[EVENT] The Visitations

[majorarc]

Who: All Characters
When: November 29-December 19
Where: Your Home
What: The Visits
Warnings: For language and other dark elements.


This is going to go a certain way! Each time there is a visitation by a ghost, we will post a thread. Then, we will respond to that thread, if you indicate you want us to do so, or if you will have other characters in the thread. Remember, the Ghost of Christmas Past will have all your characters in the same moment of time, so if you want to be able to interact with each other, go ahead. Additionally, you will be viewing the moment in time that your denizen was killed from a third person perspective, so you can meet up with anyone during that time, but you cannot talk to your denizen. Once your denizen is dead, you are free to move around the island.

During the viewing with the Ghost of Christmas Present, you will be in the same situation, but only able to view things within your own canon. This means you can’t really speak to anyone but the NPC of the Ghost, which will be played by the mods.

For when The World shows up, we will have a separate thread for her and Kuma will be responding to you with her. You can freely talk to anyone here as well, in the game.

If there are any questions please respond to the thread provided below.

Comments

GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT

[majorarc]

[ When you awaken again, you notice that there is a rather large man in your house. He seems quite jovial, but doesn't waste time to show you the world you came from as if you had never lived in it. ]

OOC NOTE: NPC tags back to this are going to be slow, given that finals are this week. We will be replying with this journal name!! Remember, if you are from the same canon, you cannot speak to each other because it's going to be as if you never existed, so you won't be seeing the same thing.

[grancenturio]

[Seeing Odin's death hadn't affected him very much. He had died himself too many times and hated the gods in his worlds too much. This, though, this was different.

How many countries did the ghost show him that were at peace because he had never caused them strife? How many times did he flip through the history books he found and count the wars that simply never happened? He'd known, of course, what he was doing was causing death and chaos. He'd known that intellectually, but it was another thing to see its absence.

That might have been unsettling enough, but Nessiah understood what he had to do was necessary, before he caught the glimpse of red hair in the Bronquian palace and all thoughts of 'necessary' sank out of his mind.

Gulcasa. Gulcasa alive, Gulcasa ruling over Bronquia as the benevolent ruler he was at heart - without the war that Nessiah had started and forced to continue, the one that had caused his death.

Gulcasa was the one person who could bring Nessiah to tears as he awoke.]

[majorarc]

[ The Ghost looks to the other and sighs ]

See something you don't like?

[grancenturio]

I have no reason to speak to you.

[Nessiah, when frightened or despairing, gets angry and snappish.]

[dyingsun]

[Exactly the same.]

[majorarc]

[ A frown from the ghost ]

Kind of boring. Didn't do much, did you.

[dyingsun]

No, I... I wasn't able to do much.

Holy fuck APOLOGIES to people not familiar with Fate/zero

[gordianknots]

[Last time, Waver was looking at the memories of another. This time though, this time he knows the world he’s being shown, because he’s looking down at his parents on 3 October 197-something, and there’s no baby, or even sign of pregnancy. It’s a hard introduction to the situation, and Waver feels his stomach knot up at where this is going.

Years fly by in the blink of an eye. His parents still die the same death and his maternal grandmother is still grief stricken, but that isn’t what’s important. There’s no family heir. The Velvet lines of mages ends with Sybil Velvet, two generations strong and to make no impact at all. That part hurts, but what comes after, what comes after kills.

He knows a summoning ritual when he sees it, he knows the words being spoken because he has intoned them before. But now, now it is Kayneth Archibald - Lord El-Melloi I, general smug git and one of the many bullies in Waver’s life, who drove Waver to enter the grail war to begin with - who has summoned Rider. His Rider, his Alexander, his friend, his mentor, his inspiration, his king. He’s under someone else’s command, someone with a traditional mage’s pride, too old to be bent and reshaped in Alexander’s image. Waver looks away, only to see what he imagines is one of many arguments between Rider, Kayneth and Kayneth’s fiance who apparently is providing the mana. Something about “transfer” is said, Rider laughs, and faces sour, leading them all back to arguing again. Rider’s own voice rises over the din and the scene changes again.

A fight this time - the one at the river against Caster. Sola-Ui stands where Waver should be, arguing against the Einzbern plans for reasons Waver doesn’t understand, and Saber steps out into the water, bent on using Excalibur. The sword deploys and the thing is destroyed, but Rider’s face shows no small amount of anger in it. Waver looks away as the bright light of the sword’s blast settles, and again, he’s gone.

