Awakening || Bretan, Charleson, & Leslie || July, 2021
Leslie: The new house was just about complete. A year and a day since the original had been torn down. Two story A-frame with a wrap-around porch. A blend of cherry and reclaimed woods. The old house living within the new.
Leslie Issott sat upon the steps, elbows to knees, staring out at nothing, deep in thought as he waited for Charles' arrival. The circumstances were as his tone had indicated, reflected in that faraway look in his eyes.
Charles: When Kurt had taken his leave, Charles approached with a gentle wave, his other hand shoved deep into the pocket of his trousers. "Hey. You all set to leave?"
Leslie: For a moment, it seemed as though Leslie hadn't heard him at all. Still staring at nothing. It wasn't that Charles was ignored; it was that Litha was so loud. Singing what she had heard, phasing in and out as she danced in front of her witch. Her voice fading in and reverberating out. He'd never heard her like this before. She seemed to be mimicking what she'd heard.
Leslie took a breath he hasn't realized he'd held and smiled.
"Hello, dear. Yes. Sorry. Yes. How are you? I don't remember asking over the phone."
Charles: Charles was patient, if a touch concern at this lack of a reaction. His mind was kept politely to himself, but the tiniest furrow appeared on his brow. It vanished once Leslie seemed to return to the waking world, replaced by a gentle smile.
"No worries. I'm perfectly well, thanks. Are you all right? Seemed a little distant, for a bit there."
Leslie: "Something about what happened this morning is lingering with her. Guess it is with me, too. Are you sure you're alright with this? Bo Nowicki can be prickly."
Charles: "I'm quite used to prickly," he smiled, extending a hand. He'd leave the statement at that. "I'm perfectly fine. Shall we?"
Leslie: Charles' hand was taken as he stood, pulling the professor into a warm brief hug.
"Ready when you are. They live on the other side of town, so we've got some time."
Charles: He returned the hug, giving the witch's back a gentle pat. "I'm all set. Got everything I need with me." He flashed a small smile and tapped his temple. "Are we walking?"
Leslie: "Oh, no. I parked near the road. Longest walk today is a few meters."
Charles: Charles bobbed his head agreeably. "Lead the way, my friend."
Leslie: The drive was relatively quiet compared to others from the past two years. A rare occasion to not have the radio rattling ribs with the hum of the engine. Charles had fixed permission to fiddle with the radio.
"Have you done this before? With Litha?"
Charles: The telepath was content with the silence, gazing through the window at scenery that never failed to warm him. It really was a gorgeous little town. "Hmm?" he asked, pulled away from distant thoughts. "Oh. No. But it ought to be fine."
Leslie: "If at any point you're uncomfortable, please don't hesitate to back out. We'll think of something else." Something Leslie wouldn't have said had Charles been a born-into witch.
Charles: He rolled his head away from the window to fix his friend with a Look. "You're sounding like me, Les. Stop worrying. Everything will be fine. I'm not backing out of anything. Calm your mind."
Leslie: He couldn't help but smile briefly at that look. "It just feels like I'm pushing you from apprenticeship into the frying pan."
Charles: "If you were asking me to perform a blood ritual or light a pyre with my mind, perhaps. This sort of thing is as natural to me as breathing. Like being a jolly, dimpled giant is for you, I'm sure." He flashed a grin. "Honestly. I'll be fine. Everything will be fine. Relax."
Leslie: "You know what I think?" A hilarious question to ask a telepath. "I think you're obsessed with dimples, and really, your flirting is getting out of hand, beautiful." A snort swiftly followed. No energy to feign truth to his offense.
Charles: He gasped, not unlike a scandalized old woman. "I am not. I just happen to find them rather charming on certain individuals. Is that a crime?" With a soft chuckle, he rolled his head back toward the window. "Pot, Kettle."
Leslie: "Ah, you can lighten any mood, can't you? Let's see if that irresistible charm works on a certain amnesiac."
Charles: "I do try." His mouth twitched faintly and he heaved a deep sigh. "It'd be terribly disappointing to have a poor mark on my record, but I'll give it an honest effort. In any case, I'll help him as best I can."
Leslie: "In case he doesn't say it," because he didn't expect him to, in all likelihood, "thank you for doing this."
Leslie pulled the SUV onto the side of the street by a simple single-story gray-blue house. Unassuming in a picket fence neighborhood. A home that spoke of Brett Parker. Not so much the mage within.
"I'll be introducing his boyfriend - fiancé? husband? - as well. Haven't gotten down that bit of information."
Charles: Charles shrugged. "It's no trouble at all." Gratitude was touching, but it had never been the source of his drive.
He bobbed a nod as they pulled to a stop outside of the neat little house. "There for moral support, I'm assuming. No trouble. Shall we?"
Brett: After the events of the previous night, Brett had expected to get a couple hours of shuteye and be grateful for all eternity. Instead, he had slept well past noon and found himself rolling out of bed dazed and somewhat disoriented, but no less grateful.
That tea packed a punch.
He’d showered and made coffee and soothed himself with normal things, very nearly forgetting what was supposed to happen that day. Until he looked at the cracked window, or walked past it, or thought of Bo. Despite the fireworks last night, there was still work to do and things to figure out.
Neither Leslie nor his guest would get a chance to ring the doorbell before Brett stepped out to greet them.
“M—afternoon,” he said with a sedate smile.
Leslie: Speak of the devil, Leslie thought. That tea did exactly as it was supposed to. Hadn't heard a single stirring as he'd moved throughout the house. He wondered if Bo was still asleep.
A quick straightening of his flannel - had to look presentable for the sheriff. A hand was held in Brett's direction.
"And this will be our host for the evening, Brett Parker. Brett, this is Charles Xavier. A dear friend of mine and someone who can help us."
Charles: Charles very nearly raised an eyebrow at Leslie tidying his appearance, biting down sharply on an unnecessary question. When the door was opened, he offered a polite smile to their host, offering a hand only after Leslie's had been shaken. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Parker."
Brett: It was a testament to Guildias that Brett felt safe and comfortable enough to shake the stranger's hand, brief as it was.
"Pleasure's all mine. Please, call me Brett. Or Parker if you'd like."
He stepped aside so his guests could enter, and so an impossibly tiny Chihuahua that was waiting just behind him could get a good sniff of their company.
"Don't mind Woodstock there. Can I get ya'll anything? Water, coffee, tea?"
Leslie: Good start at least. Their not-morning was off on the right foot. The sound of the shower running answered his own question before he could open his mouth.
"Think I'll make myself some tea, actually. Not the one from this morning. Would you like one, Charles?"
Charles: "Brett, then." Charles' smile bloomed into something far warmer at the sight of such a tiny dog. "Hello, there," he greeted, happily submitting to being sniffed and examined.
This time, that dark eyebrow did disappear behind the fringe of his hair, but he raised no questions. "I'd love a cup, thank you."
Brett: There was still enough nervous energy left in Brett for that idea to horrify him. He needed something to do with his hands. "Oh no no no, I can't let you make your own tea. You've done so much already. You're my guests, I'll make it. Please, sit."
