[PRP] Demons (Evan/Stormy)

[Inle-roo]

The memory of Peyton's screams alone weren't enough to keep Evan awake at night, but they served as a soundtrack to underscore the usual visions that kept him from sleeping. They were a recent enough addition that he couldn't help jerking awake every time he heard them, making sleep difficult at best and, at worst, impossible.

That didn't stop him from trying, though. It had taken awhile for the realization of what he had done to filter through the unfamiliar wave of apathy, and the guilt that slowly trickled through made him want to stay in bed and just never leave. It was safer here--for him, for everyone--and clearly he wasn't fit company. He certainly didn't deserve it, in any case.

He wanted it, though, to be around other people, to let their idle chatter fill his ears instead of remembered screams of pain. He wanted to see if the episode with Peyton had just been a fluke, maybe just a result of too much stress without an outlet. Mostly, he just wanted to be reassured that, despite everything, he wasn't a bad person--that he wasn't just as bad as the monsters they were tasked with killing.

He couldn't vocalize any of that, though--even beyond the macho bullshit, he had never been able to talk about anything so trifling as emotions. Feelings had always come a distant second to action, and so remained buried. He didn't even really want to talk, anyway. He just wanted to be around someone who wouldn't expect anything of him.

Slowly, he rolled himself out of bed, stepping into his boots but not bothering to lace them. He opened the door tentatively, as if expecting an angry mob to be on the other side, and shuffled out into the hall when no one approached him with a flaming torch or a pitchfork. The clunk of his boots as he started walking was sad and pathetic, but it stopped just as soon as he found himself outside Stormy's door.

He hesitated before knocking. She was too good a person to be tainted by the likes of him; she shouldn't have to deal with his crises. He was the big brother, after all--she should be coming to him, not the other way around.

After a moment, he knocked anyway.

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

This week had turned weird very fast. For one, while she knew Nevada was a guard dog practically, she was still shaken at seeing her best friend pull a gun on someone (even ifthat someone was Finn). Had she done similar to Gale . . . ? Then there was the feeling of being listless and useless, the monotony of her schedule driving her insane. Stormy missed the options, the training courses and missions and days off--hell, even the cafeteria food--but most especially she missed feeling cold, even moreso than decent showers.

It made it hard to sleep, the suffocating heat. Even stripped to her version of the bare minimum (a one piece swimsuit and shorts, because even when around Nevada she disliked being too naked), it was sometimes impossible; be it the temperature or insomnia, Stormy's sleep schedule was taking a hit. Tonight, it was a mixture of both.

Thus she almost thought she had imagined the knock. Except why would she do that when she could have imagined literally a hundred other more interesting things? Although . .. no, no, she'd give it credit; who would knock so late?

Wiping at her eyes (crust, always crust), she quietly slipped from her bed and tip-toed to the door, glancing over to make sure Nevada was asleep before cracking the door open. She had to blink a few times before her eyes communicated with her brain. "Evan . . . ?"

Well crap, now her bed head (her shorter length bed head, whoops) and slight eye bags had horrible timing.

"Heya," she whispered, brightening even as her gut told her nothing good happened in the night. "What's up?"

xInle-roo

If I read right this is still at night right because if not I apologize OTL

 

[Inle-roo]

Evan shifted uneasily as he waited for Stormy to answer the door. When it didn't open immediately, all of his insecurities came rushing back. Had Stormy heard? Maybe she had a better sense of self-preservation than everyone else and was keeping herself locked away from everything on the island that could hurt her--which was pretty much everything. Who the hell was he, anyway, to drag her into his own issues?

Then the door finally cracked open and Stormy peeked out, looking rumpled and sleepy, and he remembered: it was night time, and this was when people usually slept. Oh, well. Just another mistake to add to an ever-growing list. "Sorry," Evan said, frowning and taking a step back. "Sorry, it's nothing. You should--" go back to sleep, was what he meant to say. "You--you cut your hair," was what he said instead. It was such a small thing, in the long run--even on the island, people got haircuts--but it was something he had missed, just another one of those normal, everyday things that happened even here, even when he himself had just kind of stopped.

