Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She awoke to a light in her eyes. She sat up, body aching, wondering where she was. It was a room filled with scientists, colorful skin and long, agile tails. They stared at her as if she were some sort of creature from another world, and she didn't know why. It hurt to think, her brain hurt, but there was something more important to her right now.

Who am I?

She knew she was alive, and that she was in a room with scientists, and that her whole body hurt, but nothing else. She should have a name, memories, anything, but it was all gone. The thought terrified her, but then a large, large man spoke, towering over her by a lot.

"Hello, C-414-M-1-TY. Come, let us take you to your quarters."

She followed the big man, despite not knowing him. He felt trustworthy, it was a gut feeling in her heart. It sung to her; listen, he's kind, he helps. Her fists clenched, and she hissed in pain slightly. She got a proper look at her hand while she followed, and she knew she wasn't normal.

White and two different shades of brown, sewn together almost; angry, red, and painful behind the careful stitching. Some of the stitches were slightly loose, which must have been from clenching her fists a moment ago. She wouldn't do that again; she didn't want to know what would happen if the stitching came undone. Each finger was different, dark brown edge fingers, lighter pointer and ring, and the middle was white as could be. The hand followed the same pattern, like the parts of the hand were cut off with the fingers and sewn together. her arms, however, were both pale, stitched to the hands at the wrist. Her feet were the slightly lighter brown, her thighs from what she saw were the pale color, and she craned her neck down to see her chest was the darker brown through her odd gown. It was like a long, long shirt, ending two thirds down her thighs with no sleeves, and it was a pristine white. She wondered what her entire body looked like; was it sewn like her fingers were? Would moving too much make the stitching come undone, doing something bad for her? It felt like she was simply stitched together, nothing else holding her together.

What does my face look like?

She almost ran into the big man's leg; he had stopped by a door her size that was open to a small room. There was a white cot in the white room with a white toilet. It was all so clean that it felt eerie, and the cot only had a thin sheet in place of a blanket. She didn't know why it was a sheet and not a blanket to her, but it didn't matter.

This room is mine, all my own.

That felt exhilarating to her. Something hers, all hers. She walked in, mouth slightly open, and she felt a small bit of pulling at the very corners. The door slammed behind her, and she spun around, looking at the wall behind her. The door blended in perfectly, the only difference was a little mirror, really only good for looking at one's face.

A pale neck, light brown bottom jaw, dark brown upper face, and a mane of bushy brown hair. One of her eyes was almost golden brown, while the other was a lovely shade of blue. She was odd looking, like a bunch of things were all shoved in a blender and pureed badly. When she blinked, she noticed that her left eyelid was that light brown, the one with the golden eye, and the right one was pale, the blue eye. She opened her mouth and saw that her tongue was stitched down the middle, her entire mouth was. She closed it again and puffed up her cheeks in contemplation, wondering why she looked like this.

Was I hurt? Did the big man save me from dying?

She didn't know, but then there was a scraping sound, and food was pushed under the door somehow. It was on a metal tray, and it was...not the most appetizing. Green and brown were not tasty colors for soup. But she was so hungry, even though her hands wanted to slap it away, she started to eat it. It was bland and nearly tasteless, but it went down easy and didn't make her mouth tingle in rejection. She still stuck out her tongue afterwards in distaste. She put the tray and bowl back toward where it came in and wandered to the cot, laying down on her side. Everything ached so terribly, she felt her eyelids droop. Her heart wasn't in it, but her head said that sleep would help her body grow stronger.

And so, she slept.

_*^*_

When she woke up, she immediately began to cry. She didn't know why at first, what could have gone wrong? But then, she felt it. The pain was searing from her left shoulder, and her entire left arm felt like it would fall off at any moment. She was hurting, and hungry, and somehow even more tired than before. She couldn't have slept long, though she couldn't tell in the little room. She tried to sit up, using only her right arm to push herself up, and her left arm was hanging on to her torso by, quite literally, a thread. Only one stitch in her entire shoulder was still intact, the only thing keeping her limb from detaching. Her cries and screams became ones of fear alongside the pain, and finally the door opened. It opened inwards, and a woman in a lavender dress with her blue hair pulled up in a half-up half-down bun was within the doorway. She clearly didn't want to be here; her eyes were shut as her mouth opened in a slightly frustrated expression.

"What could possibly call for-"

The woman froze when she opened her eyes again and saw her state. She couldn't tell if the woman was looking at her or her arm, and, quite frankly, it hurt too much for her to care. She cried louder, reaching out with her good arm, begging for, at the very least, comfort. It didn't matter if she lost her arm for good, the little green-eyed monster inside wanted this woman's eyes to only be on her, to only care for her, to keep her safe and smiling and home.

