and in our darkest hour, we look to the heavens above and pray to be redeemed
Who: Siren's Port
When: The night of Saturday, October 15th into the morning of Sunday, October 16th.
Where: In the mind, in the dreams, in the unconscious of the sleepers.
Summary: --
Warnings: These dreams may be considered not safe for work, with violence, gore, death, underlying sexual themes and other mentions of graphic nature. Having them is ( Read more... )
When: The night of Saturday, October 15th into the morning of Sunday, October 16th.
Where: In the mind, in the dreams, in the unconscious of the sleepers.
Summary: --
Warnings: These dreams may be considered not safe for work, with violence, gore, death, underlying sexual themes and other mentions of graphic nature. Having them is ( Read more... )
But right now all he wanted to do was be a grieving Father and one-time grandfather to himself, and Magneto was damaged enough that he didn't question Chuck taking on someone else's loss.
He crutched over to the couch and basically threw himself on it, not bothering to wince when it hurt his leg. At least that was something. Chuck hadn't even drank or taken painkillers for two days. He wanted to feel his leg hurting, and he wanted to feel that strangely urgent headache that had been nagging at him all afternoon. He wanted it.
"Thanks, Erik." Neither of them intended to sleep, really, but after enough time lying on a couch and being silent, eventually sleep did call. He only slept an hour the night before, after all.
The things he saw- those horrible visions, so vivid and disturbing but still one click away from being right, were so intense that they had him wincing and shaking in his sleep. They were off-balance and wrong, the wrong shade of unreality, until he reached that one. The one in the church, the one full of dead children.
It wasn't just the named ones. It was everyone. He spun around in that rotting church, seeing Michael, Raphael, Rachel, Balthazar, Virgil, Uriel, Zachariah, Dobiel- everyone. All of them. All of them but Lucifer. Strung up, bodies broken, looks of utter anguish twisting their bloodied faces.
Reply
He laid in the recliner, left hand reflexively tensing into a fist and flexing open, a chain made from paper clips taken from his desk at Skye and woven together played over his arm. He noted Chuck's breathing and just let him sleep. He didn't notice when he went from awake, white-knuckling to not cry to deeply asleep. On some level, he was aware enough to know he was dreaming, and be extremely confused. Until the child-angel died. He made a sound, crying out, a broken sob, which only continued, growing into something more pained, a scream, a plea. Castiel, Gabriel, Michael. He wasn't sure which was worse, wasn't aware he was screaming, sobbing, the chair he was in shuddering, and he only woke when he threw himself - and the recliner - across the apartment, landing in a corner, the chair a barrier to the room, huddled, still crying but not screaming, his throat raw.
Reply
Most men, in the end, were very little when their defenses came crashing down.
But he didn't. He jerked awake with a sob and curled inwards, drawing the blanket over himself and curling into the fetal position. His eyes stared into nothing, wide and blank. He could see them, he could see them all. Dead, bleeding, rotting away into nothing while their eyes looked to the Heavens and begged, "Father, why?"
He could see the ash caked into the statue crevices and smeared across beautiful faces, ash wings criss-crossing over the walls of the church and burying all the beauty in horror. It was under his nails, in his hair, on the bottom of his shoes, running down Jinx's legs and gumming the wheels of his wheelchair.
He didn't realize he was shaking.
Reply
He was shaking, sobbing, unware he was saying anything, much less "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." over and over again.
Reply
Chuck's wasn't. He could still see everything, and he didn't care if Magneto knew it was him who cleared his head.
Reply
It had been...over twenty years since he'd been stuck with a nightmare that bad. Much longer...and he would have been a physical mess, not just an emotional one. Even now, he was covered sweat, and stayed curled into a ball. Until his heart rate slowed, until his breathing returned to normal, until he stopped wanting to vomit. A clear mind didn't stop the physical reaction to that much terror. And long minutes passed, five, then ten, then fifteen, before he uncurled enough to peep over the edge of the recliner.
"...Chuck?"
Reply
Reply
Finally he gets up, moving slowly, sinking to his knees a few feet away, reaching out cautiously, hand nudging Chuck's foot, watching for any reaction.
Reply
"What did you see?"
Reply
It was a toss up which - Castiel or Gabriel - had upset him more.
"What was that?"
Reply
Then Magneto's answer hit him and he looked up properly, confused and vaguely upset. "How did you see mine?"
Reply
He rocked back, sitting cross legged, knees drawn up, more a haunted twenty year old, than a shaken eighty year old.
"I don't know. In my world, clairvoyants are psychics. They have a basic telepathic ability but it's normally shunted, vestigial. Maybe whatever Dream did, combined with the Core...kicked you up to something?"
Reply
Cough. "Unless this isn't just us."
Reply
"At home, if you block powers and then just flip them on the surge, then settle. That's why Voiding is so dangerous on top of addicting for some - powers can come back out of control." The subject was clinical, allowing him to detract.
"There were a lot of nightmares as Skye last night. Or a lot of reports. I didn't sleep."
Reply
The rest of it made him look up and meet Erik's eyes for the first time. He still looked detached, like he wasn't really seeing. (There was still so much more he was seeing.) "Were they all the same nightmares?"
Reply
He settled, a little, knees less drawn up.
"I think so. I wasn't working. There were the same few I heard about."
Reply
Leave a comment