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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"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.

"Leftovers it is," Chase shrugs, not about to make her actually cook anything if she's actually admitting to being tired, and pushes open the door into the kitchen, where hopefully the people actually running the funeral event had left the goods.

They sure did. Everything is packed neatly away in the fridge and pantry. Chase starts just unloading it all again. "Microwaved tuna casserole, or cracker sandwiches?" he asks grandly, as if both are high-quality options.

"Cracker sandwich," she answers easily. "Something about microwaved tuna sounds like a nightmare to smell."

Which would still be a delight of a problem compared to the rest, but she'll feel even less up to fighting that battle even if it's unlikely to be an issue. The showman-edge he applies keeps a steady smile on her face at least. "And wouldn't leave us with dishes. Playing smart."

Two platters will start floating themselves out, more or less steadily, when the fridge is next opened.

"Oooo, witchy," Chase says. "I can show off, too, you know." Though he doesn't. His eyes aren't even black anymore. It looks like the funeral staff just left the crackers on the same plate as the cheese and fruit, so that's really all they need, besides Chase breaking out a pair of beers. Chase is too young, technically, and Misty probably only just barely passed her 21st birthday, but since when has that ever stopped a pair of orphaned teenagers left with their parents' supply of alcohol?

They've earned the indulgence, however ill advised. Let the grieving find what balm they may. The tray floats neatly back, back to the living room and the coffee table. The dining room would feel too empty. Harder chairs besides. They've earned lapses in decorum for comfort. Back onto the couch Misty falls, sighing and accepting her drink once it's offered.

"You show off all the time," she finally faux-grouses, picking over strawberries and cheese. "You got all the flashy stuff. I have to try and keep up."

It ought to be encouraged. She doesn't want this - the power, this culture between them, this commonality etched into their blood - to be associated utterly with guilt. He should like it, in part. It can be pleasant.

He drops down next to her, having a swig from the bottle before even considering the food with a more sober expression. Flashy, sure, in the literal sense. He remembers the light.

Does she? Was that just something he saw? She hadn't mentioned it in her description of the crash to the police, but that could have just been prudently not talking about magic in front of normal people.

Suddenly he needs to know. They haven't really talked about it, not the details. "What do you remember. From. You know. From the crash."

Sitting back, strawberry and cheese pinched in one hand, she nudges his shoulder. A sign not to get lost in this.

"Light. Lightning, but silent. Things...felt darker? It was all a flash, anyway. Everything close lit up, everything else faded out, and then it just..."

Her head shakes. Unpleasant and uncertain. "Head hit the seat early, it's a blur. Remember the jolt more than anything." And the way her senses muddle, much of this could double as metaphorical if not be so outright.

He doesn't get lost. Not a lot, anyway. "Okay. You saw it, too, then. I wasn't sure. I told you I feel different. Right?" He looks at the beer in his hand, then the food on the coffee table. His eyes darken over and a handful of crackers and cheese fly up into his free hand. "I wasn't. That wasn't just the shock talking. I still feel different. I'm stronger. Whatever that was, it changed my magic."

"How so?" Rather than outright fearful, she manages to merely sound concerned. Their combined lack of expertise is dangerous even when it's exciting; he seems in fine physical condition and more than one doctor confirmed as much. But they operate on a plane most can't touch. No doctors, no insurance agents to scrutinize that.

The worry is of course much more obvious on her face than she would like it to be, however successful her efforts to speak levelly.

"I don't know." He pops a cracker in his mouth, looking a little frustrated. "It's like there's more. I used to get tired out moving things around. Ghosting somewhere. Now it's like, I could do it all day. I basically passed out after summoning that ghost, or whatever it was, that time I was out all night. I feel like I could do it without even trying all that hard now."

Troubling.

"So you're stronger," she muses. "Nothing...inherently bad about that, by itself. You're still controlling it, right?" Nothing's seemed prone to flying around, and as emotionally fraught as the last week has been she would expect to have seen evidence if it weren't so.

"Yeah, it's not like jumping out and doing shit on its own." Though it kind of feels like it wants to, sometimes. He hesitates, then admits the edge of that: "But it does feel like... it want to be used. More than it used to, you know?"

Frowning, she hugs a knee to her chest. Reaches for another cracker if only to keep herself moving. If she stops eating already, she won't even manage the sad attempt at dinner.

"Like suddenly having a lot more energy than you're used to, or do you mean like - it thinks for itself?"

"The first one." He's pretty sure. "I'm not all schizophrenic or anything, Misty, god. I'm just buzzing. Too much power to hold in, kinda."

"Try using it more?" Hopeful, if still concerned. "On little shit, I mean. Burn off energy."

That is such the opposite of good advice in this case... too bad neither of them know that. Chase is inclined to follow it for now, anyway. "Now that there's not gonna be lawyers and friends-of-the-family and business people around all the time, maybe I will."

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