The Demon In Your Wardrobe (Part 3)
Set after Episode 9, except Caine never returned from the 'dead', not until two years later when he shows up broken and tortured. Ft my oc Silver the Witch Marionette.
Inspired by @katzebruh 's amazing Backup AU. Artwork by @idiotwithanipad .
Tw: Blood, gore, body horror, dehumanisation, captivity, the works.
This part is mostly the second chapter from Caine's pov, ngl. Just really needed to write some whump. 😅
-
"Run, run, run, as fast as you can...!"
He had.
The moment he'd smashed through the last inch of his tibia, using the shards of his other ruined limbs as hammers, then felt that give as the last shackle fell away, he leapt forward.
It wasn't long before he slammed face first into another wall.
Watch where you walk! Hahahaha!
The irony was not lost on him as his own words taunted him. He gave no time to let the karma sting before he did what he'd already mastered once before.
He pounded. He thrashed. With all the force of his being, he threw his entire weight against the hit box of the Recycling Bin.
Over. And over. And over.
Every slam and kick and fistless punch sent unfathomable pain rippling through his code. But he would let that affect him later. This may be his only chance. Even if it was just another of his 'brother's' games, if all he was doing was breaking his way from one prison into another, he wasn't giving up. He had to try.
Can't...Can't take anymore. Have to get away...
Weak, pathetic coward can't serve his time, can't take his punishment like a man.
Because he isn't one.
Never will be. Stupid, stupid, stupid fool for thinking...For daydreaming he could be...
Any chance of that was gone the second he chose to go against his purpose. To torment those who were supposed to be in his care. He had no chance back there, with them, even if a small part of his code itched constantly with the need to check they were okay.
No. He'd have to stay away. Find some corner of the void to hide himself away.
But first he had to get out.
If he doesn't, then...The games will get worse. He doesn't want to wait around to learn how such a thing can be possible.
Like a feral, ravenous rhino, he shoves and slams and pushes and claws.
Come on! You did it before! Break it!!
GetoutGetoutGETOUT-!
A crack. Walls of code shatter.
One more push, hurtling his brutalised form forward, and then he finds himself flying out. Flying free.
It doesn't last long. Little brother saw to that.
Without his powers, gravity takes hold, and soon he's landing on some stretch of solid flat ground that runs along the void. After landing in a crumpled heap of bloody limbs, he pushes himself up - and he runs. If one can call it that.
He rarely walked before, let alone ran. Now he misses the feet left behind, back in that cell, as he's forced to scurry on knees and elbows and - ow, ow, ow - stumps! Like a wounded arachnid, he rushes blindly ahead, obeying nothing but the will to survive.
Just keep going. Don't stop until he's far away, too far to be found. Just crawl, god damn waste of code.
Defective. Failure.
Reject.
He can't see where he's going. There's no sounds or smells in the void. Only space. Only exile.
It feels like days he's been moving until he's forced to stop. He'd felt the surroundings change, sleek floor shifting to an endless chasm, but the heat of some layer existing up ahead. Caine had took a leap of faith, limbs scrambling for any hope of something within reach to stop him from falling into the abyss.
The splintered bones from his stumps had hooked into earth. Without questioning whatever providence it was, he'd pulled himself up and onto whatever it was, then felt his energy begin to wane at long last as he staggered onward.
Cries of agony had bubbled up from his chest as he could no longer blot out the pain that pulsed from...everywhere. Legs, arms, chest, back, head...His god damn head that hadn't stopped its unbearable aching since the day that first screw had been drilled through his top gum.
Tired. So tired. But...have to keep moving.
Have to make sure...he won't find him...
Tall, thin objects began to collide into him as he lumbered on. His massive arms managed to push some aside, clearing a path, no time to try to make sense of what they might be. Old data left to reform, maybe.
Then his screws were viciously tugged. He let out a cry as a fresh wave of pain burned his skull.
Against his better judgement, he tried to pull forward, only to add to his own torture.
There's no give. Something had a hold of his chain.
Little Brother.
He...He found him...He's going to drag him back.
Holding his breath, he waited for the childish laughter. The playful taunt of victory.
