A/N: Okay I hope you all don't find this chapter boring, as it's plot light and introspective. It's also very emotional and environmental, so I hope it's an experience you can sink into. Like chapter 13, this is a transitional chapter to set up the next arc. Unlike chapter 13, this one is very dark. The new arc is more individual focused and deals heavily with Catra's PTSD as she settles into this new situation, so it involves a lot of her past trauma and current unpleasant headspace. This chapter is no exception.
CONTENT WARNING for depictions and mentions of emotional and physical abuse/child abuse. Standard Shadow Weaver fare.
Icy.
Buzz.
Tension.
Catra shivers against the creeping feeling in the back of her neck. Tightening her grip on Adora's waist, she buries her face deeper in the crook of her shoulder, where it's safe.
The hum of the Fright Zone machinery makes her ears lift slightly, then flatten against her head. No, it's not safe. It's anything but safe. She's supposed to be staying away from Adora. Holding her at a distance. Not allowing any more advances.
Fighting the gnawing sense of dread in her gut, Catra forces her eyes open and finds two glowing white ones watching her from the darkness. Her whole body jolts and she jumps to her feet with a shriek, banging her head on the bottom of her own bunk on the way up. The eyes aren't flashing with anger, but that makes them no less chilling, or terrifying. As frightening and wrathful as an angry Shadow Weaver is, that fury burns itself out eventually. A calm Shadow Weaver draws strength from her cruelty, can feed off a soldier's misery for hours before she's satisfied.
Heart stuttering in her chest, Catra darts away. She makes it maybe five feet before the electrical surge envelops her body and her muscles seize, freezing her mid stride. Her teeth grit against the blinding pain as a scream builds within her chest, a sound of agony trapped as helplessly in her throat as her body is in the magic. Catra would swear her skin was on fire if it didn't feel so cold. Did it always hurt this much? She can't remember.
"Did you really think you could escape from me?"
Somehow, the back of Catra's neck grows even colder. Her eyes are frozen wide open, not by the magic but by the fear and dread mingling in her veins.
The current eases somewhat, allowing a broken whine to escape Catra's lungs as she gasps in the air she's so desperate for. She has no chance to recover before her body whips around, completely pliant and submissive to Shadow Weaver's whims. Her ankles snap together and her arms lock into place at her sides, leaving her utterly defenseless. A weak growl rises in her throat as she tries to fight the restraints, but as always, it's no use.
Getting her first good look at Shadow Weaver as she emerges from the shadows, Catra finds she's not wearing her mask now, her eyes no longer glowing white but a pale bloodshot green. The cruelty, though, that remains. As the sorceress slowly floats closer, Catra begins to shake. Violently. Warm liquid spills down her thighs, contrasting the chill in her skin and burning her hypersensitive nerve endings. Catra would be embarrassed if she was any less terrified.
"Disgusting," remarks Shadow Weaver, eyes following the wet trail in her pants to the puddle forming on the floor. "Do I need to get you a special pan of sand, kitten? Are you that incapable of controlling yourself?" Shadow Weaver chuckles humorlessly, icy fingertips ghosting down Catra's cheek. "Or are you simply unwilling? You know I have my ways of fixing that."
The promise of pain makes Catra's stomach buck, punching her lungs back into breathlessness. "I didn't-" her voice cracks, "I didn't mean to."
"Of course not," Shadow Weaver condescends, her voice dripping with mocking sweetness as her thumb and forefinger playfully pinch Catra's chin. "You never misbehave on purpose, do you?"
Catra's lip quivers, only a choked whimper making it through her constricted throat. She sees the hand rearing back but can't move to dodge or brace herself for the blow. Her eyes squeeze shut, shielding themselves from harm and giving her one blessed second where she can pretend this isn't happening before the impact pulls her back to reality.
Pain explodes in Catra's cheek and she gasps, eyelids fluttering against a sudden influx of tears. She can handle a slap like nothing, because it is nothing compared to the things Shadow Weaver could choose to do to her at any second. But between the heightened sensitivity of her skin and her head being locked in place, unable to absorb the impact by turning, this is no ordinary blow.
