Chapter Text
Caine hasn't been the same since he came back.
He's quieter now, maintaining relatively tame emotions ever since.
He doesn't put on a show anymore, nor does he attempt to mimic human emotions through the creases of his dentures imitating facial features he doesn't have.
He doesn't bother to show up whenever asked or called for, and if he does, he only fixes whatever problem is present, solves whatever future situation needs an urgent solution, and goes back to his office.
He doesn't demand anything from anyone, and though the world around him glitches fairly often, whenever it looks like he's going to snap at someone again, he clenches his hands into fists, turns his back on them, and leaves.
“Alright…”
With the mission of leaving the circus a work in progress, you've taken up the task of keeping Caine occupied for as long as possible.
Preferably, until everyone has left.
“Let's begin.”
So here you are, with Caine laying down on the chaise lounge and you sitting on the armchair in the therapy room he prepared for Zooble once, roles inverted.
You're the one guiding him through a topic.
He's the one listening and responding.
“You see, Caine…” you begin, already trailing off. “This is going to be difficult to explain, but…”
You sit up straight in your seat, fold your hands over your lap, and sigh, battling with your mind for it to keep into consideration how you're working with something you've never dealt with before.
You remind yourself that anything you say could be taken as literal, and that you're trying to teach human emotion to a being with an inorganic mind and no heart—a being with an inorganic mind and no heart that experienced death and being built back up to how he was before that.
“Every human experience is unique. Different, and always bound to change,” you continue, while Caine remains quiet and nods. “That's why you'll almost always face trouble finding an adventure that will make everyone happy. It's… not exactly impossible, but it's also… not the best way to go about it.”
You gesture at yourself: a Doodle Bear with a face completely smudged with marker scribbles of all sorts of colours, and clothes covering up the fact that —besides your neck and shoulders— you've got no more of a body underneath, floating arms and legs making up for what's missing, and with a cartoony red heart where your torso should be.
“Before I ended up here, I wasn't… happy with my body. Zooble's case is similar to mine, but not identical.”
As a hint of that curiosity-driven spark you haven't seen in his eyes since his return slips back onto his morose expression, Caine nods again, sits up straight, and crosses a leg over the other, producing a notepad and a pen from thin air.
He scribbles something down on the first blank page he flips to, then looks back to you, gesturing for you to carry on.
“No matter how many parts you might give Zooble, their situation isn't as simple as… grabbing things they think will fit and mashing them together until something clicks. It's…”
You try to think of something—any comparison that might make Caine understand your words better.
“Kind of like…” You soon recall one of your older adventures: a cooking show that ended up in several circus members being set aflame. “Cooking? You can't make something edible if you throw a bunch of stuff in a bowl… Unless it's salad, but, uh… Imagine we're talking about a cake in this specific situation. There are a lot of other steps you have to follow so the cake actually bakes properly and tastes good. Offering Zooble a box with parts they might want won't bring them a stable solution.”
“So…” Caine stops whatever he's writing down, looking up at you with a pair of puppy eyes he seems to have started using with you lately—the only circus member giving him plenty of praise and attention for Jax to call you an ‘asskisser’ (and for Caine to zip up his mouth afterwards). “You feel similar to Zooble. Not… the same?”
You nod and feel your snout form a smile on its own, melancholy threatening to bring it down.
“I didn't feel at home in the body I was born with, but Zooble, I think… feels like no matter what they try to change about themself, there's something that never feels right to them.” You huff and face your lap, mind drifting to the reminder that you're speaking too freely in the place of someone else—that you're making assumptions about Zooble, and that you wouldn't appreciate the same being done to you. “Don't fully quote me on that!” You try to sound cheerful, just so the topic doesn't deviate from what truly matters at the moment. “Like I said, every human is different! I don't know Zooble well-enough for what I said to be a hundred-percent accurate, so I can't speak for them more than what I already have.”
You avoid looking directly at Caine, however unprofessional it might be if you're meant to be helping him.
“If you can't speak for Zooble, tell me about you.”
Your eyes snap open, and you whip your face back to Caine to meet him with that same expression.
“...Excuse me?”
Did Caine really understand what you meant with that, or is he simply going to believe humans have a limit regarding how much they can speak about others?
“You… what?”
“If you can't explain how Zooble feels,” he elaborates, and though it's a bit of an odd thing to witness, his dentures lift at the sides as if he's resisting a smile. “Tell me about you, _____. How it feels… not being at home in the body you were born with.”
Caine's tone is… different—unlike nothing you've ever heard before, and his expression is different, too.
He has normal-sized pupils, a firm jaw, and a gaze that won't leave your own no matter what.
“...Everything?”
“Enough for me to understand you better and not tell me to forget about it.”
His voice is firm, with a cutting tone that suggests there's an invisible timer somewhere counting down to how patient he's willingly to be before he ends up tearing the room apart and sending you off to your room.
“I want to know more about you,” Caine insists with that same voice, when you've stayed quiet for too long. “...Please.”
Flattered as you might be…
How can you explain to Caine something you still have trouble putting into words, especially ones he'll understand?
