A/N: I told y'all this one wouldn't take long. Much of the dialogue in this chapter has been written for a long time, and I wrote the rest of it in the midst of a depressive and self-loathing spiral, hooray! That being said, this is an extremely dark chapter in terms of tone, headspace, and content. Possibly the darkest yet. The second half of this chapter especially is full of potentially upsetting/triggering material.

Please take care of yourselves. As I've always said, this fic is not for everyone, though I guess anyone who's gotten this far is into it. I don't want to spoil anything for people who prefer to read straight up, but I'll put a more detailed trigger warning and some tips for safe reading in the end notes. Check that out if anything in the generic content warning puts you on edge.

CONTENT WARNING for blood, mild body horror, self-harm, suicidal ideation, and emotional and physical child abuse.

Entrapta's hostessing skills (or lack thereof) are on full display at dinner, to which she doesn't even bother to show up. Catra's used to that, of course, from their time working together in the Fright Zone as well as their time here. According to Adora, neglecting to socialize over a meal is considered rude in the world outside the Horde, but it's not like Entrapta has ever cared about that stuff.

"Sorry it's just us," Scorpia explains to the rest of their former squad as they dig in, "but Entrapta doesn't really stop for meals. She's getting her tiny food delivered straight to the lab."

"You don't mind?" inquires Lonnie, curious eyes watching Scorpia closely. "You know, if you're together and all?"

Suddenly Catra finds herself harboring the urge to kick Lonnie under the table. She just got here, and she's already playing resident shit disturber? With Catra's new friends, no less? Unfortunately Lonnie is out of kicking range, so Catra settles for a glare. Lonnie doesn't notice, her eyes only on Scorpia.

Scorpia, of course, handles it with a smile. "Well, if she doesn't stop for meals she has more time for me, later. It's fine, there's lots to do around here. Lots to explore. Having a map sure helps."

Scorpia's ensuing chuckle sounds a bit forced to Adora. Her chewing slows and her brow furrows a little but she doesn't ask. Despite popular belief, she is in fact capable of having a bit of tact, unlike Lonnie.

"Do the robots make the food too?" Kyle pipes up, gesturing at one of the robotic waiters as it rolls by. "Because this is way better than anything we ever had back in the Fright Zone."

Mouth half full of food, Adora informs him, "Entrapta's kitchen staff are human, believe it or not. They helped us defeat the robot uprising, actually." Adora frowns as she swallows. "Apparently, anyway. I don't remember it."

"Yeah, what is this you guys keep talking about, anyway? Why did her robots go crazy?" Lonnie chuckles, crossing her arms smugly as she leans back in her chair. "I mean, other than being invented by a crazy person."

Catra's jaw tightens, her cheeks flaring up. Oh, that's it. This bitch thinks she can walk in here and pull the same shit, when Catra invited her no less? No. Not on Catra's watch. She's opening her mouth to give Lonnie a piece of her fucking mind when Scorpia snaps, "Hey!"

The uncharacteristic outburst makes Adora jump, wide eyes trained on Scorpia. Her glare from earlier is back in full force, so different from the side of her that Adora knows. It must be something that only rears its head in the defense of people she really cares about. Lucky them.

Scorpia's features are uncompromising, pincer pointed firmly at their newest guest. "Don't talk about her that way."

Raising her hands innocently, Lonnie backtracks, "I'm just playin', Scorpia."

"Well it's not a game, or a joke," insists Scorpia. "My girlfriend's not crazy, okay? She's… eccentric. And brilliant as all hell. But not crazy."

"Right," Lonnie mutters tersely, shoulders hunching in defeat. "Sorry."

Okay, Scorpia held her own there. Maybe she doesn't need Catra to stand up for her after all. But Catra's itching to get her own shot in, pissed enough to drive the point home. "Maybe don't insult your host, Lonnie," she warns her icily. "Or my friends."

"I said I was sorry," Lonnie protests. There's a tiny catch in her usually flat tone, just enough for Catra's ears to pick up. They droop in response, any further lecture dying on her tongue. Lonnie's not the type to show remorse, and Catra's not even sure that's what that was, but she's not the type to kick when someone is down. Or she tries not to be, anyway. She can't be that person to someone else. Not after what she's been through.