The fights that follow are too quick in succession - some familiar, some not. Saber faces off against a Lancer Waver doesn’t recongize and kills him honourably - for all that a grail war can have honour - and then he returns to the Fuyuki bridge. A moment’s flash had showed him his former teacher’s death and Rider’s contract to Sola-Ui and now, now where he should be - where he needs to be, because this moment is where his life became a gift from two kings - is Sola-Ui, watching as Rider falls to Archer’s noble phantasm. Waver refuses to watch that again, and some horrible part of him fails to be shocked when Sola-Ui is cut down by Archer moments after Alexander disappears in a twinkling of gold dust. Waver’s breath hitches, terrified, his surroundings fade into familiar halls.

Clock Tower. His domain. The place that thought it could break him. But here, oh, his office is occupied by another man, traditional and huffy, chatting with - ah. The tenth head of the Archibald family, who the man calls Lord El-Melloi II. She smiles coldly at the title like it’s a burden and excuses herself, scowling as the door slams behind her. Waver sighs - the argument was about research and how not even her title could permit something that unorthodox and she has no reason to look into that anyway since the Archibalds have lost status so.

As he exhales, the scene changes again. He’s in Fuyuki now, standing in the parlour of the Tohsaka house. Rin’s sitting on the sofa, ages hands resting on her knees. Waver doesn’t want to speculate about her age, or the age of the young man who stands before her. A grandson, probably, with Rin’s hair and poise. there’s a relief in knowing that Rin has lived this long but when he pays attention to their conversation, his heart runs cold.

Rin lectures the young man on the history of the holy grail, tells him that he must win the sixth war or else bring shame upon the family. That he must get the cup and wish it out of existence, because that is the only way the thing can be destroyed. The boy replies that it will be done and leaves. Waver catches a glimpse of his command seals, then slams his eyes shut. If there is any more to the scene, he doesn’t want to see it. A mutter about failure drifts into his ears, still in Rin’s voice, and the tone is so hopeless that he could weep. Waver tries to replace everything with words of his own - any words at all - and soon enough, they come.

His Rider. His patron. His best friend. The three sentences loop themselves in his head mockingly, happily eroding at the things that have held him up his entire adult life. It’s at that moment that he opens his eyes to see that he is back on the miserable island, without his pillars and now with a strong reminder of why he needs to get back home. He wipes at his eyes, struggling to center himself. No one can be fought against in a state like this. His emotions will simply have to be transmuted into something else.]

[grancenturio]

[After a little while, a knock comes at the door, at first hesitant and then growing louder and more insistent.

Nessiah knows he looks a tearstained mess. At this moment he doesn't care. The only thought that grounds him at the moment is that being alone will do him no good.]

[gordianknots]

[Whoever that is can wait until Waver gets himself mentally capable of handling people right now.

Which means like, 15 minutes later, the door's opened]

[serpente]

After the visit from the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present is a jarring change. Mukuro largely ignores the jolly fellow's guffawing and waits patiently for the ghost to spirit him to whatever vision he's to be shown next, confident that nothing he's shown will shock or disturb him.

The illusionist is shown the world as it could have been, the one possible strand of past, present, future in which he had not been born into the Estraneo Family, not brought into existence at all. Whether his mother and father never met, or one of them died prematurely, or they simply, by chance, did not give birth to one Mukuro Rokudo, he for all intents and purposes did not exist. Aware of the existence of parallel worlds, this revelation does not come as any surprise to him - it's not unimaginable that there is a world which he does not occupy.

The Estraneo Family do not perish. There is no avenging child to lay them to waste, no demonic creature moulded into being through rigorous and relentless testing. Ken and Chikusa eventually become one of the very few who survived the process, added to a slowly growing army as the scientists perfect their techniques. He's proud, in a way, that they have managed to stay strong in spite of their hardship and trials. He'd always carried a special fondness for the two boys with whom he'd escaped the laboratories, and he does smile a little before he's whisked ahead in time to a year later. Despite their reluctance, their tears, their protests, the children are all forced to fight for their lives when the masked guardians of the criminal underworld come calling.

It's a slaughter that anyone could have predicted. Mukuro watches as both boys and girls, though made strong by their given abilities, fall to the superior might of the Vendice. Their corpses riddle the grounds and the once-pristine marble halls in a haphazard design so familiar that he has to pause and really stare at the vision before it comes to him: it's eerily similar to how he had left the place in his youth, only the bodies then had not been of children but of adults.

