bro is a puppet fucker, this is a very obvious and very widely accepted fact. however i dont think cal would let bro fuck him. i think he'd call him gross for wanting to.
TW: child abuse, age gaps, grooming, implied sexual assault, intrusive thoughts, mental instability, internalized homophobia, homophobic slurs, generally just bro not having a good time growing up
aka; i did not mean to write a drabble today and i regret nothing. feat. time shenanigans and cal slowly adjusting to his new life while bro loses his own
bro would learn about what cal's concept of sexual was before the real meaning. not from cal telling him, but from listening to cal scream and snarl every time his caretakers tried to hold him. the insults he hurled, the words he used. bro would learn fast that touch = bad.
despite this, bro is human. humans crave connection, contact. if not with other humans, than at least something else in their environment. cal allows himself to be that outlet of contact. sure, he complains, but its nothing at all like the horrified, ear-piercing screeches of an enʀᴀɢᴇd split-consciousness puppet. touch = bad, cal = ɢᴏᴅgood. therefore... touch + cal =...okay?
but that doesn't mean he's stupid. he knows what sex is. he's heard it while taking refuge under a bed to escape from his foster father. he's seen it when investigating the noises coming from his foster brother's bedroom. he's felt-ᴡʀᴏɴɢᴡʀᴏɴɢᴡʀᴏɴɢᴡʀᴏɴɢᴡʀᴏɴɢ
he knows what queer and fag mean. he knows that men can't wear dresses, that they can't have long hair. he knows that the men in this temporary home he's been placed in are ʙᴀᴅ and ᴅɪʀᴛʏ.
that doesn't mean that he doesn't trace cal's face ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀʟʏ when he thinks the puppet isn't paying attention. that he doesn't cradle him against his chest for comfort while he learns how to tune out yelling.
roxʏ tells him what love is in a hushed voice when he spends his first night under ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ᴇɴɢʟɪsʜ hass harley's care. her eyes are soft and near-blue under the light of the moon. she whispers it like it's a secret. like it's something that he shouldn't repeat.
cal is quiet near her. not afraid, but satiated. calm. as if all his ʀᴀɢᴇ had been sucked into the ᴠᴏɪᴅ. he thinks he likes her. he thinks he likes her a lot.
he has his first real kiss underneath the stairwell in old man harley's vacation home. it was barely anything, light contact and warm breath and the stench of alcohol. she had waited for his response, her entire body alight with tension.
cal didn't start reciting his lines. that meant that it was up to bro to do so.
he found himself smiling, feeling giddy for doing something so wrong without being caught. "that was so. fucking. gross.," he had told her, giggling the whole while. "i can't believe we just did that." it had felt good. maybe it was the alcohol in his blood, or the lack of screaming. but he liked it.
though he couldn't name the emotion at the time, he could see in her eyes that something was wrong wrong wrong wrong. wrong like when he told cal that the radio he had broken was just a machine, it felt nothing. wrong like when he had suggested that pink was a color that looked good on him. wrong like-
they didn't kiss again after that. she was just as bright and cheerful, and he knew she didn't hold it against him, but she had been hurt. wounds like that couldn't be so easily repaired, and she didn't have a cal to fix her.
cal ʜᴀᴛᴇs harley, but not in the same way he hates everyone else. he hates him like he wants to devour him. even more so, he hates the way he looks at bro.
harley smiles at him with creased eyes as he shows him how to use a gun. he's standing behind him, gloved hands wrapped around bro's own. cal says the contact is necessary. that doesn't mean he doesn't buzz with ʀᴀɢᴇ at their proximity.
the pressure against his back is nice. it's so nice. nice like rox's lips against his own. like cal's arms around his neck. he lets himself lean into it as he focuses on holding his arms steady.
due to the ear protection, he can't hear what harley is saying. but he doesn't need to. he can feel what to do, as if he had done it a million times before.
