altimit | [Closed] misteaks' mistakes (catchall)

[It's hot outside. It's hot in here. Though the air conditioner of the cramped minivan is blowing as the engine comes to an idle, you still shift uncomfortably in your seat from the back, feeling the press of the seat at the strange steep angle your car always took in the driveway. A little dark-haired boy of about seven, the same age as you, nods off against your shoulder. Your father has a phone crammed between his ear and shoulder as he buckles your three-year-old sister in, motioning for you to hold her seat still while he fumbles. She giggles happily watching the charade.

A beat, and your father halts, drawn in that way that he only does when he's forgotten something. A naughty word drifts from his lips, and your sister is left to her own devices for a moment, the mechanical noise of the emergency brake echoing like nails on a chalkboard as your father leans over to secure the car, shift it to neutral and free his keys. The parking never seemed to hold. Bad transmission, he always said

"None of you move, got it? I have to go get something from inside. Stay here."

You nod. Your sister babbles out a retort. Daddyyyyy, can we get snacks? But he seemingly ignores it with little more than a mumble, closing the door loosely on the three of you. You can hear the faint jingle of his keys as he runs up the driveway and back towards the house.

The little girl lets out a dramatic sigh, kicking her legs from her unfastened car seat. The noise wakes up your twin brother, who looks around in confusion.

"Where's Daddy?"

"He went inside. We gotta stay."

"...I don't want to. It's too hot."

"No, Booker, we gotta--"

But Booker's already on the move like a tired cat, squeezing out from his seat to climb over the cupholders and into the passenger seat. Your sister squeals, and you hear a mumbled "Oh... Sorry, Lily." as Booker pulls his legs through.

Booker's always been smaller, a little faster, and now isn't much different. You can't follow his pace, feeling your face tighten into a frown. "You'll be in trouble up there." While you want to climb over after him, you second-guess it, instead squeezing past your sister's seat to fiddle with the sliding door.

"Beaaaaaar can I go out??"

"No, Lilith, I'm just going with Booker. Stay here."

"But I wanna go... I wanna go with Booker too!! Not fair...!"

Lilith continues to squirm as you leave the side door open and free yourself out onto the concrete, stumbling a bit in your sneakers before wrenching the driver's side door open with a pouting frown. Booker's already turned the air conditioner on full blast and is sticking his face directly on the nearest passenger-side vent with a tired giggle. You lean in on the seat, pushing yourself up a bit and trying to avoid the wheel. You hear the sound of more jostling in the back of the car, the sounds of effort from Lilith very clearly trying to get out of her car seat.

"Come on, Booker, Dad's gonna be really mad if he sees us up here."

"I'll go back when he gets back. Don't wanna be hot."

"Are you gonna get a funny mark on your face if you stay like that?"

"Heheh... yeah."

You feel a tug against your leg from outside the propped car door, followed by a whine. "I wanna see Booker!"

Lily? Oh. She got out of her car seat. You sigh, reaching for her arm, but she slips it free with a giggle, toddling backwards with her hands framing her grin.

"Lily, no. We gotta be in the car."

"Noooo. Boring, it's boring."

It's a parrotry of Booker, something that makes him snort. But she's already tripping her way down the concrete slope towards your collection of discarded bikes and sidewalk chalk. "Lily, hey, no--"

"Mn. I'm gonna go with her."

Before you have time to go after her, Booker's already trying to kick the passenger side door open with one booted shoe, calling for your sister. You protest, crawling right back into the driver's seat and over the stick shift to grab his shirt. Stay put, Booker.

Your knee jams against the lever for the brake, and you screech as you feel the tingling go down your leg. The lever pops up.

The car starts to roll backward.

Booker lets out a mild noise of alarm. Hey, what's happening to the car? You feel the movement. You pull your legs in instinctively as the door swings shut behind you, as the sliding door pushes wide open as the momentum starts to build. The brake... the brake, you need to make the brake work, your hands wrap on the lever but it doesn't budge--

There's a thud. A scream. You feel the back of the car lull, one tire higher than the others. The momentum slows, painfully, and your blood runs cold. Booker is yelling next to you.

The brake. The brake, the brake, the car is still moving and the tires are thudding and leveling out and--

Booker presses the button at the top of the level with both his hands and yells for you to pull the brake. You do, feeling your shoulders pull painfully. The noise is like nails on a chalkboard. Nails on a chalkboard. Nails nails nails.