Catra whimpered in dismay, shaking from fear and pain alike. She couldn't take any more. "Please, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Shadow Weaver mocked her, voice dripping with disdain. "Go tell that to Octavia."

With great effort, Catra forces the memory to pause. It's hard to do in public, without some obvious physical intervention calling attention to herself, but she manages by squeezing her eyes shut, biting the inside of her lip. It grounds her just enough to take control back. She lets her consciousness drift aimlessly for several seconds, her eyes and thoughts unfocused. It's safe in that boundless void - nothing can touch her. No memories, no thoughts, no magic.

She can vaguely hear Adora speaking beside her. The words sound muffled and far away, like she's listening from underwater. Then suddenly she breaks the surface, and she winces at the sudden volume. "-spar with us tomorrow. We've got a gym set up downstairs. Kinda rudimentary for now, but there's a heavy bag and mats, and some weights to throw around."

Rogelio grunts a few words of approval and Lonnie says, "You know I'm always down to spar." Pointing a teasing finger at Adora, she adds, "And you in particular are long overdue for an ass kicking."

"You wish," scoffs Adora, but she can't help smiling. She's missed this easy banter, the playful competition amongst the squad. Maybe the Horde wasn't better for her, but it was home. The low-key rivalries obscuring ultimate loyalty among her allies? This is what's comfortable for her, not everyone pretending to get along while doubting and second-guessing each other. Things were simpler in the Horde, and they had each other's backs.

"Lonnie's not kicking anyone's ass until she lets her ankle fucking heal," declares Catra, somehow managing to sound both annoyed and affectionate, and Adora breathes a sigh of relief. That was getting dangerously testy. "She's been too busy playing the hero to take care of herself, like someone else I know."

Lonnie scoffs. "Did you really expect me to not tell that asshole officer he shouldn't make Kyle fight on a broken leg?"

"You could have let me unload him from the tank, I was right there," Catra points out.

Caught up in the conversation like she is, it takes Adora a second to clue in. "Wait," she interjects suspiciously, turning to Catra, "was that a shot at me?"

A laugh from across the table catches Adora's attention. Lonnie's expression has made the familiar switch from defensive to arrogant. It's usually one or the other. "Please, Adora, we all know you have the biggest hero complex of them all," she teases, crossing her arms once again. "Though I guess it's hard not to get a big head with Shadow Weaver constantly telling you you're the savior of the world and all."

Lonnie's remark triggers a smattering of snickers from the rest of the squad, even Catra, and Adora's face flushes. That actually stings a little. Maybe a lot. Partly because Lonnie's right, and partly because she's so fucking wrong.

"Don't worry, Adora. You'll be fine."

Yeah, Adora was not fine. Lonnie had no fucking clue. And she still doesn't. If Adora breaks down in tears or something here she's just gonna look like a wimp. She plays it off with a snort instead. "Wow, back to picking on me, huh? Just like old times."

Catra huffs beside her, picking at her food. "Lonnie picking on you? That's not how I remember it."

Adora's eyes narrow, observing the moody Magicat with as much confusion as displeasure. Obviously Catra had a much more antagonistic relationship with Lonnie than she did, that's an undisputable fact, but Lonnie did tease Adora a lot, called her a big dumb oaf and stuff like that. And so did Catra. Catra even acknowledged it, apologized for it, said she'd do better. So why is she acting like it never happened?

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" demands Lonnie, shoulders puffing up dangerously as her cold green eyes lock in on Catra. "You were the one who started shit between us, if you don't recall. Some welcome wagon you were."

"Oh, and punching you in the barracks was good enough reason to treat me like shit for the next thirteen years?"

"You were no better, and you know it," retorts Lonnie. Breathing out a bit of her anger, she dismisses the argument with a wave of her hand. "We've talked about this, Catra, give it a rest already," she groans. "Your victim complex is getting old."

Catra growls, claws extending instinctually. "Don't talk to me like that. I invited you here, I gave you somewhere safe to run, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm in charge here."

Eyebrows arching, Lonnie leans back and takes Catra in. "Wow," she drawls, "aren't we a chip off the old block?"

Catra is on her feet before she knows it, slamming a palm down on the table, rattling the dishes and making Kyle jump. Leaning across her plate, she hisses, "Lonnie, I swear to Hordak. If you don't shut your fucking mouth-"

"What?" snaps Lonnie, hard lines etched in her face. "What're you gonna do, Catra, claw my eyes out?"

