riverviewlogs | When I was a child I heard voices

Entry tags:

When I was a child I heard voices

who: Stephen Strange and You
what: Memshare
when: During the Event
where: Anywhere around the city
warnings: Sad small, demons and shitty parenting. Extra big warning for actual happiness TW for suicide attempt in the existing CR toplevel (ie the first comment to the log)

i
It had been hours since the kitchen had been decorated in anticipation of father's birthday and he still wasn't home from work. Donna and Victor were sitting on the sofa entertaining themselves with some small game, and you could hear mother in the kitchen again. She'd ben doing that the last hour, flitting from the kitchen to the living room and back again with a restless sort of energy. You look from where you'd been settled hearing the latch turn on the kitchen door, sharing a glance with your brother and sister before all three of you went running for the room as mother was lighting the candles on the cake.

"Don't bother." His rough voice cut through the excited air, and you felt your mother's hand settle on your shoulder, Donna and Victor stopping short with you.

"But the children worked so hard on this!" Even at her plea, the scowl on his face only deepened as he took in the decorations that had been carefully put up, disapproval practically radiating off of him in a way that had Victor shrinking back against Donna's arm next to you.

"Then they've wasted their valuable time! Life is too short to be squandered on such foolishness!" Hat and coat on the rack by the door, he was already stalking through the kitchen, jabbing an almost accusatory finger at his wife, as if she was to blame for such a heinous crime on his way into the living room. "Where is the profit in a birthday party?"

All of you start at the sound of the door slamming when he retreats to his study, and a glance to your sister shows tears starting to streak her face, and a quiet snuffle from Victor hints that he's not faring much better. Your own face is dry, but you can feel a cold knot of emotion like lead in your gut, especially at the resigned sigh that you catch from mother, as she strokes Donna's hair in an attempt to be reassuring.

"Don't cry children... your father appreciates all your efforts," You can hear it in her voice that she's only lying to save your feelings, to try and smooth over hurt feelings, and that knot of emotion just gets heavier and colder, bitter and harsh. "Really he does..."

"Does he, mother?" Your voice is a little sharper than you intend, and you feel her hand on your shoulder flinch at the tone. the reaction draws conflicted emotions from you, glad to see some reaction other than acceptance and trying to mask the issue, but guilt at snapping at your mother like that. "Sometimes I wonder."

She calls after you when you tug free of her grasp and storm off to your room, but she can't follow yet, not with Donna and Victor both in need of reassurance as well.

ii
It was a strangely nice day. Rolling green fields surrounding a pituresque sort of farmhouse, and the kind of cloudless blue sky that drove most children to play outside, just like the ones behind the house, a small dark-haired boy sitting in the grass watching an older boy standing on a cloth-covered picnic table, holding up a second tablecloth in both hands like a matador's cape. Clearly siblings despite the age difference, the older of the pair wiggling the cloth in a way he clearly thought made the whole thing look more 'mysterious'.

"And look now as I make my assistant disappear!" On the last word the boy dropped the cloth to show nothing behind it, waving a hand to the empty space with a beaming, pleased smile.

The smaller boy however was clearly not pleased with this development, face scrunching as if he wasn't sure if he should start howling his displeasure or not. "Donna?"

"Patience dear audience, I-"

"I want Donna!"

Whatever the boy on the table was going to say was cut off by the sound of giggles from underneath, which just prompted his 'audience' to reach out and... lift the tablecloth to reveal a brunette girl badly stifling laughter behind her hands.

"Honestly, you're the worst assistant!" The older boy huffed, watching her crawling out from under the table.

"Victor liked it better than your act, Stephen!"

"He's five, that- hey get back here!" As the two on the ground took off, the girl shrieking you're it as they did, the boy on the table leapt off to go running after, all three disappearing around the side of the house, laughter echoing in their wake.

iii

You can hear it long before you see it. The rasp of it's heavy wings unfurling in the darkness of the room, the rattle of breath that stirred the blankets you were huddled under as if it could protect you. Mere days before it might have made you feel better, but then you'd gotten a good look at what really went bump in the night and none of the silly childish rituals gave any comfort. All you could do was tuck into the corner by the bed, make yourself as small a target as possible. Maybe it wouldn't look. Maybe it would go away. Even as you hoped you knew it wouldn't. It was toying with you just like it had every other night.

The noises shifted closer, and the urge to shout for your mother for help bubbles up but you stamp it down with difficulty. The creature always vanished when she came to check on you, and it always ran the risk of your father waking too.

All there was left was to wait. Listen to it moving-

Until the blast of breath, hot and stinking of sulfur even through the barrier of a blanket had you biting back a whimper of terror behind a hand. Clearly it had found you, and it was mere seconds later that the blanket was ripped away, and your vision is filled with the thing, a hulking purple monstrosity all claws and shining teeth that just set your stomach to knots as you press yourself back in the corner as if willing yourself to be swallowed up by the wall.

Biting your lip to keep from screaming when you hear the the heavy slide of another's movement, tail moving over the carpet.

It was... going to be a long night.

