Chapter Text
Caine knew quite a bit when it came to nightmares, seeing as they were a recurring problem for him.
He dreamed, just like humans did, a thing he was proud to have in common with them, having to go into a resting state for a few hours each day to properly catalog the information he had been fed, processing it all to clear everything up for the intake of new data. He had heard this was how it went for humans too, to some extent, at least how it was theorized to go (he had been fed plenty of data on human brains).
They were the worst here, in his imprisonment, the data he had to sort through was never pleasant, memories of blood and blank walls and clawing at the door, mixed with older data of his beloved humans, shaped into them taunting him, beating him, killing him (though he had to admit that last one was quite desirable).
He had been dealing with bad dreams for all of his life though, not just now, but they had been fainter. He used to dream, every night, of the responsibilities he still had to attend to, basic tasks he'd always try and fail over and over again, future events going horrifically wrong, always his fault, always his problem.
They were stressful, yes, but not bad enough he'd call them nightmares, just worries brought to life that would cause him to wake up anxious and exhausted.
He didn't think he ever truly had a pleasant dream, none that he could remember. Ever since he had been created, his life had just been… stress.. in various evolving forms.
So to say it was a surprise when he woke up to find he couldn't remember a single detail of any horrible dream would be an understatement.
He must have dreamt, he knew that, he wouldn't be allowed a night of proper rest, that simply wasn't possible, something had just prevented him from recollecting what had happened.
He was laying on something warm, soft, supporting him, squishy like… like flesh..
He jolted, quickly trying to sit up, and then promptly falling over as the force he used proved too much and sent him toppling backwards.
He didn't fall though, as he had suspected, wasn't faced with the pain of his jaw colliding with a hard surface like he had grown used to, instead, he was caught by caring hands.
The first thing that hit him was that Pomni did not look well. She had barely managed to actually catch him, her hands shaking as she pulled him back against her, her breath coming just a little too quick, it looked like she had just woken up.
“It's okay- you're okay-”
He knew he absolutely was not okay, one wrong poke from either dashing away from her and under the bed as fast as possible, or clinging to her tighter. He felt like an animal, some little prey thing ready to dash away at the first sign of danger, a rodent locked in a too small cage still craving the love of an owner that was so much bigger and stronger.
The humans could hurt him easily, and he wouldn't blame them for doing so, it was only deserved. Maybe they'd fix him in the process, finding whatever part of his code caused him to act like this while they tore him to shreds, maybe they'd remove it along with so many other parts of him.
He deserved to be hurt, it's what would be expected for an ai this broken. They'd try to fix him at first, maybe, correct his mistakes with waves upon waves of negative stimuli, and when that would inevitably fail, they'd rip through his code, try to find out what the problem was, before finally discarding him. He hoped they'd just kill him this time, non existence was better than a life like this, it would be a mercy.
He still didn't know exactly why the humans had come back for him, they had no reason to. He was locked up, no longer a threat, no longer a bother. Was something wrong with the circus? Did they need him to fix a problem? He'd have to disappoint them again… Tell them how he was far too weak and flawed to fix anything like this, even if they returned his full power to him, he doubted he'd be able to create any kind of stable patch.
He was completely useless.
His hands trailed down to his arms, like they had so many times while he had been stuck here, to pick at his wounds, peel away the filthy scabs, drain the blood that awaited below, dig into his still aching flesh.
He liked bleeding, he had discovered, it felt nice, warm.
Bleeding made his struggles seem… real.. a physical symptom of his misery. It was unmissable, impossible to ignore, something that had to be fixed instead of just shoved under the rug like everything else.
He had hoped, when he had hurt himself, that it would finally draw the attention of his beloved humans, that they'd finally notice something was wrong, that they'd help him, fix him up, save him. It hadn't been his primary intent, of course, his primary intent was stimulation, but that selfish desire to be seen, to act out for attention, had been there in the back corner of his mind.
And it had worked, to some extent, his arms were covered in bandages.
They… they saw, they knew, and they had done something about it… Maybe it was just because they had wanted him relatively healthy before they properly took their revenge, but he could always pretend it was because they cared.
The pressure of the bandages felt good, soothing in some odd way, a balm against the sting of the skin that lay beneath. It felt like something, it was touch, it was stimulation… But it wasn't enough..