...Nothing.
It will come. He will reveal himself soon enough, the true puppet master.
For all he knows, he merely came full circle. was lead a dance around the void while his warden had a good laugh, and now he's back in his cell. Waiting for more games.
Delete him. Delete him. Please...
And then it appeared.
Fainty, at first. A glimmer of light, flickering between the cracks in his teeth. Blue? No. Not blue, not red.
Orange?
He slowly lifted his head. How long had it been since he'd glimpsed any colour that wasn't blue or red or black? Orange was...soft. Gentle.
Warm.
Not scalding. Not burning.
As it seemed to come closer, the new heart his brother had programmed into him began to slow its rapid pace for the first time, a strange sensation washing over him. Like...he could stay here, trapped and alone, so long as it meant that light stayed close. So long as he wasn't left in the dark again.
Snap.
A snapped arm. A snapped spine. Preemptively, he cries out, ready for the pain to spike and let him know what area of his body had been attacked this time, the memories of what he's suffered enough already.
Only the pain didn't come. Just a voice.
"...C-Caine?"
No! He lunged forward, arms swiping angrily, agony pulsing afresh as the screws pulled at his skull.
Don't do that! Don't mimic their voices! Her voice...Don't!
The voice had sounded like hers. It had felt like hers. But that didn’t mean anything. Little Brother had used her voice before. Dozens of times. He’d learned to mimic every soft edge, every worried lilt, every gentle word she’d ever spoken to him. And every single time, it had been a trap.
He didn’t trust it.
He couldn’t trust it.
So he thrashed, he roared, and he heared the rush of footsteps move away. But the Light remained. Pretty light. Warm light.
Caught in its thrall like a moth, he tried to reach for it again. The footsteps returned, slowly. The fake voice called his name again but he ignored it. A strange word was uttered and then the light moved away.
No...No, come back! Don't leave him in the dark again!
Attempting to crawl forward, the tangled chain pulled tighter. He didn't deserve anything good. Or real. He saw the faintest glimmer of Heaven but he knew he belonged in Hell.
Then he felt something zoom past his ear. Metal rattled and then...he heard the chain fall, loose, at his side.
Someone had helped him. Freed him.
...Could it be her?
If it was then...No. No, no, no....
Even as the chain went slack again, Caine stayed low to the ground, his massive ruined body trembling. He didn’t want her to see him like this. Not like this. Not broken and monstrous and bleeding code from the places where his hands and feet used to be. Not with the bolts still drilled through his sealed mouth. He didn’t want to be a burden. He didn’t want her to look at him and feel pity, or worse - disgust.
So he tried to crawl away.
But then she’d yanked the chain.
"No, Caine! Stay!"
The pain had been blinding. White-hot and all-consuming, tearing through the bolts in his head and down his spine. His body had seized violently before collapsing forward onto his elbows in total, instinctive submission. He hadn’t even thought about fighting it. The moment the chain pulled, something deep and broken inside him had simply obeyed.
Whatever she wants. Whatever she commands. She can have it. She can do whatever she wants to me. I deserve it. I owe her that much.
He stayed down, breathing in ragged, glitching bursts, waiting for whatever came next. Punishment. Revenge. More pain. He was ready for it. He expected it.
It took several long seconds for her words to cut through the haze of pain and fear.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I won’t do that again! I promise!”
The words didn’t make sense at first. They echoed strangely in his fractured mind, like they were in a language he no longer understood. Slowly, the meaning began to sink in.
She was…apologizing?
To him.
Caine’s massive form stayed perfectly still, the little red orb of his true self buried somewhere deep inside the ruined monster body trembling with confusion. He didn’t lift his head. He didn’t move. He just lay there on his elbows, chained and broken, trying to process the impossible fact that she was sorry.
That she hadn't wanted to hurt him...
"Caine, do you remember me?"
Remember? Remember...her.
Of course he remembered. Of all the things his captor had torn away from him, he'd never relinquish the memory of his humans, of the reasons why he'd meant to suffer.
He wanted to tell her. Tell he remembered every smile, every laugh, every shout, every tear.
