pennysheets | Sibling AU: Misty

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Sibling AU: Misty

They're heading out to dinner for his birthday, all four of them. He's laughing at some dumb dad joke, but later he won't even remember what the joke was, because he doesn't actually remember anything for several minutes before and after it happens. It. Because he has no idea what it is, only that one minute they're driving along like normal, and the next there's light and heat and something that isn't quite pain but does a damn good job pretending like it is. It's magic, he knows, but it's magic unlike anything he's felt before.

And then the next there's a smoking wreck of the family car and an overturned semi truck, and he's curled over their mother sobbing, unable to remember exactly how he got there, but feeling like his blood is singing with more power than he's ever had before. It doesn't make her get up. He knows his eyes are pitch black, the air is warping around his hands, but nothing he's pushing into her body is making her get up.

Then suddenly Misty's there, and they're stumbling away together from the smoke and the blood. "I don't know what happened," is all he can say, the panic gone but now feeling numb, shocky. The magic is draining out of him as they weave along the side of the road. The police can find them later, probably, but for now it's just them. "Misty, I don't know what happened."

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"Then what happened, Misty?" he hisses back, in a fierce undertone, not to be overheard by everyone else in their back booth. He leans closer to her, still not eating his bite of pie. "It was magic. And your magic doesn't do that."

"Last I checked yours never did that either," she's quick to retort. "So unless you were somehow trying it seems equal odds either of us- I don't know, did something. Turned into a lightning rod for a second. I don't know."

And in the spirit of frustration and childish squabbling, she'll take the first bite and set to chewing.

"It was me the magic-- touched," he whispers angrily. As if "touched" was remotely appropriate to describe what happened. He still isn't sure he's remembering it right, but he knows this much. "Me it-- changed. Not you. Something happened, and it's because of me."

"That doesn't make it your fault," she's quick to retort, as quick as she can be with ice cream packed in a cheek. "If we can't control it and didn't intend something to happen, that's not just - suddenly on us. We stay level headed, and we think, and we'll- we'll fix it."

He shuts his mouth. She said they'll fix it.

That's good enough. For now. There's a promise, and she'll help, and-- and they'll fix this. He can't quite let go of the guilt, the terror that it might happen again and maybe this time Misty will be dead, too, but he can maybe... put it aside for a little while longer.

He finally eats some of the damn pie.

It's another two weeks before they can do anything about it, though. First there's the police coming to pick them up. There's the hospital. The will reading and the lawyers talking about trust funds and life insurance. The funeral. Through all of it, Chase just kind of wants to explode on the spot, surrounded by people who don't know it's his fault this happened. He has to make nice, be polite, keep the magic under his skin under control.

By the time the last guest leaves and the last paper is signed, once the car drops them off at home, all he can do is yank off his tie, kick off his hideously uncomfortable shoes, and flop back on the couch in the big house and stare at the ceiling. He hasn't forgotten that they're going to fix this. It's all that kept him going. He even has an idea for how, maybe. But god, he's so tired.

It's busy, dull and heavy busy that only compounds as time goes on. In a way she's grateful, the more there is to look at and reply to is more between her and needing to dig into the meat of their problem and the tauntingly vague prospect of solutions. But Chase is withering in front of everyone, so when it's all said and done and they can rest without some scheduled interruption down the line it's almost a relief to see him sink into himself. Express something, even minutely.

She makes rounds - waters houseplants, starts laundry, further sweet busywork that they've been too busy to attend - and finally cycles back t the living room. He's had a minute undisturbed.

She sets down a glass of water, nudges a throw blanket his way, and falls onto the couch beside him.

"What're you thinking?"

He shifts so he can put his head in her lap, instead of just on the couch cushion. "That I want to sleep for a week. But I don't know if I'm actually going to be able to sleep at all." He feels like he hasn't slept enough since the crash.

Undoubtedly he hasn't. His hair will receive the customary ruffle, intended more to comfort than to tease than on average. He's mulling serious things, she knows. She is too. But those little human needs pile up and will only make their lot worse, so she moves down the normal checklist.

"I think there's melatonin, somewhere?"

Dad used it.

"Probably," he replies dully. He has no idea if it will work properly, but he supposes it's worth a shot. Part of his problem is the magic, part of it is the grief, and what's remaining is mostly the guilt. He doesn't deserve decent sleep.

Which means, laying there with his head in his sister's lap, he suggests, "We should find our parents. The birth ones. They might have some idea what happened."

Her eyes fly open.

"How do we do that, exactly?"

Nobody present has magic all that helpful to that endeavor, unless he's really been holding out.

"There's got to be adoption records, right?" he says, prodding her bicep with one finger. "Even if we've never seen them. If I've got a name...." He looks away, maybe a tiny bit guiltily. He's never told Misty about the weird, creepy ghost thing he pulled up a year ago, and he'd never done it again. He hadn't wanted to admit he was a little afraid of it. Afraid of what it said about his power. Besides, it had completely wiped him out, at the time, and he hated feeling that drained and empty.

(He also hasn't tried to pull up a creepy ghost thing of their parents. Adopted parents. Partly he just hasn't had time, but mostly he's even more afraid of that. What they might say. What they'd look like, dead and spooky.)

But if either of their birth parents are dead, he's pretty sure he can pull their creepy ghost thing, and get some information out of them. With the amount of power he's got now, he's sure he could do it again without passing out. "If I have their names, and one of them are dead, I think I can talk to them."

"That's a thing?"