She's screaming.

You can hear her screaming and wailing from inside the car. From under the car.

Booker's kicking the passenger door open. You fumble for the driver's side, dropping your feet to the pavement. Booker's calling for her.

You see her. Some of her. The back of her head. The limp way her limbs sit like a doll thats been tossed, squished between the car and the pavement. She's crying and crying and crying and it's starting to stutter and fade. There's blood streaked across the concrete.

You scream for your father. You can't move. You want to help her but you can't move. It's hot. Everything feels cold. You feel like you might throw up as you stumble towards her, knees hitting the pavement.

"Lily, Lily, I'm right here... Lily, I'm so sorry, Lily, grab my hand...!"

She cries, and cries, and doesn't move past the stuttering of her chest. You can hear your father. Some of your brothers. You try to grab for Lily's hand. It's limp against your own.

Lily? Lily?

Your father is frantic. He's on his phone. He yanks you by the shoulder, and you're deposited backward onto the concrete. He's trying to get her out, he's trying to talk to her and talk to the phone. He's crying. She's crying. She's getting quiet.

Booker has his fists balled in the back of your shirt as you try to get up. Your oldest brother, a fifteen year old with hair as dark as night, blocks your vision to herd you past the front of the car. You don't want to. Neither does Booker. Lucas, you don't want to. Lucas, you can't leave her there. Lucas, you don't want to. You don't want to.

He drags you both back to the porch.

You hear the ambulance.

What happened? What happened? Your brothers are all asking. It feels numb and so far away, caught up in the lights and the paramedics. The car is in the way. You can't see them take her from the porch. Your dad returns to coldly snap some words to Lucas, and the look you catch from him is the angriest you have ever seen him.

The ambulance leaves with your father aboard. The concrete stains red. The house is in panic. Lucas tries to keep calm. Some are yelling, some are hiding away. You can't tell. It's noise. Noise and static. Your hand is still stained red. Booker stays glued to you, crying in shallowed breaths.

What do you do?

...

He comes back alone.

He comes back in tears.

He brings you both to his study. He starts quiet. He wants to know what happened. Neither of you can bring yourself to say. He gets louder. He yells. He gets in your face. He yells.

He gets an answer from you. Stuttered. Empty.

"So it's your fault??? You disobeyed me. You disobeyed me, and look what happened.

Look at what has happened because you aren't smart enough to listen. Do you see that, Barrett?

What do you have to say for yourself?"

You sputter. You try to apologize. He starts to rant. It's all pained words. To you, to Booker. All that feel like truth. It's all truth, isn't it?

Your fault. Your fault.

You can hear him arguing with Lucas later. You don't want to eat. You don't want to sleep. You look at her empty bed from where you curl up and go quiet. Her toys. Her drawings. Despite the screaming that colors the home in the following days, it's too quiet in your room. You want her to come home.

She won't.

You see the small box at the church. The lid stays closed.

You feel sick. You can't get close. Your father has to practically drag you. You want to cry the whole time, even with his grip so firm on your shoulder that it can't feel like reassurance. It burns in your chest. But the tears feel empty. It feels so empty. You feel empty.

She's gone. She's dead. And it's your fault.]

Edited 2023-08-20 15:09 (UTC)

--Mithrun?

[It's a blurred sound as Misteaks kneels next to him, two different ridiculously oversized drinks in his hands. He follows his line of sight briefly, brow furrowed.]

What's up?

( Mithrun's good eye seems unfocused as he's taken in by the memory, his expression coloring with startling shock - guilt - that seizes and grips him in a way he'd never felt, had never had been allowed the privilege to. There is, too, an overwhelming love for his siblings, enough to twist into a sense of responsibility, and grief.

When Barrett finally gets his attention, he'll see some singular teardrops at Mithrun's eyes. Which for a moment Mithrun doesn't recognize either, until one falls. Uncertain, he presses a finger to the edge of one eye, and, after a moment, recognizes what it is, though the fact that he's capable perplexes him. When was the last time he'd cried? Had he ever? )

... I think these are yours.

...What?

[The cups are put to the side. Is Mithrun tearing up? Maybe he just got something stuck in his eyes, but... what's with the comment?]

Did something happen?

( Mithrun is quiet for a moment. Saying he saw what he thinks might be Barrett's memory isn't going to make any sense no matter how he explains it, but he's thinking there's some kind of - neural leak going on. )

... I think I saw a memory that belongs to you, in the mirror. One about Lily.