Once she's blinked back most of her tears, Catra sets her jaw and meets Shadow Weaver's hard gaze with equal intensity, nostrils flaring slightly. The sorceress clicks her tongue, fingering the flaming mark on her cheek. "Now, now, none of that." Her mocking tone darkens into a pure threat when she demands, "Tame that temper, kitten, or I will tame it for you."
The urge to hiss and bare her teeth is overwhelming, but Catra knows better. As blinding as her anger may be, it pales in comparison to the terror of being at Shadow Weaver's mercy. Squeezing her eyes shut, she swallows hard and expels a heavy breath through her nose. When they open again, Shadow Weaver is watching with a rare satisfied expression. "That's better."
Catra's ears want to prick up. She can feel the magic holding them back, the light feeling rising in her head and chest at this pathetic scrap of backhanded praise. She hates herself for it.
"Now, you've been a very bad girl, haven't you?" muses Shadow Weaver, and that light feeling sinks into heavy dread weighing down her bones. Shadow Weaver's eyes briefly flick down to the puddle and she remarks, "There's no need to go marking your territory, you know. Nothing here belongs to you." Looking pointedly to the occupied bunk and back, she growls, "Nothing."
"I-I-I…" Catra stammers as she wracks her brain. She had a reason for her disobedience, she did. Why can't she remember? This is not the first time she's gotten so scared her brain has frozen over, but it hasn't happened in… she can't remember that, either. The only thing she remembers is… is…
"She was upset, I was trying to make her feel better," squeaks Catra. "Nothing happened, I swear!"
"You can't fool me," hisses Shadow Weaver. "I know your true motives, you filthy little beast. I know the way you dream of putting your paws all over her. Do you think I can't see it?" Head shaking in disappointment, she says, "I knew I couldn't trust you with her."
Tears flood Catra's eyes, spilling over with a sob. Voice cracking, she begs, "Please don't take her away from me. Please, please. I just got her back!"
"Don't be foolish, child," Shadow Weaver says coldly. "I warned you about this. You've made your bed, and now you get to lie in it."
The fight goes out of Catra's body with a shudder, leaving her slumped in her guardian's magical grip. There is no point pleading for Shadow Weaver's mercy. Years of experience have taught her this. She was foolish to even try.
Eyes on the floor, Catra sounds so weak and hoarse when she asks, "What are you going to do to me?"
"I told you, I'm going to dispose of you," replies Shadow Weaver, a hint of that deadly sweetness returning. "Do what I should have done years ago and lock you in a kennel." Her fingers graze the back of Catra's ear, sending a shiver through her bones. Her skin crawls, the ear desperate to pin itself safely against her head, but it's frozen along with most of her body. Its usual sensitivity is only heightened by the binding magic, the light scratch of Shadow Weaver's nails feeling like three jagged knives dragging across her skin.
"Then it's off to the incinerators with you," concludes Shadow Weaver. A sick smile curls her lips, pulls at the misshapen scars on her cheeks. "If you're a very good girl, I'll consider killing you first."
Catra whimpers in her grasp, teary eyes flitting helplessly to Adora.
"Oh, don't worry, child," cooes Shadow Weaver, palm cradling her cheek. "I'll take very good care of her for you."
She squeezes her fist and a deadly new torrent of paralyzing pain surges through Catra's body. This time it catches her on the out breath, and her scream echoes through the barracks.
Deafening.
Piercing.
Chilling.
The impact of something soft against Catra's knee jerks her from the nightmare, her eyes flying open with a gasp. Her legs take a second to catch up to her brain and stop flailing, shuddering to a stop. Panting heavily, she lets her forehead fall against the back of Adora's shoulder, her sweaty palm clenching the girl's shirt over her stomach. Her breaths come in shaky heaves as she attempts to deepen her them and still her pounding heart.
A sudden movement under Catra's arm makes her freeze. She doesn't dare breathe as Adora stirs lethargically beside her. Shit, she just kneed Adora in the ass or something, didn't she? Thankfully, Adora just pulls the covers tighter around herself, turning her face into the pillow with a sleepy grumble.
