[ open ] the house was awake with shadows and monsters...

[theycalledmeacurse]

CHARACTERS: Rogue & Anyone
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Red Coast - The Barracks
WHEN: Day :028 - :033
SUMMARY: Rogue has nightmares, including of her time during the war. Anyone in the Nest and especially Avior is welcome to experience them in any fashion and/or be present for the aftermath and/or approach her about them during the day.
WARNINGS: Torture, death, imprisonment. Likely concentration camps and suicidal thoughts.


[ She doesn't mean to, and she'll feel terrible each and every time it happens. The nightmares have been near nightly companions for years now, ebbing and flowing through her sleep like oxygen through her lungs. A sound sleep is nothing more than a ephemeral dream for her now, and hard as she tries to shore up her shields each day, there are still too many cracks in the walls of that old plantation house to keep those dark thoughts contained. The memories of the war, the twisted hallways of her mind, the echoes of screams. She tries so hard, and still every night she wakes with a quiet gasp, shaking on the small bed and clutching the blanket she's been provided, trying with all her might not to wake the others.

Some nights she stays there in the little house, finding what comfort she can in the presence of her Nestmates, and other nights she pulls on her costume and flees, needing fresh air and open skies to remind her that she isn't a prisoner any longer. Sleep isn't something that will come to her easily again, and so she'll be awake for hours to come, even staying up to see the sun rise in the sky. It's a sight she's sorely missed, and even now it doesn't feel quite real. There are times when nothing feels real at all. ]



{ NIGHTMARE : the forest }

[ She doesn't feel the branches that tug at her uniform and scratch at her face, tearing strands of hair as she runs, every ounce of energy focused on staying upright, keeping moving, fleeing for her life. The others are up ahead, she'd stayed behind to give them more time, even seconds too precious to waste now. There are footsteps thundering close behind her, and the searchlights of the Sentinels pan nearby as they work to pinpoint the mutant gene within her.

It's a stone that is her downfall, quite literally. A simple rock the size of her hand, enough of a deterrent to cause her to stumble, balance tipping just long enough, and then there's a body ramming into hers and she fights. Like a wild animal, she kicks and punches with every ounce of strength she has left, scrambling for purchase among those layers of fabric to find even an inch of skin. Just one touch, that's all she needs, but the soldier's snapping a collar around her neck before she can manage it. A collar for the animal they believe she is. And still she fights. ]

{ NIGHTMARE : the lab }

[ Cerebro. The mansion. These monsters had gutted the place she'd called home and turned it into— Hell. She'd seen the gates around the perimeter, heard the screams as she was dragged down to the basement levels. The metal plating that had once been warm is now icy to the touch, barren of familiarity and stained with the souls of every mutant brought inside. Because she knows none of them leave, that isn't what this place is for. They're making the Sentinels stronger by studying mutants, and to do that—

Strapped to a metal table, they stand over her, scientists covered in sterile garb, practically every inch of them hidden from view. They might as well be alien, for all their resemblance to human beings. And as they cut into her, again and again, she sees that cruel humanity in them again. It's for science, the way they slice away a strip of skin from her forearm, right above the string of characters tattooed into her skin. M4827. They're doing their duty as the burn her other arm, searing the skin until it bubbles and blackens. They're saving the world by wheeling in another mutant, restrained and wearing an inhibitor collar, and forcing her bare hand to press against his skin. His scream echoes in her mind as she absorbs him against her will, and she begs them to stop, the words a jumbled mess as his healing factor becomes her own, the wounds vanishing as the skin regenerates, but they don't stop until the light leaves his eyes and there's no one staring back at her anymore.

I'm so sorry. Long seconds pass as they record their findings, and then it begins again. ]

{ NIGHTMARE : the mind }

[ The only home she has left is the one within her mind, the great plantation house Charles had helped her erect nearly two decades ago. Painted white and nestled within a sea of green life, sometimes she sits on that sprawling porch and enjoys a moment of peace and quiet, this being the only place she can retreat where none of the psyches will venture. Her sole source of solitude, a few dozen square feet of space within her own head.

