There is Suffering too Terrible to Name | One-Shot
After the attack, Clea didn't return to the mainland with the others. She stayed just long enough for them to clear the prison, and to check the status of her soldiers. Then, battered and bruised, she and Betty took Stephen home.
The sorceress warped them into the main foyer, clutching an unconscious Stephen. Through her wedding band she could feel his soul, and with it a wave of fear and pain so overwhelming she had to actively suppress it from her mind.
Clea had wrapped his wet and shivering form in the Cloak of Levitation, to try and dry him off. She'd worn the cloak on the mission, hoping to be able to return it to her husband. It didn't end up being of much use to him, except to keep him warm.
By the gods, he was so thin. Betty wasn't any better off, exhausted and looking as though she'd been half starved. Both carried the signs of mystical trauma as well; their auras were shattered around them, covered in deep scars and barely holding themselves together. In Betty's case, it was though it had been split in half- her and the other, Elizabeth. Each side looked to be in complete turmoil.
"WONG!" Clea called desperately as she led the others towards the den, where she knew he'd be waiting with medical supplies. Wong burst out of the room just as they'd rounded the corner. He was steadfast as always, but the horrified look on his face betrayed his true thoughts.
"Clea….by the moons, here." He took Stephen from her arms, her precious cargo, and laid him gently on the sofa. The sorceress ushered Betty in as well, urging her to rest in the overstuffed armchair her husband usually favoured.
Wong looked like he was going to tell her to sit down too, but the look she gave him must have made him think better of it. Clea knew how she looked, covered in dust and blood; her own in violet hues, and the crimson stain of humans
Instead she paced the other edges of the room, knowing full well that if she rested now, she'd never get back up again. Already she could feel the exhaustion creeping through her bones, the cost of overexerting herself and her magic.
It was not as though there was much she could do, anyway. Wong and Stephen were healers, not her, so the sorceress could only really watch as her husband and friend were tended to.
Expertly, she told herself. They would be alright, Stephen and Betty were going to be alright.
"I gave them both something for the pain. Stephen is in the master bedroom, Betty is in the guest bedroom just down the hall. Your old room, I believe."
Clea looked up from her pacing as Wong entered Stephen's study, but didn't show any sign of stopping her movements. At some point she'd wandered up to the third floor, wanting a moment alone, but she couldn't remember how long she's been staring out the old, ornate window. Watching the New York traffic below.
It could have been hours, for all she knew.
"They were keeping him in some kind of pod, filled with salt water." Clea said softly. It felt wrong, stating the horrors she'd seen out loud. It felt like she was making it all the more real, that way. "Vision called it a sensory deprivation tank. His hands were bound when I found him, I don't know how long they left him like that."
Wong walked through the room slowly, stopping to glance at the contents of Stephen's desk. For a moment, the sorcerer looked like he wanted to cry.
"He's going to be alright, Clea. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't concerned about possible muscle atrophy, but he'll build his strength back up. As will Betty."
Wong still had his medical supplies with him, she noticed, tucked under his arm. For her, she assumed.
"I know " Clea agreed, but it wasn't very convincing.
Wong continued, his voice gentler than she was expecting. "Stephen is safe now, and with the potion I gave him he won't wake up for at least another six hours. So please, sit. Let me help you now."
Clea paused for a moment then nodded, slowly. She was so tired, she didn't have it in her to argue anymore. Not with Wong.
Silently the sorceress sat down on the antique sofa at the far end of the room, the one she'd been sleeping on since Stephen was taken. Wong took the seat beside her, resting the medical kit in his lap.
"I got hit in the head with a rifle." She admitted, putting a hand gingerly to the bloody gash in her left temple. "And in the ribs."
Clea was a force to be reckoned with on the Raft, a flurry of fire and vengeance. She tore the lower levels of the raft apart, she hurt anyone who stood in her way….and she'd almost been taken down by a single human wielding a makeshift club.The sorceress hadn't noticed him hiding in a maintenance closet, and had paid the price for it.
The sorceress was mostly silent after that, simply watching and Wong cleaned and stitched her wounds. Her ribs were horrible bruised, and as her adrenaline faded, she was starting to notice how painful it was.
"A hit like this would have likely broken a human's ribs." He said. "I'm going to apply a tensor bandage to keep the swelling down."
Lucky me." Clea replied through gritted teeth.
It took some time for Wong to finish, but by the time he was satisfied with her condition, the sorceress felt like she wanted to sleep for a thousand years. So she found herself wandering towards the master bedroom after that, to where Stephen was sleeping.
It was odd to see him lying there, one of the strongest people she had ever known, now so pale and fragile looking. Clea laid down on top of the blanks, right at the edge of the bed; far enough away that she couldn't hurt him, but close enough that she could rest a hand on his chest. It was grounding, to know that he was still there with her and not just some horrible figment of her imagination.