A sharp breath sucks in through Catra's teeth, claws digging into her palms as her vision whites out.

"Go tell that to Octavia. They weren't able to save her eye, you know. She will be mutilated forever, and it's all your fault. I wonder what she would say to an apology."

Eyes bulging, Adora watches in horror as Catra freezes, all the life going out of her eyes. A couple seconds later, her angry features morph into a tight, vaguely insane smile. Fangs glinting in the artificial light, she swipes up her plate and glass, holding them to her chest.

"I'm gonna finish this in my room," announces Catra. Eyes dragging over all of them and lingering on Lonnie, she adds, "Lovely having the squad back together."

Adora watches as she goes, fixated on her tight shoulders and stiff gait. The urge to go after her is strong, but even stronger is her sense of self-preservation. Attempts to confront and/or comfort Catra when she's in that state are never productive, and usually lead to someone's head getting bitten off. It's better to let her mellow out on her own.

Turning back around, Adora tosses her hands in exasperation. "Lonnie, are you even capable of not antagonizing everybody you come into contact with?"

"As if I'm any worse than your girlfriend," huffs Lonnie.

"She's not-" Cutting herself off with a scoff, Adora mutters, "Forget it." She gets one final glare in before proceeding to stab at her tiny steaks.

Okay, maybe this wasn't actually better in the Horde. Familiar isn't always good. And in retrospect, Adora may have forgotten just how brutal things could get.

***o***

"Oh, you think your punishment is over, child? Think again." Magic still crackling in her fingertips, Shadow Weaver towered over her exhausted ward slumped against the prison cot. "Stand up."

Catra whimpered in dismay, shaking from fear and pain alike. She couldn't take any more. "Please, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Shadow Weaver mocked her, voice dripping with disdain. "Go tell that to Octavia. They weren't able to save her eye, you know. She will be mutilated forever, and it's all your fault. I wonder what she would say to an apology." Grabbing the scruff of Catra's neck, she hauled the girl to her feet as she continued the lecture. "You're nothing but a monster, a rabid little beast. I should have locked you in a cage and thrown away the key a long time ago. Like when you scratched Adora because she had the gall to play with another child. What kind of animal does that to her 'best friend'?"

Fresh tears spilled over, traversing the well trod trails in Catra's cheek fur, and a choked sob escaped her throat. Her cheeks burned with shame, eyes glued to the floor.

Catra had never meant to hurt Adora, or at least she'd never wanted to. But Adora was all she had, their friendship the only flicker of hope in her life. When she'd seen Adora laughing and playing with their new squadmate, wearing that smile that was only supposed to be Catra's, it'd felt like being stabbed right in the gut. Some possessive, jealous urge had taken over, and Catra had lashed out. First at Lonnie, then at Adora. She'd regretted her actions immediately, on both counts, but she'd been too hurt and too prideful to show that remorse. She'd felt it, though. Oh, did she ever feel it, even now.

That had to count for something, right? At least she felt bad when she hurt other people. She didn't cause pain out of cruelty, just carelessness. But that was the point, wasn't it? She couldn't control her emotions and only cared about herself. If she cared about Adora, she wouldn't have done that.

But she did, she did care about Adora. Adora was all she cared about. It didn't make sense. But that didn't stop the words from cutting deep. It didn't stop the nagging voice inside her head whispering that Shadow Weaver was right, that she was a monster. What she'd done to Octavia proved that.

No, Octavia had had it coming. She'd deserved it for treating Catra like a piece of trash. Catra had just been standing up for herself. She hadn't meant to mutilate her but she'd had every right to be mad, to attack. Right?

"And now you've permanently damaged not only property, but a person," concluded Shadow Weaver. "If it were up to me I'd declaw you right here and now, prevent any future incidents."

Catra scrambled to hide her hands behind her back as Shadow Weaver closed in on her. She couldn't lose her claws. She couldn't. It would be like losing a limb, her sense of safety, her very identity.

"Or maybe we could mete out justice in a more traditional way," suggested Shadow Weaver, grazing a sharp thumbnail along the top of Catra's cheekbone. "An eye for an eye."

