sirenspull_logs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Chuck Shurley and Magneto
When: Saturday night
Where: the HoA
Summary: Chuck comes home early from work after a particularly traumatizing vision, and crashes on Mag's couch. :c
Warnings: none so far except excessive canon centricity :|

[He asked Gabriel to poof him home early that night; after having a vision, he was junk for the rest of the damn night. It was impossible to work with vivid prophecy from home slamming at the inside of his head, and especially with something so awful - one angel going crazy, killing all the others - cut off by waking up early, a story without a resolution. Just seeing the complete dissolution of His family and knowing that, if He ever went home, He had that to look forward to. Not just look forward to- but knowing that, at home, He sat back and let that happen to their world without doing a damn thing to stop it. The thought would make any feeling person want to puke.

The sheer shock of what He saw hadn't sunk in yet. He was studiously avoiding thinking about it by pondering Fred, thinking about Darkness, considering his work schedule for that week, and wondering what he would make himself for breakfast. So deep in thought, in fact, that he didn't notice where he was going until He found himself knocking on a door that wasn't his.]

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Nothing. [Too quickly.

Back to Yali.]

Just work. Came home early.

...You know I can see lies right?

[Gently.]

You don't have to tell me, that's fine. But you don't look okay.

[He stops midway through scratching Yali's ears. Gaze downcast, not making eye contact.]

Okay, fine. Fine. You're right- I'm not okay.

[It's almost a realization for him, just how deeply this is affecting Him. How hard he's fighting every second to keep from falling apart and literally taking the entire island with Him.]

I had a vision.

[He leaned a little more against Chuck.]

Sounds like it was a rough one.

[Not prying, but as understanding as he can be.]

You people can read minds, can't you? [Meaning "mutants from your world." You said something about it once.] See for yourself.

Some of us can. I'd rather not go poking into your head, because I don't like to.

[A long silence. He keeps opening his mouth and trying to say something, little useless stutters and the awkward starts of words.

Nothing's coming out. He can't focus over the sound of his own heart beating, his breathing speeding up a little, a pounding in his ears because he can see it. Cas is there, animated like a dead thing smiling with dead eyes, stabbing his brother and killing another and saying those horrible, terrible things, that creature that isn't Cas.

He can see it all. A garden around him scored with hundreds of ashen wings and it's not a bench under him at all, it's grass, and the fur in his hands is cloth drenched in blood and everything around him is muffled by a soft roaring in his ears.]

It- it was. Oh god, I can see it.

[He moves slowly, carefully, shifting to turn more towards Chuck, to sit beside him rather than lean against his shoulder, sliding his arm over Chuck's shoulders, keeping his voice low, gentle, calm.]

Breathe Chuck. I don't know, I probably can't imagine, but I can tell it's bad, and that is something that will need to be addressed but right now, just breath. Focus on Yali, feel the cushion you are sitting on, the glass here behind your back. Focus on my voice.

[He shrug's Erik's arm off instinctively, sitting up abruptly and letting Yali go flying in the process. His skin feels like it's trying to crawl off of him and leave.]

I'm fine, okay. [Taking a few steps out.] There is nothing to deal with here. The only problem is that I haven't been able to write yet.

[Yali hisses, but he catches him in a little bubble and sets him down, Schrödinger spitting at Chuck before the kittens scrambled off - towards the living room.]

Okay. Do you want me to get your laptop for you? And something to eat?

No. I don't- I don't want it. I don't want to- to write right now.

[Dragging his hands over his face. Chuck feels like he's going completely insane, but the sheer pressure of what's in his head is too much to tolerate.]

Needing to write it part of your thing right?

[Powers, he means.]

[He takes a step back.] No.

[Yes it is, but.]

I don't. [He doesn't want to write it, because that would make it real.]

Shhhh. I mean I have some void tech in my office. We could try to turn it off for a little while.

[It's all he can offer, and he knows it.]

Yeah. Yes. That'd be great.

I just- don't want to write it down. I don't want it down on paper.

All right. Hang on.

[He trots through the condo to his office, pulling out a pair of bracelets, which look like those copper 'energy' bracelets with some scroll work - Shi'Ar scroll work really - but a bit wider.]

Here. Slide these on, on each hand, then touch the circles together to turn them on and off.

[Chuck turns, running his hands through his hair again and looking thoroughly like a crazy person, and takes them eagerly. One on each hand, touch them together- and the insane urge disappears. Suddenly the need to get it out, the pounding inside his head, it's gone.

The prickles of a panic attack aren't. He can sigh with relief at having the need gone, but he's still erratic and jumpy.]

Thanks. That's a- a lot better. God, this is such bullshit.

[He watches Chuck, carefully, and put his hand on Chuck's shoulder, gently ushering him towards the kitchen, a copper kettle filling under the tap, and taking itself to the stovetop.]

Yes, it is.

[He swats Erik's hand away almost angrily.]

Can you not fucking touch me?! They're- oh, Jesus.

[Pulling a chair and sort of falling into it, leaning his elbows on the table.]

They're dead. All of them. I really need a drink.

All right, I won't.

[For now. Rather Chuck be angry at him than lost in his head.]

Drink I can do.

[He pours Chuck a triple shot, setting it in front of him, but continuing to heat the kettle.]

All of who?

The angels.

[His hands are shaking. When did that happen? He needs them to stop shaking, needs to breathe needs to calm down needs to just stop.]

I saw it. I saw- god, I almost wish I had someone I could ask but somehow I know. I know that vision was true.

[That. That wasn't what he was expecting to hear. And Lucifer and Castiel he cared about, deeply. Michael and Gabriel not as much but he liked Michael as much as the eldest angel scared him. It was a sick, twisting feeling in his gut to think about them being dead.]

No.

[It's soft, a denial, damn near a prayer of 'Please God no' compressed into one word. He pours himself a drink, a single shot, swallowing it back.]

Well. I. Things can be changed.

No it can't, you don't understand. It was so much worse than that.

[He was holding on by his fingernails before, but Erik's quiet panic sends him reeling. His hands are shaking so much he drops his drink, but doesn't react at all. It's like he doesn't notice.]

I saw Cas. Oh god, I saw him. He murdered Balthazar and Raphael. Killed them. It was- man, it was fucking brutal. He was nuts, completely apeshit. [Rubbing his hands over his face before he looks up at Erik, meeting the other man's eyes half-desperately.] Erik, he declared himself God.

Castiel? No. No, that can't be.

[He shook his head, pacing.]

No, there has to be something else, something else going on, happening.

Yeah there fucking was, but it happened. [He looks sick, he feels fucking nauseous. Puts his hand down right on a shard of glass and doesn't seem to notice (outside of a violent flinch) that he's bleeding.] He went and told Heaven to- to bow to him.

[Staring down at his hand. The blood running into the crevices and lines of his palm reminds him of blood soaking through blades of grass in the Garden. In Heaven. A thousand screams and terrified cries are still echoing through His head, and He can still hear every voice dying, feel every light go out as acutely as if He were at home feeling it happen.]

He killed them all. They're all dead. All of them.

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He and Lucifer as SO ALIKE /sob

8|

srsly

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