Chapter Text
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II, lines 186-187
The Burns family moves. They leave Theo behind. Their house goes on the market and is sold soon after.
Juliette is exhausted.
Theo has needed attention. He’s been difficult and resentful, though she can’t blame him, and he’s picked up what he needs to survive, all of his warrior training paying off.
Oliver has been suspiciously pleasant, and it’s been taking all of her willpower not to sway to his way of thinking. He’s just as manipulative as Elinor, just as controlling as their parents, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.
Juliette knows better now. She’s been learning to steel herself against the strong wills in her family.
Since her brief stint in jail, however, Elinor has been rather quiet. Juliette hasn’t heard anything from her grandmother in a while, which isn’t that unusual, except for the fact that Juliette has walked in on her mother signing letters with the official seal of the Keeper of the Emerald Malkia.
Her mother doesn’t ever refer to everything that happened earlier in the year except for calling it “that business”. Her father has never really recovered, quicker to anger than he’s ever been. He was always the even-tempered one, so seeing his eyes flash green with every challenge has been tiring.
Ben hasn’t quite been ignoring her, but he’s been distant, and she can’t really even blame him; the poor boy had his best friend come out as a vampire and his crush murdered by a zombie. And she refuses to feed on anyone alive. She refuses to test those limits again.
But she’s not sure how long she can keep going.
She hasn’t gotten a full night of sleep in too long. Juliette hasn’t been fully comfortable in her own skin, throat itching, eyes burning, since the night she and Calliope curled up on the Lancaster Academy stage. She hasn’t stopped thinking about their legs intertwined and fingers laced as they drifted off to sleep.
She hasn’t felt safe alone in bed since then. Calliope being there, watching out for her...as silly as it was for Juliette to put so much faith in a human, let alone a monster hunter, there was a different level of solace in knowing that Calliope had wanted to keep her safe.
Things have changed.
Mostly, Calliope has made it pretty fucking clear that she wants nothing to do with Juliette at all.
It’s especially hard, because for some reason or another, they are still linked. The severing didn’t work, but Juliette hadn’t paid much attention to the nuances of their bond until Cal wasn’t around to distract with her presence.
It’s normally very subtle, but when she concentrates, Juliette knows the undercurrent of feeling coursing through her body is not her own. There’s a humanity to her afterthoughts, and it tastes just the slightest bit bitter on the back of her tongue.
She hopes that it burns at the parts of her that are too vampiric for daylight. She hopes that the acrid taste of Calliope’s natural goodness is exorcizing everything in her that needs to feed to survive.
The bond though: there’s a sick sort of irony that Juliette would find someone she really loves, lose them, and then never be able to stop feeling them. It figures.
It makes her nauseous, and her fangs ache constantly, but at the same time, she’s doing everything she can to hold on to this last tether. She can’t let go of Calliope that easily.
She’s pretty sure it’s the most monstrous parts of her that lets her feel it. This is some sort of heavenly punishment for all of her sins.
Legacy lore goes back to the Garden of Eden, so it’s a given that there’s a certain amount of biblical study involved in being one of the heirs to the Emerald Malkia. She knows all about what human religions classify as Hell. She knows all about original sin and holy water that burns instead of baptizes.
Nothing hurts quite as badly as knowing what her Cal is feeling though.
Calliope Burns was an enigma for a long time, admittedly. And Juliette didn’t get as much time with her as she wanted. But this? Knowing that Cal is suffering and part of it is Juliette’s fault?
It’s Hell from every religion at once.
Juliette is trying her best to do penance.
It definitely doesn’t help that the more intensely Calliope feels something, the more acutely Juliette is aware of it.
She learned this the hard way, right after the Burns family left Savannah.
It hit her out of nowhere, sitting at her desk late at night, finishing an essay for Mr. Porter. Her stomach cramped, twisting painfully, and she felt bile rise at the back of her throat. Tears pressed at the backs of her eyes, and she was overwhelmed with a paralyzing sense of loss.
