A/N: KNOCK KNOCK.

I've been planning to post something on here for this fandom for awhile, but I couldn't really decide where to start. So, thank tumblr for the askbox thing. This is my answer to the requested... I think they call it a meme, on my RP account. (savagesagacity)

"A glimpse at one of my muse's nightmares" turned out as a little more than a glimpse, which is why it's here now.

You don't necessarily have to, but you can throw this somewhere in between the lock down and the finale of the first season.

Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I didn't own Stitchers. I'll let you know if that ever changes, even though I doubt it.

KTF CLM

Camille looked up from her laptop on the kitchen table when she heard an energetic knock at the front door. She got onto her feet, but stopped dead in her tracks when she heard a voice coming from the direction of her and her roommate's bedrooms.

But it wasn't Kirsten's voice, it was Camille's own.

"I'll be right there."

The brunette placed both of her hands over her mouth, silently hoping that she had simply said that automatically. That she only imaged the voice coming from another room. She waited for a few seconds, trying to stay calm.

Silence.

Camille let out a deep breath, shaking her head at her own stupidity. What the hell was wrong with her lately? Was she hallucinating now? Her imagination must be running wild.

She walked towards the door, reaching out to open it.

But her hand went right through the handle.

"What the hell?"

She tried again, and again, but it was to no avail. Confused, the young woman took a step backwards. Her eyes widened even further when someone suddenly walked right through her. She barely felt it, it was like she wasn't even there at all. Maybe like Kirsten during a stitch, though she could only assume. She took another step aside, staring at the person who just opened the door in her place.

Camille was literally standing beside herself. The only difference between herself and the other woman seemed to be her expression. The look on her face reminded her of what Kirsten was like when they first met. Cold. Unaffected. Apathetic. It was like every emotion in the world was taken from her. Meanwhile, Camille herself panicked.

And things only got worse when it was Linus who stepped through the door. In the blink of an eye, he reached forward and hugged the nonchalant version of Camille closely to his chest.

"I'm so glad you're alright."

Camille watched as her other self pushed him away, and she honestly wasn't sure if she was more shocked or relieved about the angry and almost disgusted look on her face. After all, that was the first emotion she showed at all.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Camille, you didn't answer your phone. For two whole days."

"So what? I thought I told you not to freak out because of crap like that."

"You didn't even bother to show up at work!"

While Linus seemed to grow more worried and confused every second, the other Camille quickly returned to her emotionless state of being. It scared the brunette watching the scene. The way she saw herself acting. So cold. So different than she usually was, and yet it was somehow very familiar.

That's when it hit Camille. This woman looked like her, but she acted like the woman who raised her. The indifference, the anger that seemed to come and go within seconds. At least most of the time. Other times...

"What's wrong with you?"

Camille turned around, her breath catching in her throat when she recognized the voice. Suddenly, she found herself face to face with her mother. The older woman's eyes were mad and bloodshot, and they seemed to look right through her. Seemingly out of nowhere, Camille's father appeared behind his wife.

"She's just a kid."

"I don't care!"

Confusion returned to Camille's face at that, and she turned around. What she saw had her swallowing silently. There was a small brunette girl with big brown eyes, not daring to meet anyone's gaze. Instead she studied the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The girl looked to scared, even smaller than she actually had been. The older version of herself remembered that feeling. She had just wanted to disappear right then.

Camille tried to remember that moment. A time when her father still defended her, or at least tried to. It must've been a very long time ago, because she barely had better memories of him than of her.

Her parents started arguing, shouting at each other. The child flinched at every movement they made, as did the young woman who still stood in between her younger version and the couple.

Suddenly Camille heard voices growing louder and louder behind herself, like an echo of her parents' 'discussion'.

Deep down, she had already known what she would see when she slowly turned around. But that didn't stop the shivers from running over her skin, or the tears from welling up in her eyes.

Her apathetic self chose to show herself emotional, downright verbally aggressive. Camille couldn't understand a word of what was said, she only watched the scene as it grew louder and louder. She tried to shut her ears with her hands as good as she could, but she heard the angry voices all the same.

Her parents to her right, herself and Linus to her left.

Suddenly her eyes grew wide, as she saw herself raising her fist. This was it. She couldn't take this any longer.

Camille ran, without a plan or destination in mind. She had barely noticed how the hallway around her changed when she pulled open a door. Stepping inside, the brunette found herself in her childhood bedroom. There wasn't much to see, really. They never bothered to leave her anything beyond what was absolutely necessary, according to the law.

But the young woman felt like the temperature just dropped drastically. The atmosphere was so cold, so lonely.

That was the moment the kid ran into the room, the Camille who had lived here all those years ago. She ran straight to the bed and let herself fall forward, hitting her legs on the wooden edge. But the child obviously couldn't care less about the pain that might've caused. She had felt worse.

Camille watched as her younger self buried her face in the pillow, listening to the quiet sobbing that was muffled by the fabric.

She remembered. The fear, the anger, the desperation. Crying herself to sleep so often, without having anyone who cared enough to even just question why she was always so messed up.

In that moment, Camille only wanted to give the child comfort, some sort of reassurance. So she approached the bed and sat down, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder. Closer to the neck than the arm, because she also remembered the dark blue spot on her upper arm. Back when she firstly actually took note of it, she told herself to lie and say she fell if anyone asked. But nobody ever did.

The crying girl quickly turned her head to see who had come so close to her all of the sudden. She obviously wasn't used to being comforted, cared about. Being touched was bad news.

Thinking about it now, Camille thought that this might've been the reason why she occasionally liked a stranger's company. She never had to let them emotionally close, but the way they touched her made her feel cared about. Even if it was only for a night, even if it wasn't real, it had been a sweet illusion.

The young woman's breath got caught up in her throat when she stared into the child's big brown eyes. But it weren't hers anymore. And still, they looked so familiar. Her skin was a little darker than Camille's, as was her hair. The student started to mentally list all the small differences between the child in front of her and the child she had been once upon a time. It didn't take her long to notice it. Everything about this girl that didn't remind her of herself, reminded her of him.

Camille quickly pulled her hand back, shocked and unsure what to do with her realization. But before she could even follow that thought any further and figure this out, she froze. The smaller brunette had flinched away from her, almost falling off the other side of the bed.

She was afraid of Camille, and that was like a dagger cutting right through the woman's heart.

No, this couldn't be true. She couldn't, wouldn't, ever let this happen. She couldn't let anyone else go through this. She couldn't turn into this woman. She promised to herself that she wouldn't hurt the people she loved, wouldn't let them doubt if she really did care. She couldn't become like her, like this woman who blamed her husband and daughter for everything that went wrong. Sixteen years. She lived with these people for sixteen years. She wouldn't let them affect one more day of her life. Never.

She promised. And yet, she couldn't forget, couldn't forgive. She thought about them so often, let them damage and destroy so much.

While she was awake, she could always pretend it never happened. She could make herself look strong and confident. If someone asked about her demons, she'd laugh and say she left them behind with a smirk on her face.

But when she was asleep, they kept coming back to chase her, to remind her why she was the way she was.

She promised herself she wouldn't lose one more tear because of those people, but some promises really seemed to be made to be broken.