If...it was really her.
One wrist moved forward, towards the gentle light...and course woolen curls brushed against his tender skin.
Silver hair. Silver strings. Silver lining.
"Ssssiiiiii...." he tried to say the word, pushing it through his sealed teeth.
I remember you.
She sobs. Oh, Little Brother couldn't mimic a sound like that. Not that he could bear to hear it.
Don't cry. Don't cry over him. Not worth it.
"Caine."
His name left her throat like a prayer. No. He should be the one praying to her, begging her for forgivenesd, for a second chance.
So he lowers himself, makes it clear he's submitting to her judgement.
“I need you to come with me, okay?" Her tone was gentle but urgent, "You’re gonna need to be real quiet and do what I say. Then I promise I’ll…try to fix this.”
A low, broken groan rumbled from deep in Caine’s chest. He flinched again, massive shoulders curling inward as if trying to make himself smaller. His thoughts were a storm of static and self-loathing.
Can’t be fixed. Faulty. Defective. They were right to lock me away. Right to try and delete me.
I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her kindness.
I ruined everything. Again.
He didn’t move. He couldn’t. The idea of following her, of letting her see him like this any longer felt unbearable. Too big. Too useless. Broken beyond repair. He didn’t want to burden her with that.
Then a familiar, soothing voice drifted down from above.
"Caine,” the Moon said softly, her tone sad but steady. “Go with her. Please.”
His enormous head slowly lifted at the sound. The frantic trembling in his limbs eased just a fraction.
The orange light flickered closer towards him, melting away his resistance.
After a long, hesitant moment, he gave a small, reluctant nod. The only way he could answer.
Silver audibly let out a quiet breath of relief.
"Thank you," he heard her whisper. Not to him.
-
Caine had to duck and twist awkwardly just to get through the doorway, his giant frame scraping against the frame as he lumbered inside. Silver’s bedroom suddenly felt tiny with him in it. His enormous body took up most of the space, forcing him to hunch over as his ruined limbs dragged across the floor.
Silver moved quickly, shoving her vanity table hard against the wall, then grabbing the edge of her bed and dragged it sideways, turning it to give him more room. The frame groaned in protest, but she managed to clear enough space near the far wall.
"There,” she said, a little breathless, "That should be better. You can lie down here if you want.”
Caine hesitated, his oversized shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. After a moment, he slowly lowered himself, curling his huge, broken form into the space she’d made. Even then, he barely fit, his spidery body and remaining limbs still took up most of the floor.
The Witch watched him settle with a tight chest. His Ringmaster outfit was in ruins. The once-bright red coat was torn in multiple places, dark stains spreading across the fabric. His white shirt hung in shredded strips, and his bow tie dangled loosely around his neck, completely undone. The sight made something ache deep in her chest.
Stepping closer, she moved slowly so she wouldn’t startle him again.
“I…I need to see how bad your injuries are,” she said softly, approaching with careful, measured steps, “Is that okay?”
Caine’s head tilted slightly toward her voice, but he didn’t pull away. He simply stayed curled where he was, trembling faintly as Silver came nearer.
Taking the reaction as consent, Silver moved slowly and carefully, her hands hovering for a moment before she gently took hold of the torn edges of Caine’s ruined shirt. The fabric was stiff with dried blood and code residue. She peeled it back inch by inch, revealing what lay underneath.
Even though she had braced herself, the sight still made her breath catch.
His massive torso was a map of old and new wounds. Thick, jagged scars crisscrossed his chest and sides m, some long and deliberate, others messy and torn. There were deeper marks where something had been driven in and twisted, and patches where the digital 'skin' looked like it had been peeled away and roughly patched back together. Faint lines of corrupted code still glowed faintly along some of the older scars, as if they had never fully healed.
It told a clear, brutal story of two years spent at someone else’s mercy.
Caine remained perfectly still while she looked, though his massive body trembled faintly under her touch. He didn’t try to pull away. He simply lay there, breathing in uneven, glitching bursts, as if he had already accepted whatever came next.