The guards find the hidden labs and break in with ease, ending the last, pitiful struggles of the wretched Family. Mukuro recognises the last man to die, slant-eyed, emotionless; his face holds more stitches than he remembers but it's most definitely him. He watches with satisfaction as the chains crush his body into blood and pulp, unrecognisable from the human being they had once formed.

Skipping ahead yet again, he sees brief flashes of Lancia living happily and proudly, working for the boss and Family Mukuro would also never kill; he sees a young girl die of organ failure after being run over by a car to save a kitten; he sees a young Japanese boy napping peacefully on a roof, with not a care in the world; and he sees the Vongola heir together with his friends, untroubled by the strife Mukuro didn't bring into their lives.

And isn't that a good thing? Some voice whispers to him. No-one ever had need of you.

He ignores the words and turns his back on the idyllic scenes that are flash-forwarding to a more recent present.

"If you meant to make me repent, you are doing a poor job of it," he tells the Ghost without a shred of remorse visible in his dual-coloured eyes.

[majorarc]

[ Another jovial laugh from the Ghost ]

That wasn't my intention at all, but it does look like people are better off.

[serpente]

[ He turns a cold shoulder on the ghost, watching the new scenes play out in which the Vongola do seem much happier and function more cohesively without him. The new Guardian of Mist who takes his place isn't nearly as good as he or Chrome were, he thinks with heavy disdain. But he can't deny that he feels a little left out seeing everyone working together, because he likes to think that, even though he was a disruptive influence at times, they still functioned as a Family in their own dysfunctional way. ]

This is but one possibility amongst a million threads of possibilities. It shows me nothing but what you want me to see.

[deceases]

[ .. It's almost strange. Almost. It's like watching a movie of his life but without him in it, but.. at the same time, everything is just the same. His parents move to Sotoba, the Shiki appear, the Shiki spread.

Of course nothing is different. Not like there was anything to be different, right? He wasn't able to do anything about the Shiki just yet. The only thing that's different is the healthy face of a blonde smiling boy..

It's almost laughable. But Natsuno just stares with a fairly unfazed expression, just frowning slightly. ]

[majorarc]

[ Another laugh. ]

Something wrong?

[bluesteelranger]

"Let me show you something."

Words like that were a double-edged sword -- they could mean something new, insightful, fascinating or they could mean something to dread. Hearing the odd new voice in his room, Renne wondered at it. He turned to face toward it and listened to what had to be said.

"A world without you."

The storm that had carried him across many seas and worlds still blew. He was not there but he knew the year -- 1999, according to the calendar he had learned. Were he not there, he would not have learned such a calendar. The eradication of his kind would have been complete. Without exception. He tasted 1999 and heard it without him. The world was not yet too wildly different. Whether he had sailed through those storms or not would have had no change upon that.

He tasted 1999 again, never meeting Silver, never knowing the Isle of Shadows. The NightRunners still dissolved, falling apart like snow disintegrating in the spring. He was not there to infuriate the demon called Silver. He was not there to lose a heart-complex he didn't exist to have.
Renne's face remained stony. His skin turned gray as he kept listening.

2000 came to his ears and he shuddered involuntarily. Pendrell Vodalia still lived, still met Kyra Blackstone, Artyr and Odin. He still was the strong hero Renne had so loved and near-worshipped. But Renne was not there to meet him.

When Pendrell died, he was not there to fall apart. He was not there to lose his mind locked in a self-built tower shut away from the world below. He wasn't there to get his mind back together, to overcome the grief and come out of the tower either.
Kyra, Odin and Artyr still drifted away on the wind.

2001 whispered by. He wasn't there to meet Archie or Harold. The McGraths still came that night, still set fire to the tavern. The shots still rang through the building and, as Jarlath set the tear gas, Brynna and Ainnle set the building aflame. He was not there to be shot or left behind. He was not there to help rebuild.
They still drifted away. Sirin, Ranyor and Pacey left. They walked away, two to never return. Harold and Archie soon drifted off on their ship. Renne had not been there to be scolded.
At least he hadn't been there to wonder if he was on his own.

