"saint Bernard Sits At The Top Of The Driveway"

"saint bernard sits at the top of the driveway"

Caleb prides himself on being your favorite tool. You just want your favorite person.

pairing: calebmc / caleb x reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff if you squint, sfw

cw: negative self-worth (caleb), mentions of death

You hug him differently now. 

You used to bury your face in the crook of his neck, declaring what a “good riddance” it was whenever he left for university and that he shouldn’t bother coming back to visit again unless he brought snacks. Your face hidden away and your voice muffled so he couldn’t make out the way you pouted at the thought of him leaving. He had memorized the shape of it pressed against his skin.

It was a sensation he’d held on to as desperately as the rest of that seven percent in the time that he was away from you. He'd press down on the spot you used to lean into until it hurt trying to feel half as alive as he had been from the feeling of your mindless touch.

So, of course he noticed immediately that you now rest your head against his chest whenever you’re hugging him goodbye.

He couldn’t figure out what had changed at first – cataloguing it as one of the many new pieces of you for him to add to his codex. One more page for him to pore over like his very own holy text.

It wasn’t until recently, when you were saying goodbye after a long weekend in Skyhaven that he noticed the tiny taps of your fingers against his back as you hugged him. The action seemed subconscious. Someone who wasn’t so deeply attuned to everything about you may not have even registered it. The taps were steady and specific, almost familiar in a way that was difficult to place.

They were mimicking the beats of his heart. 

He looked down at you, your cheek and ear pressed firmly into his chest and just slightly to the left, eyes fluttered shut in concentration. As if trying to memorize the rhythm. Reminding yourself it was there.

Something painful and yearning threatened to whine its way out of him. His jaw clenched with the effort to hold it down.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy for you after he died. He had been so worried about all the little things he had done for you burdening you after he was gone. Phone calls to insurance companies you’d have to handle now. Documents and bills you’d have to take care of.  Fruit you would have to cut for yourself. Would you even bother cutting your apples into little animals before you ate them? Would you miss it? Would you find someone else to take care of you?

 He was sure you would grieve. Feel the ache of his loss like a carpenter losing his favorite tool. Be forced to relearn how to navigate the world without him there to carve out a gentler path for you. 

It had never occurred to him that you would just miss him. 

Find what’s broken. Fix the problem. Promise to sort the rest out later. Forget that promise while you’re crash landing again. 

Caleb lived his life mechanically. He knew how to be a good tool – the only tool you’d need. It was how he guaranteed you’d let him stick by your side. He didn’t bother looking inwards, examining the chaotic, nebulous mess that resided there. There was nothing worth salvaging in there. Nothing useful to you. 

If he could not be needed, he would be used. It never occurred to him that he might simply just be wanted. 

“No need to bother listenin’ to that, Pips,” he couldn’t stop himself from mumbling out, trying for teasing but instead coming out strained, “Your Caleb’s in working condition. No maintenance necessary.”

You didn’t smile.

“Remember when I threw my backpack at the wall and your entire shelf of model planes crashed on the ground?”

He looked at you in confusion but couldn’t stop the amused smile that pulled at his lips. You had cried for hours after that particular incident. Cried even harder when he had just ruffled your hair and thanked you for taking them apart because he’d been meaning to build them again anyways. 

“And when I hid your permission slip for your class field trip to the zoo because I was scared of taking the train to school alone? Or when you had to stay after school for hours longer than everyone else for an entire basketball season to practice because I crashed into our basketball hoop when you were teaching me how to drive? Or when I tried to do your laundry for once and you had to wear a pink dress shirt to school for a whole semester?”

“Pips,” the memories brought an endeared laugh out of him rather than annoyance, “what are you-,”

“You loved me anyways, didn’t you? Even though I sometimes made your life harder. You loved me just because I existed?”

The question was almost incomprehensible  to him. How could he ever feel anything besides love for you? Didn’t you know how much you mattered to him? Didn’t you know you were the only thing that mattered?

“Of course,” his voice was hoarse as he tried to make you understand.

Your eyes closed again. Your ear returned to rest against his heart once more. Your fingers resumed their gentle tapping.

“So then how come you’re the only one who gets to?”