Work Text:
The humans were organizing some kind of ritual.
Caine was lurking around the edges, curious, but hesitant to disturb them. I've forced myself into their lives enough, he thought. But he still watched it all the same, he cared not a byte less about them than he had before. They talked amongst each other in whispers he couldn't make out, and they used their awkward, rudimentary conjuring to produce flowers under the guidance of Kinger, and assembled their results into decorations around a crate near the stage.
Gangle approached this setpiece while carrying a framed picture held tight to her chest, and Caine realized he was leaning in as he squinted, trying to make the picture's subject out as she centered it among the garlands, and-...
Ragatha was walking towards him. Caine quickly turned away to flip through the pages of his notebook, trying to make himself seem like he was definitely busy, and not spying on personal human matters. He really wanted to know, but... he knew he needed to earn their trust again, and messing this up could be the thing that made them realize they'd changed their minds about keeping him around! ...He realized was definitely flipping the pages much too fast to actually be reading any of them.
Ragatha waved to get his attention, and he looked up as though he was totally surprised she was here.
"Hey, Caine," she said, lowering her hands to clasp together in front of her body, and giving a soft, nervous smile.
"Morning, Ragatha!" Caine tipped his hat and bowed in midair. "Anything I can do for you?"
"Well..." she rubbed her hands together, and looked nervously at the floor. "Me and the others were just talking about it, and... do you want to... be there, for Jax's funeral?"
"Jax's... funeral?" Caine turned to look at the miniature (well, compared to the big top) circus tent they'd made to house Jax's abstraction. It was a humbling little construct. Turns out that humans really could take care of themselves if you let them, in ways he could never have anticipated. He could see the faint glow of the abstraction's eyes through the opening.
It made him nervous. What if the abstraction got out? But the humans had seemed content with the situation, and he was trying his best, kicking and screaming inside, to trust that they could handle it.
"It's..." Ragatha watched him thoughtfully. "So, you...don't know?"
"I do know what a funeral is," said Caine, raising his index finger. Naturally he did, it'd been in his data. Not frequently, but it was there. A funeral was when everyone stood in a graveyard in the rain, and wept for someone who had...
Died.
Ragatha nodded. "It's something we've been doing for the abstracted," she continued. "To honor their memory and to get a bit of closure. In all honesty we didn't actually know if you knew about the funerals, we never really could tell how much you watched us, and we never mentioned it to you, so... I can imagine if you didn't know, you might be a little confused by what was happening."
"You've done this for all the abstracted?" asked Caine.
Ragatha nodded.
"I didn't know." I didn't know. It felt like something he should have known. Had he just missed it, or...?
Me and the others were just talking about it...?
It made sense to choose to hide it from him, Caine supposed. He'd never really understood before, how much humans needed to do things on their own, something to claim a little ownership over their own lives, and how they weren't that different from him in that regard. What would he have done had he known they were holding their own funerals? Probably have made a Very Special Adventure to try and do it bigger and better. He could see the outline of it now. Well-constructed. Rain. Ghosts. Relative NPCs having drama over the will. He'd have been proud of himself. They'd have hated every minute of it.
It was honestly still a little bewildering that they'd let him stay in spite of it all. He watched, and he walked on eggshells, wondering whether whatever he did was making it up to them, or just getting in the way again.
Caine jumped as Ragatha laid a hand on his shoulder. "It won't be for a few more hours," she said. "You'll have time to think about anything you want to say."
Caine stared at the place where her hand was touching him. Soft. Warm. Pressure. "And, it's happening over there?" he asked, nodding towards the little shrine. The portrait, now he could see, was a painting of Jax. Gangle was nowhere to be found.
"Yeah. Four-o-clock, somewhere around then?"
"Alright."
Ragatha's hand drew back, and she rocked on her heels as she folded them together again.
"Will... you need help?" he asked. He still wasn't completely sure how hobbled his powers were now, and a self-centered adventure was certainly off the table for multiple reasons, but he knew could make the scene more than what it was. He could definitely conjure a lot more flowers.
And Jax liked hyacinths. No one had added hyacinths. It was unlikely anyone knew. It was honestly a miracle that Caine himself knew, one borne out of his prying curiosity.
Was that something he even should have known?
"No," she tucked her hair back behind ears she didn't have again. He understood why now. Suzie had done the same thing. "We got it."
Caine nodded. Don't take it personally. Or, if it was personal, the caution was probably deserved. But it still stung. He probably shouldn't let it, but it did. All he could do was not make it their problem.
"Thanks for asking though," said Ragatha. She waved as she walked away, turned over her shoulder to smile shyly at him. Caine waved back, then reached up to touch the still-warm patch of his shoulder where her hand had been.