Leslie: Leslie smiled at Charles, finding a sliver of levity in Brett's nervous behavior.
"You'd think he's British," he teased, loud enough for his host to hear.
Charles: He chuckled softly, mostly at Leslie's smile, and shook his head. "He's being a good host. Manners make the man, and all that."
Brett: Brett pretended he didn't hear, lest his face turn red. All his attention was given to putting the kettle on and getting his nicest cups from one of the cabinets. He could practically hear his mother in his head telling him that guests always meant using the good dishes.
"What kind of tea would ya'll like?"
Bo/Leslie: Isn't he handsome? Leslie thought, wondering if Charles might catch it. The same category of attraction to Charles' husband. Rough and experienced, calloused fingers paired with an addictive raspy voice. The differences lay in the behavior, those shy eyes and outward flowing kindness. The history which made the sheriff was a mystery he found himself wanting to uncover. Not today, of course.
"Whatever you're having, no sugar. Thank you."
What appeared by the time Brett returned had to be the complete opposite of their first host. Dull platinum blond hair, gently tousled by a hasty towel. The scent of moody woods clashed with ozone. Dressed in a pale tan button down and brown trousers; this was as casual as Bo would tolerate with guests. Years younger than Brett Parker, with eyes green as summer grass. His posture spoke differently; regal and conservative.
Charles was given a once over.
Leslie had yet to introduce their second host. Eyes closing as Litha began the relentless chant from this morning.
Bo cracked his neck and nodded a silent greeting.
Charles: The thought was pointed enough for Charles to catch it, though he hadn't been actively seeking it out. Truthfully, he hadn't spared much thought for this new acquaintance's looks. They hadn't been the type to attract his attention immediately, in the way he'd been snared in the past. His mouth pursed thoughtfully as he considered. 'Yes, I suppose he is,' he conceded silently.
What a strange evening this was shaping up to be. Intuition and long experience told him it was only going to get stranger from here. He thought somewhat longingly of his husband and kids before refocusing on the task and people at hand. Subconsciously, Charles smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the front of his pale blue, summer weight sweater. He looked to Leslie, and when it seemed that no introduction was forthcoming, he offered the silent man a smile. "Hello."
Brett: Even if their house was the size of a palace, Brett would still be able to feel Bo's approach. He turned just as his boyfriend appeared, smiling for all he was worth.
That stoic blond warlock of his would never fail to set him at ease. He was going to miss being able to hear every movement he made when they moved into their new house.
"Charles, this is my fiancé Bo. Bo, this is Leslie's friend Charles. He's come to help."
Bo: Another once over as he finally placed a name with a face. There had been a Suzette, now a Charles. Leslie was just full of friends.
"What are you?" Because he wanted to get to the point, and small talk seemed to cost too much energy to bother.
Charles: Charles blinked. Rude, was the first thought to come to mind, but his own manners would never allow him to voice such a judgement. Perhaps, he acknowledged silently, that was just his blue-blooded sense of propriety ingrained since childhood. In any case, he inhaled deeply, dismissing the offense for Leslie's sake and relinquishing his own desire for pleasantries. Straight to it, then.
"I'm a telepath. A mutation I was born with, rather than a power granted by some additional circumstance or affliction."
Brett: Now Brett did look horrified and turn red. “Botan,” he whispered. “Ikke vær frekk. Han er her for å hjelpe.” It wasn’t that that Norwegian directness caught him off guard, but Charles wasn’t him and it was obvious that it caught him off guard.
“I’m so sorry, Charles. He’s from Norway. Please don’t think the worst of us and leave.”
Bo: "Jeg er ikke uhøflig. Jeg vil ha dette over."
With a swallow, the youngest among them switched tongues. "Don't apologize for me. Are we here to have a nice chat?"
His eyes shut tightly, the same irritation as Leslie, taking a deep breath. The same reverse reverb, words in a jumble of languages and nonsense. Clearer since stepping out of the circle. Relentless and bordering overwhelming.
Charles: Before Charles could respond, Bo had spoken his piece. This was so beyond any of Charles' business, but he gave Brett a kind smile, regardless. He was here on Leslie's behalf, no one else's. It would take more than mere impoliteness to keep him from that end. He was, first and foremost, a man of his word.
If they were dispensing with formalities, Charles could do what he'd come to and be done with it. He nodded once. "Let's start then, shall we? Are there any questions about how I'll need to proceed?"
Brett: Brett wouldn't argue. It would be inappropriate in front of company and besides, Bo was right. He'd been dealing with this for weeks; one night of decent sleep wasn't going to just erase all that irritation. Things still needed addressing.
He focused back on the tea and let them talk.
Bo: His hands rose and fell. He was still tired. Exhausted a better word. He needed some tea and he knew Brett had made him some. There was almost nothing he wanted more than to walk into the next room and leave this, but that voice echoed forward and back, over and over and over and he needed answers. On the edge of this cliff with one foot over. It was too late.
"What are you going to do, exactly? What has Leslie told you is happening?"
Charles: Charles looked to his friend. He didn't like discussing someone as though they weren't in the room. "From what I've gathered, there's something that your avatar Litha can see, that neither of you can. It's causing some sort of disturbance?"
He looked back to Bo, expression impassive but not unkind. This was all very matter-of-fact. Professor Xavier, rather than Charles. "I intend to use my ability to glimpse whatever she's seeing and relay that information to you. I don't foresee it taking much time, but I won't make promises until I know what I'm dealing with."
Bo/Leslie: Charles' unembellished response only served to calm. Visibly obvious for one Brett Parker, the way his shoulders sagged by half an inch. That was what he wanted, and the professor provided a kindness.
"I can't sleep," he confessed, gently. "It comes before sunrise. At first it was... just noises, like a ruckus outside. Closer and closer. Leslie's certain it's this avatar he's explained to me."
"She's repeating something," Leslie finally spoke, pulling his attention the best he could.
"Litha, she's repeating what she hears. She wants to help you. More, I think she wants to help your avatar."
Brett: It was, and seeing Bo relax a little helped Brett do the same. They were getting there, slowly but surely.
Hoping that continued, he poured everyone their tea and let the dog out into the yard, just in case things got a little bit intense again.
"Can you see avatars, Charles?"
Charles: Charles nodded, the faintest smile tugging up one corner of his mouth, at the mention of the witch. "Well, I'd trust Leslie's judgement on these matters. You're the resident expert, Les."
Eager to get underway, Charles accepted the offered cup of tea with a smile, and a quiet "thank you”, taking a polite sip before setting it aside. "I can see Litha. I imagine I could see any of them, if I sought them out. Are we all set to begin?"
Bo/Leslie: "Litha was certainly surprised," Leslie smiled again. Ready to move this forward would be putting it lightly for the Verbena. Bo had been through so much. If they could relieve one thing, one as vital as this.
"Why not just see the one that torments me?" Bo asked.
Charles: "Because you can't see it. If you could, I wouldn't be here. I see Litha through Leslie. His mind. His perception." His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, Charles following a line of thought he hadn't yet considered. "There's something else I could try, but I have no clue whether it will work and I'd like to speak with Litha before we start with any experimentation."