2002 and 2003 came by in a blur. The nations still rose and fell without him there. He wasn't there to explore, to learn and fail at changing his appearance. He wasn't there to force his appearance into a humanoid shape and thus, acquire the notch in his ears. The Rhydin slave markets ran as they did. His only regret here was that the few slaves he had managed to rescue to freedom did not get that chance this time.

Yule came. Harold spent the night alone in a quiet, reopened tavern. Lilith and Stacey still emerged. He and Lilith still fell in love, leaving Stacey to drift with barely a goodbye. Ranyor still dropped by on occasion. Harold didn't need to write that note to Renne this time, telling him to stay put. Renne wasn't there to disobey the message. He wasn't there to meet Vicfryn as they got him out of the Underdark.
Vicfryn took his place as cook and for a while, things passed by without a change. Until they too, drifted off again.

2004. 2005. They blazed by with little consequence. The Less Crowded Inn survived Nyarlathotep's attacks. They saw through Rena's freedom and second child. They saw through Zonker and Melkor's reunion from Asgaard. Xyvoria rose and fell. Sendaria was but a spot on the map before it too, faded away. He wasn't there for Kavanagh to betray him. He wasn't there and nearly nothing changed.

2006 whispered in. The Maritime reopened for a while. Archie's return was celebrated by only Harold and a new woman named Maia. Lilith appeared. Kaori Hotaru still drove a wedge between the once-solid friends, Harold and Archie. Renne simply wasn't there for Archie to save him from another bullet. He wasn't there to encounter Nancy and her troubling storms.

As 2007 rolled in on the cold, thawing spring, Harold still left. He didn't need to write a message to one who never existed. Renne wasn't there to find out and in the following months, he wasn't there to be ridiculed. He wasn't there to lose his mind again and become a killer, unconscious still of the acts he had committed. Harold still came back.
He still fell in love again, withdrawing from all but a few 'new' he had deemed worthy. Archie still vanished. The only differences had been Renne's absence. He wasn't there to need Kitty Helston. He wasn't there to go to Port South.

Rhydin easily lived on without him.

2008 brought the Enterprise. Or it would have, if Renne had been there. But he was not, so the ship never came. It never met him, so the silver ship sailed on. The men still fell in love. The crew still drifted apart as the sun rose on 2009.

2009 went by in the blink of an eye. He wasn't there to learn about an Eltarian wizard, to later be regarded as a god. He wasn't there to learn the art of human betrayal again. The ship he had been on didn't need to drop him on that wasted rock of a world. He wasn't there, so he had no bonds to try to save. He wasn't there, so he didn't need to search the Multiverse to find a golden needle in a yellow haystack.

2010 and 2011 weren't enough to recognise.

Life blazed to the present and through the entire hearing of all that had been, a realisation came down in a heartbeat: The Multiverse could easily do without him.

He heard this and turned his back on the jolly man. He didn't want that one to read him. The truth was the truth, regardless of how it might hurt.

[majorarc]

[ Only a smile is there to greet Renne ]

Not liking what you see? Well, there's not much I can do about that.

[triskeles]

[ While Derek could pretend to be indifferent to the Beast's death easily, despite the way it struck so close to home-- he ran into the castle, knowing it was a trap, to save the person that mattered to him most. And he died for it, skinned and hung up on the castle walls like some trophy or warning as she listened, watched, screamed for him-- there's no way to feign indifference here.

His family, together, laughing and smiling and like he remembers before the fire. His father still wearing his leather jacket, curled in towards his mother on the porch as Laura sits at their feet on the ground. There's pack around them, coming and going from the house, from the woods, from the road beyond. Peter is there, whole and sane and only slightly offputting in his jokes as he assists one of his aunts with a pup. A trio of them goes running by him, as if he's not there-- and he realizes, with a pain in his chest not unlike a vice tightening around his heart, that he isn't and never will be-- and towards the house, tall and strong, a home and not a shell.

His sister turns towards them as they call her name, smile warm and all teeth, eyes bright and kind and alive.

The vice tightens further.

When it changes, it's Scott and Stiles. They sit on the bench at the edge of the lacrosse field together, heads bent close conspiratorally as they talk. They're happy, too. Happy and safe, oblivious to the fact a pack of werewolves lives on the outskirts of town, his younger cousins attending their school right alongside them. Maybe they're still benched, but without the fire Peter never lost his sense of self. He never attacked Scott. They didn't lose their sense of normalcy, their easy lives that was simply composed of high school drama and homework and each other. Stiles doesn't have to lie to his father, hiding a pack that he doesn't think of as his and trying to keep it safe. There's no one to threaten him, nothing for him to risk his life for. Scott doesn't have the burden the bite put on him, the one that he took up willingly himself despite the fight he put up against being pack. His mother worries for him, but not for his life.

