ax_main | Caleb and Cal - Mojoverse Aftermath

After Cal talks to Clint, he pays Caleb a visit to check in on him.

Cal had taken off flying again, after spending a while with Clint. But there was only so long he could do that before his thoughts came circling back around, so he'd headed back for the mansion, a large crow heading for the window of the room he shared with Clint and Caleb.

The flutter of wings drew Caleb’s attention from his book to the open window where a big crow now sat on the sill. He waved to it and said, “Hello, Cal.” It ruffled its feathers, then hopped down into the room. “Have a good flight?”

Caleb sounded like his regular self, and as Cal shifted back to human, he wondered if he was the only one reeling. He knew better, of course; he was just the only one incapable of hiding it better. "I guess," he said, how sure how to even answer that. "How are you doing?”

A frown darkened Caleb’s expression and he shrugged. His memories had been altered. Again. Someone had reached into his head, and moved the pieces around like they were redecorating. A fresh coat of paint covers up that X-Gene, some curtains distract from that unsightly killed-his-parents… “You?”

"Pretty fucked up," Cal admitted blandly. Between his therapy and the fact that everything about Clint was now out in the open, he tended to be even more straight up honest about shit than before. At least, until he came across something he couldn't discuss, but he was upfront about that, too, most of the time. "Yorkland was weird as fuck, but it didn't feel like that.”

“Because we were at least a little bit ourselves in Yorkland,” Caleb said like he’d already thought about this a lot himself. “We had some free will. Or, at least, the illusion of it.” He drew his feet up to sit cross-legged on his computer chair, and Frumpkin immediately abandoned his post on the top bunk to take up real estate on Caleb’s lap.

"It felt more like me," Cal confirmed with a nod, and grabbed his own desk chair to sit. He ran his hand back through his hair. "What kinda show were you doing?”

“Paranormal investigation. I was a medium.” Caleb remembered the ghosts that pushed up against his mind and a shiver wound its way up his spine. They’d been so lost and afraid and some of them had been so very angry. But it hadn’t been real, he reminded himself. It had all been manufactured by Mojo and his chip. “Illyana was there, and another person I don’t know—Travis.”

"Yeah, we had a bunch of people not from school, too," Cal nodded. He assumed Travis wasn't from school, anyway. The name didn't ring a bell, and he did pay attention, for all that he didn't go and talk to, well, any of them.

Caleb wondered how those people were doing. Had they just been some poor schmucks grabbed off the street? He was barely handling what had happened; he had no idea how someone who wasn’t used to the strange and unusual would be able deal with it.

“What was yours like?” Caleb asked.

"Dog cop show," Cal replied, rubbing a hand over his opposite shoulder in a nervous gesture. He wasn't looking at Caleb anymore, but staring off into space. "I was the dog. Clint was the cop. Or, well, the spy. Whatever.”

Caleb scratched Frumpkin behind an ear, keeping a worried watch on Cal out of the corner of his eye. Was talking about what had happened making him uncomfortable, or was it talking about Clint? “I didn’t know dog cop show was even a thing.”

"It is in their world, anyway?" Cal answered, and glanced at Caleb.

“I guess so.” Mojo, or whatever his name was, didn’t get points for creativity. “Weird world.”

Cal let out a hollow chuckle. "You can say that again.”

“Weird world,” Caleb tried to joke, and instantly regretted it. He could almost feel the joke fall flat it hit the ground so hard. “Sorry. That—” His mouth wrinkled into a frown, eyes fixated on Frumpkin who was leaning his head into the scratches. He shook his head, at the joke, at himself, at the way he was avoiding asking the thing he should ask because he was worried he’d mess it up somehow, and finally asked, “Are you okay?”

Cal shrugged, and looked over at Caleb. "Are you?”

“No. But, I am never okay,” Caleb replied like someone talking about the weather, or what they should have for dinner. “So, that’s nothing new.”

"Yeah," Cal agreed, quietly, because wasn't that true of the both of them. "But, you know. Different shades of not okay.”

This time it was Caleb who shrugged. “It kind of bleeds together sometimes,” he admitted.

"How bleedy are you right now?" Cal had to ask. He wasn't sure if he wanted to distract himself by focusing on Caleb or if he wanted to find somebody else who was struggling as much as he was. Either way, he asked because he cared. That was a constant.

Caleb’s flat expression seemed to say what do you think? or, maybe, what kind of question is that? “Enough.” For a moment, it seemed like that was all he’d say, but then, he looked away, and quietly said, “I had parents. He made me forget.” Guilt rolled over in his stomach, and his mouth twisted like there was a sour taste in it. “I was happy.”

Shit. That was so fucked up. "I'm so sorry," Cal blurted out, sympathy obvious in his voice. He nearly offered a panther cuddle, but while he'd done all right as a crow, flying on his own, that was close enough to his forced stint as a dog that the offer died on his lips before he could make it, his skin crawling in the worst way. He breathed through it, focused on Caleb again. "That's so fucked up. Is there - anything I can do?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Caleb replied with a weak smile. It had happened, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Maybe he’d deserved that hurt—Needed a reminder of what he’d done, and what he had to fix.

"That's definitely one thing I can't do," Cal replied, letting his gaze drift down and over to Abs.

“Don’t worry about me about this, then.” They all had plenty of other things to worry about. “It’s something no one can do anything about.”

Yeah, easier said than done. A slight mental tug nudged Abs awake, and after she shook herself up, Cal snapped his fingers and softly called her name, letting her come to him and petting her generously.

Caleb watched Cal, a quiet, internal debate going on, and then finally asked, “Can I give you a hug?”

Cal looked up at Caleb, obviously surprised. "Sure." Fuck yeah, please, was the spirit of the answer, even if he didn't say the words. He gave Abs a last skritch before standing up to meet Caleb halfway. It was so rare for Caleb to initiate touch.

The surprise stung a bit, but Caleb knew it was his own fault with how he kept his distance. He shooed Frumpkin off his lap, then stood and closed the remaining distance between himself and Cal to take him in a tight embrace. Advice, words of comfort… Those were easy to fuck up. But a hug? That always said the right thing.

Cal wrapped his arms around his friend and exhaled as he settled into the hug. He didn't know if Caleb had asked for himself or for Cal, but Cal hoped that they were both getting something out of it. He sure was. He rested his chin on his friend's shoulder and soaked in the feeling of being held, and holding back.

Caleb tucked his chin in against Cal’s neck, and just held onto him. Tension slowly leeched from his body, and he let out a quiet sigh, some semblance of calm washing over him, but he kept his arms around Cal, not letting go of him until he wanted to be let go of.

Cal relaxed parallel to Caleb, letting the warm and solid embrace of his friend temporarily chase away everything else. Very temporarily; when he relaxed enough that he felt the back of his eyes prickle with tears he did not want to shed, Cal blinked a couple of times and then pulled back, because he didn't want to break down. He'd be strong for once. He'd be fine. "Thanks," he told Caleb, with a small, genuine smile.

“Nothing to thank me for,” Caleb replied, returning the smile with his own equally small and equally genuine one. It was what friends were for. Besides, it hadn’t been completely unselfish; It had been good for Caleb too.

"I'm gonna go walk Abs," Cal added. "You wanna come with?”

“Okay.” Caleb tucked his spell book back into its holster, then pulled on his jacket. “Come on, Frumpkin.”