It made Juliette panic. She stood up suddenly, clutching her arms close to her chest, trying to soothe herself. She couldn’t figure out how to calm herself down, the grief bringing her to her knees.
She sank to the floor, leaning against her bed, gasping for breath, closing her eyes and furrowing her brow. And she was struck with the sense that somewhere, far away, in a similar position, Calliope was struggling to breathe through tears.
Knowing where the feeling was coming from made things easier to process. Of course Cal was paralyzed by loss — her older brother, the way she knew him, was gone. Two of her closest family friends had been killed during a hunt. Calliope had seen so much death in Savannah.
Juliette didn’t dare to hope Calliope was mourning any other losses.
Juliette did her best to send over calming energy, hoping that Calliope would be able to get herself back up, wanting to comfort Calliope in any way she could despite knowing that she wouldn’t want Juliette anywhere nearby.
When Juliette felt Calliope’s breathing slow, approaching normalcy and evening out, the strength of the moment started to fizzle. Juliette began to panic again, this time worried that she wouldn’t be able to see or feel Calliope anymore, but before she could hold on to the image of Calliope in her new bedroom, it slipped away.
Juliette had nothing to worry about though. The link between them persevered. And the frequency of the specific moments of clarity, of Cal in front of her, present in her mind, closer than any dream had ever brought them, increased too.
It was awful.
On one hand, it was time with Cal, even if Cal wasn’t aware of it. On the other, it was always with Calliope suffering, at her worst, most painful, most reckless moments.
In every new city, Calliope was suddenly the life of the party. She would go out every night and drink herself sick, and Juliette would wake up with hangovers every morning. Calliope would hunt recklessly, and Juliette could feel the bruises from every hit Calliope received. There would be moments of pure adrenaline and extreme, focused anger during the hunts.
Juliette could feel something so familiar in the malice, as if all of the love Calliope had once had for her had been crystalized into a purer, more hateful form. As if every slash of Calliope’s spear was really aimed towards Juliette.
And yes, Calliope’s weapon of choice had evolved to be the silver spear she had once leveled at Juliette’s heart. Irony.
Juliette dreams about that moment all the time. The grim decision Calliope made to level the silver tip to Juliette’s chest, with full knowledge that the spear would only serve to wound a Legacy.
The loathing in Calliope’s eyes had made Juliette’s mind up. She had taken a step closer, pressing into the burning silver without a second thought. She knew she deserved whatever punishment Calliope decided to mete out.
Calliope putting the spear down felt like a reprieve Juliette didn’t deserve.
Maybe all of the moments she had to watch Calliope run herself ragged, drink her nights away, and hunt without any regard for her own life without being able to do anything real to help is the punishment instead.
There is one thing that she’s grateful for: the pain seems to only travel one way.
Because she’s certain that if Calliope could feel Juliette for the past few months, she would have clawed and burned and ripped the connection to shreds. There’s no world in which Calliope Burns, Valkyrie that she is, would want to know that Juliette was hurt too.
What right did she have, feeling this much pain? All of the suffering, all of the loss. It was all her fault.
Cal was right, in the end. There was no changing the facts. No matter how hard Juliette had tried to be good, she was still a monster.
And there’s also the sad fact that if Cal felt everything that Juliette had felt over the past few months, she’d know just how obnoxiously pathetic Juliette is. All of the wretched sobbing in the privacy of her car, all of the quiet, still, numbness at home, all of the platitudes and fake fake fake at a school rocked by tragedies.
She’s so fucking fake now. Cal was right, back at the start, Juliette’s a bad liar. She was never built to be like this. There’s too much messy hope and human-ness in her, and instead of making her stronger, all that compassion just makes her wish that dying was as easy as a stake through the heart.
Juliette just wants to be somewhere else. She wants to be someone else. Someone worth loving.
She doesn’t want to be a monster anymore.
Which means that when she gets home after another long, interminable day, throat dry, head pounding, her body begging for sustenance, she throws off her backpack. She pads softly through the still house. She passes Elinor’s closed door, then her parents’, rubs at her eyes hard, as if that will make the dull ache fade, and stumbles towards her bed.
