He was such a dog sometimes. He hated the literalness of his own stupid joke- Caustic hates this form. The Wolf was too comfortable with all forms of savagery. He had beaten many to death and killed them over and over, there was a brutality to the rip and tear of teeth that he couldn't stand. Caustic is familiar with this fight by now- a compromise of man and wolf takes battle inside his brain. The wolf says to rip, tear, eat, but Caustic sits in abject silence, book at his paws.
He glances over at his- what was the boy to him? The chemist's head tilts, scanning over him for injuries for the umpteenth time. He could not call Ivan a son- no, that was a privilege to Selby and Selby alone. Maybe Caustic would have loved to have a son like Ivan, bright and full of potential. He hum, shifting his shoulders and closing his eyes. Alexander had a daughter like him, though.
His tail curls at the thought, Natalie's scarred face ghosting through his vision. How she smiled when showing Alex and her father her science projects, her papers- his tail thumps against hardwood, and he ceases himself. Caustic glances back to Ivan, gas winding out of his throat in small puffs.
Caustic brought the boy home, taking him to the very sitting area Selby sat the wolf in not many nights ago. He laid Ivan down on the couch with the gentlest of touches, head set on a pillow, and water poured into a bowl nearby.

Caustic, like the canine he hates himself to be, waits diligently on the floor, paws and nose thumbing through a book. He would have taken one of the other chairs, but it was difficult to read and sit at the same time. He couldn't hold the book.

Caustic’s head raises, sitting up to meet the boy’s gaze at couch-level. Initially, his chin rests on the couch, observing over him. Caustic pulls his ears from their folded position, sitting up straight and letting his chest puff out. It’s an attempt to appear strong for Ivan.

“Are you alright? You fainted,” he asks, lifting his paw- the one with the metal toes- and reached for Ivan’s face. He hesitates, noticing his small the feline’s head was in comparison. He attempts to wipe away brimming tears, then would pull his paw away.

"Do you need some water?"

Caustic feels his ears tilt back, his mask falls over. The wolf’s body language is conflicting, tail held close and ears flat, but his eyes were narrowed into a cold stare.
He shouldn’t care. He wasn’t going to stay here. He’d escape this dimension soon enough, and then resume his normal life.
It was hard not to, especially when Ivan looked at him like that.
Caustic’s frown softens for a moment, gaze drilling into Ivan’s face.
It was hard not to think of Natalie, and even more to avoid comparing them. Luc’s daughter was precious to Alexander in every way, brilliant in every manner, and one of the more intelligent legends. He wonders what philosophical arguments Ivan would have had about the bloodsport, probably about how it was wrong and that other’s lives should be valued.
They all thought that way.
Caustic moves, grabbing the bowl his teeth and setting it near the boy.
"Why did I do what?” he asks, raising a dot above his eye.

Caustic is aware of his weakness for the youth- a soft spot. He can't quite explain it from an emotional standpoint, but he can explain it from a perhaps, more psychological. "I said, previously, that the strong will filter out the weak... Darwin deems this so." Maybe that's a little harsh- he wouldn't want to break Ivan's poor heart by calling him weak.

"On occasion, others need a helping hand." How interesting it was, for Alexander to be named the Defender of men. Considering most of the time he was murdering them as test subjects.