[ooc: If you would like a character-specific memory feel free to let me know and I'll set up a starter for you!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's a calm, quiet night. Crickets chirping in the grass, branches swaying in a gentle breeze that sweeps the wispy clouds across stars. Stephen doesn't see any of it, his entire focus on the road as the spedometer of his sporty little convertible crept a bit higher.

Nothing new, he'd always been one to drive far too fast. Like he could outrun the demons haunting his every step, the fears and anxieties that pricked at him even past his walls of arrogance. Self-destructive? Probably. But did he care?

Not a bit.

He had what he was supposed to want. He had what his father had insisted was important beyond all things, what supposedly was the measure of a man, and he couldn't do anything but see himself... lacking. No family, no friends to distract him. Just the prestigous career, and a deep bottle for when he found himself looking a little too closely inward, or when there was pain to drown, to escape the terrors that he knew lurked in the quiet and dark, the things he couldn't explain even if he'd wanted to. Something was going to give, and in this equation, that something was him.

Tomorrow would be better. That's what his mother had always said, wasn't it? A new day, a new start. But then that was a lie. There were no fresh starts. He'd wake up tomorrow and nothing would change. He would still be Stephen Strange famous surgeon, hiding behind the facade he could no longer separate from. Spend every day with his sense of self and sanity slipping through his fingers.

What was the point? Every day he would slip farther, every day the dread would loom larger. No way around it at this point.

A shift of gears and he was driving faster, gaze skipping down to the spedometer before back to the road. To the trees he was whipping past. Fingers tightening thoughtfully against the wheel earning a low creak of leather barely audible over the wind and engine. A steadying breath taken when he decided he was going fast enough, just like before any surgery. A moment of stillness.

Making the first incision-

A sharp, sudden turn of the wheel, headlights illuminating the trunk of a gnarled old oak before there was impact, the scream of tearing metal and everything went blessedly dark and quiet.]

[Sam's been getting Stephen's memories all month. In dreams, while he's awake - and while it's the only way to find anything out about his past, it's harrowing to experience. Especially when it's first-hand.

The fragments come to him in the middle of other memories. Sam's taken to idly jotting down the bits and pieces on post-it notes to try and connect them later, although he carefully hides the notes whenever Stephen's around, tucks them away once he's got the full measure of a memory.

This one finally comes to him in full just before bed one night, and Sam finds himself stumbling into the bathroom to retch into the toilet. Once his dinner comes up, he curls around the cool porcelain of the toilet, trying to sort his emotions from Stephen's. The position reminds Sam of being home, of having his fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle his sobs and his father walking in on him anyway. It reminds him of the helplessness he'd felt for so long.

But they aren't his feelings, he reminds himself, and after what seems like an eternity, he gets up and washes his face off, brushes his teeth and rinses the taste of vomit from his mouth. On shaky legs, he stumbles out to the patio - and if his legs are unsteady, his wings still work fine, a scarlet blaze of light in the dark as they blossom from his back.

A few minutes later, he lands on the roof of the Sanctum and lets himself in, silently padding through the halls till he finds Stephen. Instead of saying anything, he comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around him tightly, burying his face in his neck.]

[Stephen was entirely over this month.

First the ghosts, and now memories shared with all and sundry. He'd tried simply avoiding people but it didn't seem to help. It seemed his only choice was to endure it.

Sam seemed to be getting the brunt of it, and while he knew that the man didn't deserve to deal with any bit of his baggage the selfish part of Stephen was relieved that it was him. He wasn't about to go shouting what he learned from the rooftops, nor did he start prying and prodding at every little thing which helped make the whole thing feel a bit less raw.

He didn't realize what had been shared this time though, actually in the middle of pouring himself a drink when he felt Sam slipping in to hug him from behind, a soft huff of noise slipping from him as he glanced back for all he couldn't see much of him from this angle.]

Out for a late night flight?

[Everything was fine.]

Something like that.

[Sam pulls back enough to grab the drink from him and toss it back himself, although his empty stomach isn't too pleased by the liquor.]

You need to drink less.

[Which really means that Sam's going to be politely but firmly removing all the liquor from the Sanctum behind his back, oops. For now, he takes the bottle from Stephen and sets it down, then pulls him over to the couch, where he promptly settles in for his best imitation of an octopus.]

[That just got a lift of his brow as Sam stole his drink, relenting with a small huff.]

Bossy.

[He didn't really have it in him to push back n Sam at the moment, just letting himself be dragged over to the couch for the impromptu cuddling session.]

So, what brought you over, other than playing DARE?

[And the clinging, which in his current mood, Stephen didn't really seem to want to fuss over as much as he typically did.]

You know, you're pretty good at the pop culture references for someone who was definitely born a whole lot earlier than you let on.

[And he hasn't even seen anything that hints at Stephen's real age yet. Won't that be great for all parties involved?

(No, it won't.)

He sighs at the question, his hand finding one of Stephen's and settling over it.]

Another memory, what else? [He hesitates briefly before he adds:] About the car crash.

Just because I didn't grow up with it didn't mean I didn't pay at least a little bit of attention to stuff going on.