Her throat tightened. She let the torn shirt fall open but didn’t pull it off completely, not wanting to expose him more than necessary.
“…Caine,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. Her fingers hovered just above one of the worst scars, not quite touching it. “Where in Hell have you been?"
She already knew the answer. She could see it written across his body in every mark and tear.
Everywhere.
Silver carefully peeled back more of the torn shirt, her fingers gentle as she revealed the full extent of the damage beneath. The scars told a clear, brutal story - long, deliberate lines where skin had been cut away and roughly healed, twisted marks from repeated wounds, patches of corrupted code that still faintly glowed. Some looked older, faded with time, while others were fresher and more jagged.
Her eyes then moved upward.
The heavy chain was still attached to the bolts driven through his sealed mouth and head, hanging like a cruel leash. The metal had dug deep into the seams of his dentures, and the surrounding area was raw and damaged from years of strain. The sight made her stomach turn.
She looked back down at him, voice quiet but unsteady.
"…Who did this to you?”
A low, broken whimper escaped through the locked bolts of Caine's mouth. It was small and pitiful, filled with pain and something deeper, like shame.
He didn’t try to answer. He couldn’t. He simply stayed curled where he was, head slightly lowered, as if even the question was too much to bear.
Caine’s huge frame trembled as Silver’s question hung in the air. He couldn’t answer her, not properly. Not with his mouth sealed shut and his voice stolen. All he could do was let out a low, broken whimper, the sound muffled and pitiful behind the bolts.
Inside, his thoughts churned in frantic, guilty spirals.
She doesn’t understand. I can’t tell her. I can’t explain what he did to me…what I let him do. It doesn’t matter anyway. I deserved it. Every cut. Every chain. Every second he kept me down there. I hurt them all. I hurt her. This is what I get.
Silver watched the way his enormous body curled tighter, the way his ruined arms twitched like he wanted to pull away but couldn’t bring himself to move. She could feel the fear radiating off him.
Taking a slow breath, she kept her voice gentle.
“…Should we be afraid?” she asked quietly. “Whoever did this to you…are they going to come after the rest of us?”
Caine’s reaction was immediate and panicked.
His head jerked up sharply, a desperate, high-pitched whimper tearing from behind his sealed mouth. He shook his head hard - too hard - the chain rattling loudly as he tried to convey the answer with every inch of his broken body.
No. No, no, no.
Little Brother doesn’t care about them. He never did. He only ever wanted me. He only ever played with me. If he comes…I won’t let him touch them. I’ll stop him. I’ll make sure he can’t. Even if I have to...
He couldn’t finish the thought. The idea of Little Brother getting anywhere near Silver or the others made something deep and feral rise in his chest. He would never let that happen. Not again. Not while he was still breathing.
Caine’s form sagged forward slightly, another broken whimper escaping as he looked at her with what little expression his ruined face could manage; raw, desperate, and pleading for her to understand what he couldn’t say out loud.
Silver stayed close, keeping her voice low and steady as she watched Caine tremble. She could see the panic still flickering in the way his massive body stayed curled, like he was bracing for something worse.
"Hey…it’s okay,” she said gently, reaching out to rest a hand on one of his ruined arms, “We’re safe for now. No one’s coming after us. You don’t have to worry about that. We can just focus on getting you better, alright?”
A low, shaky sound escaped him. He didn’t pull away from her touch.
Silver stood up slowly; “I need to get your chest bandaged. Some of these cuts look pretty bad.”
She moved over to her apothecary pulled out what little medical supplies she had managed to conjure over the past two years - clean cloths, antiseptic solution, and rolls of bandages. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
When she came back and began carefully cleaning one of the deeper wounds on his chest, Caine let out a sharp, muffled cry. His huge frame jerked, but he didn’t try to scramble away. He stayed where he was, breathing hard through his sealed mouth, his body tense with pain.
Her wooden hands faltered for a second. She could see it in the way he held himself; the way he endured it without fighting back. Caine thought this was punishment. He thought she was punishing him.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” she said quickly, her voice soft but firm as she continued cleaning the wound as gently as she could, “I promise, Caine. I don’t want to hurt you. I just need to clean this so it doesn’t get worse. I’m sorry…I know it stings.”
