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Nobody had put their hands on Carl in a very long time.
Well, that wasn't quite true. For the past two weeks--had it really only been two weeks? It felt like so much longer--Carl had been in the dungeon, getting thrown around and attacked and burned and nearly killed. He'd become desensitized to it so quickly, accepted it as just a fact of his newfound existence that he would be hurt so badly, that his body would constantly be brought to the brink of death more times than he could keep track of.
But the creatures hurting him here, they weren't people. They weren't familiar faces. They were engineered monsters for entertainment, little more than props in this fucked up inter-galactic TV show. Carl hadn't been hit by a person, much less one he trusted, in years. Bea would throw things at him on occasion, but she never raised a hand to him. Years back, Carl had gotten into a bar fight that he had been too drunk to truly commit to memory (he was only sure it had even happened because he remembered waking up with busted knuckles and a black eye), and that was the last time he could recall.
Mordecai had barely even touched him. It didn't even hurt, he heard the sound of Mordecai's webbed hand whacking him upside the head more than he felt it.
His father used to do that, only a lot harder.
Even before anybody had the chance to react, Carl knew that Mordecai hadn't meant it. The logical part of his brain knew that Mordecai wasn't trying to hurt him, that he wasn't even as upset with Carl as he was with the situation.
Carl froze anyway, that logical part of his mind being overtaken by the young, animalistic, terrified child that still lived buried deep in his subconscious. Because Mordecai had just hit him. Somebody who he trusted, considered a friend, even sort of a--Carl refused to call him a father figure. Refused to make that feeling tangible, even in his own head--An ally, had just put their hands on him. For what? Because Carl hadn't blindly followed his advice without question? Who did he think he was?
Carl remembered crying, clutching his head and begging, begging his father to stop, to just listen to him. It wasn't his fault, he swore. He was sorry, he was so so sorry and he would never do it again if he would just listen to him-
Carl took a step back, shaking the memory from his mind. The river roared. Dozens of memories of himself screaming played. A buried, horribly small part of Carl wanted to cry. He couldn't cry. He wouldn't cry.
Mordecai, to his credit, looked about as disturbed as Carl felt.
"Carl, I shouldn't have done that. But out of everything I just said, that's what you're holding on to?" Mordecai was speaking to him like he was an idiot, like he was the one with tunnel vision when he had just laid his hands on him just like his father used to. Carl hardly heard the rest of what Mordecai said. He ended up taking the ring off just to make him shut up. And because if he did what he said, if he behaved himself, just listened for once instead of being hard headed and difficult on purpose, he wouldn't raise his hand to him again. If he was good, maybe he could avoid it this time-
The thought made him feel very, very small. Carl could more than defend himself. Even without the ring's buffs, he was strong. He could take almost anything in this floor of the dungeon, obviously he could take Mordecai. Mordecai shouldn't hold this power over him. It was ridiculous, really. Mordecai couldn't even hurt him without being taken out of the equation entirely.
The group was talking about the map now, getting Mordecai up to speed with all he'd missed. Carl tried to tune back into the conversation, ignore the river in the back of his head. He kept a close eye on Mordecai, on his hands. Against his will, he tensed every time he moved too fast. Mordecai threw his hand in the air in confusion about the layout of his whole floor, and Carl flinched back. Mordecai looked at him like Carl had just killed his dog, something unsaid resting on the tip of his tongue. Carl redirected the conversation quickly.
Carl finally got a moment to himself after that, escaping the suffocating fear in that room for the safety of his own. His heart was still beating too fast, tension resting in his shoulders. What the hell was he so scared for anyway? Mordecai hadn't even done anything, hadn't come close to doing any real harm.
Carl didn't even know what he'd said wrong. One moment he was talking, and the next he was thrown to the floor with the force of his father's hit. He raised his hand again, that empty, heartless look in his eyes that Carl knew all too well-
He dug his fingernails into his hand. He wasn't there anymore. He hadn't been there in a very long time. His father was long dead. Nobody was going to hurt him like that again. Nobody would betray his trust that way again. Nobody would have the chance to.
Well, except for Mordecai. The thought made him feel bitter. He let himself get lost in his head as he used the footcare kit, resetting the buffs it gave him. Donut entered the room. She tried briefly to start a conversation, but Carl didn't remember what she said. She gave up fairly quickly, hopping into their new bed and going to sleep. Carl got up to join her when there was a knock on the door. It sounded hesitant, and Carl already knew who it was before he opened it.
He looked down at Mordecai, clutching the doorknob with enough force that the door creaked.
"What do you want?' Carl snapped, harsher than intended, harsher than he should have. He shrunk back minutely. Mordecai looked solemn. Carl didn't know what that was about.