Bo/Leslie: Bo closed his eyes, taking a breath. He too, had a new consideration. One for Leslie.
"What do they... look like?"
Oh. Leslie sat up. "Depends. I don't mean to be vague. I've heard tell of animals, gods; my friend Edwin said his is Peter Pan's shadow. A lot of the time it's you, as... you know, opposite sex. Litha looks every bit real to me as you in front of me. Sometimes clearer, sometimes faded, just glimpses. It won't... be frightening." Shouldn't be, he should have said.
Bo took another breath. "I'm going... to have a cup of tea."
Brett: Brett silently offered Bo his tea. His favorite.
Fascinating as this conversation was, he had no intention of interrupting. He was sure any questions he had would be answered in the course of the evening, and besides, his were far less important than the ones Bo had. The ones Bo had mattered.
Charles: Charles nodded. Whatever it took to ease the man's mind and smooth things along. He turned to Leslie, wishing to be proactive, and held out a hand. "I think this will be easier for me with skin-to-skin contact, if you don't mind terribly. Is Litha all right with me seeing her, now?"
Leslie: Charles was given a gentle smile, hand taken with a light squeeze. "Need no excuse there, dear," Leslie tease, falling back into familiar little flirts to save himself from the intense situation they found themselves in.
"I think it'll be alright. She's not going to stop what she's doing until this is sorted."
Charles: "Ha." He gave a snort. Charles still had no clue exactly what she was doing, but he supposed now was the time to find out. After a gentle brush against Leslie's mind as a secondary request for permission, he slipped past the barriers, viewing the world from Leslie's eyes.
Leslie: That exploratory brush of Charles' mind - the hatchet! that's right - tempted Leslie to close his eyes. Submit to trusted sensation and allow Charles free roam. But today, his eyes needed to remain open.
Litha stood aware of Charles' presence, accepted invitation by one meant by all. She stood center of the quaint living room. Her ivory tent dress absorbing sunlight pouring through the window as though she existed beyond this reality. Her right hand remained straight, fixed towards the kitchen where their hosts had retreated. Eloquent conversational skill had depreciated into only a few desperate lines. Spoken as a plea to be understood.
"'I am he, and he is mine. He is mine. He is mine.'"
Leslie's dull blue eyes, through Litha, looking back at Charles with unmitigated concern.
Charles: Charles turned, following the line of her gesture. Naturally, he could see nothing. He refocused his attention on the avatar, hoping that she could at least answer basic questions for him, through her chanting. "Can you see Bo's avatar now?"
Litha: Leslie's avatar flicked her hand with insistence. Her chant was but a repeat of what she was hearing, offering what she heard as it continued insistently in the next room.
And then suddenly she moved, phasing forward in and out of existence in little blips before appearing on her knees in front of Charles. Hands like cold air covered the telepath's, bringing her hands to her eyes, she then pointed back to the room. Use me, she tried to say.
Charles: Charles felt almost desperate to help. This part of his dear friend who seemed so distressed by these circumstances. He was startled by her approach, but gave no sign. Instead he nodded, offering his hands for the taking and reaching out with his mind.
It was... odd.
Both physically and mentally, there was nothing for him to grasp on to. This was quite different from being within the landscape of Leslie's mind, where everything was as solid as the ground beneath his feet in this living room. He shook his head, disappointed, but not yet willing to call it quits. He had another idea.
Litha disappeared from view as Charles pulled free from Leslie's mind. He looked to the witch, expression stubborn and intent. "I need to sit."
Bo/Leslie: Leslie nearly offered the couch himself, as though host, before catching himself and stuffing his hands in his pockets. A nice breath should do it.
"Sit wherever you want," said Bo, emerging from the kitchen hands free. The tea had given life to his features, though the subtle tint under his eyes remained. Tea could only offer so much.
"What's happening?"
Charles: He would have taken the floor contently enough, but at Bo's sudden permission, he claimed a spot on the sofa. "I'm communicating with Litha. It's a bit difficult, given the circumstances, so I'm going to try and reach her another way."
Bo/Leslie: Slowly, Leslie circled around to the other side of the couch, taking a seat far enough not to accidentally bump into Charles' arm or thigh.
With Bo present, Leslie's gaze began to shift, following Litha as she drew closer to their host.
Charles: Charles largely ignored the two of them. He was preparing himself for the feat at hand. Astral Projection was not something he did frequently. He was no longer a frightened and unpracticed young telepath, who might lose himself accidentally. As it was, he rarely felt the need to utilize this particular aspect of his gift. Plainly put, he was rather rusty.
He rolled his shoulders, tilting his head from side to side to loosen his muscles. Though he'd remain tethered to his body for the duration, projecting would leave him in what was essentially a deep sleep. The more comfortable he was now, the less jarring it would be when he returned.
He let his head tip back against the sofa and took a deep, focusing breath. A short while later he was rising, his body slumping in its seat as his mind took flight. Bo and Leslie would notice nothing outside of his physical form, but Litha should have been able to see an exact copy of the telepath standing just before his limp body. Whatever he'd been blind to previously would be clear as day, now.
Leslie: Leslie was keeping a close eye on his friend. The magick of mind was fascinating and out of reach. With the exception of two skills, gifted via Charles, he would have been in the dark completely. This was Suzette's secondary expertise. Rarely was he ever so envious.
The room had retained its shape, though not quite its color. Darker, like shade, and hazy. Litha remained near the young mage, as Leslie's gaze had indicated. Oblivious as he watched Charles, confused by what he was seeing. Oblivious in this instance, and completely blind in another. Unaware of the feminine crystalline figure standing directly in front of him. Leaning forward, just shy of touching his forehead. The image, much like Litha's movements, phased in and out, shifting like unsettled waters as her words reverbed through the house, as though within the great depths of a yawning cave.
"Give him back! Give him back! Give him back!"
As the chant shifted, so too did Litha's mimicking, desperation as though her own. When the mantra altered, Leslie shifted in his seat, visibly troubled as Litha became a static figure, glowing like sunshine with stored Quintessence.
Leslie heaved to his feet, began to pace the length of the coffee table. His legs itched with need to move. Fingertips warm. Do something. Do anything. This man, this brother needed saving.
The opalescent personage made no move in regard to this new presence, crying out to her mage as though utterly and completely alone.
Charles: The scene before him was deeply unsettling. Desperation, not unlike grief, and the world around him not-quite-right. Like a dream. Or a nightmare. At least now, he had some idea of what they were dealing with. He could leave it as it was, offering Bo precisely what he'd seen and hoping for the best. But he wanted something more, something direct, beyond desperate cries.
He looked between Litha and the strange figure, not sure who to address. He settled on both at once. To them, he'd be as solid here as he was to their mages on the physical plane. "I'm here to help," he said, pitching his power to be heard over the din and silently hoping that he wouldn't startle them. "I'm going to show Bo what I'm witnessing here. What do you want me to show him? What do you want me to tell him? What do you want him to know?"
Juvel: Frustration identical to her mage. Unnaturally long and slender fingers hovered over Bo's eyes in prayer pose. The striations along her fingers caught the light, gleaming dichroic hints.