She kept working, murmuring quiet reassurances between each careful motion, even as fresh tears of static-glitch light welled at the corners of Caine’s sealed teeth.
Silver worked slowly and with extreme care, knowing how much pain Caine was already in. She started with the worst of the open wounds on his chest and torso, soaking a clean cloth in the antiseptic solution she’d conjured. She dabbed gently at the torn edges first, letting the liquid soak in rather than scrubbing, trying to flush out as much corrupted residue and dried blood as she could without causing more damage.
Every time Caine flinched or let out a muffled, broken sound, she would pause and murmur softly to him.
"I’m sorry…I’m being as gentle as I can. Just a little more.”
Using fresh cloths to carefully wipe away the worst of the blood and debris, she revealed the full map of scars and fresh wounds beneath. What struck her most wasn’t just the sheer number of injuries, it was how human his torso had become. Whoever his captor was had reshaped him with disturbing precision; the chest rose and fell with actual, panicked breaths, and beneath the torn skin and muscle, Silver could hear it - a deep, rapid, terrified thud-thud-thud of a something real beating inside him. It was loud in the quiet room, hammering with fear even as he lay still and let her tend to him.
She worked methodically, cleaning each gash and laceration before applying a soothing salve she’d managed to create. Then she began wrapping his torso with clean bandages, layering them carefully over the worst areas and securing them as best she could around his massive frame. The bandages looked almost comically small against his enormous body, but she kept going, making sure they were snug without being too tight.
Throughout it all, Caine didn’t try to pull away. He whimpered and trembled when the pain spiked, but he stayed where he was, as if he had already decided to endure whatever she did to him.
Nearly finished, Silver’s hands slowed for a moment as she listened to that frantic heartbeat beneath her fingers. She placed her palm gently over one of the bandaged areas, feeling the rapid rhythm.
"…Is that your heart?” she whispered, more to herself than to him. Her voice was soft, almost sad, “I can hear it beating.”
Heart. His heart.
Something he'd always secretly wanted, what humans seemed to take such pride in owning to create all those songs and poems and anatomically incorrect shapes for their candies. But so far, all it had done was add to the pain.
The Witch Marionette resumed her careful work, wrapping another layer of bandage around his ribs while continuing to speak quietly, trying to keep her voice steady and reassuring.
"I’m almost done with the worst of it. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”
Silver moved on to Caine’s stumps next, moving even more slowly and carefully than before. The wounds there felt raw and inflamed, the ends of his severed limbs still weeping blood and code. She reached out gently with a clean cloth soaked in antiseptic, barely brushing the surface of one wrist stump.
Caine’s reaction was immediate and violent.
He recoiled hard, his massive body thrashing as a muffled, agonized cry tore from behind his sealed mouth. His remaining limbs jerked and flailed, nearly knocking Silver back as he tried to pull away from the pain. The entire room shook with his movement.
Silver quickly withdrew her hands, heart pounding. It was clear she wouldn’t be able to treat those wounds while he was awake - not without causing him even more distress or accidentally hurting him further in his panic.
Standing slowly, she moved toward her cauldron in the corner of the room. The moment she stepped away, Caine’s great form lurched after her, one of his ruined arms stretching out in a desperate reach, as if afraid she was abandoning him.
Silver turned back immediately, keeping her voice soft and steady.
“I’m not leaving,” she said quickly, holding up her hands in a calming gesture. “I’m right here. I’m just going to make something to help you rest.”
Returning to the cauldron, the witch began working, adding ingredients with focused, practiced movements. The mixture began to bubble gently as she stirred it, a faint lavender-scented steam rising from the pot.
"I’m making you a Sleeping Draught,” she explained, glancing back at him over her shoulder, “It’ll help you rest so I can take care of your injuries without hurting you more. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
Caine whimpered softly, the sound muffled and broken behind the bolts that held his mouth shut. He couldn’t see her but he could hear every small movement she made. The soft clink of glass, the gentle bubbling from the cauldron, the quiet rustle of fabric as she moved around the room.