“Well…”
You look down at yourself—first, at the clothes you're wearing; then, at the disembodied limbs.
“It’s…”
One thing you regret before ending up in the circus was not being your true self, even in the privacy of your own home.
Family was already sufficient of an obstacle on its very own, and you couldn't bear (pun unintended) thinking what reactions you'd get if you told them the truth.
“It's… like I'm always playing the role of someone I'm not. Like I'm in a play without a script and without an ending, acting different characters depending on where I am and who I'm with.”
Will Caine understand?
After the whole debacle with him snapping and dragging everyone into a series of ‘half-baked adventures’, as he called it, you figured that all he needed was a little more patience—a little more kindness.
Before he snapped, the hurt he caused with his adventures wasn't intentional—it was a matter of miscommunication and misunderstandings gone deeply wrong.
And before everyone else could keep ganging up on Caine following Pomni and Zooble telling him the cold truth, you saw a sliver of hesitation in his eyes when you told him the things you like about him instead.
Even if he did still drag you along and pull you into your own custom nightmare…
You don't fully regret saying what you said.
If you're sitting here, still talking to Caine about how to understand humans, you have hope that he isn't entirely gone—that he still hasn't given up on his goal, and that he still likes humans and wants the best for them.
You want to help him understand everyone, enough for him to be loved in return by them one day.
Enough for him to see his worth, and to find meaning behind his second chance at living.
Enough for him to know Kinger loves him, and that he's someone dear to you, too.
“I see.”
Caine speaking pulls you out of those thoughts.
“So, what you're saying is… you wish you didn't have to act?”
“Um…” You sigh and shake your head no. “Not quite. Acting is… sometimes necessary! Like… when you're working in retail and you want to scream at a customer, but you can't, or you'll get fired. Or when you don't want to hurt the feelings of someone you love if they're wearing something that doesn't look good on them.”
You pause, stand up, and walk over to Caine's side, sitting down next to him when he scoots over.
“More than wishing I didn't have to act, I… I guess I wish I could be myself without the fear of what might happen or what others might think about me.”
“What if I told you what I think about you?”
You look at him with widened eyes once more, mind racing with multiple thoughts.
Did his return… change something in him?
Were some of his files not recovered properly?
Has some sort of glitch in his system allowed him to go beyond his limitations towards understanding humans?
You don't recall Kinger mentioning he made any modifications, but you don't scratch off the possibility.
“I think… you aren't good for me,” Caine blurts, facing the bee doodle he's made on a page filled with notes paraphrasing your conversation with him. “When I saw you voted for me in the favourite character awards, and when… you told me my bee drawings were pretty…” He scoots closer, setting his hand on the one you've left on the armrest. “It makes something in me go ‘thump’, and everything hurts when I think about you.”
That… doesn't make sense.
But you're eager to hear more and see where he's headed with this.
“Whenever I look into your eyes, and whenever I'm close to you… I wish it would last longer. It… makes me wish it were just the two of us.”
Oh, no.
There's no way Caine's saying what you think he's—
“Enough about that,” he exclaims suddenly, letting go of your hand and throwing the notepad and pen in the air, making the pair vanish exactly the way he summoned them. “Do you want to know what I think about you, or not? Times a-wastin’, and we have to end the session soon!”
“Um…”
He's sufficiently near for his shoulder to brush with your arm, height difference making it so he's looking up at you with those puppy eyes you've grown so used to.
“Yes, please.”
Caine jumps out of the seat and floats above you, a hint of his showman behaviour slipping through.
“Wonderful!”
His cane vanishes as he produces a microphone, along with a spotlight on himself.
“You,” he points a finger at you, producing another spotlight, now on you. “...are the sweetest thing I've ever met! So sweet, my teeth hurt just as much as my body whenever you're close. I feel sick being near you… Like I'm feeling something I’m not supposed to! Kinger looked at me very concerned after I told him my symptoms.”
Much too suddenly, even if you'd already grown fairly used to the whiplash that came with him being your ringmaster, Caine drops his showman act and floats back down, spotlights disappearing simultaneously.
“I think you looked beautiful before you came here, and I think the ideal ‘you’ I saw in your dreams is just as beautiful, too.” His eyes meet yours, softening on par with his upper jaw. “And I think…” He takes your hands. “This version of yourself is also beautiful.”
You stare at him without a word, watching how his shoulders suddenly tense, and how his pupils dilate the longer he stays that way.
“I think… ALL humans are beautiful. But you're the kind of beauty I don't want to stop looking at!”
You didn't think you'd end up here, trying to entertain Caine while everyone else does the rest.
You think back on what you were told the day you volunteered to keep him company, and how it conflicts with what you're feeling right at this moment.
. . .
“You’re going too easy on him,” Zooble said, when you raised your hand, offering yourself as the one and only volunteer to keep Caine occupied shortly after his return. “You voted for him in the awards, sucked up to him, told him how much you liked him, and he still grabbed you and pulled you along with us! You should tell him to %$!# off, scream at him until your throat hurts, and remind him he's not your favourite character anymore!”
