Chase Collins (
fifthofthecovenant) wrote in
pennysheets2020-12-28 07:44 pm
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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."
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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"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.
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"Like suddenly having a lot more energy than you're used to, or do you mean like - it thinks for itself?"
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And taking her brother away.
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He gives his beer bottle a morose look, then has a swig.
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A sip is taken of her own, an incredibly poor pairing with the meal.
"Especially as flashy as you can get." More lighthearted. He is, has always been, she hopes will always be, a ham.
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For now, he just drops his head onto her shoulder. "Me? Flashy? Naw."
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"The quiet stints like these are rare. However much we may want them."
A laugh lurks under the surface, there.
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Dumbness to be determined.
"Point is just that you're not subtle, even if you're sneaky. Different things."
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In other small victories, their sad dinner's at least more of a dinner than she envisioned - she's steadily flying through fruit.
"The looking'll hopefully be enough to keep us more than occupied...I might crash soon." Unrelated to her modest sips of beer, she's ready to assure him.
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His room seems really fucking empty, right now. But he'll deal. Probably. He finishes off the bottle and pushes up to grab some more cheese and little round pieces of ham. Misty can have all the fruit she wants, he's after the protein.
"Crash, I mean. Not worry. Worrying is not my job, thanks." He's mostly joking. He does worry some, but clearly not as much as Misty does.
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She's not quite there yet, but does slump against the arm of the couch comfortably.
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Unlikely, but wishing as much is habit and habits are comforting. Let what little things can continue unchanged do just that.
Barring interruption her night will pass in largely the manner she implied it might; steadily working to polish off the platter and working through a first beer. Starting a second while she channel flips, taking some time to realize she doesn't want to watch anything or pure noise - finding something that cloys for attention in the way she wants is time consuming, but ultimately old kung-fu films and/or soap operas are found to suffice. Flipping between those during commercial breaks is even fun.
There's no move to put on pajamas or retrieve bedding. Instead she dozes, physical comfort and exhaustion proving more demanding than mental restlessness.
It'll be fitful, but she will sleep.
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An hour of lying awake, and he's creeping out, looking for Misty. He can hear the tv still going, but maybe she's asleep... he doesn't even want to bother her, maybe. Just see her. Reassure himself someone's still there.
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Gaze trailing to him, she hardly looks surprised. Curled up and against the arm of the couch, there's plenty of room. Rather than sit up to pat the empty space properly, a hand dips over the edge of the couch, fingertips trailing across the floor before she gives the upholstery a pat.
Welcoming, if he wants it.
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"You're okay," she says, and means truly as a promise. "We're okay."
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