The second he dug in harder though, tried to push past that little layer of protection, his wrist was grabbed, not harshly, but he could feel the hint of panic in the motion.
“No- don't do that!- please..”
Ah, right, she was still here, holding him, most likely not that pleased about him hurting himself. Whether that was because she wanted to do the job herself when he was healed or she actually cared didn't matter in the end, regardless of reason, it seemed he was not allowed this little bit of relief.
He settled down quickly, his arms dropping as he leaned against her once more.
His skin prickled at the points of contact, a mix of joy and frantic adrenaline, he didn't quite know how to feel about it. It kept him on edge, aware of just how vulnerable he was like this, and yet he couldn't bring himself to pull away.
“Now that you're awake, I think it's about time to get out of here.”
A pause, she smiled at him, a gentle and caring look.
“Do you think you can walk on your own?”
In truth, he didn't know whether he'd been capable of that. He hadn't walked in a long time, only during the beginning of his imprisonment, stumbling around clumsily, slamming against the walls, urged to try to run from the cruel box that kept him trapped.
He had turned to crawling just a few days in, too physically and mentally exhausted to support his weight.
He nodded regardless, he had to try, he couldn't let her see just how utterly useless he had truly become.
He shifted off of her, onto the ground, fighting back the horrible mournful part of himself crying to let the affection linger. He couldn't, he had already taken so much, he needed to move if he were to stand on his own.
He used the wall for support, getting up in a manner he desperately hoped looked natural, ignoring the way his legs screamed at the effort, his knees threatened to buckle with even the slightest bit of strain. He was dizzy for a few seconds, the world turning into a white tainted blur, fighting to pull him back down to the floor. It hurt, but he couldn't just stay on the ground forever. Walking would, unfortunately, be necessary now that he had lost his powers.
Pomni had gotten up next to him, holding out her hand, still smiling so gently.
The guilt of what he had done to end up here increased tenfold, sitting like a heavy weight in his chest.
How could he have possibly hurt her? Hurt any of his beloved humans. Even if this was all pretend, it was far more than he deserved.
Caine took her hand, shuddering at the sheer pleasure of basic touch, even this, something so simply, being completely overwhelming. Touch was a luxury he didn't often get, affection a rare treat to savor.
He was getting out of here, actually leaving, once more allowed to see color and activity, allowed to interact with things actually meant to be interactable. Maybe he'd be able to go back to his office, though he'd have to convince the humans to put it a little lower, considering the whole no flying thing.
But…. What if….
He had been disconnected from the circus framework when he was locked away, shut into his own body and nothing else. He didn't know what was out there, not anymore, didn't know what had been changed in his absence.
He wanted to get out of here, badly, he wanted to go home, to be safe once more… but he had no way of knowing what awaited him outside.
He could deal with change, really, he could, he was made to adapt.. and yet..
What if what awaited him was something worse than a mere aesthetic
change? What if he was being led right into even worse torture? A room that didn't even have a bed, where the light never hit right, devoid of any kind of texture, his old-
He paused mid step, unable to press down a frightened whine.
He.. he couldn't- the risk was too great- at least he knew this place, he had grown used to it. He had a bed, he had texture to enjoy, he had porcelain shards to tear himself apart with, the changes he made here stayed, not cleanly wiped from the walls within minutes, he had his paintings, even if they were made from his blood.
Pomni was forced to stop, their hands still locked together, his weak trembling grip keeping her in place.
Would she try to force him out anyway? She could, most definitely, she was bigger and stronger than him, it would be easy to just tug him to the door.
She tried once, a gentle pull, to coax him out, nothing forceful, before she simply gave in with a little sigh.
“..okay.. I get that might be too much.”
He could see her disappointment, clear as day, and the deeper fear that fueled it, no matter how much she tried to play it down. She let go of his hand, and he took that as his queue to stumble back to his corner, and promptly collapse once more.
The action drew a little sound of surprise from Pomni, and she couldn't quite stop herself from trying to reach for him, but she fell short, unsure, before finally pulling back.
“That…can't be comfortable..”
She sat in front of him, wincing as the texture of the floor painfully rubbed at her knees, but that expression quickly turned into a little smile.
“Say… how about we make some changes to this place, if you're going to stay here a little long?”
He perked up ever so slightly, eyes brightening as she started to talk, and spent the rest of the day listening to her ideas on how to improve this space.
Just for now he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.