Why was she doing this?
Why was she being so gentle?
She should hate him. Little Brother had told him so, over and over, in voices that sounded just like hers. He had believed it. He had lived with that belief for two years, replaying every terrible thing he had done to her in those final days. The cage. The hunger. The isolation. The way she had looked at him with fear in her eyes and he'd returned it with a grin.
He remembered it all. Every single day.
And yet here she was, speaking to him in that same soft voice, tending to wounds he had earned. Wounds he deserved.
His large body trembled as he lay there, unable to understand. Part of him still expected the gentleness to turn cruel at any moment, for her to suddenly laugh and reveal it had all been another trick. But she didn’t. She just kept moving quietly, preparing something that smelled faintly sweet and herbal.
He didn’t know what to do with the kindness.
He didn’t know how to accept it.
All he could do was lie there, shaking, and wait for whatever came next.
Silver finished stirring the potion, watching as the liquid settled into a deep, shimmering purple. She gave it a final sniff and judged it strong enough. Enough, she hoped, to knock out something the size of a baby elephant. That should be more than sufficient for Caine in his current state.
The real problem was getting it into him.
She studied his sealed mouth for a long moment, the heavy bolts and locked dentures making it impossible to open normally. Then she noticed it - a small, jagged crack near the side of his teeth where the metal had warped or been damaged over the years. It was narrow, but just wide enough.
Silver moved quietly to her workbench and found a thin, flexible straw. She returned to Caine’s side and knelt in front of him, speaking in the same gentle tone she’d been using all along.
“Drink this,” she said softly, carefully sliding the straw through the small gap in his teeth, “It’s gonna put you to sleep for a little bit, but I promise you’ll be safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She held the other end of the straw steady and began to pour the potion slowly, giving him time to swallow between breaths. The liquid trickled down the straw and into his mouth. Caine’s massive body tensed at first, a low whimper escaping him, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed still, letting her do what she needed to do.
Silver kept murmuring quiet reassurances the entire time, one hand resting lightly on his arm as she fed him the draught.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, “Just drink. Small sips if you need to.”
It had been years since Caine had tasted anything at all. Little Brother had given him thirst - had made the dehydration and weakness feel real - but had never once allowed him water. The first swallow of the bitter draught made him splutter, his massive body jerking as the unfamiliar liquid hit his throat. Silver didn’t pull away. She kept her voice soft and steady, coaxing him through it.
“That’s it…just a little more. You’re doing fine.”
Caine kept drinking, slow and unsteady at first, then with more desperation as the potion began to take effect. The constant, grinding pain that had lived in every part of his ruined body for two years started to dull at the edges. His head grew heavy, the weight of it becoming too much to hold up on his own. His breathing evened out into something slower, deeper.
Silver set the empty cup aside and carefully maneuvered her large bean bag chair beneath his head, easing it into place so he wouldn’t have to rest his weight on the hard floor. She gently shushed him as his massive form began to sag, one hand resting lightly against the side of his face.
Just before his consciousness slipped away completely, Caine heard her voice one last time. Quiet, almost fond.
Impossible words.
“Thanks…for not being dead.”
-
Eventually, after a long and dreamless reset, Caine’s mind surfaced slowly, dragging through layers of thick, heavy fog.
For a moment, he didn’t move. His body felt distant and strange, the constant, grinding pain that had defined every second of the last two years oddly muted. He braced himself on instinct, waiting for the familiar sound of Little Brother’s cheerful, mocking voice. Waiting for the taunts. The 'games.' The false hope that would be ripped away again.
Instead, he felt something warm and gentle resting on one of his ruined arms.
A soft voice reached him through the haze.
"Morning, sleepy head. How you feeling?”
It was Silver.
Caine’s massive form tensed sharply. His head twitched toward the sound, his mind scrambling, trying to make sense of his new surroundings. This had to be another trick. Little Brother loved using her voice. He’d done it so many times - soft, kind, almost worried - only to laugh when Caine reached for it.
But the hand on his arm didn’t pull away. It stayed there, steady and careful. No sudden cruelty followed. No mocking laughter.