his body jerks when the gun goes off, the recoil pressing him firm against harley's chest. he hits the target in the head, but misses the center dot. he tenses, expecting a reprimand, a slap, a punch, a kick, a-
his earmuffs are slid off of one ear. "why, i'd say that was perfect!," harley chimed, the grin on his face nearly blinding. he looked at him with such reverence, such adoration. as if he had hung the very moon in the sky. "are you positive you've never held a gun before?"
it had filled him with ʜᴏᴘᴇ that things wouldn't be so bad here. ʜᴏᴘᴇ, something that cal had been trying to teach him to get rid of. he got in trouble, but it was worth it. he wanted to be looked at that way again. like he could do no wrong.
it wasn't worth it, he learned. it wasn't worth it. ɪɴᴠᴇʀsɪᴏɴ, cal had called it, in the voice he always used to speak of ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇ. methodical and cold. robotic.
through trying to deny his own ғᴀᴛᴇ, hass had dug himself into a hole. he was trying to drag bro with him. and god, bro wanted to let him. he wanted to cling to the euphoria, to go in blindly and drink himself to death alongside him.
he had always wondered why hass' vacation home had so much liquor stashed away. it was stored like canned goods, like he was preparing for the apocalypse. and maybe he was. but alcohol was not one of the things humans needed to survive.
"no," bro had stated shortly, "gotta work. on my tech. can't drink. not today." his words had become chipped and flattened with ᴛɪᴍᴇ. cal didn't like it when he spoke. not anymore.
hass hadn't liked that. he didn't like being told no, especially when he was so drunk he couldn't find his glasses on his face. bro could see the tension in his muscles. hass asked again, his voice tight and impatient. but he had orders. cal wanted to finish this before he had to leave for houston. didn't matter that it wasn't for another three years, he needed it now.
"can't, hass. sorry." he was sorry. not that he couldn't do it, but that hass was so upset by it. "go watch. a film. or some shit. got better. things to do." that had been the wrong thing to say.
ʀᴀɢᴇ was something that bro was incredibly familiar with. it was one of the sᴛʀᴏɴɢest emotions that cal radiated. over the years, it had lessened. but it never vanished, nor quieted. he knew ʀᴀɢᴇ.
this was worse.
his head hit the ground before he could blink. there was no ᴛɪᴍᴇ to react. he felt himself snap into a familiar mindset, one he had been careful not to fall into around his allies. his sword was at hass' throat, barely stopping short of slitting it.
it was as if hass hadn't even felt it. he was screaming his lungs raw, something about Debt and Promises. bro never did well with screaming, so he tuned it out. he moved to counter- ᴡʀᴏɴɢ.
a grandfather clock chimed thrice. it was the wrong hour.
his head hit the ground before he could blink. there was no ᴛɪᴍᴇ to react. he felt himself snap into a familiar mindset, one he had been careful not to fall into around his allies. his sword was missing. there were hands around his throat. he dug his nails into hass' arms, breaking the skin with the force of it.
it was as if hass hadn't even felt it. he was screaming his lungs raw, something about ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ and ʜᴏᴘᴇ. bro never did well with screaming, but cal demanded he listened. he did not move to counter.
he can't recall what happened next. only that it hurt. he sees flashes. cal. only cal. staring at cal, who stared down at him from his desk.
cal was silent, and then he was not. he alternated between bouts of hysterical laughter and screams of ʀᴀɢᴇ. bro did not move to soothe him.
it did not happen again, but he knew it was inevitable that it would have happened eventually. one of these things is a lie.