Though he doesn't look away from them as they, too, laugh, he can hear Jackson shouting something from the lacrosse field, aggitated. Derek can't look to him, not with the guilt (and eventual relief, but it's overpowered by the guilt) of killing him to end the vengeance of the kanima in Beacon Hills. Not with the fresh memory of the way he simply nodded and closed his eyes, prepared to die to keep the others safe. In the bleachers behind him, he can hear Lydia sigh heavily, almost fondly, to herself, unmarked and unburdened by Peter's bite and what he put her through.

They're all safe.

But when it shifts, he's horrified. Isaac is still with his father, coming to school with bruises that he laughs off when they're spotted, covers up when he can. The anger burns hot in the pit of him, squeezes the vice even tighter. Glasses and plates crash, a boy with too-wide eyes is locked away where no one can see him, and a man is left unpunished. There's no one to step in, to offer Isaac an alternative to the life he lives. The pack doesn't seek him out, because they have no reason to.

Much like they have no reason to seek out Erica, curled in on herself alone, fighting the metallic taste of blood with sad eyes and laughter ringing in her ears. There's a pill bottle on the nightstand, recently filled in a room with too-big clothes and no mirrors. No confidence, and so much pain. And there's such an ache for her, as he thinks of her after she took the bite. Walking tall and strong, no longer afraid of what could cause her to break.

And then there's Boyd. He watches everything as an outsider, quiet and alone and forboding to others who don't know him. Don't try to know him. There's no one with him, no pack or friends. Just a night working on the rink, driving slow and silent, lost to himself. He walks the halls and passes by people who should be walking alongside him, together and with their heads held high. Here, he's an Omega without a pack.

The only consolation to this thought is that he and the others won't be hunted. The Argents pass through-- Kate wandering at first, eyes hungry and wild like fire as she tries to seek out a weak link in the Hale pack. But when she doesn't find one, she doesn't see a reason to pursue it further. She can't get into any of the cracks, not with how well guarded they are by the pack. They cover for each other, make up for where one lacks. Derek not there to stand out amongst them, the Alpha's son and a quiet teenager, stupid and easy prey.

After her, Chris and Victoria bring Allison to settle in, but she and Scott don't make their connection. Maybe they do later on, but all he sees now is a loss of an opening, as the new girl comes into class without a pen and doesn't get one to make up for it. Beyond them, the Hale pack and the Argent family settle a shaky truce, keeping to the Code and protecting Beacon Hills together from whatever risk may come.

The fire never comes, and a part of Derek wishes this was how things could've gone.

He slips out of the house, the moment the ghost leaves. Out the window of his bedroom and up, hoisting himself easily onto the roof and out of sight from the street. ]

[puppyface]

[Scott had never been a fan of ghosts, and the visit from tonight's ghost had left him more than shaken.

He wasn't sure at first, what it was, or what was going on- just that his mother wasn't listening to him when he tried to wake her up from falling asleep at her desk at work. He'd tried to shake her awake, but she'd kept on sleeping until one of her coworkers called her name- and Scott realised he wasn't there. It was a dream again, that much was apparent.

So he'd followed her. Followed her home, ridden with her in the car down the rainy streets as she drove, humming contentedly as she pulled up to their house.

That... wasn't their house at all. Scott followed her inside, examining the rooms that weren't his house– seeing Stiles sitting at the table. Smiling at her. Welcoming Mrs. McCall home as if she was his guardian, though hesitance rang in his voice. And Mr. Stilinski welcomed her home, kissed her, mentioned nothing of Scott.

Of course they didn't.

He wasn't there, and he'd never been, and his mother was happy. She'd left Scott's father long before she'd even had the chance to think about him, and began living with Mr. Stilinski- from the looks of the photos- about a year or so after Stiles's mother died.

It made sense. She'd been his wife's nurse when she died.

Stiles left shortly after dinner, and Scott followed him- to Lydia Martin's house, where he kissed her. Where Lydia kissed the co-captain of the Beacon Hills lacrosse team, Stiles Stilinski. Where they took pictures together to send to all their friends, numbered like the stars.

