Caleb drifted upward through the dark like he was rising from the bottom of a lake.
Sound came first — a soft, steady beep… beep… beep.
Then smell — disinfectant, something metallic underneath.
Then weight — a mask over his nose and mouth, warm breath trapped inside it, fogging lightly with each exhale.
He kept his eyes closed at first. His brain felt like it had been packed in wool. But slowly, hazily, awareness returned. His eyelids twitched, then opened a crack.
White ceiling tiles.
A blurry fluorescent light.
A faint reflection of tubing beside his cheek.
He blinked again, harder this time. Shapes sharpened. He realized he was lying on a bed — not his bed — with straps of medical tape on his arms, wires leading to machines beside him. A gentle hum vibrated under the mattress.
Where…?
He tried to form the thought, but it dissolved before finishing.
He didn't move. Not yet. He let the world pull itself together piece by piece.
After a long minute, he slowly brought a hand up and peeled the mask off his face. The plastic clicked as he dragged it down. Cool air rushed into his lungs sharply; the first deep breath made his ribs throb.
He winced.
Then he sat up — stupidly fast — and the pain shot up his spine like electricity. He gritted his teeth, lowering himself just enough to stop the stabbing sensation. His vision pulsed. He swallowed.
Straps on his arm.
A blood pressure cuff.
An IV line taped to his wrist.
Definitely an infirmary.
He scanned the room, head turning in small increments. Soft white walls, shelves of supplies, a single rolling stool. It wasn't a hospital — too quiet, too empty, too private.
"…Where…" he murmured aloud, voice hoarse and metallic from the mask.
He tried again, clearer this time. "Where… am I?"
No answer. Just the machines.
He touched his forehead lightly, trying to sift through the static in his mind. He remembered—the shapeshifter, White Face, a whole lot of white fluid.
Then everything blurred and slipped away.
That's when he heard the click.
A door eased open.
A girl stood framed in the doorway — young, maybe his age— holding a phone to her ear. Her posture relaxed, one hip against the doorframe, but her eyes were sharp, assessing.
"Yes," she said into the phone without looking at him, "he just woke up."
Caleb hadn't even noticed her before. Only now, as his vision finally steadied fully, did she come into focus. The motion of her lowering the phone drew his eyes.
She ended the call with a quick tap and stepped inside.
Caleb tried to straighten, instinctive, trying to get out of bed even though he could barely stay upright. His muscles trembled.
"Hey— hey, easy," she said quickly.
She crossed the room in a few firm steps, pressing a hand gently but insistently to his shoulder. He didn't even have the strength to resist. His body sank back against the bed without argument.
"You really shouldn't move yet," she said, "You'll rip half of this stuff out."
Caleb swallowed, breath shaky.
"Who… who are you…?" he asked, voice low. "Where am I? What's—"
Her hand pressed gently to his shoulder.
Caleb let out a low breath, still trying to fight the instinct to sit up fully. The second her fingers touched him, though—something sharp flashed behind his eyes.
Her face — blurry, her kneeling over him.
Her pushing something into his neck—
"You…" Caleb breathed, blinking hard as the memory stabbed clearer. "You… were there…"
His head throbbed like a bruise being punched from the inside. He winced, swallowing a groan.
She hesitated for the first time since entering, her eyes flicking to the machines as if making sure he was stable before she answered.
"…Yeah," she said, pulling the chair closer and sitting down. "If you're talking about who saved you from your very imminent death—five months ago—that would be me."
At first, the words didn't mean anything to him.
They slid across the surface of his brain like water on glass.
Five months?
Then the meaning sank in — heavy, slow, horrifying.
Caleb's expression changed. "Five… what?"
"Months." She nodded once, a small, careful gesture. "White Face did one hell of a number on you. Even after we got you out, you were left in a Coma for Five months."
Caleb stared at her.
Everything inside him locked.
Like his brain hit an emergency brake.
"Fuuuuu—" The breath left him as a crushed whisper. "Five… months…"
His gaze drifted around the room, suddenly frantic despite his body's weakness.