( Not a happy one, clearly. )

...

[It doesn't register as serious until he hears the name. And for a moment, he looks almost... frightened.]

What do you mean?

What about Lily?

Edited 2023-08-20 21:12 (UTC)

( The worst echoes of the memory fading, the teardrops slow their fall as he returns to his normal thrum of empty. He doesn't have desire to wipe them, so he just lets them roll down his cheeks at their pace, dripping down onto his already-moist body, drying whenever they're meant to. )

... I think it's some kind of unintended error. It was a memory of you and Booker. She got out of the car when she wasn't meant to.

Edited 2023-08-20 22:04 (UTC)

[The car...

He doesn't understand. Did Mithrun suddenly... know about that accident? He catches his pulse pounding hard in his ears, stammering for a moment.]

I-I... I'm sorry. That's... that's not something anyone should...

[No one should know. Lily was a family matter. A family memory. Something to keep close. But there sure were a lot of things about this game that shouldn't be happening.

...

A beat. He hesitates, before carefully bringing a hand up to the tear trails against Mithrun's face.]

You're crying... [A thumb runs against the skin, and his eyes beg. The guilt creeps. It always does. Even under hands that stay gentle.]

I'm so sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have left so fast... [His lips thin, glancing around.] Did something happen before you knew all that??

Edited 2023-08-20 22:15 (UTC)

... I know.

( He knows he shouldn't know it. It's private. And it explains, maybe, why Barrett took this whole thing about his collapse so seriously - love and guilt toward his siblings all tangled up into what he was now.

The warmth of his hand to his cheek doesn't feel so bad, though. )

... The mirror ahead of me seemed to flicker. I looked at it, and that's when I saw it... like it was being projected. It felt like it was from your point of view. But I could feel it, too.

So... I think these are yours.

( He says it again. The tears, even if you couldn't cry. )

Edited 2023-08-20 22:34 (UTC)

[...

He carefully traces the moisture away with just as gentle a touch as before, letting out a shaking exhale.]

What the hell is wrong with this game... [It's muttered, the apologetic look never lifting.]

I'm sorry you had to have them in the first place, then. That's my feeling to handle. [His guilt to carry.] Not anybody else's.

[Once he thinks he's stopped that cold touch of tears against his fingertips, he withdraws his hands, instead pointedly looking for the mirror Mithrun had mentioned.]

How did this place even show something like that? Does this place know what our brains remember or something? [He's squinting off towards the glass. Yeah, there is some sort of shimmer where a second ago there's only been a reflection... what the hell?]

( Mithrun might have opened his mouth to say something to speculate, but whatever he says is lost in the sudden sound of a parent and child arguing; not so much a memory of tragedy, but a sense of prelude - parental pressures twisting two siblings apart; a love that seems like to bode poorly in the coming years. Dark clouds before rain.

As Barrett comes to, he can probably hear Mithrun say something about "level cap armor," but it's probably indistinct as he reorients himself. Mithrun seems to notice he's paused. )

... Barrett?

[The bitterness that chokes up every thought, the airs of the rich that seem to come as though scripted, the feelings that don't match what's forced onto the face... it's like stepping into a turbulent ocean, one he doesn't recognize and tries his hardest to never enter. It's foreign, crippling, to feel so stuck and so angered and so viciously determined to throw it on someone else, a vicoous contrast between how worthless he feels and how worthless he thinks of the loved one right in front of him.

It leaves his head aching from how he grits his teeth, tearing his face from the mirror the second he can and covering his eyes with one of his hands.]

Mn... what?

Morgan?

[It's the first name that comes to his mouth.]

Sorry. I... [A muffled "dammit" pushes out from under his breath.] --I'm here.

I think we need to get away from the mirrors. I just saw something, too.

( Ah.

Mithrun doesn't seem upset, at least, that Barrett has probably seen a memory of his. Surprised, but not perturbed. )

... I think so.

( He pushes himself up, wall as his crutch. If Barrett steps in to help him, he'll accept it - but it isn't his nature to want help, to ask for it. Besides, Barrett has the drinks, which are clearly as equally important. )

... Did it disturb you, what you saw?

( There's. a lot of things a person could've seen about him. )

CW: child death, verbal child abuse

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for Hector:

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cw mild psychosis, depression, alcoholism

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