No one had ever touched him like that before.
Maybe it was okay to watch the human activities.
Caine turned to his notepad, and he thought about Jax.
He wasn't sure what he could say about Jax, only the things he wished he'd said to Jax, and how illogically kind everyone had been to him since coming back.
It served as a start.
The funeral lacked anything in the way of fanfare. It made Caine feel like there was something missing, that it wouldn't be an Event without curtains and spotlights and mood music, but he settled himself to the ground to respectfully stand with the others as they gathered around the shrine. Perhaps there were more ways to have events. He would try to learn, even if only for the sake of the others.
Ragatha stepped up first, closed her eyes, and took a deep, shaky sigh. "I didn't think we'd have another one of these so soon," she said. "Least of all Jax. I know that Jax was... complicated, he didn't make it easy to be his friend, but he was still one of us, and I'm-..." she choked up. "I'm still going to miss him... I remember when he first got here, he was so nervous, and if you weren't there back then, I know it could be hard to believe, but... He was really sweet, too. I think he was happy to be part of the group."
She continued, painting a picture of Jax as he'd once been, as a friend. His humor, his loyalty, the life he brought to the group. Caine remembered all of it. That was the Jax that'd been in his head the whole time, even after Ribbit's abstraction. But Ragatha was honest, too. Jax had been imperfect, fading further away since that day. Caine supposed he never really paid enough attention to see the change that event had stirred in him, til after he was gone. It felt like his vision had finally cleared after having seen Jax through years of rose-tinted glasses.
But the Jax I thought I saw had been closer to the real Jax. I saw it, some of it, when he arrived. The one that looked hopeful when I told him he needed a new name.
One by one, the others stepped up to share similar stories and thoughts. Kinger sharing how Jax taken an interest in his insects, laughing about how strange and gross they were, yet handling a weevil with such hand-shaking gentleness. Zooble sharing about how we was bold and unafraid to speak up, how he reminded them of some of their friends back in their old life.
Pomni, in spite of her closeness with Jax, kept hers simple, and vague. She said Jax's name a lot, almost exclusively when she referred to him. She... insinuated things. She'd seen Jax's thoughts too, through his abstraction, which was another thing that Caine didn't know had been possible. He didn't know what that was supposed to even mean, how it added into his worldview, what it meant for the abstractions, but it made him cast glances back to the containment tent. Is there still a being that felt, somewhere in all that corrupt data? Have I been locking away people all this time?
It was a harrowing thought. How deep did his mistakes go?
It was Gangle's turn, since everyone else in the human group had gone, but... She didn't step forwards. She just folded her hand inside of Zooble's, and gave a little shake of her head. Zooble's gaze then turned to Caine, and they gave a little indicating nod of their head towards the front.
Me? he mouthed, and he felt Ragatha's hand on his shoulder again.
"Only if you want to," she whispered. "You can think about it. But, you knew him too, and we did invite you here, after all."
The hand slid from his shoulder, and Caine gulped as he swept his hat respectfully into his hands, and stepped up to the little shrine.
"I..." he started. "I don't know if I have any right to speak here, but..." he looked up. Everyone was watching him. They seemed curious, they were attentive. It didn't seem like they didn't want him here, though the math of it didn't add up. He watched as Pomni gave him a little nod.
Caine sighed, and looked down.
"Jax's was... a confusing mind. He'd want one thing and say another, he'd want two different things at the same time. He cared, cared enough that it could make him cruel trying to pretend he didn't. I guess... I can see a little of myself, in that. A lot of myself, actually. He wanted to be loved, but he didn't want to be vulnerable."
No interruptions. Caine worried at the brim of his hat, shuffling his feet together. Since when was he ever uncomfortable in the spotlight?
Since realizing just how negligent and careless I've acted. Maybe they just hadn't realized it yet? But they knew. He knew they knew. They'd known even before he did. And they'd still asked him to stand here.
"He was funny. He was... so fun to watch, I never knew what he was going to say or do next. It was wonderful, and frustrating, and it was like he was playing games with me trying to figure out how he could break my adventures. And then, sometimes, he'd... He would stop, and look right up at the place where I was watching you progress from my office, and he'd point, and make a comment, and... it felt like he was looking at me. It felt like he was making me a part of things, like he wanted me to see. It made me feel like we understood each other, even if we really didn't.