“You’re not gonna hear me say this again, but…” Jax snickered. “Zooble’s right. If anyone should be mad, it's you. You were nice to him, and he still treated you like %$!#. I'd tell you to grow a spine, but I guess you're all stuffing and no brains.”
. . .
At first, you agreed with their sentiments.
After all, how were you supposed to forgive someone who used everything he knew about everyone to create a nightmare catered specifically to each one?
How were you supposed to keep going, knowing the boundary he kept with his liking towards humans had been shattered, and you'd all have to walk on eggshells to avoid a repeat of those emotions?
“If I can learn to understand you…” Caine says, once more dragging you back to the present. “I would love to love you the way I’ve seen in…” He produces a pile of VHS tapes and DVD movies. “...all these movies Kinger gave me to understand humans more!”
There are plenty of movies you recognize out of the pile, though the one that stands out to you the most is…
One about a lonely, scrunkly robot smitten with a more modern robot he comes across with while cleaning the Earth.
“I watched half of these already, but I want to watch the rest with you,” Caine confesses, a hint of joy bringing airiness to his voice.
How can someone who showed you your deepest fears through a physical manifestation that felt all too real… be so keen on wanting to understand more—wanting to right his wrongs so desperately, he's been days upon days at it, trying to come up with an adventure that will make everyone happy?
“I think…” You feel something in your eye—akin to tears, even if they won't shed. “Our next session should be on forgiveness and redemption.”
“Would you… forgive me?”
“If I say no…” You grin. “Are you gonna get mad?”
Caine crosses his arms in a way that you'd imagine he'd be pouting with his cheeks puffed out.
“...No.”
You let out a laugh and lay a hand on his shoulder, making him jolt.
“Then I won't tell you yet.”
His eyes snap open, and his dentures part with an accusation already at the tip of his tongue.
“A-ha!” He shoves a finger at your forehead, glaring at you. “That means you don't forgive me!”
“Caine…”
You hold both of his shoulders now, fixing him up so he's meeting you straight on.
“Before we get into that topic, I want to go over this again. It's important for you to understand that humans are very different from each other and that you can't…”
You wait, allowing Caine ample time for him to complete the sentence.
“...make everyone happy all the time?”
You smile and nod, letting go of his shoulders.
“And if you can't make everyone happy all the time, that means…”
“...I should create an adventure for each human?”
You shake your head no.
“That would be possible, but… impractical.”
“Then…”
Caine huffs, facing his lap.
“What can I do?” He throws his arms up in the air, glaring at the ceiling. “I've tried nothing, and I'm all out of ideas!”
“You should let everyone experience the adventures you make in the way they find it best to. Unless it's like… a game with a clear set of rules, you should let everyone be free to make choices and learn from those choices.”
There's a beat of silence, in which Caine drags a hand to his chest, clutching it as he blinks exactly like Kinger—one eye first; and then, the other.
“You're making me feel bad again,” Caine states.
“Bad, how?” you ask.
“I want something from you. So badly, it makes my hands feel itchy!”
You raise an eyebrow and frown, hands on your hips—or, well, the waist of your clothes.
“What do you want?”
For a second, you think he's bugged out and gone to T-posing, but…
Caine stretches his arms out, waiting for you.
“Oh.”
You offer your arms out to him.
“Go ahead.”
Upon doing as you've allowed him to, Caine hugs your heart tight enough for you to feel as if you really do have a body underneath your clothes.
“I'm sorry,” he mutters, burying his face into your neck. “I'm sorry,” he repeats over and over, each time hugging you tighter.
The more he hugs you, the more your heart is squeezed in.
“You're still my favourite,” you whisper, close to his eyes. “Do you believe me, Caine?”
Caine pulls away from the hug and floats off to stand across from you, arms folding behind him as he stares at the floor and rocks himself back and forth with the balls of his feet.
“...No?” he replies, sniffling.
“Here's this, then…”
You lean in, meeting his eyes.
“By the end of your sessions, I'll make you believe it, and I'll tell you what I like about you, too.”
Caine's gaze lifts, and he meets your gentle eyes with awestruck ones.
“Quite the stakes you're raising, my dear!”
You chuckle and grab your hand with the other, tugging your arm off and offering it to him.
“Anything's possible here, isn't it?”
Caine takes your hand, bringing it close to his chest and rocking your arm as if he's holding a baby.
He's most certainly not giving your arm back, judging by how he cuddles into your palm like it's a gift rather than a lame attempt at offering him a hand.
“I promise, just as you'll make others happy, I'll make you happy, too,” you tell him, smiling.
But Caine is too busy with your arm, staring at the palm like it's a wishing star, thumbs padding the bean toes as he then pets himself with it.
You decide to humour him, wiggling that arm out of his grasp and using your hand to cup his mandible, caressing his gums similar to how you would a cheek.
“I think I understand why every living creature enjoys being pet,” he confesses, eyes starlit. “Please… Don't stop.”
You further comply, petting Caine until he dozes off, dentures closing his eyes inside his mouth as Zs in Comic Sans font float above his hat.