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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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.

It's an end to the outpouring and onto productivity, which she'll call nothing but a good sign. She nods.

"Documents - I can call the lawyers, they'd have to have access to that kind of thing, or at least point us in the right direction."

Chase gives an almost hysterical little giggle. "There's the difference between you and me, Misty. I was thinking we'd just ghost right into the county clerk's office after midnight and search." He puts his head back down on her (somewhat damp) shoulder, and says magnanimously, "We'll try your way first."

"Break in's gonna make more people pay attention. And then maybe take issue with us vanishing on whatever trip this is gonna turn into, you miscreant."

Said, of course, fondly, and with a particularly invigorated ruffling of his hair.

"If my thing doesn't work, then that. I'll do the boring phone call stuff, but I want to see you eat a whole dinner and actually sleep later."

Edited 2021-03-14 06:02 (UTC)

"Okay, okay. But you're coming to eat, too." He finally disengages entirely. His eyes darken over and he disappears in a cloud of mist, reappearing fully standing and brushing off his suit jacket.

From there, he offers her his hand. "You can call tomorrow. You can't be less tired than I am."

"I'd fight you on it if it weren't true." An easy admission as she accepts the offered hand, rising to her feet with a weariness only partially put on for his potential amusement. "But I'm hungrier than I am tired. Real food, real sleep, and then we get on answers. Fair deal."

"Let's see what's left over from the wake," Chase suggests, and keeps her hand to tug her in the direction of the kitchen. No magic for that part, he's just normal-walking now. "Or if there's anything easy to make left in the pantry." Sandwiches would be fine. Something quick and requiring no actual cooking. Chase is... not a cook.

It's normal talk. It's nice. Misty permits herself to be tugged and even manages a smile.

"Finger sandwiches, and a couple casseroles I think? Deli platter, vegetable platter, shit like that." Too much to eat, too many to begin with. You have money, people find ways to spend it on any occasion.

"Could do macaroni and cheese if you want something hot, but I think that's all the cooking I have in me right now."

An admission of fatigue, however slight. Even under the guise of comfort food.

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