"Give him eyes to see. Give him back to me. Let him see. Let him see. Atraah tia zacam de ol!" Through the shrieks, her voice was thick with accent, sharper on the consonants. The second spoken language was not meant for the whip lashings she wielded. Delivered slowly and deliberately.
Charles: Charles could not make a telepath out of someone who did not possess that power, but he intended to do whatever he could to ease the minds of everyone present. “I'll help him. You have my word." He looked to Litha for any additional insight.
Litha: Litha repeated the same gesture as before. Her eyes, his eyes. The same plea as the strange avatar, in Litha's silent manner. Force him to see.
Charles: Charles nodded silently. There was not much else he could gather, here. The return trip had always been easier. In an instant, he snapped back into his body, whole once more. He inhaled sharply, blinking in the light as he took his bearings. Without preamble, he stood on unsteady legs and crossed to Bo.
"I need to show you something." Not a request. Not with the desperation that had surrounded him just moments ago. "It will be easier to convey if I touch your temples."
Bo/Leslie: Leslie sat up slowly, mindful of Charles' body language and eyes, on the lookout for anything concerning. It was Bo that took a step back, wondering what it was he had just witnessed. That was not sleep, nor meditation. And the feeling of being watched by some unknown entity had only worsened since Charles' arrival. His approach encouraged the apprehension churning his stomach, wishing for two contradictory outcomes. As much as he wanted to reach out for Brett, cling to a bit of his shirt for security, he just managed to refrain. His body submitted to a sudden chill and shivered. A curt nod. A deep breath. He accepted Charles' reaching hands.
Brett: If Bo wanted to cling, he could.
Brett had been hanging back until now, observing the proceedings with fascination and no small bit of apprehension. But the second he sensed Bo needed him, he was right there, standing beside and just a little behind him like a silent, stalwart shadow.
He offered his hand. He knew perfectly well that Bo didn't like displaying affection in front of other people but Brett offered it anyway.
Charles: "It's all right. Everything is going to be fine," he promised. Because it did seem that the chaos would subside the moment Bo could see his avatar. She might quiet. Or at least speak more gently.
Slowly, Charles pressed the fingertips of each hand to Bo's temples. He kept in mind Leslie's complaints about 'mind hatchets' and touched the surface of Bo's mind with feather-light care. He would alter nothing, sharing precisely what he'd experienced from the moment he'd left his body with eidetic clarity.
Bo/Leslie: Complaint was putting it harshly. Leslie had grown to enjoy the sensation he affectionately referred to as hatcheting. He didn't have to question if Bo felt the same, watching as the young man snatched Brett's hand from his peripheral, squeezing with all his human strength. Magick no longer terrified as it once had. Reliving what one had not personally experienced, however, served to exacerbate the nausea creeping forth from the pit of his gut to his lungs and throat, burning him from the inside out.
That thing was in front of him. Had been this entire time. She was both horrid and beautiful. Though he could not name her secondary tongue, he understood her words.
This did nothing to cure him, but allowed insight into the madness with which he existed.
"What now?" he asked.
Brett: Brett squeezed back just as hard and waited for something to happen. Was this it? Was this going to be what finally got Bo out from under this torment?
God, he wished he knew what was happening. Magic was almost preferable to this limbo of knowing something was happening but not being able to see any sign of it. But it had to help, right? Something had to.
He blinked. Nothing happened...
"Did you see your avatar?"
Charles: Charles let his hands fall as soon as the events had been recounted. He studied the man's eyes, searching for a spark of understand. Of recognition. Finding none, his posture sagged slightly with a smile. He needed to regroup and reconsider, but he didn't know where to begin. At Bo's question, he looked to Leslie for any suggestions.
Bo/Leslie: "I saw what Charles saw," Bo explained, finally tearing his eyes away from Charles to look at Brett.
Leslie sat back on the couch and sighed. They felt so close. He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees.
"What did you see exactly, Charles?"
Brett: “But…” If Bo saw what Charles had seen, why hadn’t anything happened? Was it not enough? Did Bo have to see his avatar himself for him to be a full-blown warlock again?
Brett refused to sigh or look hopeless. He just squeezed Bo’s hand some more. They would figure this out, as sure as his name was Brett Morgan Parker.
Charles: A lengthy explanation seemed beyond the telepath's capacity, at the moment. He mentally offered Leslie an abridged version of what he'd shown to Bo. "More-or-less," he finished, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Any insight?"
Leslie: Leslie took a breath, caught off guard by the sudden invasion. Then caught off guard again by what he actually saw. He stared off at nothing, both astounded and impressed that Charles had not visibly flinched at the sight of Bo's avatar. She was certainly unique. He'd never seen anyone else's before, but he was certain of that.
"I um... they're both saying that he needs to see. Maybe that's in real time?"
Brett: Brett looked between Charles and Leslie. More mind magic he couldn’t see was happening between them and still nothing was happening.
He was starting to feel prickly and panicky again.
“Isn’t that what Charles just did? Helped Bo see?”
Charles: Charles shook his head, a gesture intended for Brett and Leslie both. "It wasn't enough to see things from my perspective, it seems. But, honestly, Les, unless you know a way I can give him a crash course in an ability that I was born with, I don't see how that's possible. I couldn't so much as glimpse her before I was Projecting."
Leslie: "You're not able to see through Litha?" Both hands went through his hair. "It thought that's what you were doing."
Charles: "She isn't a physical being. Not in the sense that we are. There isn't a mind for me to enter. Or a... brain, if that makes sense. It's why no one else can see her but you, or someone looking through you. Besides, how would that be any different than showing as I did before? He'd still be witnessing from my perspective. There's some sort of blockage."
Leslie: "I mean, showing two perspectives to each other at once. I thought that - that was going to happen. You seeing through my eyes before gave me that idea, and how many people you've told me you can touch at once."
Leslie could feel the tension in the air, surprised to feel it mostly from the sheriff and not the amnesiac mage.
"I understand we're all feeling a certain way right now, but nonetheless this is progress."
Brett: “Begging your pardon, Leslie, but this doesn’t feel like progress.” Despite his mounting frustration, Brett tried to keep his voice as soft and gentle and calm as he could, like he would when speaking to his domitor. It never did him any good to fly off the handle and he wasn’t about to start today.
“I’m positive I don’t entirely understand what’s happening here but I know something is happening, it’s just that that something isn’t really helping my fiancé. I don’t doubt what you can do, Charles, and I appreciate what you’re doing but you see I hope to marry this man soon and I can’t do that if I can’t even get him the help he needs, otherwise I won’t be worth a damn as his husband. Something has to help him. It has to. If either of you know someone, anyone who you think might be able to help, I am begging you to call them. Please.”
Charles: Charles took a breath. He was a patient man, and as entirely unhelpful as he'd found that speech, he understood Brett's frustration. He'd be as worried and stressed for his own husband, in similar circumstances. He looked to Brett with a nod. "I understand. Believe me, I do. We're going to exhaust all options, here, I promise you. This is uncharted territory for all of us, I think."