Catra couldn't suppress a whimper, her whole body shaking again at the threat. Shadow Weaver chuckled in response, and the tone of it made Catra feel sick. She was clearly enjoying this, luxuriating in her captive's terror. It's not that Catra hadn't clued into that aspect of her personality in the years she'd already spent under Shadow Weaver's thumb, but in this moment it was so distilled, purified to the point you could only label it what it was. Alone with her favorite target and armed with an excuse to hurt her, she wasn't even trying to hide it. She had no shame.

Finally Shadow Weaver pulled her hand away, floated back enough to look Catra up and down. "Lucky for you, Lord Hordak thinks your claws and visual acuity may come in handy one day." Catra breathed out shakily, but her small measure of relief lasted about two seconds, until Shadow Weaver added, "However, those orders mean I must resort to other measures to ensure this doesn't happen again." Flourishing a hand in the air, she conjured a thin belt, much like the one Catra would come to wear as an adult, and began wrapping it around her palm. "Hold out your hands."

In an instant the whole world seemed to fall out from under Catra's feet, dumping her into an icy ocean of terror. She wasn't an idiot. She knew too well by then what happened when Shadow Weaver ordered you to expose a part of your body. Her hands furled up and huddled against her heaving chest, her heart battering the bones in a desperate bid to escape its cage. A feeling Catra knew all too well.

"You will regret it if you make me do it for you," Shadow Weaver assured her, and that feeling of panic morphed into dread. It ate at Catra's gut, weighed on her shoulders, stole all hope from her heart. Because again, she was not an idiot. At the tender age of six, she already had more than enough experience to make the calculation. Being restrained by Shadow Weaver's grip, magical or natural, wouldn't allow her to absorb the impact. It would make it hurt even more.

Shadow Weaver was right. There was no chance of flight, and fighting would only bring her more suffering. The best thing Catra could do for herself was succumb to her fate. Get it over with. Forcing her fists open, she lowered her hands into peril, all the while squeezing her eyes shut and turning her face away. She couldn't look, she didn't want to see. But there was nothing to stop her from feeling Shadow Weaver gliding into her space, hearing what she said next.

"I want you to remember this lesson the next time you get the impulse to claw another person," she said, her voice dangerously close to Catra's ear. It was low, in every sense of the word. Deep, quiet, calm and controlled in a way that was downright chilling. Like this act of cruelty and terrorism was nothing to Shadow Weaver.

Adding a calculated chuckle, she corrected herself. "Pardon me, 'a person.'"

The lesson Catra learned in that moment, more than anything else, was to be extremely grateful for the fur that covered most of her body. A belt on bare skin, and such a sensitive area at that, was enough to make her shriek with only one blow.

But Shadow Weaver did not stop at one. Or two. Not even close.

"Again."

Her order left Catra no choice but to pry apart her trembling hands that were clutching each other in a desperate attempt to soothe the sting, protect each other from any further attacks. Their efforts were as futile as her and Adora's efforts to protect each other in that place. Catra was helpless to do anything but submit to the pain.

Again. Again.

Catra shoots upright, a scream catching and cracking in her throat. Her body is tensed for a fight but her eyes adjust in a split second, revealing the bedroom to be full of shadows, yes, but no danger. Ironic.

She hugs her knees as she tries to recover, her racing heart pounding in her ears as she gasps in breath after breath. Grimacing at the tingling in her palms, she flexes and straightens her fingers in an attempt to make the phantom sensations fade. But they persist. Just like Shadow Weaver's presence in her head.

In Catra's mental catalog of unpleasant disciplinary encounters, the Octavia incident ranks pretty damn high. For the fear she felt, the words she heard, the pain she endured, the damage she took. It was the only time she ever darkened the door of the infirmary without being literally dragged there. There was too much blood and she was too small and too scared to handle it on her own. Too ashamed to look the medic on duty in the eye, she mumbled some bullshit excuse about falling and cutting her hands on some glass. It didn't account for the redness and swelling, but it was the best her frazzled six year-old brain could manage at the time.

The medic appeared skeptical but didn't ask any questions, cleaning and dressing the wounds without fanfare. Part of Catra was grateful to be spared the interrogation, the shame and the pity.

Part of her wished some grown up would do something to protect her.