She’s shivering. The blankets aren’t enough, and how could they be, when all her body is begging for is blood? But she piles them on anyway, half blind with how feverish she feels.
The purposeful withdrawal from blood dulls her connection to her senses. Juliette’s not sure if she’s crying. She’s so out of her body that it’s almost bliss, not hearing as clearly, not seeing as sharply. She appreciates the moment; she wants any respite from the extreme feeling that vampirism entails. She wants things to be quiet.
She wants to pretend that she’s still up on that stage. That she’s just waking up in that prop bed, and about to pretend like she’s not aware of Calliope watching her fondly.
She hasn’t had a dream with Calliope in a while, where they spoke and touched and communicated, but she has dreamt of Calliope, almost every time she manages to actually sleep.
Every Calliope dream is different, but there are common themes, where Cal will hold her close and tell Juliette that all she wants is to keep them both safe.
The dreams are Juliette’s one good thing. It keeps her upright on the hardest days. The thought of closing her eyes and being able to fall into Cal’s arms at night keeps her going.
She’s been trying to ignore the fact that her memory of Calliope is fading at the edges.
Sleep doesn’t want to take her, but her body is too fraught with exhaustion not to succumb, so Juliette falls into an uneasy slumber.
She manages to convince her fatigued mind to conjure up a comfortable place to have dream-Cal hold her close for a few hours, just to see if that will begin to ease her into rest, and she manages to find herself back in Calliope’s Savannah bedroom.
She’s standing by the bed she’s seen only a few times in person, but somehow, none of the details are fuzzy. She can almost smell the coconut from Calliope’s lotion. The exhaustion and the starvation must be playing tricks on her mind, but she’s not complaining. Anything that makes this feel real, she’s decided to embrace.
Cal is under the covers, looking up at her. The look is familiar — it’s the same appraising glance from right before they played Spin the Bottle in Noah Harrington’s kitchen. It’s like Calliope knows there’s something about to happen here, and she isn’t certain whether or not she should stop it.
Juliette can’t help it. This is her dream, after all.
“Cal,” she whispers. “Hold me?”
She’s not proud of the pitiful, pleading way that came out, but Calliope doesn’t hesitate, just pulls aside the duvet and invites Juliette into the bed. Juliette toes her shoes off, throws off the cardigan she was wearing, and dives into bed, burying herself under Calliope’s proffered arm.
Calliope leans her cheek on the top of Juliette’s head.
“Hi Jules,” she says quietly. “Are you okay?”
Juliette takes a second to think about her answer. All things considered? No, definitely not okay. But in this moment, her thirst has abated and her thoughts are clear for the first time in weeks, if not months.
She turns her head slightly so that she’s not speaking directly into Calliope’s ribcage. “If we stay here, I will be.”
Calliope is silent for a moment, her arm pulling Juliette in more tightly.
“We don’t have long,” Cal apologizes. “We have to go back soon.”
Juliette groans quietly. “I can’t sleep without you here.”
“I’ve been gone for months,” Calliope reminds her.
“You’ve been gone longer than I had you,” Juliette agrees. “And I’m losing my mind and I’m a crazy lame loser, but my life imploded and you left and I can’t sleep.”
Calliope is silent again, but her fingers tighten comfortably around Juliette’s arm. A quiet settles and Juliette’s eyes keep flickering shut. She’s giving up on trying to keep them open.
“I don’t think I’ve been okay without you either,” Calliope finally admits.
Juliette hums slightly, cuddling closer to Calliope. “I know. I can feel it.”
And for some reason, dream-Cal stiffens.
“You…feel it?”
“Yeah,” Juliette mumbles. “The severing didn’t work, we all knew that.”
Juliette feels Calliope nod hesitantly. “I knew that, I just…”
Calliope trails off and Juliette is too comfortable to push any further.
“Nevermind,” Calliope says, and Juliette feels gentle fingers begin to comb through her hair.