She had no clue who she was, but something screamed inside of her that she was safe and kind and everything she needed to feel right. Two other parts of her seemed to coo that this woman wasn't the only thing needed to feel safe, that there's pink and green and all the colors of the rainbow that's needed to feel okay and right. That there's people who aren't brightly colored and tailed that would make her heart bloom in happiness.

The woman seemed torn, and she began to move away from the doorway. She tried to stand, but it was like only her arm could move, the rest of her strength was used to scream and beg for affection without words. When the blue woman disappeared from the doorway, her heart seemed to crack, and her arm went slack, and her brain stopped. She even paused her screams for a moment in shock.

I don't even know her, she left me and I'm so sad...why am I sad?

Then, the pain bashed into the forefront again and her screeches began again. These ones, however, were angry. They were angry and vile and filled with betrayal. She left, she left and left her alone again, alone forever, she didn't want to be alone, and she knew that, so why did she leave? When the woman appeared again, this time with a needle and thread, her thoughts stopped for the second time, as did her screams and heart.

She came back, she came back, she came back, thank frog, she came back!

Her body wracked with sobs as the woman drew closer, sitting beside her on her bloodied sheets and likely staining her dress. Her one good arm reached out to hug the woman, but she held the arm off of her body.

"Let me stitch you up, first, okay?"

Okay, she thought, letting her arm drop and her sobs become the only thing she thought of. She would be good; she would wait until she was allowed to seek comfort.

Take what belongs to you, the red in her vision screeched. You deserve the comfort, the safety, more than anything. Take what is yours.

Wait, coaxed her heart's steady drumming, for just a moment. She will keep her word, calm, keep calm, and wait, be patient, be good, you will get what you are owed.

She whimpered with every time the needle was inserted into her skin, and every time, Olivia would stroke her leg and whisper soft hushing to appease her until the next prick. By the time her arm was reattached, she was exhausted, and her sobs had shifted into hiccups and sniffles through her face-bump, which she just noticed was something only she had. She was patterned and pretty in theory, but her colors were so plain and dull...she wasn't like anyone here at all. She wasn't colorful and pretty, her face was so...so odd, and not because her skin was stitched together or anything. She didn't look like this woman, or the large man from before; they had tails and colorful skin and eyes that blinked left and right inside and up and down outside. She didn't have that, was something wrong with her?

Her left arm was slick with red blood, and she couldn't help but think that red was a color she might want to be. Light and dark reds patterning her skin, curling around and stitched together into a lovely pattern of flames. Or maybe blue, like the woman, cool and refreshing like a cup of water. maybe even green, like the jealous little part of her, reaching and grasping and intertwining with those she loved, becoming one and copying what she could, warm and sunny and open like a forest clearing and also dangerous like a vial of poison.

She didn't know, she couldn't tell, and it ripped her up inside. She didn't know what she wanted to look like, but she knew she looked wrong. She looked so wrong, and she had no idea why. But she had every idea why, too, she thought, burying her face in the cold skin of the blue woman. She was warm, she was warm, and the woman wasn't. Why wasn't she just normal, like everyone else here? Why was she so different, so gangly, so tall compared to the majority of the others she had seen, so crudely mended together like a shabby patchwork doll?

"Shh, it's alright, Calamity...it...it will all be okay."

Calamity...

My name is Calamity, and I don't belong here, I know that much.

Chapter Text

The second time Calamity woke up was less eventful than the first. Her sheets were still stained with blood, and her arm and torso were still bloodied too, but she wasn't in pain and had no reason to scream. She felt inexplicably calm, despite everything, even though she had a feeling she shouldn't be. Her heart was pounding, and her head was spinning, and her body shook, but she still sat up. She sat up and felt like it was the first time she had, even though she had sat up yesterday twice.

Things felt wrong. Things that didn't usually feel wrong. She didn't know what was usually wrong, but she knew that this wasn't it. It was like the world had warped and twisted while she was asleep, dark and terrifying and yet so calm.

Scrape, and there was food by the door again. She stood on wobbling legs and stumbled toward the tray, this time it had a couple pieces of bread and something vaguely meat looking. It was as bland as the soup, but, again, it didn't alarm her senses and went down easily enough. She sipped the water that had been on the tray with it slowly, feeling it tingle against the stitches inside her mouth. Everything tingled, actually, something was wrong, and she didn't like it.

The calm melted into anxiety, and she whimpered, nudging the tray back to the door with the glass on top. Nothing happened, so she moved to sit on her cot and, the moment she was far enough away, watched the bottom of the door slide upward and a hook grip the edges of the tray and pull it to the other side. She was bored and wanted out. She swung her legs back and forth, watching the stitches shift with her movements and giggling.

Things felt a bit less wrong now. Different, yes, but not wrong. At least not anymore.

She played with her fingers, poking each one and secretly admiring the pattern. It was...kind of pretty; she just wished it wasn't brown on brown on a slightly brownish peach. She was wasted potential; something that could have been pretty, she but wasn't. A stroke of bad luck.

