in his eyes, but not one that had consumed him just yet. Byleth felt tears prick at his eyes as Dimitri stuttered.
“Uhm! P-Professor? Are you alright?” He asked nervously as his hands floated above his teacher’s coat.
"I’m sorry,” Byleth said, feeling his tears drip onto his uniform shirt but refused to let go. “This must be terribly confusing for you,” He said with a choked off laugh.
“Ah, yes. Quite.” Byleth heard Dimitri said as he felt the pressure of two warm hands settle on his shoulders. He almost wanted to laugh. Ever the gentleman Dimtri was, even as his teacher clung onto him in the middle of the school courtyard. “Though I’ll have to say......I’m not truly complaining.”
Byleth felt his face heat at the words, begging himself not to read into them.
“I am rather concerned,” Dimitri said as Byleth pulled away, suddenly feeling unable to look this Dimitri in his eyes, a stupid and childish motion even to himself. “Has something happened?”
Byleth stared at his feet, feeling foolish beyond words. What a fine hole he dug himself into. What was he to say?
No, Dimitri. I am not fine I have traveled back five years in time because I possess the powers of a Goddess and now am required to put my students through hell once more. You will believe this because it completely does not sound like the words of a raving lunatic.
Byleth saw the ground blur beneath his feet as his head began to spin.
Yes, Dimitri. I am completely fine and am completely and utterly equipped to see what happens to my father again and watch you fall apart before my eyes.
Byleth’s breath began to tighten.
“Professor?” Dimitri’s voice seemed distant and panicked.
No, Dimitri. I am not fine. I may a bit in love with you.
Byleth felt his eyes droop as the ground rushed up to meet him.
“Professor!”