Tears stream down Catra's cheeks and she jams the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, fighting off the urge to scream again. She can't take any more of this. She can't keep living this way. Why can't Shadow Weaver just leave her alone?

"Catra?" Adora's groggy voice makes Catra jump, breath catching in her chest.

"I'm okay," she says over her shoulder, trying her damndest to keep her voice steady. "Go back to sleep."

Of course, Adora doesn't listen. She's the only person Catra knows who's more stubborn than herself.

"You were screaming," murmurs Adora, concerned and slightly more alert. Catra keeps staring forward, but she hears and feels the covers shifting as Adora pulls her legs up to match her posture. A tentative hand coming to rest on Catra's shoulder makes her throat ache and swell, forcing her to swallow. "It's okay," whispers Adora, fingertips grazing just below the back of her neck. "Just breathe."

A few moments pass before Adora moves again, still carefully, like she's trying not to spook Catra, which manages to be both endearing and insulting at the same time. Catra shudders at the touch when Adora's arms and legs wrap her up from behind, and as she continues to hold her it escalates to actual shaking. She's not afraid, just overwhelmed. Such a quick turnaround from being despised and assaulted to being cherished and comforted is… a lot. Her eyes burn and she blinks back the fresh tears.

"Is this okay?" whispers Adora, her breath brushing Catra's ear. "Do you want me to let go?"

Unable to form words through her tight throat, Catra shakes her head, hard. As on edge as the contact puts her, she can't live without it right now.

"You're safe," Adora murmurs into Catra's back, squeezing her tighter in hopes that that can somehow get the message across. "I got you. I got you." If she was Catra, she'd purr to comfort her. But since she isn't, and she can't, Adora settles for humming. It's supposed to be soothing, in theory. A broken chuckle pops out of Catra's chest and Adora smiles into her shoulder blades. She's been told she couldn't carry a tune if it was a newborn baby. But hey, amusement is still soothing in its own right.

Kissing the back of Catra's shoulder, Adora buries her nose in it and takes in the scent of her fur. It's the most comforting smell in the world. "You okay?"

The tingling sensation has faded but Catra's hands are still trembling. She squeezes and opens her fists a few more times, growing more and more frustrated. "I don't understand. Shadow Weaver's gone. I left the Horde. Why do I still feel this way?"

"What way?" murmurs Adora, loosening her grip marginally to get a look at Catra's face.

Catra swallows hard. This is an emotion she almost never admits to, but she's at the end of her rope, desperate enough to admit she needs help. Or maybe it's just that, despite her need to impress Adora and prove to her how strong she is, Adora's arms are the only place she feels safe enough to let herself be weak, and needy, and all the other things she despises about herself.

"Afraid," she says.

Forehead creasing, Adora draws a gentle finger along Catra's shoulder, catching the collar of her sleep shirt. "Of what?"

Catra actually meant afraid in her dreams, but as she considers the question she uncovers a deeper answer. An even scarier one. "That I'll never be free of her. That I'm going to spend the rest of my goddamn life hiding from her ghost, scared to go to sleep." Burying her face in her knees, Catra laments, "I just want it all to be over."

One of Adora's hands moves to rake through her hair, gently scratching her scalp on the way down. "It will be. You just need time."

"Time isn't helping," she growls, breaking Adora's grip and planting herself a few feet away. The sudden cold hits her hard but she can't both retreat and salvage her dignity. So she wraps her arms around her shins again, cheek resting atop her kneecaps. "It's been getting worse since I left. How am I supposed to start over if I can't get her out of my head?"

"I…" Adora falters, swallowing hard enough for Catra to hear it. "I know how you feel."

"No you don't," Catra mutters dispassionately, eyes falling shut with a sigh. "I'm not just talking about her mind games. It's hard even letting you touch me, after what she did to me. I hate that." Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she adds, "I know you want to get it, but you can't. She never laid a hand on you."

Adora's jaw tightens, shifts. "That's not true," she says quietly.

Catra snorts under her breath, turns her head just so she can give Adora possibly the most condescending look in the history of mankind. "I'm not talking about pats on the head, Adora."

"No, I know," protests Adora, trying and failing not to get snippy. She's getting really sick of these remarks implying that Shadow Weaver didn't hurt her, that what she did to her was no big deal. She's had a hard enough time coming to grips with it herself, and people second-guessing that is genuinely hurtful, especially when it's Catra.