But then she ventures within, passing the tall windows and rising staircases leading to the upper levels where her friends reside, the psyches imprinted over the years who have helped her survive. She moves past all that streaming light, further into the house where things darken and the echoes of those she hadn't been able to save are hidden away. And then down, stairs that creak and moan, into the catacombs where the darkest minds reside, the ones who call to her when she slips, who would rather see her fall and suffer than ever live a free life. The locks are methodically checked on each door, even as they rattle and the shouts within increase in intensity, the insults falling with the same sharpness as always.

Monster. Murderer. Abomination. Maybe they aren't wrong. ]

Comments

the lab

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ For a very, very long moment, it's too easy to get caught up in Rogue's nightmare. There's so much of Bucky and Shiro in Sam that it folds itself into his time in the Raft, in the too bright lights and the smell of bleach and the squeak of footsteps on the floor, memorizing the guards' route and knowing that anything out of that means they're going to try their luck again -

they can try, they can keep trying but they're never gonna get it out of him, they're never gonna get anything out of him

And it's the hiss of pain in his arm - what arm, they took it and they made it a weapon and he can't - and the clipped orders in a language he doesn't understand but he will - you're doing great work, you're invaluable listen to the crowds cheer -

What's his and what's theirs and what's hers he doesn't know -

He's drowning and there's water in his lungs and -

No.

Sam knows, he shakes himself enough that he can feel the difference between reality and what this is, he can feel the pull of Rogue's mind and suddenly he's there, fingers laced through hers as he holds her hand, as he ignores the scientists in the background as if they weren't even there.

He doesn't completely understand, but he knows - she can hurt everyone else but she can't hurt him, not here, not like this. This isn't real, he reminds himself, even if he can't tell her that, not when he's not willing to try to take control here and pull her out of this. He doesn't want to fight her demons for her, he just wants to help.

Sam holds her hand, and concentrates on the fact that she can't hurt him, on the feel of skin to skin, the warmth of her palm to his, and nothing else. ]

( You're not alone, darlin', come here. )

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ The feeling of someone's hand in hers sends her heart racing, pulse pounding in fear of yet another person hurt because of her, because of what they're making her do, and her gut reaction is to try to pull away. But then--

It's not hurting him. There's no telltale tug of her powers, no coil of energy pouring from him into her. His hand is just there, pressed against hers, and it's enough to knock the dream askew. They're no longer on the platform in Cerebro but below it, sitting on the bed suspended in the curved bottom of the large spherical room. The bed that is nothing more than a slightly padded slab, no pillows or blankets in sight, nor any other element of comfort. Just grey, everywhere grey, even on her. ]

What're you doing here, sugar? You're not in my head.

[ A moment of half-lucidity has gripped her, providing the knowledge that she hasn't ever absorbed Sam and he certainly hadn't been a prisoner here, but it hasn't quite clicked yet that she's dreaming. Soon, not yet, but until then she's torn between staring at him in confusion and marveling at the feeling of holding someone's hand again. ]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ No, he hadn't been a prisoner here, but in the worlds of dreams and nightmares, it's too easy for two different prisons - three, four - to merge together. For a moment there's a chill in the air, a strange edge of pressure like being too far under water, a wash of other worldly purple light - then he pulls in a deep breath and lets it out as it flickers and fades, leaving nothing but grey as he sits down next to her.

He takes her other hand, too, tangling their fingers together and just holding on, giving them both something to try to keep them grounded. There's no comfort here, but he can try to give her some anyway. ]

I'm here to keep you company. You're not gonna be stuck in here alone, not as long as I can help it.

[theycalledmeacurse]

I was always alone...

[ It's a murmur, a half thought as her mind begins to really catch up to the dream, deciphering the situation and making sense of the facts laid out before her. Sam isn't supposed to be here, he isn't part of her world, he'd never been in the lab... The pieces come together like a puzzle, the picture finally forming into a cohesive image, and she gives those fingers a gentle squeeze. ]

I'm dreaming, aren't I?