Her focus intensifies tenfold, gaze all but boring through him while he averts his eyes. It sounds worrisome, dangerous, and in part adjacent enough sounding to her own powers that it nearly sounds soothing.

"We- there has to be records, sure, but how do you do that? Why did I never hear about it?"

"I only did it once. And it made me pass out then. Remember that night I was out all night and I got grounded for the next week?" And then got out of being grounded two days in because their parents are bleeding hearts.

Were bleeding hearts.

"Dad thought I was out smoking pot, I looked so bad. That's why. I thought. You now. I didn't want my power to be nothing but spiders, ghosting, and summoning the dead, you know? It was creepy." He likes his spiders, most of the time, but they're still not exactly fluffy bunnies. "So I didn't tell you. Like that would make it not real."

'Out all night' hardly rings bells, but the grounding narrows it down handily.

Worrying to think he's been worried. Doubly that he didn't think he could tell her, when they've already been in as deep as they are. When it's her job to look after him, be it an outside force giving him trouble or his own damn self.

"Sit up, I can't hug you like this."

And this is clearly the most important thing.

He wrinkles his nose at her, but he's grateful. She's surprised, but she's not pushing him away like he's gross or awful or some kind of-- kind of necromancer or something. He does sit up, though, putting on his most put-upon face so she'll know he's doing this just because she asked.

He's still a teenager, after all, and she is still his big sister. But he'll certainly take a hug.

Never. She's the necromancer in this family.

He obliges enough and like that, he's bundled in the most unabashedly warm, resolute hug a person could ask for.

"Don't hide shit like that from me. We're a team, and I love you."

Oh, shit. The hug is bad enough, hard to keep it together when being enveloped like that, but the combination of the scold and the reassurance breaks down what little self-control Chase has left, and he just... buries his face in her shoulder with a little sob, clinging to her, arms up under hers and wrapped around her waist and shoulderblades.

"It's okay." Reassurances will continue. Her head rests against his, circles rubbed into his shoulder. He's never not been an emotional sort, but dam breaks like these are rarer - something to be encouraged, taken seriously. He's tightly wound enough as is. "You're okay. No magic's going to turn me against you, you know that, right? You're family. Not changing."

He's unable to stop himself from bawling like a child onto her shoulder, and he's at it for a good couple minutes while she soothes, until he can finally get himself together. He hasn't had a good breakdown since the crash, so he was due that. (Maybe so is she, but while he loves her, he's still a teenage boy, so it's not going to remotely occur to him that she needs it, too.)

He doesn't let go yet, though, even once he's just kid of hiccuping in her arms, instead of sobbing. "M'sorry. Should've told you. It just. Scared me some."

It's easier than having her own episode, at any rate. There's some self soothing to be found in helping him through it, some relief in knowing she can still be of use, still demonstrate that he need not hide himself. He all but soaks through the shoulder of her shirt, and she soldiers on - hug just as relentless, wide, gentle circles rubbed into his back. She speaks, murmurings not intended to be listened to closely, but soft background noise. More to cling to.

Not once does she hush, because he deserves to be heard. Hiccups mean it's her turn to make a point of pressing into his shoulder right back.

'You tol me now, which is probably what matters most. Makes sense to be nervous, all of this is...a lot, and intimidating. It's scary. But I'm on your side, no weird power's going to change that. We're in it together. We're family."

He makes another pathetic little sob at that, but it's brief, and this time he makes an effort to keep it from shattering apart again. His head hurts and his eyes hurt, but something in his chest feels a little better. "Misty. How much do you remember about them? Our birth parents. Anything?"

He'd been two when they were adopted by the childless Collins. He doesn't even have impressions anymore, and he hadn't asked Misty about it more than once, ever, and that one time had been almost a decade ago, after their adoptive parents had finally sat him down to explain they weren't Chase and Misty's blood parents. He hadn't wanted to know much, then, just enough to make sure his vague sense that he and Misty had been together longer than they'd lived at the Collins' house, and then shut it down. This was his family, he'd said. He didn't care about anyone else.

But now maybe it's important. And now maybe they don't have anyone else left.

What a question. He hasn't wiggled away yet, so her frown is all but directly into his shoulder.

"I...not much? Not tons. She was out a lot until she was pregnant, and with him it was mostly me on my own. Not abandoned, but like...I remember more books, more tv, more just being in the yard. She was nice. I don't know if I've got anything identifiable."

"That's not... I didn't think you would. You were, what, four? I just. Wanted to know." It sounds lame, now, just wanting to know, but they'd just lost their parents. The ones who actually wanted them. There's a small part of him that wants to know if their first set wanted them.

"I don't remember why we went up for adoption," she continues, picking up that that may be the thread he's pulling. "She was gone, and then that was kind of...it. Not a lot of him, just people coming and packing stuff, the first social worker, kind of a blur. Don't think he wanted to stick around without her, I guess."

Chase was so little. The fondest memory of the period, even if the crying was taxing on her hardly-formed patience. She remembers sitting by his crib, silent and watchful, as the house suddenly flooded with strangers.

She wanted them, Misty thinks. He didn't.

"I think she cared."

He blinks a couple times, sniffles, and then releases Misty finally to rub at his face, scrubbing away the next few tears. "So we find out who she was. Who our father was. Maybe they'll know something about this magic."

And maybe, just maybe, how to put their powers together to get their real parents back. Between him summoning spirits, and Misty bringing back bodies... surely there has to be a way. But he's not telling Misty that part, not yet. Not unless there's some hope.

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