Catra exhales shakily, wiggling her arm free from the covers and falling back against the mattress with a sigh. Tears dribble from the corners of her eyes and she swipes them away in frustration and disgust. Suddenly remembering a very specific detail, she sits up and pats her thighs and the mattress, sighing in relief when she finds them dry.
Of course it wasn't real. None of it makes sense when she thinks it through logically. Not only is Shadow Weaver very dead, Catra hasn't cried in front of her since she was thirteen, and she hasn't pissed her pants in at least a decade. That was unfortunately a recurring issue for her when she was young. And since diapers were only for babies, it caused major problems. Adora didn't mind Catra's occasional bedwetting episodes as long as she didn't get any on her, and was usually game to help her hide it, if possible. But it was impossible to hide on the occasions, rare as they were, when Catra was awake, and in front of Shadow Weaver no less. Of course it only happened around her, she was the scariest force in the Fright Zone.
Such displays of cowardice got Catra nowhere but the bottom of the food chain among the cadets. They might not have known, as it most commonly happened in the prison, except Shadow Weaver refused to let her change out of her soiled clothes, made her suffer the humiliation and itchy, painful rash that followed. She never seemed to catch on that punishing Catra for an uncontrollable fear response did nothing to help her stop responding with fear. More likely she did catch on but didn't care - it's not like she ever wanted to help Catra do better, just punish her for failing.
A round of shivering pulls Catra back to the moment and she finds her hands pressed tight against her face. As she pries them away with a sigh, her fortunately dry eyes unfortunately lock onto her palms, onto the sheen of sweat and the faint scars barely visible through her soldier's callouses. She stares for a long moment, feeling nothing. No fear, no anger, no sadness. Just a strange disconnectedness, a numb feeling in her mind and body. After a nightmare like that, she honestly appreciates it.
Another shiver makes Catra's eyelids flutter. Right, duh, she's cold. The sun is up but hasn't had sufficient time to warm the room yet. Choosing to blame the shivering entirely on that, she peeks over her shoulder at Adora. The bundle of blankets rises and falls rhythmically in time with her soft breaths, her blonde hair poof just peeking out from underneath. Catra can't help smiling, even in her current state. Resting a hand just behind Adora's hips, she leans in a little to get a better view of her face.
Adora looks so peaceful it makes Catra's chest ache. With longing, obviously, but also with envy. Peace isn't something Catra gets to have, not even now that she's abandoned the war. A lifetime of battles still lives in her mind, cruel and inescapable. The only place she can find peace is in Adora's arms, and even that's no guarantee, clearly.
Catra wants that peace for herself, and the comfort Adora can give her. She wants to squirm under the covers and into the only home she's ever known. And Adora, Adora would want Catra to wake her, to tell her everything and let her hold her shivering body, cocoon her in her warmth. But could Adora really understand? No, she couldn't possibly. Adora would just see it as a bad dream, not Catra's entire existence distilled into a single terrifying scene. Maybe Catra doesn't need to be understood, only comforted, but Adora's terrible at listening without making judgments and trying to fix things. This isn't fixable, so it's no job for Adora.
Besides, Adora needs rest. More than anyone on Etheria, Adora needs rest. And she's already spent plenty enough time comforting Catra. Catra's a grown woman, a hardened soldier, a feared commander. She doesn't need someone to kiss her invisible wounds better, and Adora needs to stop being so damn self-sacrificial anyway.
Lingering just a moment longer, Catra slowly pulls away and swings her legs over the side of the bed with a weary sigh. She's not physically tired; that's probably the best night's sleep she's had since they found that goddamn sword. But her mind is tired. She's tired of fighting her demons off barehanded when they have belts and boots and the Black Garnet. She was supposed to be done fighting, to have left that all behind. But clearly there's no running from this, even if she can run from the Horde. And for all she knows, the Horde is coming for them right now.
Figuring she can set her mind at ease about that if nothing else, Catra decides to check on the sensors at the lab. They supposedly have an alarm set up, but whatever, no harm in looking. Padding to the door, she pauses just a moment to glance back at Adora's sleeping face before slipping out of the room.