Where Stiles was happy, succeeding in school, being trained by his father in the ways deputies should learn before they join. Things Scott knew Stiles would be incredible at– of course he was.

The rest came in flashes- Allison Argent, not at all aware of the Argent's histories, stood smiling at Lydia's side. She kissed Matt Daehler, laughed with her father, smiled with her mother. Jackson captained the laX team alongside Stiles, but Isaac still worked in the cemetery and Erica and Boyd still sat in the shadows.

It made sense, of course; without Scott there to bite, the deranged Peter had gone after Stiles, assisting his father on the crime scene where Laura Hale was found. That's where the happiness ended, of course.

It had been an animal bite, they were sure, it had to be adrenaline that healed it so fast.

They weren't prepared for the full moon- because why should Stiles have to worry? He hadn't expected to wake up covered in Lydia's blood and that of his own father, hadn't expected to be pulled aside by a man in a leather jacket, hadn't been expecting to lose everything he had. Derek had taken refuge with Deaton, but the call of his uncle as alpha had been too strong. And Peter the alpha bit who he wished, Allison Argent and Danny Mahaelani and Matt Daehler all alike. It wasn't too difficult, with is pack growing and his own power strengthening.

His prize was Mrs. McCall, of course, and that was when the dream left him cold and sweating under the window outside of the house, face wet with tears.

There was no one he wanted more than his mother- someone grounding, someone safe, Allison, anyone--

and if he hadn't been so distressed, Scott would have been confused by the name he called, standing tremblingly before the house.]

Derek! Derek!

[impenitent]

[ And maybe her ghost is just as awful. Because the past was not something she wants to exactly recall, not something she wants to linger on, despite the lack of time between visits. But it's just as vivid as before, shakes her just as hard.

It shakes her down, makes her heart ache, spreads into her bones and spirals through every part of her. The sheer realization that things would just be better in her absence. Her family, the pack, everyone else -- it's a dull ache in her of something that she had convinced herself of long ago. A burden. The only thing she ever excelled at, even after the bite.

Her mother doesn't have the same worry lines. Her father laughs in ways she can only remember when she tries harder than she should have to. Derek turns Isaac and Boyd, but instead, it's Scott that goes with them. A stronger pack than what they ever would have been when she was involved. And maybe these are things she's considered, things that have crossed her mine, but it makes the impact no less devastating.

It's all memories after that, her own that have been changed and twisted to not include her. Flash after flash of brief moments in time that she knows in some ways, but they're so different in others. No one there to hold Jackson back when he fights with Scott. No Batman and Catwoman exchange. She isn't there to need Scott to catch her from the rock wall.

More than anything it's her mother. There's no crease between her eyes where they'd knit together after a seizure. There are no doctors visits for her epilepsy. There aren't any money problems to try and afford her medications. It's just moment after moment of happiness and she isn't there for it.

By the time it ends, Erica's already dropped down to sit on her bed, hands trembling. The stress of the situation paired with these damn ghosts- She doesn't even try to stop from crying, tears that feel too hot against her skin and make her throat burn. The text from Stiles comes, then. She shoots one back, craves that disconnection, because she doesn't want this. Doesn't want any of it.

At least-

At least in the capacity of not-pack because she craves the presence of the others. Of Derek and Boyd and Isaac. Because there are few other things that might actualy come close to comforting her right then.

Reaching for the compact, she remembers to breathe, because the last thing she needs is for this to spiral out of control. To end in things that are worse than panic or upset. But the lightheaded sensation that works over her is worrying, and her face feels too hot, so she sends a text off to Derek. As much as she would rather not burden him when she knows he would have just gone through something likely even more traumatic than what she herself had just seen, she's not entirely confident she can do it without him. ]

I'm sorry.

Need your help, maybe.

[hypercompetent]

[It's Christmas time when Stiles gets his first vision of home; there's no snow in Beacon Hills, but the weather is a pleasant frost, enough that when he sees the wind rattle the trees gently, he can feel the chill raising up the back of his spine. The Stilinski house is the same as ever, and there's a clench in his chest at the sight of it; home. His jeep is missing from the driveway--there's a wreath on the door, and the golden glow of candles creating a halo through the bay window. It's there where something's not right; he and his dad haven't decorated the house for at least two years now, because it always reminded them of--

Of his mom.