She’s boneless, melting into the warmth of Calliope’s embrace. Juliette has to commend her starving brain for this one; this dream is surpassing most of her imagined moments with Calliope. She feels warmer beside her, not as picture perfect as Juliette’s subconscious likes to pretend. This Cal feels flawed and nervous and human. It’s beautifully familiar.
They lie there, tangled up together in a way that’s too casually intimate for how little they experienced it in reality. But Juliette has needed this comfort for months. Calliope, leaning up against the headboard, is at the exact right angle to be able to play with Juliette’s cascading hair and ease some of the tension from her migraine, so Juliette is not going to open her eyes unless she absolutely must. She’s soaking in every aspect of the moment, making use of all of the vampire senses she normally loathes.
Calliope smells like coconut and lavender and a sweet undertone of sweat and salt, like she had gotten into bed straight after a workout. She feels soft, smooth like well-worn leather, smooth velvet, where Juliette has her hand tucked under the edge of Calliope’s crop top. Juliette hasn’t been bold enough to venture putting her lips to where her cheek is pressed up against Calliope’s collarbone, but she remembers the taste of Calliope’s skin almost too vividly, refreshing like a mountain stream Juliette wanted to plunge into. She can hear the steady thrum of Calliope’s heart beating a steady pace, the blood racing through Calliope’s veins, and it doesn’t even make Juliette hungry, just makes her feel at home.
Even if real-Calliope doesn’t want her back, she’s forever been cemented as Juliette’s human. She would have to apologize to Ben, if they ever got past the weirdness they had been dancing around.
Calliope’s hushed voice interrupted the silence. “Can you look at me, please?”
The sound of Calliope asking nicely, rather than telling Juliette what she needs is a surefire signal that something is at least a little wrong.
Juliette forces her eyes open, her heavy lids protesting at the bright light, only adjusting when the familiar calm of Calliope’s gaze meets hers.
But Calliope is so serious, and Juliette wants this to be a good dream, not a sad one, because things are so hard when she’s awake and she’s not sure she can handle anything hard right now, she’s so hungry and so tired, the light is so harsh and she just wants to be with Cal here —
“Woah, woah, woah, where did you go just now?” Calliope asks, brow furrowed, placing her hands on both sides of Juliette’s cheeks and stroking gently at Juliette’s cheeks with both thumbs.
Juliette realizes she’s gasping for air, the beginning stages of tears forcing their way out. She closes her eyes and tries to take a steadying breath, focusing on the feel of Calliope’s calloused palms. Eyes still closed, she takes another deep breath and leans heavily into Calliope’s left hand, while Cal lifts her right hand to tuck a loose strand of Juliette’s hair behind her ear.
“We good?” Calliope asks with a tender look in her eyes. She’s not quite smiling, but Juliette knows this expression. It means that Calliope is trying to mask how much she cares. It means that Calliope is worried, but isn’t sure how much she’s allowed to show.
Juliette lets out a breathy laugh and forces herself to sit up. The toll on her body is exhausting. Every movement makes her bones ache. She thinks the starvation is finally tearing her apart.
She’s grateful this is just a dream. There’s no temptation to admit the truth to Calliope, no temptation to ask for any favors she wouldn’t be able to return. No temptation to sink her fangs where she isn’t wanted.
Juliette is done taking things away from Calliope without asking.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Jules?” Cal’s worry has won out, if she’s asking questions.
Juliette shakes her head slightly. It makes her dizzy. “I’m okay. I just haven’t fed in a while.”
“A while?” Calliope cocks her head. “How long?”
Juliette goes quiet, looks down at the duvet cover. “I’ve gotten a new supplier for the pills. It’s fine.”
“I didn’t think full-fledged Legacy vamps could survive off of the pills? Wasn’t that the whole point of the consecration ceremony?” Calliope sounds more worried now, but Juliette refuses to look up.
“Well, I didn’t exactly get a consecration ceremony,” Juliette points out. “So who knows what’s wrong with me.”
“How long has it been, seriously.” Calliope’s tone has turned firm.