"Yeah, she never hit me out of anger, and never in public, but she used to…" Adora fidgets as she trails off. Her exasperation over being misunderstood, her resentment over her experiences being dismissed, they're the only forces strong enough to push the humiliating confession past her lips. "She used to spank me when I was a kid. Not often, just when I was really bad. Teach me a lesson."

The revelation hits Catra hard, stunning her mind and body alike into a buzzing kind of numbness. The suffocating haze only melts away when red hot anger rises up inside her, burning deep in her chest and stomach. Still, her face stays completely placid, an eerie calmness masking her sudden rage. She wants to wring Shadow Weaver's neck, but she also wants to wring Adora's. Her eyes narrow at the clueless girl, who has the fucking gall-

"She spanked you? You mean like bent you over her knee and whacked your ass with her bare hand a couple times? Maybe a ruler or some shit, if you were really naughty?"

Her mocking tone, the sheer flippancy of it, nearly steals Adora's voice. Eyes dropping, she barely manages to mumble, "It was her desk."

"Oh, my mistake," comes the sarcastic reply. "Did she even pull your pants down?"

Adora's heart skips at the memory, a jolt of residual fear shooting through her body. "Once."

"Once?" scoffs Catra, her lips set in a derisive sneer. "Poor baby."

"Hey, you have fur," snaps Adora. "That's like permanent pants."

A sharp breath sucks in through Catra's nose, drawing her shoulders up and back as her eyes catch fire. That deep, simmering anger is starting to boil over, spilling out and scalding everything in its reach. "Are you suggesting you had it worse than me?"

Catra's eyes and body language are downright predatory, but Adora's not backing down. She won't be silenced, not when she just divulged one of her most shameful secrets and traumatic experiences. She has listened to Catra spill her guts on numerous occasions, even when it was painful for her. Why can't Catra do the same for her?

"No, I'm saying we can't compare," she says steadily. "I don't know what it was like for you, and you don't know what it was like for me."

"I know she didn't degrade you and call you an animal," growls Catra, volume rising dangerously as she leans in. "I know she didn't torture you for shits and giggles."

Raising a placating hand, Adora clarifies, "Look, it doesn't matter to me who had it worse-"

"Because it wasn't you!"

"-I just want you to acknowledge that she hurt me too."

Catra freezes, staring at Adora blankly. Adora holds her breath, no idea what to expect next, until Catra blinks and the tension bleeds out of her body. Her voice sounds hollow, tight when she says, "Fine, she hurt you too. Congratulations."

As she stands to leave, Adora reaches out and almost nabs her arm before thinking better of it. "Where are you going?"

"Back to my bed," says Catra. "Don't follow me."

And she does go to her bed, for about two seconds until she realizes there's no way she's getting back to sleep now. And even if she could, she doesn't want to, not with that waiting on the other side. So she goes to the gym instead and punches the heavy bag until her eyes and throat and knuckles are stinging and raw.

The longer she punches, the sicker she feels. She hates Shadow Weaver, and she hates her life. The memory won't stop playing in her head. Remembering that pain, that helplessness, it makes her feel like a tiny bug being crushed under the heel of a cruel fate. A lowly creature destined only to suffer and then get stamped out on a whim, her remains dragged across rough concrete until they disintegrate, leaving nothing but an ugly stain to be washed away.

But that's just her victim complex talking, isn't it?

No, Catra's no victim. She's a straight up villain. That overwhelming hatred eating her from the inside, it's for herself as much as Shadow Weaver. What kind of monster behaves the way she did back in Adora's room?

In her defense, she was caught off guard. Catra already understood, after much discussion, that the relationship between Adora and their guardian was not as rosy as it had appeared to her all those years. But that knowledge did nothing to prepare her. The thought of Shadow Weaver hurting Adora, hurting that anxious, loving, vulnerable child, it made her want to scream. To hug Adora and tell her she didn't deserve it, never could have possibly deserved that. But did she? No. Adora told Catra something horrifying and she couldn't even sympathize, too caught up in her own rage and jealousy to show concern for someone she supposedly cares about. But what else is new?

Really, what else is new?