"In this… place…?"
The white walls.
The faint hum.
The softened corners.
The girl leaned back slightly, watching him try to put the pieces together.
"It shouldn't be anything new to you," she said, not unkindly. "From what I heard, anyway. This is the Tower's infirmary."
Caleb's eyes snapped to her.
"The Tower?"
She nodded. "Yup. The Bay Tower."
He blinked. "Wait. The Bay Tower? But—" He squinted at her as if that would help his brain click faster. "Who… exactly… are you?"
The girl exhaled softly, almost amused, but careful with her words.
"You can call me Camouflage," she said. "And I'm part of the new BayWatch."
She let the name hang there just long enough for him to take it in.
Caleb blinked at her, still processing the words swimming in his fogged brain.
"What do you mean?" he asked slowly.
Camouflage tilted her head, pointing both thumbs at herself.
"Uh… like I said — I'm Camouflage. And I'm part of the new BayWatch?"
Caleb squinted. "What do you mean new BayWatch?"
"Oh." She blinked. Then again. "Like… a new team? Full of… new members?"
She gestured vaguely in the air, as if drawing the concept might help.
Caleb stared at her.
The question left him before he truly realized he'd said it.
"Where are Gold Eye and… the Doctor. What… happened to them?"
Something in her posture changed.
Not pity — preparation.
As if she'd been waiting for this exact moment.
"I figured you'd ask about them," she said softly. "They're actually on their way here—"
A metallic click sounded from the hallway.
Camouflage pointed at the door. "Aaand that must be them."
The infirmary doors slid open.
Two figures stood framed in the light.
Camouflage stood immediately, stepping aside.
First was Gold Eye, tall and composed despite the tight grip on his cane. His head was tilted slightly — listening — and across his face rested a pair of sleek, matte-black glasses with a faint gold shimmer etched into the edges. Beneath the lenses, just barely visible, was the soft glow of his altered eyes pulsing through.
Beside him was Dr. Adol, her long coat a simple charcoal grey, fitted, practical, the collar slightly turned up like she had rushed here without thinking about it. Her hair was tied back, but strands had fallen loose — worry had dragged them free. Her breath was unsteady. Her eyes were wide.
They didn't walk in.
They rushed.
Caleb's breath caught.
Gold Eye pushed his glasses up with trembling fingers. His lips parted.
"It's real…" he whispered. "You're awake. You're really—"
The words broke off.
Adol moved first.
Slow steps at first, like she was afraid he'd vanish if she blinked.
Camouflage silently slipped further aside, giving her space.
Caleb looked at her approaching.
His chest tightened.
"…Adol…" he said, barely audible.
Camouflage, trying to lighten the tension, started,
"We were actually just talking about you—"
SLAP.
The sound cracked through the room like someone had fired a gun.
Camouflage froze mid-sentence.
Then she muttered, "Oh," and vanished out of sight with a soft fwip.
Caleb's head hung sideways where Adol had struck him, cheek stinging, eyes wide in stunned silence.
He didn't move.
He couldn't.
Adol stood over him, hand still trembling, tears gathering, breath uneven…
Gold Eye inhaled sharply, then raised a hand toward the door, guiding the air with practiced ease.
Camouflage — already halfway invisible — took the hint, slipping out with a soft shuffle. The moment she was through, Gold Eye closed the door behind her with a muted click.
Caleb still hadn't moved from the position the slap left him in — head turned, cheek stinging, expression blank with shock.
Adol stood in front of him, shoulders rising and falling too fast. Her eyes were red, not just from relief… but months of pain, worry, and anger compressing into one moment too small to hold it.
She finally exhaled and—
She exploded.
"what were you thinking?"
Her voice cut the air, sharp and trembling. "What was going through your head? Going after him alone? Do you understand—do you even begin to understand—how reckless that was?"
Gold Eye stepped forward gently, palms raised.
"Adol… he just woke up. Let's give him—"
"Give him space?" she snapped, turning on him. "Space is what put him in this bed, Charles!"
Gold Eye quietly lowered his hands.