He looked back to Leslie. "Yes, I can share perspectives. Absolutely. I can share what you can see, and what I can see, but no one but Litha can see his avatar. I can show him Litha, if witnessing an avatar firsthand will be useful. Other than that, I'm open to suggestions."
Leslie/Litha: Leslie sat up with the offhand suggestion, taking it completely seriously. "Wait, yes. Maybe? Hold on." Leslie closed his eyes to think. No, he couldn't see what Litha saw. That wouldn't work.
"Litha," he called, opening his eyes. Strawberry blonde hair peeked from the kitchen, softly whispering the familiar exhausting chant.
"Why don't I see her? Or Suzette's, or Edwin's?"
The chanting slowed, eyes to the ground.
"We're going to help him. We have him. We're restless, I know, but we know."
"They don't belong to you," she whispered. Since Bo had entered the circle, the mantra had remained steady. To hear a true response put a smile on his face. Relieved to hear his other half again. Some shred of sanity returning.
"But could I, see them?"
"It is not your path."
Right, those of - it wasn't the power of mind; it was the power of spirit.
"I think I have it. I think - yeah. You've been very helpful, Charles, but you wouldn't um... happen to know anyone that's an expert with spirits, would you? My porter is out of town." Probably out of realm, but he'd keep that to himself.
Brett: Brett nodded. “Thank you, Charles. Truly. It means a lot that you’re willing to try. I apologize if anything I said was disrespectful.”
Seeing that smile was like seeing a glass of iced tea on a hot day; it was exactly what Brett needed.
Because talk was moving in another direction that was throwing him for loop and he needed something steady to cling to.
Charles: Charles shook his head. "There's nothing to apologize for. I understand that this is a stressful situation to be in."
He watched Leslie pull at threads, genuinely hoping that he'd find something to turn the tide of the evening. His mouth turned down apologetically at the request. "I'm sorry, my friend, but I do not. I truly wish I could have been more help."
Leslie: Leslie's stomach felt the same as Bo's in this moment, but for a different reason completely. He held his breath and considered before asking, "Not even your... husband?"
Charles: Charles blinked. "Oh. Well, perhaps? I'll need to ask what he knows on the subject, but I'd be more than happy to." He was certain that Mason would hear him out. Whether that would translate to actual help remained to be seen. "Shall I give him a ring?"
Bo/Leslie: "I've got no other plans today. I don't know about y'all," said Leslie.
Bo seemed to be in a kind of trance, replaying what he'd seen over and over, as well as recovering from Brett's assertive outburst. Never in his recollection had he said so much in a single setting. Not even for himself. He had to wonder if this was the man before developing a taste for vampiric blood.
"Please do." If Charles only knew how rare that word was coming from Bo's lips.
Brett: “Yes, please,” said Brett, caressing Bo’s hand with his thumb. He was about a second away from getting on his knees and begging. He still very well could if Charles wasn’t able to convince his husband to help.
But he wasn’t going to go down that rabbit hole. He needed to have faith. Faith moved mountains.
Charles: Charles nodded, already fishing his mobile from his pocket and turning toward the door. "Do pardon me," he murmured, stepping away so he could speak privately. He pulled up his husband's contact and pressed send, willing him to pick up quickly.
Mason: Quickly for Mason would be two rings, never more when it came to the sound of Charles' particular chime.
"Ya alright?" the demon greeted.
Charles: Despite the situation, that greeting made him smile. "Perfectly well, love. You know I'm helping out a friend of Leslie's. Well, we've hit a bit of a wall, here. I was wondering if you could help us... help me get past it. How much do you know about spirit magic?"
Mason: "Helpin' out," he echoed incredulously. His skepticism wasn't aimed at Charles, but rather the situation Leslie had placed him in. His concern had been given well enough before his departure. He couldn't shake how he felt about witches. However, magick was universal, and given his profession, no less his species...
"M'pretty well versed."
Charles: "To put it plainly and as briefly as possible, the man can hear but cannot see his own avatar. I can see when I'm Projecting, but I can't share what I've seen until I return to my body, which hasn't been successful. Do you know what can be done?"
Mason: "Fuckin' -" Mason collapsed back in Charles' leather chair, feeling at his forehead before slapping his hand to his thigh, staring up at the ceiling.
"They like their riddles, but they're also very fuckin' annoyin' when they want somethin'. It try n'tell ya anything?"
Charles: "Yes," he answered. He could recall the words perfectly. "'Give him eyes to see. Give him back to me. Let him see. Let him see.' And something else. In a language I didn't recognize. Not just that I couldn't understand it, but I couldn't place it at all. I didn't bother seeking out a translation."
Mason: "Sounds like ya need t'come home. M'headin' that way. I'll find ya. We're gonna finish this."
Charles: "Only after I've done all I possibly can, Mason." And surely Mason knew him well enough to hear the truth in that. "I'm outside of his fiancé’s house. I'm sure I'll feel you the moment you're in town."
Mason: "See ya in a minute."
A point was made to appear center of down. Away from Callum MacGillivray's and perhaps an easier approximation for both parties. He felt for Charles' presence, disappearing and reappearing at the end of Brett Parker's street.
Charles: Charles would meet him on the sidewalk just outside, hands pulling free from his pockets to wrap around Mason's waist. "Thank you for coming."
Mason: Charles' was directed into a quick kiss with a small pinch to his chin. Warmth immediately blanked all which touched his demon. Mason looked towards the house and shook his head. Not at all what he was expecting to find.
"What is it with ya n'witches?"
Charles: "Nothing. I don't know the man. He's a friend of Leslie's, so I agreed to help." Speaking of. "Be nice, please. The fiancé’s nerves are already shot and Bo, he's the witch, looks like a bloody zombie half the time. They need patience, and so do we."
Mason: "Anything else I need t'know 'fore walkin' in?"
Charles: "Just that everyone is on edge. Brett and Bo have no clue who you are, but they know I called my husband. I think that's everything."
Mason: Mason gently brushed his fingers along Charles' temple, knocked on the door to every memory leading up to this moment. He wanted to be home. He wanted Charles home. Every ounce of information vital to their success.
The demon nodded.
"There's method t'the madness. Trust me." That in mind, Mason headed for the door.
Charles: He was welcome, of course. The one person in the world who needn't have requested permission. Charles met him there, slipping a hand into his husband's. He hardly needed to knock on a door he'd just exited, but he did regardless.
Bo/Leslie/Mason: Leslie damn near got to his feet before Bo held out his hand in silent refusal. Brett needed a moment and Leslie was a guest. He could pull himself together. One of them needed to.
The new face, shorter by just the smallest margin, was scrutinized the same as Charles had been.
"Were you waiting around the corner?" he greeted.
Mason stared just a moment before smirking. "Like a dog on a leash."
Brett: Brett gave Bo a careful smile and took a couple of deep breaths. You'd think he was the one that had this incredibly frustrating thing happening to him with the way his emotions were raging. Every time it felt like they were close to a solution, it felt like something else happened.
But he trusted Leslie, and Leslie trusted Charles, and Charles presumably trusted his husband. This would work.
Oh! Well then. That was something to be grateful for.
"Hello, thank you for coming. Please come in, make yourself at home."