Maybe she had a point, maybe Adora was wrong to equate their experiences. Maybe Adora was never trying to, and it just felt that way. Catra's not in the right headspace to evaluate that right now. But either way, it didn't justify that kind of reaction. It's like those incidents in her childhood with Octavia, with Lonnie and Adora. Standing up for herself and expressing her feelings shouldn't mean having to attack, to brutalize her prey. But a beast knows no different.

Lonnie was right, Catra's just like Shadow Weaver. She's trying to be better than her, swore to her that she would be, but she isn't. She never will be. Shadow Weaver crafted Catra in her own image, cut away the good parts of her and molded what remained into something sharp and ugly, forged it in fire until it was as hard and unforgiving as her. Even if she wasn't a monster to begin with, that witch poisoned her and turned her into one. And there is no antidote, not for this affliction.

She should never have dragged the squad out here, convinced Adora to leave the safety of the Crystal Castle, let Scorpia and Entrapta believe she's someone they can trust, someone worth following and protecting. She'll destroy every single one of them. All she does is hurt people.

The monster inside her roars, its claws aching to sink into something, to maim and ravage. Catra is more than happy to turn them on herself, bleed Shadow Weaver's toxins from her veins. If it gives her some relief from the flood of torment, all the better. Somewhere in the back of her mind she hears Shadow Weaver calling her pathetic and weak, laments the loss of her willpower to resist, but that's a moot point. Beasts don't have willpower anyway.

It's been so long since she's dug this deep. So long since she last dragged her claws and caused anything more than a puncture wound. Those were small indulgences, something to tide her over while allowing herself to conceivably say she was better now. But this, this is the real deal. The dual head rush of blood loss and endorphins makes Catra's vision blur, her legs give out. She slumps back against a wall, crimson claws resting on her stomach, and lets her eyes fall shut with a sigh of relief and satisfaction. Numbed to any complex thought, her head is all floaty, blessedly quiet. Peaceful. Or at least, the closest thing she'll ever get to experience. Thanks, Shadow Weaver.

Sticky warmth pools under Catra's palms and it occurs to her, slowly and vaguely, that maybe she cut too deep, took too much.

She can't bring herself to care.

Author's Notes:

Detailed trigger warning and tips for safe reading

Blood/mild body horror: At the end of the flashback there are implications (though no graphic descriptions) of injuries involving the hands. If the mere thought is triggering, you can skip the rest of the flashback once Shadow Weaver says the sentence about "other measures." If you just want to skip the part where it actually happens, stop where she says, "pardon me, a person." The third paragraph after the flashbacks also refers to said injuries, including mentions of blood. The last few paragraphs of the chapter involve a self-harm relapse and blood is mentioned again, though the injuries involved aren't described graphically. If you don't want to read that part, you can stop reading the chapter when you see "the monster inside her roars."

Self-harm/suicidal ideation: There's a lot of self-loathing and vaguely suicidal thoughts from Catra in this chapter. They're kinda all over the place so there's no real way to avoid all of it, as it's a major theme and that's intentional. However, the worst is avoidable. Catra has a bad self-harm relapse at the very end of the chapter and doesn't care if she dies from it, and though it's not really an intentional suicide attempt it kind of feels like one tonally. If you don't want to read that part, you can stop reading the chapter when you see "the monster inside her roars."

Child abuse: There is an upsetting but important discussion about past abuse that is very blunt about what Catra and Adora went through, as well as a scene involving sadistic and violent child abuse. It's not especially graphic but we stay in the scene a little longer than normal - it's more than implied this time. If you are feeling uneasy and want to avoid the most triggering part, you can skip the rest of the flashback once Shadow Weaver says the sentence about "other measures." You'll miss a bit of important emotional stuff but not most of it, and you'll avoid the explicit violence and the stomach-dropping moment prior. In the present you learn enough to infer what happened plot-wise so you should be fine that way.

Actual end notes

You don't know me if you think I would kill Catra. Don't worry about that.

Yes, I know there's a lot of complexities to that discussion Catra and Adora had, and this barely scratched the surface. They are going to talk about it again, when Catra's not already in a triggered state.

Thanks to Malachi Walker for beta reading this and playing sounding board, and in general helping me make this chapter even more devastating than it already was.

Next chapter we get to see how Adora handles the fallout of their fight. It's better than Catra, though I suppose that's not saying much.