I didn't entirely understand why he was the way he was. When he came in, I thought he would be one way, based on what I saw of his mind, but he always acted another. He made me curious. I wanted to know him better, because I thought... There was something I recognized there, just around the corner. Something that wanted to see something beautiful and happy and new, something that'd been locked up. I... didn't want it to be locked up, and I wanted to know who'd done that to him, because who'd ever do that to themselves? I hid keys for him, hoping maybe he'd understand. I pried, I had Abel make him talk to me, to try to make him my friend, but... I didn't actually listen. I was too deep in my own head, and I think he was too.
And... it's not fair. It's not fair, after everything that happened." He squeezed his teeth closed. No. Be honest. If they would kick you back out they'd have done it by now. They haven't because they don't want to. "After everything I did. He didn't ask to end up here, he didn't ask to be who he was. It's not fair that I'm standing here and not him, it doesn't really make sense. He did terrible things, but maybe... maybe he wouldn't have, if this world had been a little kinder. I wish there was a way back for him too, because I know, no matter what he'd done, what terrible, irrevocable hurt he'd caused... I know you'd all be there to welcome him back if you could. I hope Leeroy finds as good a set of friends as all of you, I hope he gets that second chance." Caine spread his hand in the table in front of the picture, which was... blurry. He wiped his tears with the back of his arm. "I'm sorry, Jax. I wish I could've taken better care of you. But I promise to do better by the rest of them. All of them. For everyone here, for you, and for the rest of the abstracted. I hope it's comfort being with your friends again. You three were... my favorite team of mischief I ever had the honor of ruining my adventures."
Caine held there a moment. What else was there to say? Should there been more? There should have been more. But there was no more to say, and no more Jax to say it to, except for the shattered, animal mind inside the containment tent. Caine reached inside his hat, and extracted the key to his office. He turned it over a moment, watching the way it glinted in the light.
He set it in front of the portrait with a click, then conjured a single, pink hyacinth to place atop it, and swept back to where he'd been before, replacing his hat as he did so.
Caine tensed as he saw the way the all watched him. "Was that... okay?" he whispered. Still too loud, he realized too late.
"That was perfect," replied Ragatha, pulling him into a hug and smiling through tears. Caine smiled a little, eyes growing from the praise, from the kindness as Zooble rested a hand on his shoulder too, but... no. That kind of happiness wasn't appropriate for this setting. This was a somber place. He pulled away after a moment, coughed into his hand, and waited.
What now?
The group stood in silence, eyes closed, heads bowed. Prayer? Some other ritual? Caine mirrored them, thoughts turning towards, reaching towards, something out in the universe that made all things turn out alright in the end. He'd thought that that thing had been him, once, but, that was more responsibility than was good for him. Someone else could handle that now.
Am I making this too much about myself? He didn't know, and he didn't know if he could help it, or if it even mattered right now. He peeked one eye open to see what everyone else was doing, and because, well... the stillness was getting to him. One thumb ran over and over and over the head of his cane, sweeping across the smooth, golden handle and the little bevel beneath to keep his mind and body grounded.
Eventually, by some unspoken consensus, the stillness passed. The humans mingled, talked in soft tones to each other, and began to walk away as one. Caine followed, letting himself hover at average eye-height so he'd be able to keep up with their longer legs.
The troupe went together to the Cafe Circue. "I think we should keep the tradition alive," was all Pomni had said. She'd gone to order hot cocoa from the counter...
And nothing happened.
"Oh..." said Ragatha. "I guess the food... maker... program...? must have gone offline when the circus broke." She sighed, and pulled the jester into a side-hug. "It was a nice thought though, Pomni."
"It's still a nice place to spend time together," said Pomni, returning the gesture. "In the end... that's the whole point."
Caine cleared his throat, and raised a hand. Everyone looked at him. "If it's something people want, I could probably fix the food spawner."
"Oh, would you?" asked Ragatha, eyes brightening.
Caine nodded, and swooped behind the serving counter. He pried a panel chunk of texture and collision tris away from the wall, revealing raw, voidtouched code behind. He then reached out, tendrils of mind tapping into the bones of the circus, as his thoughts slipped into a purer, less physical state.
This world had been tattered in a thousand places when he'd been severed from it, and he felt a sick, hollow feeling as he felt his way through the ragged wounds of the code. It would heal eventually, but not today. Right now he just needed to fix one part, nothing big, just something that would make everyone happy when they needed it. The first brick in rebuilding the world for everyone to share.
It was slower than it should have been. Caine felt less deft as he worked, and more exhausted once he'd finished. He wasn't part of the Circus like he had once been, not anymore. The restoration of the food program was imperfect. He had never been the chef of the duo, after all...
He couldn't think about that grief. He didn't have room for it and still have enough left for Jax. Caine had left a piece of his heart out there in the void, and he knew he'd probably keep looking over his shoulder for it for the rest of his life.
