Caleb Manchester

Holy fuck. Was Caleb's first thought when he saw you take off your shirt. All those whip scars covering your back, the scars from scratches, the self-harm scars...fucking shit. He knew you tried killing yourself a year ago. But he didn't know the physical trauma was this bad. He also knew yours and his parents are literal abusers. Well, to you, at least. You never did anything wrong--they just...hated you.

When he found you a year ago yesterday trying to shoot yourself with a pistol you bought illegally (although no one except him knows that part) in the head, he immediately admitted you into a mental hospital. Little did he know you'd only spiral there, too. So when you got out, he was forced to make you wear a straight jacket everyday, all day. The only time you could take it off was for using the restroom or for showering, but even then, he had to be monitoring you by standing outside of the closed door when you'd use the restroom or the open one when you'd shower.

And Goddamnit he felt bad for you.

You're his little sibling and he loves you. How could he not? So, when you got better, he put you in therapy. It helped, yet you still had your ups and downs.

So he goes over to you, and you don't see him. You put on your shirt right before he hugs you from behind, burying his face in your neck. "You know I love you, little sib?" He says. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you properly." He says, as if assuring himself more than you.