Charles: Charles shook his head, but said nothing, stepping into the house at Brett's invitation and offering a smile. "Brett, Bo, this is my husband, Mason. Leslie you've already met, of course."
He looked to that particular witch, and then to his husband. He knew the latter would want to make this as swift as possible. Charles wasn't going to press upon him any more than they already were. "Mason's already been caught up to speed. Where do we go from here?"
Leslie/Mason: Dark whiskey eyes scrutinized the house upon entry. His gaze returned to the blond - the real blond. He realized in comparison Leslie Issott was indeed a ginger. He hated him just a little bit more.
"There's too many fuckin' people in this house." Another pause, hands on hips, and the newest member of the house nodded with a decision. He turned his attention to Leslie.
"D'ya know how t'work with sound?"
The witch sat up again. "Yeah. What do you need?"
"Nothin' escapin' this house. N'I need the rest of ya t'do what I say when I say it. I won't say it again."
Slowly, Leslie got to his feet. "I'll be outside. The backyard."
Brett: Something about the man's--Mason's--voice reminded Brett of both Guildias and his father. It said authority in no uncertain terms, with zero room for argument or refusal. This was not a soft man.
He felt five again.
Until Mason gave him instructions to the contrary, Brett kept his mouth shut and stuck to Bo's side like glue.
Charles: For his part, Charles looked thoroughly unimpressed, he shot his husband a Look, arms folded across his chest. "I'm sure we're all prepared to cooperate fully to get this done."
Bo/Mason: Mason knew better than to undermine Charles' authority at school, he expected the same courtesy here. The look was ignored. Devoting his attention to their issue.
"How long have ya been without your avatar?"
Brett wasn't given a glance. Maintaining the eye contact this man demanded. He knew almost the exact date thanks to his journal. He wasn't going to provide details unless requested.
"Over five years."
So, this was necessary.
"Either we're gonna hear some shit from that thing, or we're gonna hear some shit from your mouth. S'what Issott's gonna fix."
With a sharp sigh, the demon removed his jacket, tossed onto the nearest chair.
"Let's move some of this furniture."
Brett: Move typically meant 'move out of the way', so that was what Brett began to do. Carefully.
Not because he was worried about the furniture--some of it was going to be replaced anyway--but because he didn't want to give himself away. Truth was, he could lift most of the living room furniture over his head with ease. But he couldn't do that today; he was in the company of people he didn't know.
So, if Charles or Mason or even Bo were inclined to offer help, he would let them.
Charles: And Charles was truly ignorant of this knowledge. He might've guessed, given the nature of many of the people he'd met in this town, but he wasn't going to make any assumptions. In silence, he pushed up the sleeves of his sweater, glancing to Brett for a silent go-ahead before shifting the nearest piece toward the outer edge of the room.
Bo/Mason: The last chair was moved to the hallway. End tables placed to the edge of the room. It would have to do.
Mason took to the floor against the wall and patted between his legs.
"C'mere. You're here, the rest of y'all behind the couch. Stand, sit, just stay over there. Charles," he wasn't sure he wanted to make this request, and it would indeed be a request, but he couldn't imagine his husband preferring to do nothing. "Keep an eye on his mind. Calm, anything he needs."
Bo had taken a step forward before stiffening. "He's not going to control me."
"No, not that. Keep ya from implodin' this house."
His mouth dropped before catching. "I wouldn't do that."
"I've seen it. Doesn't mean ya will. Now sit."
Finally, Brett was given a concerning look. With no other protest, he took to the floor between the stranger's legs.
Brett: Brett obediently went behind the couch, choosing whichever end he told himself was closest to Bo. It would be too far anyway.
He gave his fiancé a warm, reassuring smile. “Det er greit. Jeg skal ikke noe sted. Jeg er rett her.”
Charles: Charles followed after their host, standing behind the couch with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He nodded at his husband's request, jaw tightening slightly at Bo's reaction. "Your mind is and will remain your own, but I'll make sure you don't inadvertently kill us all."
Bo/Mason: Bo found himself pulled by the promise of an end. His tongue seized to the roof of his mouth. They couldn't throw these people out. Couldn't wait five minutes more to remain submerged in familiar feted waters. These past five years were a currant, dragging him towards an unknown waterfall, leaving him no choice but to submit. Every curse, lost memory, every degrading torture and entitlement assumed by others had to mean something. His life could no longer continue in this manner.
Mason rolled the sleeves of his shirt, silent and meditative. He didn’t care about this boy. However powerful he would become, he trusted Charles to bed him should things become unstable. This needed to be finished. There was far too much magick in his husband’s presence. He lived dangerously enough as it were.
“Look forward,” he instructed. “Keep your eyes open. I don’t care what ya see, ya keep them open.”
Bo’s jaw was gripped with deliberate slowness. Strapped to his chest by an uncompromising belt for an arm, locking his own against his ribs. The terribly familiar feeling of being trapped became overshadowed by the world before him. The sudden darkness enveloping what was once his living room, yawning out with a great earthly moan, expanding the space around him. The atmosphere, now heavy, weighed greatly on his lungs, forcing a violent exhale. He did not look out upon Brett and Charles’ perspective, but that of the gauntlet, the spirit world the man holding him allowed him to see.
And the creature an inch from his nose, and her eyeless sockets, staring wildly, grasping at his chest with crystal hands, quartz nails digging into flesh.
The mage cried out, startled and overcome. Jaw loose in an O of madness. He gripped onto the demon’s trousers like a child, pushing himself back against the immovable breathing wall behind.
His body abruptly slacked. His struggle surceased into a catatonic state.
The demon remained still, waiting for that first returning breath. And they would wait. That mind was elsewhere entirely. Charles, should he inquire, would find a shell of a man, devoid any trace of consciousness.
“Just wait,” Mason whispered.
Brett: It was taking everything Brett had to stay behind the couch. There wasn't a single part of him that didn't want to go to Bo, to comfort and reassure him. That was all he could do for him, no matter how much he wished he could offer something more.
Real help had to come from other quarters; from Leslie, from Charles, and now from the man sitting with Bo on the floor.
Brett's fingers dug into the back of the couch. What the hell was happening? What was Bo experiencing? Was it hurting him? Why did it have to be something Brett couldn't see?
Why did the things he could see have to scare him to death?
Terror and panic clawed at Brett's chest. Bo wasn't moving. Why wasn't he moving, what happened?
Charles: Charles tensed as all traces of life seemed to leave the man, like a snuffed candle. He trusted his husband, but he could see Brett's obvious terror. He rested a careful hand on the man's shoulder. "He's all right," he whispered, low enough for only the two of them to hear. "Mason knows what he's doing."
Bo/Mason: Each second felt like an eternity. The tension coming from the fiancé was palpable. Trust was placed on Charles to keep him in check. If he jumped over that couch, he was a liability. Everyone needed to brace for what was about to happen. For all of Mason’s reluctance to associate with witches, he knew the difference between being born intact and awakening later in life. As passive as a gentle sigh, or the primordial energy to level a fucking neighborhood. This was a reawakening. He would leave nothing to chance. Holding fast with both arms as they surpassed the two-minute mark. Still without breathing. He would remind them again to wait. Just wait. This man wasn’t going to die.