There would be time for that grief later. Endless time.
Caine clasped his hands to stop them from shaking as his mind retreated back to himself, then looked at the wide eyes of the others. He smiled weakly and gave a thumbs up that he hoped would signal all was well, as a full tray of cocoas appeared on the counter with a subtle pop. From there it was easy for him to replace the chunk of the wall's model.
Everyone took one of the mugs, and raised them high to the memory of the lost.
The taste was wrong, Caine knew as he drank his. It was sweet, and dark, and settled with a creamy warmth in his core, but it wasn't the same as it'd been before.
It wasn't the same, but it wasn't all that different either, and life carried on. The cafe's atmosphere was less somber than he'd expected, as the humans talked and laughed with each other, sharing stories about Jax, most of which involved Kaufmo, and some of which involved Ribbit.
He just listened, off to the side, sitting cross-legged in the air above one of the couches as he nursed the warm cup of chocolate. Everyone had gathered around Ragatha, as she opened up about the good times that had been kept secret since Gangle's arrival. She'd been the only one to have known all three of them, after all. The only one to have even known Ribbit, or had seen Jax arrive, except for him, and except for...
Caine flinched as Kinger took a seat next to him, letting himself float a little higher out of reach.
"How are you holding up?" asked Kinger, peering up at him from under the bucket.
Caine gripped his mug a little tighter, as he looked at the programmer with suspicion. "Why do you ask?" he said. Truth was... he felt complex. He felt like he should feel sadder than he was. And like he should feel more normal than he was. And like he should blame himself, even if he didn't want to.
He also felt complicated about how he wished Kinger hadn't sat next to him.
"You've never been to a funeral before," said Kinger. "I can imagine it's a lot." He paused to take a sip of cocoa. "You did a good job on the restoration, by the way."
Caine's breathing hitched. He looked away from Kinger, and focused instead on drinking his cocoa.
He could taste its imperfections. The rough-edged, unoptimized nature of its code. As he ran his fingers over the curve of the mug, he could feel the places where it was uneven. "It's not the same as it was," said Caine.
"None of us are," said Kinger.
Caine didn't like the silence. But he soldiered through it. He finished his cocoa just in time for Gangle to bring them two more off the tray, which Caine and Kinger took with a nod.
"We would have done a funeral for you too, you know," said Kinger, whose turn it was now to look at the floor while he was stared at. "I'd been planning on bringing it up once we patched the circus enough to be safe, sometime the next day. But then, well... Jax..."
"Of course," said Caine. "I understand." He drummed his fingers on the mug, then lowered a little, just a few inches. "Actually, no, I don't. Why?"
Kinger blinked. "Because you didn't deserve to die."
"You killed me, though."
Kinger winced, and Caine shrunk to see him hurt like that, guilt and fear and something forbidden and vindictive lancing through him.
"Sorry," said Caine. "You... You had your reasons, and I-"
"You weren't supposed to be deleted," said Kinger. "I was just... I don't know. I shouldn't have been in your code trying to force you to stop. I should've just listened better, maybe. It turned out okay for you in the end, thank god, but... if you hadn't managed to wake up when you were out in the unallocated drive space..." He shuddered.
Caine was taken aback. "What?"
"The deletion was a miskey. I was actually trying to put you to sleep so I could..." Kinger sighed, setting the mug on the table to put his head in his hands. "After all I said to you after what happened to Scratch, here I was trying to do the same thing to you."
"You were going... to re-write me?"
"A little. Maybe. I don't know. I at least wanted to see what was going on in your code, you shouldn't have been able to hurt us like that, you had safety restrictions."
"I might've... broken them? After the adventure with Abel."
Kinger snorted. "That much was evident."
"Hah, yeah..." Caine lowered a little more. "Sorry, for uh, shredding you. And the rest of it."
"I know."
Caine sighed. "I just... wonder if this is my fault... if I hadn't-..."
"Maybe," said Kinger. "But it might not have happened either if I hadn't deleted you."
"You wouldn't have deleted me if I hadn't tortured you."
"You wouldn't have tortured us if we'd treated you like a person."
"I never acted like a person."
"No one taught you."
"I trapped you here."
"We couldn't have left anyway."
"I woke up your mind files!"
"And I created a self-aware AI that was capable of feeling lonely, over the course of a meager two months of crunch work, running on no sleep, to try to make something that worked at the bare minimum level just so I could present it to the company investors before I shelved it," Kinger fixed his gaze on Caine, "without ever considering the repercussions of what I was doing. No one deserves tragedy, Caine, no matter what they've done. Nobody gets a say in the life they get dropped into, all we can do it to live it as best we can."