Catra traverses the halls on shaking legs, rubbing her arms against the chill of both the nightmare and the morning air. As she nears the lab, the faint smell of meat makes her nose twitch and stomach growl, luring her to the rather creepy dining room. The space had clearly not been used in years before a few days ago, as Entrapta always used to get her food delivered straight to the lab. She still eats there most of the time, actually, despite Scorpia's efforts to get all of them to sit down together for "family meals."
Arriving at the long table in the cavernous room, Catra finds a stack of plates and a few warmers already set up. Her stomach bucks and mouth puckers when she lifts the first lid and is hit full force by the smell of the tiny sausages. She gorged herself on them yesterday, a move she later regretted after a gruelling workout with Scorpia. The heavy scent of fat combined with the existing discomfort in her gut makes it turn, and she quickly replaces the lid. Unfortunately the smell of the egg cups in the next warmer is no better, so Catra ends up settling for a handful of fresh miniature loaves of bread. She tears off thin pieces as she wanders to the lab, letting the warm starch melt on her tongue.
Entrapta is already there when she arrives, tapping away at her keyboard and softly humming to herself. A half-empty plate is pushed to the edge of her desk, seemingly forgotten amidst her current tasks. Typical.
"Do you ever sleep?" Catra calls out as she crosses the floor.
"I was sleeping until exactly twenty-seven minutes ago," Entrapta informs her, a lock of hair pointing upward in an imitation of a raised finger. Still analyzing the screens, she continues, "My brain never lets me oversleep, there's always so much bouncing around in there."
"Relatable," mutters Catra, stepping up beside her. She blinks up, taking in all the meaningless shapes and numbers on the screen.
"So many projects, so little time," sighs Entrapta. Catching Catra's eye long enough to fire off a smirk, she remarks, "Sometimes I wish I was a robot, then I wouldn't have to sleep. I could work all day and night if I wanted to."
Conflicting thoughts clash in Catra's mind, pulling her lips into a frown. She can't help the way she stiffens at any mention or even thought of Adora's new friends. But she's trying to be better, less bitter and more caring, so she swallows her resentment and suggests, "If you're so busy, maybe you could invite Bow to come help. He does tech stuff too, right?"
"He's more into gadgetry, actually, but yes, he did make this tracker pad himself," muses Entrapta, nabbing the unit off her cluttered desk and waving it in Catra's face. "Several, actually. He'd already isolated the Horde's tech signature even before I did. Probably because I was still with the Horde at the time and had no need to, but still impressive."
Mere weeks ago this exchange would have had Catra dragging her hands down her face with a loud groan, but now she's not even slightly rattled by Entrapta completely missing her point and going off on a tangent. Between Entrapta and Adora, she's had a lot of practice lately maintaining her patience. Blinking impassively, she redirects, "So, you think you can use him?"
"Oh, probably!" chirps Entrapta. She waves her hand flippantly as she returns her attention to the screens. "I'll give him a shout in a bit and see if he's busy!"
"Today might not be best," Catra suggests, scratching the back of her neck as it begins to heat up preemptively. "Adora's off to train with Light Hope and who knows how long she'll be gone."
Brow furrowing as she swivels in her seat, Entrapta asks, "So, to clarify, do you want Bow to come to assist me, or to spend time with Adora?"
"Ideally both," mumbles Catra, jamming her hands in her hoodie pockets with a sheepish smile.
"I was under the impression you didn't like Adora's new friends," remarks Entrapta, a tendril of hair surreptitiously slipping into the front of her overalls.
The click of her recorder turning on is loud enough even for a human to hear, let alone Catra, but she only reacts with an eye roll. "I don't have to like him to know he's useful. Besides, I think it would be good for Adora, having him around."
Entrapta bobs her head pensively. "She has seemed to be very stressed since her arrival here." Chuckling quietly, she adds, "In some ways, I preferred her when she was floppy."
"Floppy?"