The first movement came from the nearest end table. A screeching abrupt inch forward, turning the table clockwise. The couch groaned forward. Being heavier, moved only half the length. The sweltering July humidity clinging to their skin became cool and dry. A cold spot within the living room contrasting like a barrier.
The sound first began down the end of the small hallway. An old, inhuman, and unwelcome noise in this reality. So unsure of its place, echoing where it did not belong. A dissonance felt as much as heard, caressing their skin with objectionable affection.
Three minutes. The clamor finally reached the men on the floor. His first hysterical breath returned color to bluing lips. In the same instance, the furniture moved again, pulled like gravity towards the now glowing mage.
“Darsar long as ol geta?” he gasped. “Darsar plosi basgm?”
Bo’s mouth was roughly covered by his growling captor. Skin reddening with burn.
“Don’t – Don’t do that. Don’t fuckin’ do that. Use anything else.”
Bo: It had been days. He could swear it had been days since he’d left. But the room was the same. Where Brett and Charles stood was the same. The look of fear in Brett’s eyes – but that was the least of his concerns at the moment. There was too much primal energy. And the man holding him was a demon.
Slowly, the hand was removed. He needed to concentrate to remember his English. Enochian monopolized much concentration. Not the same as switching from Norwegian to Polish.
“I n-need… my wand. Now.”
Brett: Brett didn't have the presence of mind to respond to Charles, or even acknowledge that he'd spoken. All of his focus was on Bo.
His need to check on his fiancé was second only to his fear of disobeying Mason. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead with the effort to remain still and calm and his hands were starting to hurt from squeezing the couch, but he didn't move. He barely dared blink.
He waited. Waited for color to return to Bo's face. Waited for his chest to move with drawn breath. It was taking too long, the sensation he imagined far too familiar. Bo was going to die and Brett wasn't going to be able to save him.
Such was Brett's concentration that he didn't notice the air changing until the couch moved and took him with it, finally loosening his hold and letting the panic back in. And the noise.
God, that horrible noise. Brett covered his ears and made himself take deep breaths, trying to fight down his panic and focus on Bo at the same time. It was so long, so long and he still wasn't--
Finally. That breath brought a short-lived rush of relief. He was alive. Bo was alive. And he needed him.
Brett sprang into action, all but sprinting to their bedroom. The wand the wand, where was the wand? The last time he'd seen it--there!
He grabbed it and ran back to the living room. Mason was going to have to let him approach now.
Charles: Charles was the picture of serenity. He'd learned to shroud his fear long ago, for the sake of his students. More besides, he knew his husband would keep him out of harm's way, almost certainly forsaking everyone else in the process. The only break in his calm facade came with reddening skin. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn't shift. His mind brushed his husband's questioningly.
Brett was off before he'd made a conscious decision. Charles let him go. "What's happening?" he asked, when the three of them were left.
Bo/Mason: "The implosion," Mason explained, keeping his voice intentionally low and calm. He could feel the magick beneath his skin, cool and fluid and restless.
"Toss it," he commanded, casting a glance to Brett with warning. He would have to explain what had happened to his husband after this ordeal. If this went wrong, he would have to do something drastic.
"Do as he says," Bo's words trembled. Reaching out a single hand the demon allowed to escape his clutches.
Brett: Not what he wanted to hear, but Brett obeyed nonetheless, tossing the wand gently. Only because Bo asked. Love for his fiancé trumped the urge to rebel, although if he had his way, Brett would be right there beside him helping him through this.
The panic and fear hadn't dissipated yet.
Bo: The wand was just caught, wielded as Brett would have never before seen. Grasped indelicately as another tool in his arsenal. Both hands were held outward, wrists crossed. The image of a crazed conductor set to silence his stage. The demon leaned himself back, hands ready to snatch should he need to act.
Noises which could only be described as needlelike pierced from the hardwood floor and popcorn ceiling. As his wrists twisted, muttering a Russian spell under his breath, translucent white stalactites and stalagmites pierced the room from above and below, reaching for each other with diamond spears for hands in an effort to pillar. The minerals crunched and groaned their greeting, creating wide column plates like frosted glass resizing and reshaping the room into a fortified house of mirrors.
The pale glow began to dim.
Bo could not prevent the tremble from his arms. Eyes remained focused only by a will long forgotten. What remained of his energy was used to slice the air with his wand. The sound like a whistle cut through his creation. A primeval cough of broken diamonds shattering from the ceiling, snowing as silica dust in great piles on the floor, covering demon and unconscious mage.
Brett: Never, not in his wildest dreams could Brett have imagined something like this could be real. He was watching it happen and still he couldn't believe it. This was so far, far beyond anything he had ever experienced.
He stared in wonder, covering his ears to block out the piercing din. Terror and panic were pushed aside by the amazement of watching glass grow out of the floor and ceiling, by the knowledge that Bo--his Bo--was making it all happen. It was beautiful, it was a miracle, and he was in awe of it.
Until it shattered and rained diamond snow over everything, including his fiancé, prompting him to rush over before he could think to stop himself.
Charles: Charles pressed close to the sofa, unsure of just how far the world was going to splinter. He watched on with rapt attention, eyes wide with fascination, rather than fear. He had dozens of questions, but now wasn't the time to ask them.
Charles looked to Mason as Brett took off for the second time. He was ready to take hold, if his husband deemed it necessary. The last thing anyone needed was for Brett to get himself killed during this process. A man who could shift physical reality in this way could certainly do some real damage if something were to happen to his fiancé.
Bo/Mason: The dust moved like disturbed desert sand as Mason stood. Two heads emerged from beneath. A hand had been cupped over the sleeping mage's mouth, resting now in the demon's arms. The worst was over. The boy had saved them from a violent promise.
"Take him. S'over."
Brett: Brett carefully lifted Bo into his arms, giving Mason a nod of acknowledgement before carrying his warlock to their bedroom and closing the door.
He placed Bo on the bed, took his shoes off, bundled him. It didn't matter that he and the rest of the living room were covered in diamond dust; that could all be cleaned. What mattered was that he was okay, that he was breathing. That he was alive.
Brett had no idea if he would ever know just how close he'd come to losing his fiancé. He wasn't sure he wanted to.
"We've got to stop almost suffocating in this house," he whispered, kissing Bo's forehead.
Charles: Charles released some of the tension riding in his shoulders at his husband's words. A strange evening, indeed. He reached out mentally to Leslie, sure the witch would want to be kept aware of the situation, from wherever he was outside. 'It's done. He's left a bit of a mess, but everyone is safe and whole, I think. I'd stay to help set things to rights, but I'm fairly certain Mason will want to leave immediately.'
He looked to the man with a nod. "Thank you for helping him."
Leslie/Mason: Mason remained against the wall, taking in a breath and assessing the damage with mild interest. Had been so many years since interacting with a witch. Could have been worse. He'd seen worse, and this hardly raised the needle. Charles was safe. That was all that mattered.
"He was speakin' in celestial," he explained, remembering the touch of his husband's mind in the chaos. "That one ain't the same as your giant."