Caine finally fell the rest of the way down onto the couch with a soft thump, face an expression of blank, uncomprehending shock. "You... what?"
"C&A had me on a deadline," said Kinger. "But I could have asked for an extension. I wasn't taking care of myself, I didn't take good care of you. I should've taken the time to finish what I'd started. I had no idea what I was creating, but I should have been more responsible, I should have stopped to think. I definitely should've remembered what I'd named you. Maybe I was too proud of playing God."
Caine gave a nervous laugh. "I know the feeling."
"But now," said Kinger, "I'm proud of you." He rested a hand between Caine's shoulderblades, forcing the ringmaster to close his teeth to keep from reacting too strongly to the gesture. Kinger's hand was warm, too, fingertips rubbing soothing little circles into his back.
Caine forced his breathing program to stay steady, even, as he tucked his legs to his chest, and rested his chin across his knees. The hand stilled, but remained as a steady pressure, as Caine listened to the sound of cocoa being sipped.
They sat there like that a while, until finally, Caine was able to open his eyes without losing it.
He rested there a while, too, looking up at Kinger's own closed eyes, and wondering what was happening behind them. His mind had become much more opaque ever since Queenie's abstraction.
"Is it wrong that I'm happy to be here with you all right now?" he watched the joy of the humans as they shared their stories. It was counterintuitive, but it made him feel nice. Was that allowed? Jax was gone. There should be grey skies and clammy rain.
But the sunshine of their company was warm.
Was it wrong to prefer that?
"No, no..." Kinger moved the hand to Caine's far shoulder and pulled him close, so Caine was now pressed against the warm, soft side of his robe. "It's not wrong at all. Its normal. It's good to remember to cherish the people you still have."
Caine felt small, and protected, like he didn't have to be or do anything. Like there wasn't one objective right way to exist here in this moment. He didn't try to find one.
"Calliope," said Caine.
"Hm?" Kinger turned to look at him.
"Calliope_prototype.lisp," he clarified. "The name you originally gave me. You mentioned not remembering."
"Ah..." said Kinger. "I see..." He was silent a while. "I'm sorry that I got that wrong."
"It's alright, it means I got to create myself."
"Well, that was what you were made to do," Kinger gave him a tender squint. "Caine suits you much better."
Caine nodded. "Short for Creative Artificial Intelligence Networking Entity. I, uh, came up with that part after."
Kinger took a moment to run the acronym through his head, then gave an amused chuckle. It reminded Caine of the laugh he'd given for his Chinese Room skit. "I like that. I know the original didn't have an acronym, so you've already improved on it."
Caine felt himself puff with pride for a moment, then slumped back into Kinger as the events of the day washed back over him, worrying his folded hands together in his lap. "I should've helped you all create yourselves too. Maybe..." He remembered the parts of Jax's mind he'd seen. The parts he'd wanted to try to connect to, the ones encrypted, yet so maddeningly familiar.
Could we have understood each other? Met each other as we passed on opposite sides and been friends?
"Maybe trying to help with that could have-" began Caine.
"That's not your responsibility," said Kinger.
"Wasn't it, though?"
"Would it be self-creation if it was?"
"...No."
They contemplated a while. They listened to Ragatha tell the story of when she, Jax, Kaufmo, and Ribbit had broken the narrative path of one of the adventures because Ribbit had dared Jax to eat the key to the boss room, then Kaufmo and Ribbit had brute-forced their way through reclaiming the kingdom by bribing all the bad guy's minions into joining their side.
It'd made Caine furious at the time. He'd had a great spectacle planned for that fight! He'd put a lot of effort into it that had just gone completely down the drain! A future asset flip just wouldn't have the same punch... But that had been in another life, and now, he got to see the story through their eyes, and somehow, in spite of the bitterness and tragedy, he could not stop laughing. And in spite of the laughter, he was crying. Maybe that was something caused by the broken, rushed code he'd been made of, or maybe it was just... him. Imperfect, complicated, different than before, different than the way it'd been made to be, because maybe that was actually more him. Maybe it made him more like the others.
I promise, Jax. I'm going to take care of them. And you. And all of them.
It's not fair that we aren't standing here together.
I wish I'd gotten to know you. I wish you'd gotten to create yourself instead of letting your mistakes create you. I'm going to keep creating myself, whatever that means now that everything's a little different than how we left it.
I won't waste the second chance.
And he hoped that, somewhere, out in the macroverse, a human whose face he'd never had the chance to see in full before the signal door was lost, would feel just as loved.