ax_main | Caleb and Cal - Genoshan Halloween Street Party

You'd think attempting to talk things out would be a step forward, but not so much when you end up misunderstanding each other so much you are having two wholly different conversations.

Genosha’s Halloween street party was even busier than Caleb had thought it would be. It was teeming with mutants in costumes, all of them dancing and drinking and having a good time. He’d spotted a few familiar faces, students from Xavier’s and Brotherhood members he recognized from TV, but mostly it was a sea of strangers.

Caleb stood on the edge of everything as best he could, nursing a Solo cup of water as he watched the party and, more importantly, his friends. “They listen to my relationship advice when I can barely maintain a relationship with myself, but when I know what I’m talking about it’s That’s nice, but we want to go to the party.” Frumpkin, who had been tucked as a ferret under the shoulder of his cloak, poked his head out to give a ferret-y stare. “...Don’t look at me like that, Frumpkin. You know this is a bad idea.”

At least Caleb had come prepared. He’d secreted a few enchanted items on his person, disguising them as parts of his Frodo Baggins costume. A One Ring of Invisibility here, a Light of Eärendil phial of Fog Cloud there... He didn’t think anything would actually go monumentally wrong at the party. The Brotherhood would have to be stupid to try to do anything, but that didn’t mean he trusted them.

There was a flash of pink beside Caleb, and a teen version of Aragorn was standing beside him. "I still say you should make yourself look Hobbit-sized," Cal remarked with a half-smile, a hand resting naturally on the pommel of the sword at his side. (If this felt a little too familiar on account of Yorkland, he wasn't going to think about it too hard.) "You know. Really commit to the part."

Loki had just flown off for a little bit, and Cal had spotted Caleb on his own (well, with Frumpkin), so here he was. He'd drunk a couple of beers, but they hadn't impacted him with Clint's healing still running, and he had no intention of dropping it. Or of getting drunk in public. Using his powers in public, though? That he could get behind, and it felt kind of amazing.

Caleb gave Cal a small smile in return, but shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to see anything.” And waist-high on a crowd of strangers didn’t sound like so much fun either. He didn’t know how Nott did it without wanting to gnaw on someone’s ankles. “The feet are enough.” He looked down at his illusion of big, hairy, Hobbit feet and wiggled his toes. “And my hair, and ears.”

"And spot-on outfit," Cal completed. Figuring out costumes was so much easier when you had powers like theirs. "Wouldn't your spell just make you look shorter, anyway? But you'd actually still be the same height?"

Caleb’s mouth opened, then closed again as he realized he was an idiot and Cal was right. “True.”

Cal chuckled at Caleb's reaction. "Which comes with its own set of confusing options."

Caleb rubbed Frumpkin behind a tiny ear, embarrassed he’d made such a mistake. How the hell had he forgotten how his own spell worked? “I’m good like this. It, ah, couldn’t make me look that short anyway.” He didn’t know what he’d been thinking.

"It couldn't?" Cal echoed, clearly surprised.

“It can only adjust height by an inch or two,” Caleb explained. He done it a few times, but mostly he’d only used the illusion to change his facial features, and his clothing. “It’s a, ah, simple spell.”

"Sure," Cal sarcastically agreed. "The spell that can make you look like Thor's twin is a simple spell." It just had weird limitations, but there was nothing simple about it.

Caleb gave Cal a Look at the mention of his illusory disguise’s barely there resemblance to Thor, but replied, “Yes, it is. It’s like, um—” He tried to decide how to describe it and finally settled on, “Beginner’s level.”

"And your beginner's level is kickass," Cal pointed out. "Don't get me wrong, fireballing shit is cool, but this is so much more sophisticated. And it lasts a while."

Silent laughter made Caleb’s blue eyes brighter. Cal had sounded a little bit like Nott just then. She was always talking up his skill as a wizard, though it was usually to other people. “Yes, I am all-powerful. My magic might is something to behold,” he solemnly joked, nodding sagely.

"Well, you know, you are the coolest wiz," Cal remarked with a smirk, as he regularly did, ever since Caleb had made that drunk pronouncement.

The joke stung. It shouldn’t have; Caleb knew Cal was just kidding around. But, after forgetting his own spell, and the mention of his almost-Thor illusion, it felt like the list of Stupid Things He’d Done was inexhaustible and the world wasn't going to let him forget it. Maybe he shouldn’t have come to the party. The stress was clearly getting to him. It was the only explanation.

“Yes, I am,” Caleb quipped with a lofty, and a little bit stubborn, lift of his chin. “On a completely unrelated note, remind me to never get drunk with you again.”

Yes, Caleb totally was, if you actually asked Cal. But his smile faltered briefly at Caleb's next words. Fat chance of that; he hadn't dropped Clint's mutation since Mojo. "Pretty sure you're safe," Cal replied with a half smile, eyes cutting away briefly. "Also, shut up, we had the greatest time.”

Then, why are we here? Caleb wanted to ask. If it was so much fun, why are we here on strange island with people we can’t trust instead of holed up in our room with junk food and drinks and bad movies? But, he knew why. Not everyone was content on living in a bubble like he was. …Or, rather, was as afraid to step out of the bubble as he was. They wanted to live, and they weren’t going to let anything stop them. They wanted to visit other places, meet new people, and take risks. Even if they were stupid, stupid risks.