"Sleep well, my love." She whispered.
When Clea awoke, it wasn't in the Sanctum. She opened her eyes to find herself lying in the snow covered dirt, staring up at a pitch black, starless sky. The only reason she could see at all was because the ground seemed to be split open in places, revealing fissures of swirling green energy beneath her. Tentatively the sorceress reached out to touch it, and was surprised by the familiar nature of it.
Stephen's magic. He'd pulled her into his mindscape.
It looked far different from what she was accustomed to- What was normally an expanse of corn fields and grassy plains had withered and died around her, leaving only snow covered husks in their wake. The fissures she'd noticed before weren't supposed to be there either; they extended out around her, like winding pathways leading to some unknown origin point.
Usually there were skyscrapers off in the distance as well, surrounding this natural area as if it were Central Park; but either their lights had gone out, or they were no longer there at all.
It was a tragic place, really, one that matched the feelings of despair radiating from her husband's soul. The Raft had hurt him so deeply it made her want to cry.
"Stephen?" she called out as she climbed to her feet, dusting the snow off of her body. "Where are you?". Her words echoed through the barren landscape, but unsurprisingly, there was no response.
It would be difficult to locate him herself, considering her current lack of landmarks, but she had a feeling that following the fissures would lead her to wherever her husband was; they seemed to follow a pattern, as if they were all originating from a central point. If they were associated with Stephen's magic, it was likely that they would lead back to Stephen himself. ,
The snow whipping around her made traversing the empty fields difficult, but eventually she spotted the soft orange glow of what looked to be a house-the farmhouse Clea had always seen in Stephen's mindscape. It was certainly more rundown and devoid of life than usual-lacking in all of its magical flora and fauna, but the fact that it was standing at all was a good sign. If Stephen was anywhere, it was likely in there.
"Stephen!" Clea called repeatedly as she approached, with no response save for the wind. It wasn't until she made it onto the porch and opened the front door that she heard a pained '"Clea." in return.
Walking in the front door itself was like getting hit with a wave of psychic energy. Hundreds of thoughts and feelings flooded the sorceress' mind, making her let out a yelp of pain as she struggled to block the sensations out.
The sorceress managed to turn her head toward the sound she'd heard, locking eyes with her husband. He was seated on a couch in what was once the living room- likely the only furniture in the whole place that wasn't completely destroyed. The fissures seemed to go through the house as well, causing parts of the building to collapse as they spiraled from the ground beneath Stephen's feet. Most of the furniture had been shattered, and what remained was either toppled over or scattered thought out the room.
If Stephen looked frail in reality, he didn't look any better inside of his own head. In fact, he looked considerably worse, with a haunted look in his eyes that made Clea's blood run cold.
He also looked to be in a considerable amount of physical pain as well, the way he was clutching his head.
"Get out of my head. Please." He said through gritted teeth.
The sorceress wanting nothing more than to rush over to him, to help him, but she could barely move herself. "What's happening, Stephen? I can help if you tell me."
"There was nothing, and now there's too much."
Another wave hit Clea, and she struggled to remain standing as she was washed into a memory that wasn't her own. She suddenly couldn't see anything, couldn't feel anything except a pain in her hands and the movement of water against her back. For a moment, she thought that she was dead.
The sorceress came back into Stephen's mindscape, only to be hit by another psychic wave so bad it made her scream. She slipped into another memory, this time restrained to a chair. A man in a white coat loomed over Clea as she struggled to breath, his face barely visible from the bright lights behind him. She came back again to find herself laying on the floor.
"You-you're inside my head. I can hear you, f-feel you…" he whimpered. "Please, please get out. The rings…"
The rings, the relics that allowed them to be soul bonded. The same thing that let her tap into stephen's thoughts and emotions-he didn't have the defences to keep the bond from overwhelming his mind with her own anymore. That's why he was in pain, she was the one causing it.
And like a horrible feedback, he in turn was passing it on to her.
Before the next wave could hit Clea ripped the ring off her finger and slid it into the pouch on her belt- given its nature, the physical version should appear in the same spot when she woke up. It immediately felt like fog had been lifted, her mind now blissfully quiet. It was jarring, however, to be suddenly devoid of her connection to her husband's soul.
Almost instantly as well, Stephen closed his eyes and seemed to visibly relax.
"Better?" she asked softly.
The answer must have been yes, because he mumbled something barely intelligible and collapsed into the sofa. For a moment, Clea allowed herself a small smile.
The sorceress slid onto the couch with her husband, carefully resting his head in her lap. She stroked his hair out of his face, and Stephen clung to her like he was terrified she'd suddenly disappear.
"Shhhh, beloved. I am not going anywhere."
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