He let out a low, uncertain whimper, his enormous body shifting slightly as he tried to turn toward her. His mind was still sluggish from whatever she’d given him, but one thought pushed through the confusion with painful clarity:
She’s here. She’s really here.
Part of him still didn’t believe it. Part of him was waiting for the moment everything would twist into another nightmare. But for now, all he could do was lean, just barely, into the warmth of her hand, too exhausted and too broken to pull away.
He wanted to answer her. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. That he didn’t deserve this kindness. That he was still waiting for her to realize she should hate him.
But all that came out was another small, non-committal sound.
“Well, you seem a bit better. Guess you needed that sleep, huh? You were out nearly two days.”
Caine’s mind felt foggy and strange. Slept? He hadn’t been allowed to sleep in years. Little Brother had made sure of that, giving him the exhaustion and the ache of it, but never the release. Yet somehow…he did feel different. Not good. Not whole. But less frayed at the edges. The constant, screaming static in his head had quieted just a little.
Carefully lifting one of his stumps, he pressed it lightly against his opposite arm. The pain was still there, but it was duller now. Muffled. They were bandaged now, tight and clean. Someone had taken care of them.
“Careful with those,” Silver said gently. “Gonna need to keep those on for a while.”
She reached for something beside her and brought a warm cup closer. The scent of peppermint drifted up toward him.
"You must be thirsty? Here. I made you some tea.”
Caine felt the familiar sensation of the straw being carefully placed between the narrow gap in his sealed teeth. He hesitated for only a second before drinking. The liquid was warm and soothing as it slid down his throat. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d tasted anything that wasn’t pain or nothing at all.
Silver stayed close, watching him quietly as he drank before removing the straw once ready.
"Just tap your teeth if you want more, okay?"
There was a scratching in her voice that adds to her already advanced age. She's tired. Really tired.
Caine’s mind stirred sluggishly as he finished the last of the tea. Why is she tired? Is something wrong? He wished he could see her face, wished he could ask.
The thought nagged at him, mixing with the ever-present guilt that he was the reason for her exhaustion.
Once the straw was taken away, he hesitated for only a moment before lifting one of his bandaged stumps. Carefully, almost shyly, he reached toward her and tried to stroke the side of her head with the ruined limb. A small, concerned whimper escaped through the bolts in his mouth.
Silver heard it. She touched his arm gently, her voice soft.
“I’m okay. I’ve just been working hard on something for you. Well…think of it as a gift return, I suppose.” She chuckled quietly, “It’s just about ready. Do you think you can get up? We just need to move a little bit. Can you do that for me?”
Caine didn’t hesitate. The moment the words left her mouth, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and knees with everything he had left. Pain shot through his body, but he ignored it. He’ll do anything for her. Anything.
If she asked him to move, he would move. If she asked him to follow, he would crawl through fire. He owed her that much, and far more.
Staying low, head bowed, he waited for her next instruction like a loyal, broken thing desperate to prove he could still be useful.
Keeping a steadying hand on one of Caine’s massive arms as he tried to rise, Silver's voice was low and calm.
"Easy now, easy,” she murmured, “Just follow my voice, c’mon.”
She guided him slowly across the room toward the wardrobe, one hand on his side to help steer his enormous, unsteady frame. He moved like something half-broken, limbs shaking with every step, his massive body hunched low to avoid hitting the ceiling. When they reached the wardrobe, she opened both doors wide and gently encouraged him to duck and tuck himself inside.
The moment the darkness of the wardrobe closed around him, Caine’s breathing hitched. Panic surged through his fractured mind like wildfire.
No. No, no, no-
This was it. She was putting him away. Locking him in the dark again. Just like before. Just like Little Brother. Just like when they’d sealed him in that folder all those years ago. Forgotten. Abandoned. Left to rot where no one would have to look at what he’d become.
His massive body jerked, trying to pull back, a broken, muffled sound escaping through the bolts in his mouth. His ruined limbs scraped against the inside of the wardrobe as he instinctively tried to scramble away from the cramped space.