Adol went on, voice cracking on the edges.
"Five months. Five. Do you know how many nights we sat awake waiting for you to open your eyes? How many tests, how many stabilizers, how many times we thought—"
Her voice broke, but she forced it back.
"We thought you were gone, Caleb. Gone."
Caleb swallowed hard. His throat felt scraped raw.
He couldn't lift his head. Couldn't meet their eyes. Couldn't do anything except fold inwards.
"I… I'm sorry," he whispered.
Adol's laugh came out bitter, wounded.
"Oh, you're sorry because you can say it. Because you're still alive to say it."
Her eyes glistened. "If you weren't breathing right now — would you still be sorry? Or would we be standing over a closed casket, trying to pretend your last dumb decision didn't tear our whole world apart?"
Caleb's chest tightened.
He inhaled shakily, but the air didn't reach all the way in.
He kept his eyes lowered, shame crushing him in place.
Adol stepped closer.
"Look at me."
He didn't.
Her hand came up, gently taking his chin — the same cheek she slapped now glowing with a soft warmth as her healing ability worked without her even noticing.
"Caleb," she whispered, more plea than command. "Look at me."
He finally lifted his gaze, but only halfway — a side glance, ashamed and trembling.
Adol's voice softened, cracked open, raw.
"We thought…"
She swallowed.
"I thought…"
Her face twisted — not angry now, but broken open with the weight of months.
Caleb reached up, taking the hand on his cheek.
His voice was barely audible.
"…I'm sorry."
She closed her eyes.
"I know," she breathed. "I know."
Then she leaned forward until her forehead touched his.
The contact was barely there, gentle as breath… but it hit harder than any yell.
Her tears slipped down her cheeks, landing quietly on the sheets.
Caleb's eyes stung, and he let a few fall, the two of them breathing the same slow, trembling rhythm.
Behind them, Gold Eye stood still.
One hand rested on his cane.
The other hung at his side, fingers curled with shaking control.
He didn't speak—he didn't need to.
Adol pulled back slowly, still keeping both hands on Caleb's face as if making sure he didn't flicker back into a nightmare. Her palms were warm — warmer than usual — and she blinked when she felt it.
"You're still running a mild fever," she muttered, wiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist.
She stood abruptly, clearing her throat like she could shove her emotions back down where they belonged.
"When someone wakes up from a coma, there are protocols," she said, voice steadier but still soft with leftover ache.
She glanced around, frustrated. "But I… rushed here without my equipment, so—"
She pointed at Gold Eye, then at Caleb, then back at Gold Eye.
"I better not come back to find this rascal missing. If he vanishes, both of you will be in trouble."
A thin smile tugged at her lips — the closest she'd come to joking all night — and she walked toward the door.
Gold Eye lifted two fingers in a lazy salute.
Adol slipped out. The door shut gently behind her.
Caleb looked down at his hands. Gold Eye stared after Adol until the footsteps faded down the hallway… then exhaled like he'd been holding something in for months.
He shuffled toward Caleb, cane tapping softly on the floor.
Caleb glanced up out of reflex, unsure, awkward all over again.
Gold Eye caught it and huffed.
"Don't worry, kid. I'm not gonna slap you."
He lowered himself slowly into the chair beside the bed. "My wrist isn't as sturdy as hers."
Caleb snorted before he could stop himself.
A tiny slip — but a real one.
Gold Eye smiled.
Caleb's eyes dropped again, though softer this time.
Gold Eye twisted his shades off and let them hang from a finger. Without them, his irises gave off a faint, tired, gold glow — dimmer than usual, but still warm.
"To be honest," he said quietly. "I didn't rehearse anything for this."
He tapped the side of the chair. "Didn't know what to say. Actually… didn't know if I'd get to say anything at all."
Caleb opened his mouth.
"I—"
Gold Eye raised a hand gently.
"Don't apologize. I already see it."
He nodded toward Caleb's posture, his eyes, the guilt sitting on his shoulders.
"You mean it. So I'll take it. But only after I say mine."
Caleb blinked.