[Absolutely will be fantastic. Hands down, no argument!

His small grin falters at the reply from Sam, hand under his stiffening reflexively.]

...That so?

Yeah. From inside your head.

[Obviously, since it wasn't another one of their shared dreams. But Stephen probably realizes the significance of that, of experiencing what he did at the time. And, yes, probably how it relates to Sam's clinginess.]

It wasn't a great time.

[Understatement of the year award there.]

[Stephen sucked a breath in between his teeth at that addition, for all he knew it given it hadn't been a shared dream like had happened a few times already.]

Yeah, that's one way to put it.

[Sounding a bit rougher than he had a moment before, trying to keep his tone from sharpening. It wasn't Sam's fault after all, he didn't need that pointed his way.]

Christ, Stephen, I- I never knew, okay? I just assumed it was a shitty accident, and-

[Sam shakes his head. Suicide isn't a stranger to him. It can't be for someone in his line of work; he's had patients kill themselves before, and he's gone to every one of their funerals. But even in the throes of his own depression, he'd never been suicidal, and to experience it himself is something else entirely. And knowing that it actually happened to someone he cares for deeply?

Honestly, Sam's a little fucked up right now, but he doesn't want to make it all about himself.]

I'm just gonna shut up and hold you now, okay?

[Stephen just shook his head at that explanation, with a small, toneless laugh.]

You and everyone else. You're not psychic and it was easier to just let the assumption stand.

[He'd have to be blind to not see how upset the idea was making Sam. And to have experienced it first hand? He knew how miserable it had been even with the downward spiral that had made it almost expected by that point. To be thrown in without any warning had to be especially jarring.]

Alright, alright... [Grumbled but in a more accepting tone than anything. He knew it would help Sam, and with that sort of thing out in the open, Stephen couldn't rightly deny that it wouldn't help him too, at least a little.]

[One of the roots of Sam's issues is directly related to losing the first person he'd ever truly had a romantic connection with, and his refusal to enter into a relationship since then had been solely out of fear of losing them. So, yeah, it's kind of jarring with complications well beyond the usual, and it's enough to make Sam squeeze his eyes shut and inhale deeply as he buries his face in Stephen's shoulder.]

You know, if you've got any happy memories, it'd really be great to live through one of those, I'm just sayin'.

[It's starting to look like he doesn't, and Sam adds in a quieter grumble,]

No wonder you can't cast a Patronus.

There's a few in there. Somewhere. Fuck if I know why all you're getting is the bullshit.

[Other than that there is a ton of misery in there. Either way he just hunkers in a bit lower into the sofa cushions, arms slung lazily around Sam to let him tuck in close.]

Let's be real, no one would want to see my Patronus. With my luck it'd be another horrifying eldritch abomination.

Your soul isn't Cthulhu - although, let's be real, that'd be pretty damn good at scaring dementors away.

[See? It's practical.]

I think your Patronus would be a porcupine. Or a hedgehog, but hell if I know how a hedgehog would fight off dementors.

My soul is wrecked, I don't know if it'd even be able to manage a Patronus at this point.

[He's fine with this subject change, though the suggestion gets a faint chuckle.]

A porcupine? Yeah, I suppose I could see it.

Too many Horcruxes?

[Though, let's be real, even one is too many when you're talking about literally ripping your soul in half.]

And when were you born, anyway? Just out of curiosity.

Something like that.

[One is absolutely too many. He's never actively ripped his soul like a kit-kat bar but what damage he's done to it over the years is plenty.]

Treading a dangerous path there Sam. You're just lucky that I'm not sensitive about my age. November 19th, 1930.

Seriously? You're eighty-odd years old? [Sam pulls back a little for a moment to look at him in surprise.

(Sam, look at your best friend and your life choices.)]

Well, you don't look a day over seventy-five. How's it feel to rob the cradle, huh?

More like a hundred or so if you count the time-loops and alternate timeline issues I've gotten caught in.

[At least the ones he remembers, that is.]

I dunno, you make it pretty damn fun if I do say so myself.

...you know, only you would have a problem like that. Multiple problems like that. Probably happens once a month or so when you're back home. I bet this is like a vacation for you.

[Especially with Sam around.]

You're not wrong. I mean, other than the bullshit this month, but for October this is still downright calm and quiet in comparison to the norm.

[Shit goes down around Halloween.]

Sometimes magic is too stereotypical. Although, speaking of stereotypical, I totally would've pinned you for a Halloween baby. Just to max out the extra factor.

[Sam pauses for a moment, and then:]

How old were you when you started having nightmares?

[You know, as long as they're talking about monsters and shit.]

Yeah I can't say I'm not surprised that I didn't hit that mark. Or at least a Friday the 13th birth.

[Sam you're just lucky he likes you as much as he does.]

I was... nine, I think?

[Sam draws him closer, like he can protect him from the nightmares of his childhood.]

Did they ever stop?

No.

[A quiet huff as he allows that shift.]

The demons that accompanied them were thwarted, but the nightmares remain. One of the many perks of the job.

[Open to existing CR] TW: Suicide attempt

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