ᴛɪᴍᴇ passed quickly, and then it did not. the clock chimed, but it had never been there in the first place. he never did visit washington like he had planned. he didn't wonder why not, because cal told him not to.
cal told him a lot of things. there was a car coming, don't walk yet. that guy has a knife, be extra polite to him. you should tear your arms off with your teeth so you can never hurt anyone ever again. lots of things.
he learned what was to be listened to, and what was bait that he needed to ignore. he learned what foods to avoid, how many times to check that his front door was locked, how to scrub his skin raw after he ᴍᴏʟᴇsᴛᴇᴅ accidentally bumped into someone in public. lots of things.
cal was safe, the world was not.
he didn't know what he was thinking when he kissed him. cal had been ranting about something or the other, a topic that his brain had deduced was irrelevant and could be discarded.
he knew it was late, and he hadn't slept in too long. he knew his hands were sore from hand-sewing the same pattern over, and over, and over again.
he knew cal was everything. the only thing that mattered. he knew that he had protected him his entire life. he knew that lipstick tasted bad and pressure on his throat made him numb.
"love is the strongest emotion you can feel for someone," rox had told him. "when you love someone, you're willing to forgive every wrong thing they ever did to you.." she had sounded melancholy. "love isn't always mutual, though. and it can hurt. but it never goes away."
bro listened to the alternating volume of cal's voice, felt the way their ʜᴇᴀʀᴛs beat in sync. cal lacked a physical heart, sure. but he wasn't talking about that kind.
"true love is when you were made for someone, and they were made for you. when every event in your life in some way intertwines with theirs.. your world is their world."
he held cal's mitt in one hand, cradled between three fingers. little vertical lines run down the length of it, a dip in between each one. he brushed his thumb across it, savoring the texture.
"love?," hass had spat, as if the word offended him. "dagnabbit, ambrose. don't be an idiot, love isn't real! it's a chemical sensation the brain produces to encourage reproduction. that's it. end scene."
cal's eyes were glassy. he could see himself in the reflection, could gaze into his own imperfections. one eye blue, one eye orange. he wished both were blue. like cal's.
"you know what does exist? obsession. the desire to hold onto someone so tight that them attempting to flee would result in them having to surrender a limb. the need to keep someone with you, at all costs."
cal's lipstick was perfect, sealed by gloss to keep it from being chipped away. his lashes were long, neatly preened to sit together in three or so spikes. he was a work of art. whoever had built him had to have loved him. to have been obsessed with him.
bro was obsessed with him. he might even love him.
there was no warmth when his lips pressed against cal's own. no share breath, no smell of alcohol. there was only smooth porcelain.
it was the best feeling he had ever had. it was like a puzzle piece had slotted into place, finally revealing to him what was intended to be seen all along. everyone was wrong. they didn't get it.
there was no love, there was no obsession. there was only worship.
and then cal started screaming. the same screams he heard in his nightmares. bro reeled back like he had been slapped, hunching in on himself.
cal descended into mad laughter, the sound spiraling around him in circles. he laughed and laughed, never pausing for breath due to a lack of lungs.
the name-calling started. fag, pervert, queer, freak. he couldn't get away from it. he couldn't apologize because he couldn't speak, and he would be insincere if he tried.
cal cackled like he had just told him the funniest joke in the world. ᴅɪsɢᴜsᴛɪɴɢ. he was ᴅɪsɢᴜsᴛɪɴɢ. why the fuck did he do that? what was he thinking? there had to be something wrong with him. it had to be the lack of sleep. that was it.
cal howled with laughter, louder and louder. it couldn't damage his ear drums because it wasn't transmitted via the air. it was in his head. it was in his fucking head and he couldn't get away from it.
ᴇɴᴛɪᴛʟᴇᴅ ᴠᴇssᴇʟ
ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀs
ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ
he knows. he knows. he knows. he knows.
sᴜᴄʜ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀɴᴇss
he's sorry. he didn't know what he was doing.
ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴡᴅ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs
he knows. god, he knows.
ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴏᴜᴛ
ᴀʟʟ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴀᴛ
ғɪʟᴛʜʏ
ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀғᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ
ᴘɪᴛʏ
he'll never do it again. he promises. it'll never happen again. please. stop. stop. stop. stop. he feels like he's splintering apart at the seams-
ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴏʟᴇ
ɪs ɢᴜᴀʀᴅɪᴀɴ
ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇ
ᴏɴ sᴜᴄʜ-
HE KNOWSHE KNOWS HEKNOWS HE KNOWS
. . .
there is silence. finally, there's silence. he huddles on the ground, curled in on himself with his hands over his ears as if it would've blocked anything out.
tears roll down his face. he can't remember the last time he cried. he doesn't remember much at all these days. it doesn't matter. he doesn't need to.
he just needs to listen. he needs to listen. he's too stubborn. he just needs to listen. it's so easy to just listen. if he would only-
ᴀᴍʙʀᴏsɪᴀ
bro jolts at the use of such an affectionate nickname, gritting his teeth. he was being made fun of.
ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴅs ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ
ɪ
bro waits for him to continue.
ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ sᴇɴsɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ
ᴀ ʟᴀᴘsᴇ ɪɴ ᴊᴜᴅɢᴍᴇɴᴛ
sɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴇʀʀᴏʀ
. . .
ᴀʟʟ ɪs ғᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇɴ
sʟᴇᴇᴘ
he doesn't know what to say. or to think. he simply stares at the underside of his desk, unmoving. his brain runs at full capacity as it tries to process what he said.
...oh.
he's giving him an out. an excuse. this was all just him being sleep deprived.
...
he tries to convince himself that's true. it's the sleep deprivation. it has to be. he's not dirty. he's just tired.
but-
ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ
ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ
ʀᴇᴇᴠᴀʟᴜᴀᴛᴇ
bro finds himself nodding along. that makes sense. he climbs to his feet.
he can think about it tomorrow, when his brain is functioning with less stress on it. when his systems have all cooled.
he leaves cal on the desk where he is and crawls onto his futon.
he falls asleep within seconds.
a grandfather clock chimed thrice. it was the wrong hour.
a grandfather clock chimed thrice. it was the wrong hour.
a grandfather clock chimed thrice. it was the wrong hour.
a grandfather clock chimed thrice-
there was no love, there was no obsession. there was only worship.
cal is silent, having paused in his ranting. his ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ is unsteady, but he doesn't tell him to stop.
bro pulls back by himself after a second or two, his own ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ satiated and calm. he feels better than he has in a long time.
cal is quiet, but his ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ is evening out again. he takes this as a sign that what he did was fine. cal is a puppet. the touch rule doesn't count for puppets. neither does the rule about sex.
what he did was fine. he should go to bed, now. it was late, and he hadn't slept in too long. he ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀʟʏ picks cal up and wraps him around his shoulders.
he makes quick work of organizing the mess on his desk. he wouldn't want to cause any problems for himself in the morning.
after he's ensured he has everything in it's proper place, he settles onto the futon, unwinding cal from around his neck. he rests him on his chest.
cal hasn't said a word since he kissed him. maybe he-
ᴡᴀʀɴ ᴍᴇ
. . .
ɴᴇxᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ
bro's heart leaps up into his throat at the implication of next time. he feels happy. cal isn't mad, and he didn't tell him to never do it again. this is the best case scenario.
ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ
ᴡᴏʀsʜɪᴘ ᴍᴇ
ʙᴜᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴍᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴍᴇ ғᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ
. . .
ɪs ᴛʜɪs ᴀᴍᴇɴᴀʙʟᴇ
bro is a little confused by his question. of course it is. anything that cal tells him, he will listen to.
cal is silent once again.
he waits for him to continue.
there is no continuation.
his silence stretches long enough that bro begins to drift off.
. . .
. . . . . .
ᶦ ᶜᵃⁿᵗ ˡᵒˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ
ᵈᵒⁿᵗ ˢᵖˡᶦⁿᵗᵉʳ ᵒⁿ ᵐᵉ
ʸᵒᵘ ˢᶜᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵐᵉ
ᵈᵘᵐᵇᵃˢˢ
