Work Text:
“There’s no place like home.”
He’s never understood that sentiment.
For Caleb, “home” has never been something he’s missed — merely a place he lived. A place not particularly enjoyed. A place that was never truly comfortable. Never truly secure. A place where the worst threats lived among the prey. A place that always felt more akin to a battlefield than a shelter.
In that way, Caleb has always been a soldier. Fighting a war not for himself, but for the sake of another. Being a martyr . At least, that was how he saw himself when he was younger. That was how “home” made him feel.
Maybe there was truth to the statement. There’s no place like home . At least, it used to be true – no place caused him the same dread that home did. No place had him on as high of alert as home did. There was no place that he resented as deeply as he resented his home.
Caleb believes his true home is wherever she is. But, for so many years, that meant that home was also with “grandma” — while she was trapped in that cage, he too had to consider that cage his home. As long as she was a lab rat stuck in a maze, that maze was his home too. It was miserable. Possibly more so for him than it was for her, because she was allowed the privilege of forgetting. She was clueless, and so he donned a mask to match.
She loved Josephine for being a guardian, a protector, and the closest thing she had to a mother – Caleb smiled along with her, all while being so heavily burdened by the building contempt he felt for that same woman. Josephine was never her protector. Caleb was. Josephine was no guardian. Caleb was.
He proved that every day of his life, didn’t he? And yet she remained oblivious. Because, to her, he was just a friend — worse, a brother. Someone on equal footing as her. Someone beside her, not in front of her. He was a shield for a girl who loved the enemy.
He’d never say it aloud, but Caleb is glad she’s gone. He’s glad that their “home” was reduced to a pile of meaningless rubble. He’s glad it was destroyed . He’s glad that she finally — permanently — escaped it. Even if it cost him. His ‘death’, the experiments, everything that followed that explosion. They weren’t the first sacrifices he’d make for her, and they wouldn’t be the last.
But maybe she’s cursed. Destined, horribly, to always have an enemy in her home — in her bed. He wishes he could convince himself that playing for the opposing team only helps him protect her more, but he knows that isn’t the case. He knows, despite the fact that the last thing he ever wants to do is hurt her, he’s as much a danger to her as anyone.
Still, he can’t help but be selfish. He wouldn’t be here, laying beside her, staring blankly up at her bedroom ceiling, if he wasn’t one of the most selfish men in the world. She sleeps soundly next to him without a single concern — because she trusts that he’s still the same protector he was all those years ago. Even knowing he’s changed, even knowing he’s infinitely more dangerous now, she trusts in him.
Caleb doesn’t entirely know why.
Well, that’s not exactly true.
He knows a part of the reason why. It’s by his own design that he’s able to get this close to her. A reward for his tireless, meticulous efforts – an outcome he simultaneously does and doesn’t deserve. As the colonel sits up, another popular saying comes to mind: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. With his knuckles brushing her cheek, this is about as close as they can be. She’s the closest thing to him. Caleb doesn’t let anyone get close – nobody outside of her.
Ever is like a hydra. Cut off one puppet head, two more sprout back in its place, strings and all. Josephine was taken out of the picture, and the Colonel grew back to replace her. Stealing Caleb’s likeness, his voice, his everything — molding a perfect machine to fool the target. It stole his feelings, too, and shattered most of them, turning him into a mere husk of what he used to be— but it couldn’t destroy all of what he felt. It failed to rid him of the nauseating obsession he has with her, and that stands to be both his most dangerous trait and his biggest weakness, at least when it comes to his ability to follow Ever’s orders.
It’s his own extensive experience with them — years living at their expense — that motivates him both to submit to them and to continue fighting them in whatever small ways he can manage. He knows what they want. He’s looking at what they want. What they want is a girl who sleeps so soundly she’s almost unmistakable from a corpse. It’s only the warmth of her cheeks and the easily-miss-able sound of her breathing that ruins that illusion.
Maybe he’s just paranoid. Maybe other people wouldn’t mistake her for dead in a million years (not that anyone else should be watching her sleep, of course, this is just a hypothetical) and maybe it’s just because Caleb knows how distantly familiar she is with death. Or, at the very least, how familiar he is with her being dead. The chip took away a lot from him, admittedly, but he’s not sure that anything is powerful enough to empty his brain of the memories made all those years ago, back at the Gaia Research Center. Before everything.
And who was responsible for those memories? Ever. “Grandma” – Josephine. There’s no world in which he doesn’t villainize them, rightfully, for what they did. For what they continue to do. They’ve always been the enemy. This isn’t a new development. They always have been, and always will be, the enemy. He isn’t sure he could hate anything more than he hates Ever.
Caleb had the chance to die as a hero. To end his story on a good note. To disappear forever and be remembered positively. In a way, he did die. But not in the way that would save him from the fate of living long enough to become the very beast he spent his whole life despising. Barely human mentally, not-quite-fully human physically — he’s someone entirely new, all for the worse.
He retracts his hand from where it had been hovering near her skin. She isn’t fragile. He knows that. She’s strong, she’s capable of defending herself from the usual threats. She’s a hard worker. More powerful than she realizes. She’s come a long way from the reliant, clingy kid she once was — but Caleb will always see her as something to be protected. Something that he cares for, something that belongs to him, something that he’s responsible for.
He’ll never be able to fully remove her from the fragile image he has of her in his head.
So he pulls his hand away – because he’s always been good at destroying delicate things. And, as selfish as he can be, Caleb doesn’t want to destroy this delicate thing.
There’s no place like home.
Maybe he simply isn’t meant to have a home. Not one he can truly call his own – not one he can live in. Maybe there’s no place like home because “home” isn’t a place at all. It’s a responsibility. A duty. It’s the thin chain around his neck, the buried memories in his mind – it’s arcade dates, rough days, and homemade birthday cakes. Home is devotion and absolute, all-consuming, nauseating love.
Everything he has – every last piece of the old Caleb that remains, it belongs to her. It’s all dedicated to her. Nobody else. Nothing else.
So, perhaps in that way, it’s true; because there is nothing in this world even remotely similar to his home.