disclaimer: disclaimed.
notes: Caroline-centric, vague forwood hints.
Job Description
Elena is on her stomach, flipping through an issue of Teen Vogue. She's looking at a quiz Caroline's already filled out and reads aloud, "'Your ideal man is strong, manly, and never cries.' Really?"
"Well, yeah." Caroline dabs a smudge of red lipstick off the corner of her mouth; it belongs to Elena's mom and while Caroline loves red, the color doesn't entirely suit her. "No one wants a guy who cries."
Caroline has a set of expectations. She wants her dream man to be tall, to be charming in the old Renaissance way, to be a guy who will love her and not Elena (because she's noticed that this is becoming a Problem), and to be someone she can rely on. Her shortcomings would take a book to list and is it so bad to want someone who can be strong for her?
She watches Tyler's arm break, and thinks it is.
There are almost-tears running down her face (because is she really crying if all she wants to do is scream?) and Tyler is—god, she can't even describe it because his bones are moving, grating, and she's never heard anyone sob so loudly, so painfully.
It's not fair, Caroline thinks—it's not fair that Tyler is the boy and that he gets to cry. That is Caroline's job, and screw feminist ideals because she was not made for this. She can handle prom committees and student councils, but watching a boy break is not her job. She wants kisses on porches and a bouquet of flowers on homecoming; she does not want nights in dungeons wishing she had magic like Bonnie, because then she could at least share his hell.
"But Care." Elena looks at her, thirteen and makeup free. "What about like…sensitivity?"
The lipstick is wiped off, leaving a dark blur of maroon on Caroline's lips. "It's nice, I guess. But manly man still beats crybaby any day."
She's—she's not perfect. When things go wrong, Caroline doesn't know the right thing to do or say. When Tyler screams, she's not sure if she should run or if talking is better. She's thinking like crazy and she shouldn't be because Tyler is in pain—and when she hears another bone break, Caroline forgets to breathe (not that she needs to, not really) and has him in her arms in a second.
Caroline doesn't know how to be strong. She's no Elena who always has the right word or thing (Caroline remembers Vicki Donovan and her brother), and she's certainly not a saint. But—but, you know, Tyler isn't either. He's just a terrified-out-of-his-mind boy and Caroline is just a girl, and right now all she do for him is settle her wobbly chin and her watery eyes.
(She's learning. It's funny how she's dead and she's learning, but Caroline is finding her own strength, and she finds most of it around Tyler.)