Gold Eye looked away for the first time, jaw tightening.
"I'm sorry I made you feel like your father's death didn't matter to me."
He swallowed deeply. "I'm sorry I wasn't there the way I should've been. I'm sorry if I made you think your fight was something you had to do alone. That's on me, Caleb. All of it."
Caleb shook his head fiercely.
"No—no, Gold Eye… that's not—"
His voice cracked, but he kept going.
"It wasn't your fault. It wasn't. I… I shut you out. I was angry. At myself. At everything. I didn't want you to fix me so I made it seem like you didn't care."
He breathed in shakily.
"I'm sorry for doing that to you."
The weight that dropped off Gold Eye's shoulders could've been heard.
He leaned back, exhaling so hard it turned into a cough.
Caleb stiffened. "Are you okay?"
Gold Eye wiped his mouth, waving him off.
"Oh yeah. Just old. And dramatic."
Caleb stared at him — and Gold Eye raised an eyebrow.
"You can laugh, you know."
He leaned forward, studying Caleb's face with that soft golden glow.
"You don't have to lock it in. There's a little spark there — I see it. Let it out."
Caleb tried — a small smile, hesitant… but real.
Gold Eye grinned.
"There he is."
Caleb's smile widened.
Then his eyes drifted up, curiosity poking through everything else.
"…your eyes," he said. "They glow again."
Gold Eye clicked his tongue. "Plenty you missed while you were taking your beauty nap. Ypu will be brought back to speed. But till then"
He reached out and gently set a hand on Caleb's shoulder.
"Welcome back, kid."
The door opened before Caleb could reply.
Adol stepped in with a rolling tray of equipment, hair tied messily back, expression focused and refreshed.
"And he'll stay back," she said, setting the tray beside the bed. "But first, we make sure everything in that reckless body of yours is working properly."
Gold Eye pushed up from the chair.
"That's my cue."
Adol shot him a pointed look.
He tapped his cane once, winked at Caleb, and headed out.
The door shut.
Adol wheels a tray of equipment beside the bed. She leans in and gently lifts his chin, checking his pupils with a small penlight. Her thumb brushes the cheek she slapped earlier. She pauses.
"…I didn't hit you too hard, right?"
Caleb hesitates a second too long.
"No… not really. Its just" — he shrugs — "hurt more coming from you."
Adol lets out a long, guilty exhale.
Her thumb stays on his cheek for a moment longer, softer this time.
"I'm sorry. I just—"
She tries to laugh it off, shaking her head.
"You wouldn't believe the nightmares I've had these past months."
She checks the bandage on his ribs, adjusts a monitor, places cold patches on his temples. The medical routine settles her breathing.
Caleb watches quietly. "I'm guessing you're the one who kept me alive this whole time."
Adol pauses mid-adjustment. Smiles faintly without looking up.
"Thanks," he murmurs.
She nods — a small, grateful one — and continues with the tests.
Blood pressure. Reflexes. A quick neural check.
Adol checks the last reading on the monitor. Her expression shifts — the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth, the kind that only shows when she's trying hard to keep calm.
She spins once on the stool, a small nervous habit before bad news, and exhales through her nose.
"…I really hoped that wasn't the case."
Caleb's brows pull together as he looked at her
Adol steadies herself, places the chart aside, and moves closer. Her hand rests lightly on his arm — not medical, just human.
"Caleb," she says softly. "I need you to listen carefully, okay?"
A silent beat.
"Your vitals are stable. Everything else is normal. But—"
"But…?"
He hears his heartbeat thudding in his ears.
Adol's face softens, almost breaks.
"You don't have your healing factor anymore."
The words land like a dull, heavy stone in his chest.
She watches him carefully, searching his face for any flicker — panic, fear, sadness. But Caleb just… freezes.
Stares.
Breathes a little too shallowly.
"I thought maybe it was dormant because you were in a coma," she says, voice tightening. "But… no. It's gone."
Caleb swallows and his hand drifts to his neck — two fingers press the exact spot where the shapeshifter jabbed him.