I'd like to be pink, or green or blue, not brown. Brown is boring. I'd like to be smaller, to be less stick-like, to have a pretty tail, nice and long and strong that I could use all the time.

She didn't like her body much. It felt weird. She especially lingered on the thought of being smaller, thinking on what she meant. Did she think smaller like the blue lady who helped last night, who whispered and pet her and told her it was okay? Or did she want to be even smaller, able to be picked up in the blue woman's arms? She couldn't decide, it was all so confusing, and she just wanted to feel right. She sniffled, pinching her fingertips, wriggling to lay down on her back and curling up.

One, two, three, four, five fingers here, and one, two, three, four, five fingers there, and together she had ten fingers. She felt accomplished, counting despite knowing she didn't remember being taught. She felt especially proud because she counted despite feeling so...fuzzy. Like she was seeing the world through fog and her limbs were in jelly. One two three four five one two three four five one two three four...five one...two...three...four...?

Numbers are confusing, she decided.

Everything's confusing, really; it all felt so big, and, for a moment, she thought she had gotten her wish. That she would blink, and her hands would be colorful, and she would be small and be able to knock on the door and show the people that she was just like them. But her hands were still brown, she just felt fuzzy and weird. Not quite bad, but wrong. Or maybe, right? She woke up yesterday for the first time, so she's not that old.

Everything's fuzzy.

Her thoughts drifted on little puffs of air, floating aimlessly as she wriggled her fingers around. Time's funny, she thought, trying to keep counting her fingers, to remember why she needed to wake up.

One...three...two...she whined, the numbers all jumbling up in her head.

It was like this for a long while, her staring at her fingers and poking and trying to count them until she felt less fuzzy. She felt wrong again, but a different wrong. Maybe she would never not feel wrong, but she couldn't tell which wrong felt better.

The door creaked open, and the large man stood on the other side, only up to his knees showing through the frame.

Him, she thought, and she couldn't tell if her thought was laced with honey or venom when she thought it.

"Come along, C-414-M-1-TY. There is much to be done."

Calamity was her name, she pouted slightly as she stood up on less-shaky legs. Her bare feet padded on the cool floor, and she stood obediently by his leg, looking up at him. What else could she do? Once she was out, the door closed again and he thundered down the hallway, not shortening his stride for her in the slightest. She had to stretch her legs uncomfortably far to stay decently close to him. She felt the stitches pull and shift uncomfortably.

When he finally stopped by another room, door open for her, she was exhausted and could barely feel her legs. What she could feel was her hips and torso shifting unsteadily on them, like the stitches were barely holding on. He motioned to the examination table, and she willed her legs to move. They were numb and barely responded to her, oddly slamming with her weight and causing her to fall on her third step. A stitch or two ripped. She yelped.

She felt large, cold hands lifting her up and setting her on the table, a scoff and mutter about her uselessness and he was done.

"You will be put to sleep. When you wake up, you are to stay laying there until I return. Do I make myself clear?"

She nodded, something aching terribly inside of her as she watched him leave the room.

It smelled faintly sweet before it all went dark.

_*^*_

She woke up and laid still. The stitches felt different, her legs fully attached again. She felt like she could do more, that she could move more.

She didn't, though. She needed to listen, or else he would get angry, and she didn't want him angry. Only when the door opened did she dare to glance up, and she saw it was him. She gently nudged herself up, looking into his eyes. Everything ached, but she lifted her hand to her eyes. The stitches were more intricate than before, tighter, sturdier. She felt stronger, in a way. Like she could keep up with the large man less difficultly now.

"Sadly, we were not able to do exactly what we had planned today. You really did a number on your stitches; I'd say I'm impressed. Tomorrow you will come back, same time, for what we needed before."

She nodded, listening intently. She needed to know. Maybe then she could count the days, if he took her at the same time every day. She would like to know how many days pass, so that she could know when she woke up.

Walking behind him proved much easier, though she was still careful.

"If you stop ripping your stitches, then they'll break off on their own after your skin heals together. Have patience."

She nodded. She listened. What else could she do but that?

The unsafe security of her room enveloped her, the door slammed shut. The cot was clean, and so was she. She laid down and curled up, letting her mind wander. There was less of a pull in her mind today, less struggle in making decisions. Her heart and mind and body weren't fighting each other anymore. She felt...somewhat peaceful.

She hummed, thinking back to the blue lady. She was pretty, and she was nice.

If I were her child, I would be pretty, too. If I wasn't so weird looking.

She blinked slowly, feeling tears well up in her eyes. Her weird, mismatched eyes that didn't even have the same eyelids. She looked weird and always would. Even her eyes were different shapes, the blue one more catlike and the honey one more limpid. She looked like something crudely thrown together. Something that nobody put much thought into. Maybe she didn't deserve much thought.

Calamity was tired, and, maybe, it would be okay to sleep a little longer. To drift off again.