Juliette sighs. “A few weeks.”
“A few weeks?” Calliope sounds incredulous.
Juliette winces. “Maybe a month.”
Calliope inhales sharply. “You’ve been starving yourself for a month?”
“Not really!” Juliette protests weakly, briefly looking up to make eye contact. “I was teaching Theo how to feed on someone without killing them and that was just…about a month ago.”
Calliope had moved to face Juliette, sitting cross-legged in the bed, playing with her own fingers, and at the sound of her brother’s name, her fingers still.
Juliette resists the urge to grab Calliope’s hand.
“He’s okay, you know,” Juliette offers, looking up meekly. “He’s learning a lot.”
It is Calliope’s turn not to make eye contact. Her fingers fidget.
“He misses you all,” Juliette tries.
“Please don’t,” Calliope says. Her voice cracks. Her hands lie flat, pressing into the duvet to steady their shaking, and fuck it. If this is Juliette’s dream, she’s not going to let another moment go by without comforting her favorite person.
Juliette reaches slowly for Calliope’s hand, and gently, tenderly, laces their fingers together. Calliope doesn’t protest, but doesn’t squeeze back when Juliette holds her hand tightly. Calliope’s eyes have gone blank.
She asks, voice completely monotone, “Do you ever regret it? Turning him?”
Juliette doesn’t know how honest to be.
“I wish I could tell you I did,” she says frankly. “I didn’t know what I was doing. But he’s doing so well, he’s learning so fast, and he’s still here, despite what Elinor might have done. I know it might not matter to your family, but your brother is okay, Cal.”
Calliope’s shoulders shake slightly and Juliette can tell that Cal is fighting back sobs, but she makes no noise, lets no tears fall.
“Don’t mourn him,” Juliette tries again. “He’s here. You can come back to him eventually.”
“You turned my brother into something we were always taught to hate,” Cal whispers, looking up. The pain in her eyes burns Juliette more than any silver could.
“I can’t apologize about Theo. I wouldn’t mean it.” Juliette won’t lie, no matter how much it hurts.
Cal shakes her head. “You took my brother away.”
“He asked me for help,” Juliette tries arguing, tries to explain, even though she knows it’s futile.
“You made him into something he was told his whole life was evil. His mother died at the hand of a Legacy vampire, and what is he now? Just another monster,” Calliope’s words are harsh, but she’s almost monotone, as if she’s reciting something she’s been taught, rather than something she truly believes. Their hands are still linked.
Juliette tries one last time. “I made him into someone like me.”
“You did.”
“…Are we really that unlovable? There’s no world where someone like you can love someone like me?”
And that’s the crux of the situation here.
Because Theo is someone Calliope is meant to love unconditionally. He is her big brother. Her protector. Her teacher. Someone she trusted wholeheartedly to stand between her and the dangers of the world.
What is Juliette compared to that?
Someone to kiss at a party. Someone to make promises on clear nights by the fire. Someone to leave when things get too hard.
Calliope is too quiet. Juliette doesn’t much like this dream anymore.
She pulls her hand away, moves as if to get up from the bed, but her legs won’t cooperate. Her traitorous body refuses to rise, and Calliope is reaching out with one hand, almost desperate to keep Juliette still.
“I haven’t apologized,” Calliope looks more panicked than Juliette expects. It doesn’t make sense, and neither do her words, once Juliette has processed them.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she tells Calliope tiredly. “Everything that happened was my fault.”
Calliope shakes her head. “That last night…the spear. It was unfair.”
And oh.
“Oh,” Juliette says, dumbly.
She thinks about the tip of the spear burning into her chest. She had a blister at that spot for one whole day. She was almost sad when it faded.
“I could never actually…” Calliope is quiet, subtly miming a stabbing motion.
Juliette shakes her head.
“I wanted you to,” she tells Calliope. “I deserved worse from you. I still deserve it.”
Calliope shakes her head firmly. “I should have known better than trying to hurt you like that. It wouldn’t have helped.”
“I would prefer it over seeing you hurt,” Juliette states. It’s a fact.