"Oh, there was this First One's disc that infected all my robots with some kind of murder virus," explains Entrapta. "It infected Adora too - or maybe her sword, I'm not sure - but she didn't go murdery, she just lost her She-Ra powers and got all goofy and relaxed until we broke the disc."
Catra huffs out a laugh. "Too bad you broke it. I think I'd like goofy and relaxed Adora."
"Oh, I fixed it once everybody left. There was still so much more to study!" Entrapta's eyes light up as she continues to talk. Catra's must too, because Entrapta suddenly pulls her animated hands into her lap and frowns. "But Adora did do a lot of silly, dangerous things as well, so I'm not sure you'd actually like it," she muses, eyeing Catra warily. "And I don't want to have to fix it again when you decide to snap her out of it."
Catra's eyes flit away in thought and Entrapta gasps, eyes going huge with horror. "You weren't thinking of leaving her in that state permanently, were you?"
"No, I like the real Adora." Fingers raking through her hair, Catra sighs. "I just think she could use a vacation from being She-Ra."
Leaning in, Entrapta imparts, "You know you can achieve similar effects with alcohol, right? Maybe not the vacation from She-Ra part, but the goofy and relaxed part tends to be a byproduct." Entrapta frowns. "Assuming she really is organic matter."
"She is," declares Catra. "I've bled with her, she's no machine. As much as she seems to believe she is."
Thumbs twiddling, Entrapta averts her eyes and mutters, "Adora just wants to do what's right."
"Yeah," scoffs Catra, "I'm aware." Shifting her weight, she deflects, "Anyway, maybe ask Bow if he could help you tomorrow?"
Eyes bulging with excitement, Entrapta begins clapping her hands very quickly on repeat. Bouncing on her toes as she vibrates with excitement, she shouts, "Oo, maybe Swift Wind could bring him and we could work on his chair too!"
Catra's eyelids flutter. "A chair? For Swift Wind?"
"He made a big stink about it at the Alliance meeting," Entrapta says with a hand wave. "Something about equine rights."
Well, it's certainly not the strangest thing Catra's witnessed in the Rebellion. Restorative justice hearings, a princess adopting a Horde soldier… a chair for a horse is pretty run of the mill for them. Shrugging impassively, she mutters, "Okay."
Entrapta squints, eyes quickly scanning Catra's body before jumping back up to study her face. "Is everything okay, Catra?" she asks, her demeanor more concerned than cagey. "Your body language suggests a fear or stress response."
"That's-" Creepy, yes, but true. Catra's ears turn down, retreating close to her skull. "That's personal," she says to the ground, arms involuntarily hugging her ribs.
Entrapta tips her head. "Are you having nightmares again?"
Catra frowns. Of fucking course Scorpia told Entrapta about that. Big lug could never keep her mouth shut.
"They never stopped," she admits, more quietly than she meant to.
"Oh," murmurs Entrapta.
Shrugging off her concern, Catra mutters, "I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay." Entrapta twitches her mouth in a sympathetic smile before turning back to her precious data.
Catra's eyelids flutter in relief and surprise. Wow, that was so much easier than getting Adora or Scorpia to leave her alone. Someone doing what she asks, imagine that.
…So why is that relief giving way to emptiness, dissatisfaction? Does she actually want to talk about her nightmare? Not really. Does she want someone to worm beneath her armor, disturb her wounds that refuse to heal? Absolutely not. Ugh, it makes no fucking sense.
Catra's toeing the ground with a scowl on her face when Entrapta pipes up, "Hey, do you want to help me with one of my projects? I have a job that's perfect for you."
Actually, Catra wants to climb up on the roof and brood, but the suggestion gives her pause. Maybe this would be a better use of her time. Something to do but think about all her nightmares, real and imagined.
Lips turning up just slightly, Catra answers, "Sure, Trapta. What needs doing?"
***o***
Stiff limbs shifting in semi-consciousness, Adora wriggles and flips off of her tingly left side, settling again on her right. Her newfound relief gives way to discomfort immediately as light suddenly bathes her eyelids. They flutter in protest and she groans, burying her face safely in the pillow.