Caleb looked out at the party, dark and crowded with faces hidden behind masks and paint, and his gaze bounced from person to person, searching out his friends one by one, reassuring himself they were okay. “We did.”

"Dude," Cal said, quietly, but when Caleb looked back at him, he realized he had no clue what to say next. Why did you come if you hate it here? He could guess why. He would have done the same. We will again? Sure, maybe, some day, but for now the thought of dropping Clint's mutation sounded as appealing as shifting into a dog again. "We did," he just repeated, awkwardly, meaning it like an affirmation of them being them.

Caleb knew there was something Cal wasn’t saying. Because that’s what they did. They didn’t say things because they didn’t want to rock the boat. Out of fear, maybe. He knew it was for him, anyway—Fear and habit and not wanting to upset anyone.

Insides heavy with too many emotions to count, Caleb looked out over the party again, and reached up to give Frumpkin another pet. “What are you thinking?” he asked and it felt like dropping a stone into a dark hole and waiting to hear if it hit bottom.

Cal looked down at the ground, longish black hair falling around his face, then looked back up at Caleb, and shrugged one shoulder. "I wish you could be having fun." His tone made it clear it wasn't a reproach, and he hoped Caleb heard that, or he would feel terrible for saying it in the first place.

Surprise briefly struck Caleb silent. He hadn’t expected Cal to say that. “It’s fine.” He’d known what he was signing himself up for when he’d agreed to come to the party. “I did at the other party. I just…can’t here.”

"I don't think I realized it would be that bad for you," Cal admitted. "I'm sorry." He wasn't sure that he would have insisted they come, if he had.

“This isn’t about my comfort. I tried to tell you. I tried to tell all of you. No one listened. That’s what you should be apologizing for.” The hurt and frustration Caleb had been harboring had bubbled to the surface and spilled over into his voice. “I know I’m paranoid. I know I worry over every little thing, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right sometimes. And I am right about this.”

Cal had not expected the angry tirade, and he took a half step back, frowning as Caleb spoke. Conflicting responses made him want to smooth things over - he hated it when Caleb was angry with him - and argue - his own temper wasn't that difficult to strike. So instead, he tried to aim for somewhere in the middle. A calm, reasonable argument, ignoring the way his heart was beating a little too hard. "About what? We're having a good time." Or he had been, anyway. "We're allowed those. Yeah, it's riskier than staying at Xavier's, but we can't stay there all the time."

It was Caleb who recoiled now, a frown pinching his brow. “I... I never said any of that.” Is that what Cal thought of him? That he didn’t want them to have fun? That he wanted them to never leave the school? Did they all think that? “I told you it was the Brotherhood. They—” He caught himself and lowered his voice, not quite whispering. “They hurt people. Even if they don’t have anything nefarious planned for tonight, they are not people we should just be hanging out with. And Magneto—” His voice caught, then pitched even softer, the fear he’d been trying so hard to contain, open and raw in his expression. “The things he says sound so much like Trent. So much.”

That last bit brought Cal up short, and what he'd been about to say died on his lips. He couldn't very well argue about his friend's trauma. But he could talk, not about Magneto, not about the Brotherhood, but about the people they knew on the Brotherhood. "You're friends with Yana. Do you think she was brainwashed? What about Wanda?" Caleb hadn't said anything the entire time Clint was dating her, that Cal knew. "They hurt bad people. What Genosha was doing to mutants..." He shook his head, angry at the very thought. He would have hurt them too.

Hurt flashed across Caleb’s expression at being doubted, before disappearing behind the stubborn and angry squaring of his jaw. “I didn’t trust Illyana for a long time, and I still don’t trust Wanda. And what Genosha was doing to mutants was terrible and it needed to be stopped, but, who was the Brotherhood to be judge, jury, and executioner? What happens when the next ‘bad’ person is wrongly accused? Or when someone speaks out against Magneto? What happens when the Brotherhood makes the call that that is a punishable offense? There is no trial. Magneto gets to decide, and no one should have that kind of power.”

“I thought my parents were bad people, and I was wrong. Even if I hadn’t been, even if they had been everything Trent made me think they were, did they deserve to die?” Caleb’s expression cracked on the question, and his voice with it. “Like that? In pain, and afraid?”

Cal wanted to reach out to his friend, but figured Caleb wouldn't welcome it. His fingers twitched, and he rested his hand back on the pommel of his sword. "Magneto isn't Trent, Caleb," he said, calmly, quietly. This ran so much deeper than he had thought. He couldn't believe that Caleb had felt this way about the Brotherhood for so long, and never said a thing. "He hasn't lied to the Brotherhood. They're working on setting up a new government. A new constitution. That stuff takes time. And if he starts taking out anyone speaking out against him, then he becomes one of the bad guys, too."

