Real Life Monster

He comes trudging back as evening falls, shoulders bowed, head low, hands tucked in his leather jacket and hair obscuring his face. He looks dirty, ragged, beaten, exhausted, as though he’s been walking forever. His shirt is stiff in places with dried blood. He doesn’t seem to care.

Once he stumbles and nearly falls, just catching himself, and it makes him look up. His eyes widen and he backs up. “No. No. Jesus Christ, no.” His eyes are wide and round as he backs up. “You can’t do this to me,” he says, hoarsely, and ducks behind a tree. He might be there, again. She might be there. And therefore he can’t be. If they could have left him dead…he wanted to be dead. He’d much rather be dead.

And why not? A small voice murmurs. It wouldn’t be so hard to die again. It’s cold. Just go to the woods and lie down and sleep.

Sleep. He’s always liked sleep. That didn’t sound so bad. It might not even hurt.

He turns his feet toward the woods and started walking, one foot in front of the other, deliberate and slow. He doesn’t look back at the house. Doesn’t let himself think.

Anita...Sugar...Molly. Oh, fuck, Molly. He flinches away from that, trying to find a thought he can settle on without hurting.

Niko would never forgive him.

It breaks him. He crumples to the ground, curling into himself, and cries like a small child, sobbing desperately. Niko would never…Niko would never have…

Oh god, Niko. Nik.

T: ...for anyone who would like to see an incredibly broken boy. >__>

Caliban is outside, actually, sitting by the lake and rather deep in thought, though it's not clear even to him whether he's happy or not, knees drawn up to his chest and staring at the water, pitching rocks every so often.

He's kind of wanting to see people, actually - he's feeling better than he usually does. Probably because of the brother.

( ...and awkward. )

( There is emo.  )

Cal doesn't know what to think about this. On the one hand, Robin who mostly knows him as a homicidal bastard. On the other hand, it's Robin.

He's currently pacing back and forth across his room, rubbing his fingers over the necklace he's had for months, and not letting himself think, not letting himself wonder if Niko gets here, what will happen, what Niko will do if he's suffered the same as Robin, what...oh god. And just Niko coming at all.

And Robin. And Niko. And spaz.

Caliban is actually feeling hungry, for the first time in a long while - and hence he's down in the kitchen, trying to scrape something together. It's not doing so well, evidenced by the way he's staring gloomily at the scrapings he's managed to amass and trying to decide what can be made with them.

Hellllo, city kid.

Caliban is sitting on the steps, frowning at his feet, determined not to cry. Niko doesn't cry, so he's not going to.

He can't be more than nine or ten, though he's small for his age, mouth in a little serious line, scuffing at the dirt. He doesn't know where his brother is, and while Sophia doesn't seem to be here either and that's good, he's worried about Nik. Who knows what he'll do if Cal's not there? Of course, that's the issue. Not that he feels completely and utterly lost sans his brother.

Nik's always there. Always.

So how come he's not here now?

Caliban is outside again. He still looks battered, tired, and not well, but slightly better than he did, and at least he's been able to eat more. He's picking flowers, as a matter of fact, frowning at them as though he's not quite sure what they're doing there. And indeed, he's not quite sure he does know what they're doing there.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Caliban isn't whole yet by any stretch of the imagination. But the bags under his eyes are a little less, and while there's still a haunted look in his eyes when they're open, which they aren't right now, Sophia curled up on his bare chest where he's on his back on his bed. He might be dead for all he moves except for the rise and fall of his chest. He hasn't left his room since getting to it a few nights ago, and it's been a long few nights, but with some help he's slept at least a little without the nightmares.

The cuts from the glass are healing, though there's still little spots of blood on the sheets from where he's twitched a little too much, the broken mirror in the bathroom covered by a towel. The windows are likely still barricaded, because Caliban hasn't made any effort to get rid of them. There's a peculiar smell to the room, not quite that of a sickroom, but very close.

Visitors can feel free, as he's a little less of a mess than he was. He might even be able to talk somewhat sanely, as he's alive enough to be ashamed about his threats of suicide. It's never been something, when those thoughts occurred, that Cal was proud of.

Cal got back late last night and collapsed into bed, clinging to Sophia until she almost yelped. She's curled up by his head now, fast asleep. He's not quite so relaxed. Most of the sheets are torn off the bed and he's curled into himself in a fetal position, face too serious and unhappy and scared as he twitches and tries to jerk away from something unseen. His voice is too hoarse to scream anymore, so when he opens his mouth it's just a whimper that emerges.