A familiar scent permeates her nostrils and her eyebrows arch, a soft smile growing on her lips. Gods, how she's missed waking up to that smell. She inhales deeply, shamelessly nuzzling the pillow and pulling it tight to her chest.
It's perfect. Except it's cold.
Her eyes creak open, take in the empty space beside her. A quick peek over the blankets finds the foot of her bed barren as well. Adora frowns as her mind catches up to the situation. How long did Catra stay last night? Did she leave once Adora fell asleep? Did… did Adora scare her off? She thought they really got somewhere last night, but that conversation did get intense and really uncomfortable. Does Catra regret opening up? Is she… is she shutting Adora out again already?
Dreading the answers to those questions but figuring not knowing is worse, Adora digs her way out of the mountain of blankets and sets her feet on the floor. The second she stands up a dull pain shoots down her right leg and she hisses, hopping around and shaking it out. Her hamstrings are balled up tighter than Rogelio after a nightmare. Prodding the back of her leg, she finds a tender spot and winces. How the hell did she get that? It's not like she's done any training in the last couple days.
After an unsuccessful attempt to rub away the tension below the bruise, she limps out of the room and down the hall. Thankfully it's mostly loosened up by the time she reaches the lab. There she finds Scorpia and Entrapta gathered by the monitors, but Catra is conspicuously absent.
Adora's gut stirs uneasily as she steps into the room with a half-hearted wave. "Hey, guys."
"Hey, Adora," Scorpia greets her with a knowing grin. "You sure slept well."
"Yeah. Really well, actually," she remarks, rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes. Usually she wakes up quickly, but oversleeping tends to leave her lethargic and groggy. "You guys seen Catra?"
"She's up on the roof, making some adjustments to the antennas in the spires," answers Entrapta. "I usually climb up there with my hair, but then I have to keep coming back down to check the readings. This is much more efficient."
"Oh, okay," mumbles Adora, scratching the back of her neck.
Perhaps sensing her unease, Entrapta adds, "She told me to tell you she's not angry or avoiding you, she just left you alone because she wanted to let you rest."
"Oh." Adora blushes, both embarrassed and flattered that Catra knew exactly where her mind would go when she woke up alone and cared enough to reassure her. "Good."
"The skiff's yours for the day, Adora," says Entrapta, tossing her the keys. "You'd better go visit your sentient light being before she gets on your case."
An ironic chuckle bursts from Adora's lips as she turns the keys over in her hands. "Yeah, I'd better."
"Don't forget to eat first," Scorpia chimes in as she turns away. "Can't perform well on an empty stomach."
Adora's lips fall, a slight chill settling on her skin. Shaking it off, she concedes, "Right, good point. I'll already be in enough shit for showing up a day late."
"Don't worry, Adora." When Adora meets Scorpia's gaze, she's greeted with a gentle smile. "You're one of us now. Even if Light Hope and the Alliance give you shit, we're here for you. Everything's gonna be okay."
A grateful smile crosses Adora's face as her shoulders sink with relief. "Thanks, Scorpia."
She keeps her stop in the dining room short, not wanting to waste any more time. Within ten minutes she's powering up the skiff and punching in the coordinates for the Beacon's current location. The liftoff is a bit different now with Entrapta's new booster, but she manages with minimal fumbling. By her standards, anyway.
Ceding control to the autopilot, Adora turns back to the castle, shielding her eyes against the sun. It takes her a second to spot Catra perched atop one of the spires, wrench in one hand and antenna in the other. Her lips are set in a frown, brow furrowed in concentration as she works. That focus, it's almost as attractive as the toolbelt slung across her hips. For once, Adora doesn't feel guilty for staring.
Catra's eyes flit up and meet Adora's, sending a small jolt through her body. Though her expression is unreadable, Catra holds her gaze steady as she gives her a small wave. A relieved smile breaks onto Adora's face and she waves back.
Yeah. Everything's gonna be okay.
A/N: Narrator: Everything was not, in fact, okay.
I might get one more chapter in before the show ends, we'll have to see. I'm going to be in an internet dead zone for a bit so I'll probably get a lot done, but I have other stuff to write and vids to make.