Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children: One-Shots

Tears (Jack 'Caul' Bentham)

Spoilers: 

1. Hollow City

2. The Library of Souls

Warning(s): 

1. Angst

2. Slightly Violent

Caul stood at the edge of his tower, his hands lightly gripping the railing. His eyes were sweeping the ruined streets scattered beneath him, a humorless smile lacing his features.

His thoughts flitted to the righteousness of the path he'd taken. A thought he'd often succumb to when he had nothing else to do.

Every so often, he'd think about what would happen if he just gave up the Library of Souls, and apologized to Alma and all the other Ymbryne-raised peculiars.

He laughed bitterly at the ridiculousness of it all. They'd never take him in, and he couldn't exactly blame them; attack after attack, revolt after revolt...

Desertion after desertion.

He felt a pang of regret, but shook his head to dispel his thoughts. 'I am in the right,' he told himself, 'They are in the wrong.'

He was going to make Peculiardom great again, they should be thankful, not contradictive. He was the one helping them!

Wasn't he?

Doubt flooded his mind, clouding his thoughts. He gripped the railing tighter, as an unsettling panic took over. He tried to gather his thoughts once more, desperate.

Wasn't he the merciful one? Wasn't he the one who offered power to his followers? Wasn't he the more forgiving one?

Wasn't he?

He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, trying to drown out his thoughts. He had an army of people at his side, they trusted him, shared his views...

'What if,' he asked himself, 'they were only with me because I promised them power, free reign. If the Ymbrynes, even now, offer them even more, would they betray me'?

The Ymbrynes never promised them anything, though. The world would be a much better place after he was through with it!

A series of images flashed through his mind, and with his eyes closed, he could see them as clear as day.

He quickly forced his eyes open, but he was way too late. The damage was done.

He'd seen one of the very first victims of his wrath, shot, then hung on a pole; a meat bag, grotesque looking.

He'd seen one the peculiars he'd experimented on, trying to see how far he could exert their peculiarities. The result wasn't pretty.

He'd seen one of the normals he'd killed, murdered; a little girl who'd never see her loved ones ever again.

He'd seen someone he'd shot just for the fun of it, one of his own men, who he'd tossed away carelessly after he was done with him.

He'd seen one of his own flesh and blood tortured, by him, because he'd let a mere sibling dispute grow into an ongoing, violent war.

He flinched, staggering backward as if hit, his blank eyes wide.

He slowly walked back to the edge of his tower, resuming his earlier position. His hands gripped the railing, though noticeably tighter this time.

His heart throbbed with a stronger sense of regret, as he tried to lose himself in the diminishing view of Devil's Acre. The sorrow overpowering him was slowly, but steadily, growing evident.