His eyes snap open and he looks around wildly before realizing where he is and slumping again, breathing harshly and staring at the ceiling, willing himself not to sleep again. Sleep only brings the nightmares; and the memories. He shivers, shaking even wrapped in his blankets, trying to shake off the pit of coldness somewhere deep within. He's a nervous wreck, but he's alive. He's not sure if that's a good thing right now.

In which Lise is a bad puppet master, Cal is not Cal, and poor Anita gets bled on, again.

Who: Not!Caliban Leandros/Caliban, Anita Blake, Jaenelle Angelline
Warnings: bleeding, language, aaaaangst.

Timeline's a little screwy - ignore it. Continued from here.

He makes a small noise, his other hand sliding down her back, the purr becoming a soft growl.

Warning: Adult content, extreme nastiness.

Thanks to Curio, Cal is probably the happiest he's been since he first slept with Molly. Because sitting in his room, making a bed up in the corner, he keeps looking over at the bed where a beagle puppy is curled up fast asleep, already worn out from the adventure of exploring Cal's room. She tore a few shirts up with needle-sharp teeth, but Cal doesn't give a damn, because he has a puppy and she is sweet and warm and snuggly and smells of puppysmell, and it is the best thing that has happened to him ever. Her name is Sophie.

Having finished setting up a little bedplace for her, he goes over to the bed and sits down next to her, just watching her breathe and grinning foolishly, feeling happier than he can remember being in a long time. She loves him - she came up to him and pounced on him and licked his face and it made him feel good. Sophie. He'll have to find a tag for her, work on housetraining her...so much to do. But it's good. Because he has a puppy who is soft and sweet and lovable.

Cal is sulking again. But it's rather a different sort of sulking, less serious than has been his wont lately, and he looks almost normal again, at least by Cal standards. Thank God for Merlin is really all Cal can say. However, on the other hand, there are some things he's not so happy about, and so he's being a teenager and lying on his bed and sulking, cheerfully wallowing in his misery and scowling at the ceiling.

Oh Cal. You silly thing.

Despite all appearances, he would like some company. Really! We mean it.

Chin propped in hand, Caliban is staring at something in his hand and frowning. He's looking at a little circle of silver in his palm, attached to a chain that's broken at one end. It's Niko's. He's had it for months since he took it as Darkling and just never got around to giving it back. It just sat in the pocket of his leather jacket and he forgot about it until he stuck his hands in the pockets this morning and found it. He's not at all sure what to do with this.

The real kicker is that it still smells like Niko to his keener senses. And that's why he keeps hefting it in one hand, lifting it to his face, closing his eyes, and then setting it down again, mouth twisting sideways.

It's Niko's birthday today, and Caliban is feeling thoroughly emo.

Caliban's been spending a lot of time outside lately, but today is an exception. Wandering inside with actually a bit of color to his pale face, he looks pensive and serious as usual, if perhaps a bit more gloomy than he has. He's not sure - he's lost track of the days here - but he's pretty sure Niko's birthday is coming up, and for the first time since he can remember, he's not going to be able to piss him off by singing Happy Birthday at the top of his lungs. This is oddly disheartening.

And he's lonely, but he wouldn't admit that. Caliban doesn't get lonely. Of course not.

He was in a good mood earlier. There is no good reason Caliban should be curled in a deep, dark corner of the Mansion, rocking back and forth, making small noises like a wounded animal in a voice exhausted by screaming, his eyes bloodshot as though someone threw sand in them, his arms wrapped around his knees and one hand holding a pistol. He just found one and is sincerely considering using it.

He's a wreck, basically. Tears streaking his face, he can't stop moving but doesn't have the strength to get up. At least it's dark here. He doesn't want anyone to find him. Not even Molly. "Oh, Jesus, Molly," he says in a very hoarse voice, and shudders violently.

There is no way he's going to come out of here ever again, he has decided. He should have died a year ago with Niko's sword in his belly. Godamn, why didn't he? 

Caliban picks up the pistol again, hands trembling, and just looks at it, stomach lurching. One hand finds the scar on his stomach under his shirt and he shakes harder. "Niko," he says hoarsely, barely audible.

Um. So basically. I am a bad typist and crackplotted him into remembering Bad Things. Carry on. :|

Title: Darkling
Fandom: Nightlife/Moonshine/Madhouse
Warnings: language, again
Summary: Sometimes love is more bitter than the lack of it.
Notes: Spoilery for the end of the first book, a bit of the second.