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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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[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.

[He grabs a kitchen towel, immediately removing the glass and bandaging Chuck's hand.]

Well. I guess then I had best get on figuring out how the Core works, so that can be prevented.

[It's low, quiet. Shock and horror, but later, later, plan now.]

Yeah.

[He doesn't really hear him. He's just sitting there numbly, letting Erik bandage his hand, staring through the bandages at something much, much worse playing out before His eyes.]

I don't understand. I don't get it.

[Luckily he could do this in his sleep. Because he's not focusing on the wound either.]

I don't either.

Why would He let it happen? [He's not really asking Erik.

Or maybe He is. He doesn't understand how He could sit there and watch all of His children die. He doesn't understand. Once upon a time He could have, or six months ago- eight months ago, when He first came here. But that's not the person He is anymore. Now He can't imagine sitting back and letting His children die bloody, and the thought of being the person He is at home makes Him sick. So because he doesn't understand he's asking Erik- why?

As if someone else could give Him answers.]

I know He cares about them. I know He does. I've- I've felt it. I can't possibly see why He'd let this happen.

Did I ever tell you about Destiny? Ours, the one from our world?

[Mystique's longtime lover, a blind woman who was as close to a prophet as they had. He didn't think he had, but he wasn't sure.]

I met him once. He creeped me out.

[Because destiny is everything He worked to unravel at home.]

He's not ours. Ours. She was scary because she was so powerful, but comforting. She was...something like a prophet. So much more than a typical clairvoyant. She saw every single thing. Ever action, ever possible could be. That would ever exist. Wrote it all down. Hundreds of books. Every possible future, every possible outcome.

[Chuck slowly looks up at him, actually seeing him. Well done, Erik, you got his attention.]

[He's good at that.]

She hid them, all over the world. Said she didn't want us to try to live our lives based on what could be. But she left some out - the ones which were bad. To warn us, so we could prevent them.

I don't know why she never said a word about Genosha. I would think over sixteen million people killed in a night would have warranted a warning. I don't know why.

[And that hurt, so much. Different day.]

I can't imagine that burden. I don't want to. But I have to believe that the purpose of knowing the horror that is coming to prevent it, somehow.

[Chuck curls into himself a little. Yeah, that sounds familiar, in so many more ways than Erik even knows. He's never wanted the people of His world to live by the Word. Not really. Free will has always been the point.]

I have to. Somehow. I don't know, though, Erik. If I go home like this- I'll just go back to where I was, not remembering anything.

[He sinks into a chair next to Chuck.]

I'm working on that. I promise. A way to go home and remember.

Oh, man, I don't even want to go home!

My world's a complete shithole. I don't want to go back there.

Oh god. [Sinking down to the table, head in his hands.] I don't even have a choice, do I?

Different problem for another day.

Hot toddies sound good?

That sounds like something in a Dateline special.

[Snort.]

I don't even watch that show.

Hot buttered rum then?

That sounds like goddamn sex.

[Aka yes please want. Chuck's brain is leaking out his ears.]

Better.

[He'll start right on that then. With rum and hard cider rather than rum and water.]

[Don't mind Chuck, he's just getting up and twitchily helping himself to Erik's cabinets. Erik can make drink, he'll make something to eat. They both need to keep moving, distractions, something else (anything else) to do.]

[That's fine, the kitchen is free range for people to rummage though. There's a tonne of pasties and fruit on the counter, sundry jars of jerky, marshmallow treats, dried fruits, and nuts - almost all healthy food.

He'll simply continue to fix them drinks.]

[He fixes them something or other and vaguely wanders into the living room, forgetting that - oh yeah - Erik's still in the kitchen. He drops onto the couch numbly.]

[It doesn't take long, and he brings in Chuck a Thermos of rum to keep it warm.]

Here you are.