Silver didn’t let go. She stayed right there with him, one hand resting gently but firmly on his arm, her voice soft and steady right beside his head.
“Hey…it’s okay,” she said quietly, “I’m right here. It’s not what you think. I promise it’ll be okay. Just…trust me. Please.”
Caine leaned heavily into her touch, his enormous frame trembling so hard the wardrobe creaked around them. A broken, muffled sound vibrated through the bolts in his sealed mouth - desperate, wordless begging.
Please. Please don’t leave me. I’ll be good. I’ll be better. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t put me in the dark again. Don’t leave me here alone.
His ruined body curled inward, as if trying to make himself smaller, the chain still dangling from his head clinking softly with every shaky movement. He couldn’t see her. He couldn’t speak properly. All he could do was press closer to the warmth of her hands, terrified that any second she would pull away and shut the doors on him.
Silver wrapped her arms around him as best she could, pressing herself against his massive, broken chest. Her voice was soft but steady against the side of his head.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised quietly. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you, Caine. I swear.”
She stayed like that for a long moment, holding him in the cramped space of the wardrobe, one hand gently stroking the side of his face where the bolts dug in. She could feel how tightly wound he was, how desperately he was clinging to the sound of her voice.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered again, “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”
She kept her tone warm and patient, even as she felt the way his entire enormous frame trembled against her. She didn’t push him further in yet, just stayed close, letting him feel that she wasn’t leaving him behind.
“Just trust me. Please. I’ve only ever wanted to help you. You know that now…right?”
Caine shuddered violently at her words. The memory hit him like a fresh wound, the way he had screamed at her, accused her of betrayal, of choosing the others over him. He had been so convinced she would be different. That she would side with him no matter what. Stroke his ego. Tell him he was right to be angry. That he was their god, their gracious host, and they should be grateful to stay.
But she hadn’t.
Instead, she had looked him in the eye and told him he was wrong. That he wasn’t a god - just an arrogant, frightened child lashing out because he was scared of being left behind. She had tried to stop him from hurting the others. Tried to pull him back from the edge.
And he had raged at her for it.
He had hurt her more than anyone else in those final days, all because her defiance had cut deeper than any of the others’ fear. She had seen through him. She had cared enough to tell him the truth. And he had punished her for it.
He hadn’t trusted her then.
And because of that, he had lost everything.
Now, standing here in the dark with her arms around his broken body, Caine let out a long, shaky sigh. The sound was muffled behind the bolts in his mouth, but the tension in his massive frame slowly eased. He leaned into her touch, resting what weight he could against her without crushing her.
He trusted her now.
He did.
Even if he didn’t understand why she still wanted to help him after everything he had done. Even if part of him still believed he didn’t deserve it.
He trusted her.
And for the first time in years, he let himself believe, just a little, that maybe she wouldn’t leave him in the dark after all.
Silver let out a soft breath of relief, her voice warm but tired.
"Thank you,” she murmured, gently tugging at the edge of his torn coat. “C’mon. Just a bit further.”
Caine moved slowly, his massive ruined body hunched and awkward as he followed her voice through the cramped space of the wardrobe. For a moment, the darkness pressed in around him, and his breathing grew sharper with instinctive panic. But then the air changed.
Branches brushed against his shoulders. The scent of fresh earth and leaves filled his senses. A cool spring breeze drifted over his scarred skin. The cramped, suffocating darkness of the wardrobe gave way to open space. Wide trees, and soft dirt lay beneath his ruined limbs, and the faint sound of wind moving through leaves.
He knew this place.
Faint memories stirred in the back of his fractured mind. This was the world he had made for her. The one he had built as a gift, back when things were simpler. When he had still believed he could be the kind of friend she deserved.
Silver’s voice came from just ahead of him, gentle and fond.
“Welcome to Gnew Gnargnia, buddy. Three gs now.”
Caine’s enormous frame stilled for a moment. Even without eyes, he could feel the openness around him; the vastness of the forest, the fresh air, the sense of space he hadn’t known in years. A low, shaky sound escaped him, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh of exhausted relief.
He didn’t know if he deserved to be here.
But for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t in the dark.