His mind flashes back:
"Something else will die in you."
Then White Face — pulling something out of him like ripping a thread loose from a seam.
Caleb's jaw tightens so hard his teeth ache.
"…White Face."
His fist clenches.
"He had something injected to me.... He actually—… fuck."
The frustration burns through him fast, sharp, ugly.
"…I…" he murmurs. "I deserved all of this. I— I should've died. And maybe I should've let myself."
She flinches at that, but he continues, more quietly:
"But I didn't. And losing the healing… it… it fucking sucks. It makes me feel weak. Like I'm missing a piece."
His hand trembles.
"But it also… for whatever reason…. it makes me want to break White Face even more."
Adol stares at him — really stares — and something in her face softens into a mix of heartbreak and nostalgic disbelief.
"God…" she breathes. "You really are just a spitting image of Thomas."
Caleb blinks.
"…What?"
She gestures at him, at his posture, his eyes burning with direction instead of defeat.
"Any other person would be crushed. Lost. Furious at the world. But you— you get knocked down, stripped of the one thing that made you safe, and the first thing you do is get angrier at the man who hurt you."
A sad half-smile tugs at her lips.
"That's exactly how your father was."
Caleb's shoulders sag as he looks away, ashamed again, conflicted again.
"…I don't know if that's a good thing," he mutters.
Adol wipes at the corner of her eye with her sleeve.
"It's…. Its a good thing. Its who you are Caleb." she says.
Caleb doesn't answer.
He can't.
His throat is too tight.
"You know I'm wasn't at you for wanting revenge. Or that you cared enough about your father to go after the man who killed him."
She shakes her head, emotion catching in her throat.
"What I was mad about is that you made it seem like we didn't feel the same. That you pushed us away like we wouldn't understand. You tried to do it alone."
Caleb looks down.
Adol watches him for a long moment — Then she breathes in, slow and steady.
"…But seeing that drive in you," she says quietly, "even after everything… even now…"
Her eyes narrow with a reluctant, fond exasperation.
Adol squeezes his hand.
"Now that you're here," she continues, voice firm, "I'm going to make sure we do justice for your father. Together. Not you alone. Never again."
Caleb feels her hand tighten around his — warm, grounding.
Catching his breath, he gives a small, tired smile and nods.
"…Together," he repeats.
That single word seems to unclench something inside her.
She lets go slowly, stands up, and starts packing her equipment back into the rolling tray.
"Medically speaking," she says, flipping off a monitor, "you're all good for now. But you still need rest. A lot of it. Don't even think about walking out of here."
Caleb lets his head sink into the pillow. "Wasn't planning to."
Adol pauses, turning back toward him with a more serious expression.
"You should know…" She hesitates, searching for the right entry point. "Your healing factor — it isn't completely gone."
Caleb gets up quickly.
"It's still there, Caleb. Just dormant. Suppressed. Whatever was injected into you didn't destroy it, it just… shut it down. Like flipping a breaker in your body."
"So you can fix it?" he asks, barely above a whisper.
"I won't make promises" she says immediately, no hesitation. "But I'll need time. I'll need to study the substance, and what White Face pulled from you, and how your father's physiology affected yours. I'll be doing everything I can… but I'll need you to do everything you can too."
Caleb presses his lips together, absorbing that.
"I will."
"Good," she says. "Because you're going to need a team to ever stand a chance against White Face. Even at full power you wouldn't survive alone — and without your healing… definitely not."
"I suppose that team is the Baywatch?"
She's looks at him, "mhm?"
"The girl that was here…. She mentioned something about a new BayWatch"
Adol's lips curl into a knowing smile.
"That," she says, packing away the last tool, "is something Gold Eye will explain once you're discharged."
She points at him sternly.
"After you rest."
Caleb lets out a breath —
"Yeah… alright."
Adol softens again, brushing a loose hair behind her ear.
"You're not alone anymore, Caleb. Not in this. Not in anything."
She steps out of the room, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss.
And for the first time since waking up, Caleb lets himself breathe without feeling like the world is collapsing on his ribs.