"Can I talk to you in the shared space?" He asked, careful to keep his tone even. It was like he was talking to a scared stray dog. Carl almost hated that tone more than when he yelled at him. Carl nodded at him pointedly, refusing to say anything out of fear his voice would give out. And out of fear he would say the wrong thing.
Those memories shouldn't be having this much of an impact on him anymore. They were long behind him. They sucked, sure, but they were over. He was being dramatic. Mordecai had barely even touched him. He had no reason to be so freaked out over this.
They walked out into the shared space, the silence tense between them. Carl waited for Mordecai to sit down on the couch before he allowed himself to. He couldn't allow Mordecai to stand over him. He told himself it was out of irritation and not out of fear.
His heart beat faster than it should have. Mordecai wasn't angry at him anymore. They were in their personal space, safe from any monster or plot the AI or Borant had in store for them. Why was Carl still so on edge?
Mordecai spoke when it became clear that Carl wasn't going to start the conversation. "Look, Carl. I shouldn't have done that. It was rude, and it was a betrayal of your trust. I'm sorry."
Carl could smell alcohol on his breath. He always could, but the scent seemed more potent in that moment. His father had always smelled of alcohol. The smell was always the strongest on his worst days, the ones that left Carl covered in bruises and blood-
"Carl? You still with me, Son?" Carl could have throttled him right then and there just for that. He had no right to call him that, not after what he'd done. Mordecai wasn't his father and Carl wasn't his son. Carl wasn't a son to anybody, he was on his own. Nobody had the right to call him that, especially not-
"What do you want?" Carl asked again, barely able to hear himself over the river. It rushed in his ears, harsh and unforgiving. Every rational thought seemed to get caught up in the current.
Mordecai only looked marginally confused, like he could read Carl's mind and knew exactly what was going on in there. Surely he'd seen this before, he'd been around so many times longer than Carl had. "I'm apologizing for hitting you. I shouldn't have done that. It was fucked up of me to do."
Why the hell was he apologizing? He never did that. It didn't make sense in Carl's head. "What?"
"Jesus, have you gone deaf? I'm not gonna say it again." That was more like it. Carl shifted away from Mordecai, clenching his fists. Mordecai's voice softened. "Take some breaths, kid-"
"I'm not a kid." Carl snapped. Mordecai hesitated, holding out a hand to put on his shoulder before thinking better of it.
"I know. I know, you're okay." Carl sucked in a harsh breath. What was this leading toward? What did Mordecai want out of him? Forgiveness, Carl guessed. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.
Logically, he knew he should. Holding grudges within your own team was a bad idea. It wasn't a big deal. They were arguing, people say and do stupid shit in arguments. Carl could've sworn he heard the sound of glass shattering against the wall behind him, but when he whipped his head around to look, there was nothing there.
Mordecai placed a hand on Carl's knee. He flinched. His hand was cold, but the weight was comforting. "Where are you, s-" He caught himself. "Carl."
Carl laughed without any humor behind it. "On the couch next to you."
Mordecai rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to do something nice for you, asshole. What are you remembering?"
That felt more familiar. "It's stupid, don't worry about it. You're all good. Water under the bridge." His voice was shaking. He really hoped Mordecai didn't notice.
"For some reason I don't believe you."
Carl was really getting sick of this dance, of the shaking in his hands he couldn't seem to get rid of. "Look, my dad was a bit of an ass, it doesn't matter anymore. I forgive you. Don't worry about it."
Mordecai frowned, keeping his hand on Carl's knee like an anchor. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"It doesn't matter anyway. I mean, c'mon. Everything here is far more scary than you could ever be. I mean, no offense, but-"
"I'm sorry I reminded you of him." Mordecai amended. Carl suddenly felt very, very exposed.
"You're not my dad, Mordecai."
"I know."
"I'm not scared of you, Mordecai."
"I know."
They sat there for a moment, staring at each other. Carl's breaths came in harsh, shaking his entire ribcage. Mordecai was looking at him with so much pity, like he felt bad for him. What right did Carl have to that concern? What right did Mordecai have to feel bad for him? His mind kept racing. He was so tired. He was always afraid, he couldn't fathom how a human could be so scared for so long. What the hell was wrong with him-
Abruptly, Carl stood up, trying to escape the suffocating feeling. "Good night, Mordecai."
Mordecai looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. "Get some sleep, Carl."
He still felt nauseous crawling into bed next to Donut, but he was asleep too quick to dwell on the feeling. Thank god for whatever magic or technology was in that damn bed. Mercifully, he didn't dream. He didn't think he could handle it if he dreamt.
His hands still shook, just barely, when he woke up two hours later. He ignored it.