Calliope is muted when she next speaks. “I didn’t know you felt everything too.”
And Juliette is too tired to be diplomatic. It hasn’t served her well, trying to mask who she really is, so she just says it, as honestly as she can. “I couldn’t help but feel you, Calliope. And I would let you stake me again and again if it meant you felt okay.”
Calliope looks at her again, but really examines her. Juliette can’t tell how Calliope feels about what she sees. “I haven’t been okay though, Jules. I think about you all the time. I don’t think about anyone else, I can’t concentrate on anything else.”
Juliette has nothing to say, just looks up helplessly. Calliope is still holding her hand, but Juliette’s head is getting foggy and she really doesn’t feel good.
“I’m worse without you,” Calliope summarizes. Her tone is devastatingly forlorn, and Juliette feels a tear leak from her eye. She reaches one hand up and swipes at it with the back of her hand.
It comes away red.
She shrinks back instinctively, moving away from Calliope, twisting her hand free. Calliope looks at her sadly and lets go.
“I’m sorry,” Juliette says.
“I know,” Calliope smiles, but it’s so, so sad. Juliette’s head is killing her.
“I still want you,” Juliette manages to get out. The lights are too bright. She squeezes her eyes shut. The room is spinning. A gentle hand is tugging her back onto the bed, helping her lay out flat. “I’m always going to want you.”
She thinks she hears a quiet noise, like a whimper, from Calliope, but maybe it’s another one of her senses rebelling against her. Everything is red. The only thing keeping her connected to the moment is the hand that has started carding through her hair again. She tries to focus on the sensation.
There are more red tears. Juliette vaguely considers the stains she might be leaving on dream-Cal’s pillowcase. She hopes she leaves some sort of mark.
“Tell me you still want me too,” Juliette all-but-begs.
Even in her delirium, she can tell that Calliope hesitates. The gentle tug at her hair stutters for a moment before starting back again.
“This is just a dream, right?” Juliette asks Calliope. She’s desperate. She’s more than that — she’s scared. “I’m okay?”
The hand in her hair doesn’t waver, but Calliope’s voice, her beautiful Calliope leans in, whispering, “You will be. I’ll make this better. I’ll fix it all.”
Juliette muffles a sob. “I hurt everyone. I was so scared to become a monster, but I’m the worst of us.”
Calliope hushes her gently. “No, Jules, you aren’t. We were the monsters here. You make me feel more human than I knew I could.”
Juliette can’t stop the shivering that has come back to control her. Her fangs are out, nicking her dry lips, but she has no excess blood to spill. Everything is too much. Every sensation is pain.
The only thing she can feel that doesn’t hurt is the feather-light touch of Cal’s fingers drawing through her hair.
Calliope Burns is the only good thing she has left. Calliope is the only thing that doesn’t hurt.
“I have to go,” she hears Calliope say.
No, she wants to cry. Please, stay. Keep me safe. I don’t feel good.
Her voice isn’t working. Her throat is too dry.
“I know you don’t feel good, Jules. Just try for a little bit longer, for me. We’re coming back to Savannah. I’m coming back for you, I promise.”
Juliette can barely hear Calliope through the haze in her mind, but she struggles to nod, and Calliope’s hand moves from Juliette’s hair down to squeeze at one shoulder.
She’s not sure, but Juliette thinks she feels Calliope lay a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She hears Calliope start to speak again, but her body has given up, and Juliette can’t hear anything but a steady buzz, obscuring any words.
Calliope’s voice fades and Juliette’s vision goes completely black, before she starts up, gasping, back in her bed.
She sits up straight, eyes wide, and hands clutching at her throat. Calliope’s last sentence echoes in her head. If there was any chance it was more than a dream…
There’s a chalice on her desk, filled with something thick and red. Her father must have left it.
Juliette looks at herself in the mirror. She looks haggard, bags under her eyes, fangs bared, hair wild.
She thinks about Calliope. She thinks about how tired she’s been. She thinks about promises.
Juliette drinks.