The very same standing behind Charles, in awe of the debris left behind from what he assumed to be a powerful spell.
"What happened?"
Charles: "Ah." That made sense, he supposed. It didn't explain why that was the language that spilled forth, but Charles could admit that his curiosity was purely selfish. "Strange."
He turned to glance at Leslie, his mouth quirking slightly at that stunned expression. "Haven't the foggiest, honestly. There were massive shards coming in from the floor and ceiling. Dreadful amounts of noise. A wand was involved. And when he cleared the damage, it left this mess behind."
Leslie/Mason: Leslie took in each piece of information with small nods, trying to piece together what was explained and what he had overheard. One didn't quite match the other, which left him even more curious. Verbena and Hermetic witches used wands. Celestial language belonged to the Chorus. A blend of study, perhaps, but the final spell shook all other evidence to contrary.
"I think we're in need of a broom," he smiled. "But you're alright? Both of you?"
"Your concern is touching," said the demon.
Charles: Charles would ignore that. "Perfectly fine, thank you." He'd have a look at Mason's burns, later, but he knew the demon healed quickly. Charles had made it through the experience without a scratch.
"My best guess is the kitchen, for a broom. And they'd probably like the furniture back in place." He glanced at his husband. Charles wanted to be at least somewhat useful, this evening.
Mason: 'You are useful,' Mason offered, tone much softer in their privacy. He finally managed a smile, something small just for them as Leslie explored the kitchen for what they needed.
"Gonna take some o'this home with us?" The silica sand was felt between his fingers. Couldn't be much different from what was outside. "Should cover your face if ya insist on helpin'."
Charles: Charles only shook his head. Useful in general, perhaps, but he'd been little help tonight. "Well, I don't have any masks on hand. I could use my shirt, I suppose. What is it? Is it useful, somehow?"
Leslie/Mason: Mason brought the white sand close to examine. "Some kinda sand. Let's not take any chances. I'll bring somethin' from home." He would disappear before any objection.
Leslie returned with the only broom he could find.
"I want so badly to just blow this away, literally, but that was my concern as well. Should probably save my energy in case something else happens."
Charles: Charles' mouth opened, the snapped shut again, with Mason's disappearance. He simply shook his head.
Making note of Leslie carrying a single broom, he shot off a quick text to Mason with a request to bring another. "A little manual labour won't kill us."
Leslie/Mason: "There's a joke to be made there. Afraid I'm out of energy to make it. The horror."
The front door was opened, as it was the closest. He'd start near and work his way in. There were holes in the floor and ceiling now. Upon noticing, he stopped to stare.
Mason reappeared in the kitchen, broom and mask in hands.
Charles: "I'll forgive you for that, this time. It's been a very long evening." Charles followed Leslie's gaze and huffed out a small breath. "Well. That's a bit out of my depth, I'm afraid. I can help with the mess, at least."
At Mason's return, Charles went to collect his tools with a soft 'thank you.' He pulled the mask over his nose and mouth and fitted it snugly. "Did you happen to bring an extra?"
Mason: Mason reached for Charles' mask to help adjust before catching himself. That hand dropped with a frown. "M'gonna steal Leslie's broom, n'he can go check on our hosts."
Charles: His small smile was hidden, but the gentle crinkle of his eyes was very familiar. "Sounds fair." Charles would set to work straight away, working from the outer edges of the room, inward. Risking being discourteous just this once, he'd rummage about for large trash bags to begin filling and setting aside.
Leslie: Not given another choice, Leslie would do as told, handing over the broom and heading down the hallway. No one in the living room seemed concerned over Bo. Whatever had happened, everyone must have come out unscathed for Charles to not be concerned.
Knuckles gently rapped on the door.
"Y'all decent?"
Brett: “We’re decent,” said Brett. “Come on in.”
Leslie would enter to find him kneeling beside Bo’s side of the bed, gently stroking his hair. He himself was unscathed but until Bo woke, he didn’t know if the same could be said for him.
“He passed out after he made glass grow out of the floor and ceiling and shattered it.”
Leslie: "It was glass?" Not exactly something he could do. He could perform a spell adjacent, but not quite. So, that confirmed one area of expertise.
"I got their side of the story - one side - wanna tell me what happened?"
Brett: “It looked like glass. I guess it could have been diamonds or something, it was transparent.”
To the best of his ability, Brett recounted everything that Leslie had missed. Those awful sounds, the furniture moving, Bo passing out the first time and not breathing.
His voice trembled when he recounted that last part.
“I thought I was going to lose him. He went so long without breathing.”
Bo/Leslie: "And he woke up knowing a spell, like that?" He snapped his fingers. "His world's right again. I think he's been on a journey. Found himself, maybe."
Bo rolled over in his sleep, taking Brett's hand and stilling.
"We're straightening up the living room. There's some damage."
Brett: Brett gave Leslie a hopeful look. "You have no idea how much I want you to be right. I hope you are. Not that I have any frame of reference or anything but seems to me like only a fully realized mage can do magic like that."
He smiled at his sleeping love and kissed his forehead.
"I figured. That's okay. The whole house can fall down. I'll take it if it means he's safe and whole again."
Leslie: "Sheriff Parker, I didn't take you for such a romantic. Out there saving babies and warming hearts.
"Listen, y'all stay here and rest. We'll finish cleaning. I'm gonna stick around, if that's alright. Make sure he's really okay when he wakes up."
Brett: He smiled softly. "I can't help it, he brings it out in me."
Brett nodded, relieved. He'd been about to ask Leslie if he could stay just in case and was glad for the offer. "Of course, thank you so much. For everything."
Leslie/Mason: "Absolutely. Do you want me to get you anything?"
The last large mound of sand filled the strained garbage bag. Charles was given a look. "Are ya ready t'go?"
Brett: "I'm fine," said Brett. "But I appreciate the offer. Oh, could you thank Charles and his husband for me? I'd do it myself but I don't wanna leave Bo."
Charles: Charles leaned against his broom and studied the now-clean space. He debated moving the furniture back into place, but with the holes that needed repairing, it seemed perhaps counterproductive. Instead, he gave a nod. "Just let me say goodbye to Leslie."
Leslie/Mason: Mason intended no further efforts beyond simple sweeping. This wasn't his nor his husband's mess to mend.
Leslie emerged from the hallway with relaxed shoulders and far less intensity in his eyes.
"Brett gives gratitude to you both. Bo's still asleep. Real sleep, not - doesn't seem like anything else."
Charles: Charles crossed to him, nodding, and clapped the witch on the shoulder. "I'm glad to hear it. We didn't move the furniture. Figured they'd want to take care of the damage, first. Let me know if they need help with any of that. I have a guy. You take care, all right? We're going to head home."
Leslie: Considering present company, Leslie wouldn't lean in for a proper hug. Instead, covering Charles' hand with his own to squeeze. He loved this man, and he hoped the telepath could feel it.
"I'll let you know. Keep you updated. You both be safe." And he meant it.
Charles: "We will," he promised, giving Leslie a final pat. He could feel that love, appreciated it and returned it. For his husband's sake, he left the affection at that and went to grab his demon's hand.