Caleb gaped at Cal. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “Setting up a government and a constitution doesn’t mean anything, Cal. It doesn’t change the things he says, or the things he’s done. It doesn’t mean he can’t twist it into something else. How do you think brainwashing works? That they are up front with you? You don’t see it happening when you are in the thick of it. They make gestures of good faith, and they tell you what you need to hear, and they make their bullshit ideology make sense. The lies don’t look like lies.”

“Mutant superiority, Cal. Trent believes in that too. Only he didn’t phrase it that way.”

Cal really, really didn't need to be told about brainwashing like he didn't have the first clue about it, and his jaw clenched as he reined in his temper. "So you're condemning them before they do anything, because he reminds you of Trent." He couldn't quite suppress his temper completely, and it came out in sarcasm. "There's no issue there." He shook his head. "And even if you were right, wouldn't it be all the more reason to keep an eye on things here?"

“They have done things. I already said—” But Caleb trailed off, shaking his head, unhappy resignation settling itself into the lines of his face and the set of his shoulders. What was the point? Cal was only getting angry with him. No matter what he said, he wasn’t going to listen. “Forget it, Cal. Go have fun. Enjoy the party.”

"No," Cal answered stubbornly, and crossed his arms over his chest. "What have they done?"

Caught off-guard, Caleb drew away before, just as stubbornly, replying, “No. I’m done.”

Cal looked shocked - and underneath that, hurt. "Seriously?"

“Why should I keep talking about it?” Caleb asked, confused and legitimately looking for a reason. “I don’t want to fight.”

"Yeah, 'cause stopping in the middle of an argument is so much less awkward for everybody involved," Cal pointed out. He hated feeling dismissed like this, and he wasn't going to look too closely at why. He just did.

“And guilting someone into talk about something they don’t want to, isn’t?” But Caleb started to doubt himself even as he said it. Was Cal right? Maybe he was being selfish? Did he even have any right to be upset? “Fine. Okay—They attacked government buildings and put innocent people at risk. He’s named himself president.”

"I guess that's the big difference between you and me," Cal said, after a moment of silence. "I wish I wasn't so fucked up over everything so I could've helped them take out these assholes. Innocent lives were at risk."

It would have hurt less if Cal had just punched Caleb in the face. They each talked about how fucked up they were, but they’d never said it about each other. He stared at him, his expression raw. “You think I don’t wish—That I don’t wish I wasn’t such a mess?”

Cal had been so convinced that Caleb would judge him for the confession he'd just made, given what he thought of the Brotherhood, that it took him a good couple of seconds, his expression clearly confused, before he managed to realize what it had sounded like to Caleb. "Wh... No! I think you don't wish you could've joined them!"

Oh. Then, why had Cal—It wasn’t important. “I don’t. I could have if I wanted to.“ It scared Caleb how easily he could have, how ingrained all those things Trent had taught him were. “But, there are better ways.”

"Like what?" Cal pressed.

Why did Caleb have the sinking feeling that no answer he could give would be a good enough answer? He wished he could just walk away from this. His skin was crawling, and Cal was upset and this couldn’t possibly end well. “Like not killing people? Or attacking a government building when there are bystanders around?”

That sounded a whole damn lot like doing nothing and letting the torture continue. Cal didn't understand what the big deal was. Caleb had killed his handler, and Cal had killed Sandra. He honestly wasn't sure he hadn't killed anybody else on his way to Caleb; he hadn't exactly been careful. But he really didn't feel bad if he had. Like he really didn't feel bad about collapsing the facility where he'd last been held. "...do you wish you hadn't killed your handler?" he asked, quietly, once again fearing Caleb's answer for what it would be saying about Cal.

“That has nothing to do with this.” Caleb’s chest felt tight, a growing feeling of panic rising up inside him like bile. He just wanted this conversation to be over. It was going nowhere. They were going to keep arguing in circles until someone got hurt. “We’re talking about the Brotherhood.”

Cal admittedly hadn't been talking about the Brotherhood anymore, not for a little while. He'd been talking about himself. And while part of him wanted to push, he could feel, down to his bones, that it wouldn't yield anything good. He deflated, glancing aside. "Right." He didn't know how to wrap this up, everything was tangled together and he couldn't detach himself from Caleb's issues with the Brotherhood, not when he wished he could have helped. He rubbed at his shoulder, dropped his hand. "Well, whatever. I'm sorry you're having such a shit time all the same."

“It is not well, whatever. ” Caleb snapped before he could stop himself. He immediately regretted it, and looked away, frowning. “Sorry. I—I am going to go. For a walk. Have fun at the party.” He wished he’d never said anything. Cal was upset, and he only felt worse now—Guilty and more more unhappy. He should have known it would end like this. It always seemed to.

What was Cal supposed to say? 'You too' was out, and he couldn't get out of feeling like Caleb's condemnation of the Brotherhood was a condemnation of him. "Yeah," he said, weakly, like all he wanted right now wasn't to blink the hell back to his room. But he couldn't leave without at least warning Clint and Loki, and then they might ask what was up, and Cal really didn't feel ready to talk about it yet. What a fucking mess.

“Okay. Bye.” Caleb lingered awkwardly for a moment, like something might magically change, then abruptly turned away and left, hoping the crowd would figuratively and, if he was lucky, literally swallow him up.