hallowedqueen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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ataraxionlogs2013-06-28 11:36 pm
hallowedqueen) wrote in ataraxionlogs2013-06-28 11:36 pm
Entry tags:
we passed upon a stare | we spoke of was and when | although I wasn't there he said I was his friend
CHARACTERS: Chad Warwick and Peter Petrelli
LOCATION: 006>078
WARNINGS: gore, violence, mention of a violent death, language, warnings to come
SUMMARY: Chad wakes up after his injury, and goes to the only person he knows will care.
NOTES: Backdated to the morning after the shooting at Space Babylon
Waking up was cold horror.
The air was bitterly cold. His limbs were rigid, taking air into his lungs was an effort, his chest tensed, muscles offline, every hair coming to stand on end. Chad couldn't feel anything, not even the pain he knew was in his chest, the agony there must be behind his eyes. There was only the impossible cold, the feeling of terror that sank down on him when he found he couldn't move.
And he couldn't see.
He forced his fingers to twitch, straining. They were rigid, as though sticks had been shoved in where the bones would be, but little by little his hands began to move. Where was he? He couldn't see, or was it dark? The pain began to edge in then, right behind his eyes, just as he'd expected it to be. His face hurt, and it was such a relief to feel it. He hurt.
He remembered Tate, then, remembered those eyes, remembered what he'd said. He had to get out of here, wherever here was. His hands hit the ceiling, inches away from his face, the feeling beginning to come back, the cold becoming worse still. Stone cold, Chad began to shiver. There was no way out. He was trapped in a box--trapped in a box and blind, scrabbling at the ceiling with his nails, panicking until all at once he remembered that he could get out. It was like someone had been leafing through a book of his memories and held the page out to him.
Peter.
And then there he was, standing in the darkness, naked and shivering loud enough that his lungs rattled, a tag wrapped around his toe. So cold. But who was Peter? He was still healing, which would explain it if only Chad had any idea that he was materialising in people's bedrooms with a hole blown through his forehead. He didn't know where he was, or why, he just knew that he had to be here.
LOCATION: 006>078
WARNINGS: gore, violence, mention of a violent death, language, warnings to come
SUMMARY: Chad wakes up after his injury, and goes to the only person he knows will care.
NOTES: Backdated to the morning after the shooting at Space Babylon
Waking up was cold horror.
The air was bitterly cold. His limbs were rigid, taking air into his lungs was an effort, his chest tensed, muscles offline, every hair coming to stand on end. Chad couldn't feel anything, not even the pain he knew was in his chest, the agony there must be behind his eyes. There was only the impossible cold, the feeling of terror that sank down on him when he found he couldn't move.
And he couldn't see.
He forced his fingers to twitch, straining. They were rigid, as though sticks had been shoved in where the bones would be, but little by little his hands began to move. Where was he? He couldn't see, or was it dark? The pain began to edge in then, right behind his eyes, just as he'd expected it to be. His face hurt, and it was such a relief to feel it. He hurt.
He remembered Tate, then, remembered those eyes, remembered what he'd said. He had to get out of here, wherever here was. His hands hit the ceiling, inches away from his face, the feeling beginning to come back, the cold becoming worse still. Stone cold, Chad began to shiver. There was no way out. He was trapped in a box--trapped in a box and blind, scrabbling at the ceiling with his nails, panicking until all at once he remembered that he could get out. It was like someone had been leafing through a book of his memories and held the page out to him.
Peter.
And then there he was, standing in the darkness, naked and shivering loud enough that his lungs rattled, a tag wrapped around his toe. So cold. But who was Peter? He was still healing, which would explain it if only Chad had any idea that he was materialising in people's bedrooms with a hole blown through his forehead. He didn't know where he was, or why, he just knew that he had to be here.
no subject
Now, most of the time Peter was here by himself, when he was here at all. But he had to sleep somewhere, and so he always came back, pacing through the halls and by his actual doorway first, wondering when the right time would be.
And when he actually tried to sleep? There was only nightmares about empty streets and piles of dead bodies and Adam -- whenever he woke up in a cold sweat, Nathan wasn't there to see it. Not that Peter wanted him to, but he was getting tired of it. Nothing was what it was supposed to be, and nothing felt like he could make it fit. He wasn't him, and he didn't have his mind in his grasp, and it was all utterly beyond frustrating. Which was why he was already awake, leaning up against the wall his makeshift bed was made against, staring off at nothing and trying to collect himself for another day in a world he'd been misplaced.
Which was right about when Chad showed up. Naked. Appearing out of the blue and shivering in the middle of the room, with a gaping bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. Peter probably would've wet his pants if he wasn't too busy having a mild heart attack, scrambling across the floor, wide-eyed with no small amount of panic. Not that he'd never seen people appear out of nowhere before, but not like this. Not like that. Using the wall to work his way up to his feet, all Peter could do was stare for a few more seconds, heart pounding out of his chest, completely clueless as to what he was supposed to do. Glancing towards the door and then at Chad once more, Peter swallowed hard, tipping his head slightly to see if he could grab his attention.
"Chad?" Peter sounded utterly trepidatious, slowly lifting up one of his blankets in preparation to hand over. If Chad wanted it, that is. If Peter wasn't truly losing his mind, that is.