She's as beautiful as his mind's eye can remember; soft brown hair, honey colored eyes, with a smile on her face that lights her up, and the sight of her nearly puts tears in Stiles' eyes. From the outside where he's standing, he can hear her laughter, clear as a bell and bright as day, no sign of cancer weighing her down like a drooping willow tree. She slides her arms around his father's neck, says something in his ear, and his father bursts into full out laughter, taking her in his arms and spinning her around the room until they're dancing, full of life, happy, in love, and without him.

It's reminiscent of the vision he had at Lydia's party; the voice of his father echoing in the back of his head, pointing, angry, "she left me alone to take care of this hyperactive little bastard." Without him there, it's just the two of them, just in love as they were in his memories as a child, before the chemotherapy and the tears and the whiskey and the funeral.

Suddenly, his mother slides away from his father, holding his hand, and walks to the window--she's so close, Stiles can see the beauty mark on her cheek--and she lifts her hand to touch the glass. His heart seizes in his chest and his vision blurs, but he can't tell if it's from tears or something else as he lifts his hand that's trembling, to the glass, to touch against her fingertips and suddenly--it's gone, the glass shatters, and he chokes on his breath.

When his vision comes back to him, it's in the middle of the lacrosse field. The lights are up for a major game; the crowd is full, but dead silent, and everyone's staring at him. His eyes catch across the field; there are familiar faces, Lydia, Allison, Scott's mother, his father, and even his impassive face looks frightened, his grip so tight in Melissa McCall's arm Stiles can almost feel it.

Stiles looks around, his senses working as fast as they can, all he can do. Standing beside him is Scott. He's panting wildly, his chest heaving, and it takes Stiles half a second to connect the dots; the full moon is shining brightly ahead, and Scott, without Stiles there, never learned to control his heartbeat.

With his realization, everything shifts--Scott howls, and throws himself into a player on the opposite team, his lacrosse mask hitting the floor as he gives into the temptation to hurt, to maim, to destroy. Stiles tears his eyes away at the sound of claws rendering flesh, and as he does, the vision abruptly shifts to a dark basement, the only sound the occasional growl and a water dripping through the pipes.

He can see the back of Chris Argent's head. The glint of silver. Scott, chained up by manacles like the ones that held Erica and Isaac. He lifts the sword with both hands, and Stiles feels his throat constrict, opening his mouth to scream as Scott's face shifts back into human, and for a moment, it seems like he's staring Stiles right in the eye, terror on his face as Chris swings and half of his body hits the floor.

'Scott, sometimes I really wonder how you survive without me.'

When the dream clears, Stiles gasps, sitting straight up and staring ahead, his heartbeat hammering against his ribcage, tears streaming down his cheeks. His hands clutch into fists and he sucks in a breath, curling over in pain as the entire world seems to spin, his hands shaking as the panic attack hits him in the gut. It's with his hands in the ground that he drags himself to the shower in the miserable little house on the miserable, stupid island, turning on the water and throwing his body against the tiles, sitting under the spray and heaving until everything, slowly, evens out again.

Stiles reaches for the compact in his pocket and sends out a message with trembling hands, then throws it aside, leaning back under the spray and putting his hands through the short buzz of his hair until he's not trembling.]

private to: derek, scott, erica
are you okay?

Stiles teach him to private things.

[triskeles]

[ For a long moment, there's no actual answer from Derek's end. He doesn't know how to respond. No, he's not okay. Not in the least.

But lying leaves a rotting taste on his tongue, as he remembers what he saw. He compromises: ]

Physically.

[Later on the time]

[puppyface]

alive.

[impenitent]

[ Of course she isn't. Of course. But she imagines none of them are, not right now. Honestly, though, after knowing what she saw and knowing the others would have experienced the same thing-

Worrying after Erica was the last thing Stiles needed to be doing. ]

Right as rain.

[ That's how the saying goes, right? ]

[get_the_win]

[At first glance, the world the Ghost showed Domon was beautiful. Everything was overgrown and animals were everywhere. That is until you take a closer look and realize that underneath all the vegetation were the ruins of a once prosperous city. It was Shinjuku, although you wouldn't be able to tell anymore. And despite all the life, there isn't any people anywhere. The one thing that didn't seem ruined was a massive robot. It was seemingly dormant but looked ready to come back to life at any moment.]

[Domon just stood there staring at it. He looked like he was about to panic, but was holding himself together for now.] What the hell is going on...?