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

"And you look like you can't sleep," she observed in return. In an instant her brain was fully awake again: Evan here at night? Something was up. She smiled anyway and made a motion for him to wait before ducking back behind the door. The closet creaked open as she grabbed a light jacket (checked that it covered her new scar), slid it on, and reappeared. This time Stormy slid out of the room and closed the door quietly.

One muffled pocket shuffling later and she produced the keys and locked it; security needed to get upped now, and 'nothing' looked like it might need a walk and talk.

"Thought it was a good idea with the heat," she explained. "Long hair doesn't do much except make your head hotter and the sweat sweatier." That was the simpler reason at any rate, even if it looked a little impulsive (it absolutely was). She looked up at Evan with almost luminous eyes in the candle light set about the halls.

"Wanna talk?"

Inle-roo

 

[Inle-roo]

Evan obediently stayed put as Stormy went back into her room, his eyes wandering down the hall. He couldn't just leave, though, not after he had woken her up. There was waking someone up in the middle of the night, and then there was waking someone up in the middle of the night for no good reason. Not that a sudden bout of neediness qualified as a good reason, but he was already here, and before he could waffle any more, Stormy returned.

He tacitly approved of Stormy locking her door; even before the bubble surrounding the island had burst, there had always been the risk of finding something creepy--like rogue shadowlings, or Mark, or Al--where it wasn't wanted. "Makes sense," he agreed with a nod. "It makes you look older."

It was his brotherly obligation to reach out and ruffle her hair. He couldn't quite bring himself to do it, though, especially not with her looking at him like that. His gaze twitched back down the hall, to his unlaced boots, to a spot on the wall just above her head--anywhere but into her eyes. "Not really," he said eventually. He couldn't even begin to imagine that conversation: 'So, I almost killed someone the other day. How've you been?' He shook his head. "What have you been up to? I haven't seen you much lately. I'm sorry," he said lamely. For that and a million other things.

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

Older. Stormy blinked at the word, at first surprised at the observation--and then very, very pleased. Maybe it was about time she stopped playing up the kid sister card anyway. "You think so?" she asked, shyly fiddling with a few curls against her neck, glad that the candlelight could hide how stupidly happy she felt over one word. "That's a nice first step . . ."

If Evan wanted to take the winding road, wandering eyes and all, then she had her walking boots on.

Her pride quickly turned to sheepish guilt as she gave a soft chuckle. "No, no, it's okay! All I've done is Twitter stalk you guys before the power went out, so it's not like I've been doing a great job either," Stormy answered, gesturing to see if he wanted to walk. "So, I'm sorry, too. But, uh . . . not a whole whole lot, but . . . .stuff, yeah." Several she felt she owed him at the very least, others she was still debating on.

But she offered Evan a proper smile anyway, because she realized she hadn't yet in her previous stupor. "Wanna catch up?" she asked, like it wasn't odd at all to do so in the middle of the night. "I bet you've been pretty busy, huh?"

Inle-roo

 

[Inle-roo]

It was--Evan didn't want Stormy to grow up, as selfish as that was. He wanted her to stay young and naive and some degree of helpless so that she would always have some sort of reason to come running to 'big brother.' He wanted to be the person that she came to for advice or comfort or protection. He wanted to be needed for something more than his ability to destroy.

He didn't want anything to change, but it was one of those things that he was powerless to stop. All he could do was watch and hope she never realized the moment she grew past needing him.

He was quiet for a long moment after they finished trading excuses for falling out of contact--and, really, on an island there was no good excuse. His gaze was unfocused as he looked down the long hallway of flickering lights. They'll die, too, he thought to himself, just as surely as everyone else in here. "What," he started, and then thought better of it. "You've been here longer than anyone else I know. You've seen things. What...what happens to people here?" His voice was quiet, as though giving them volume would be giving them too much weight, too much power.

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

With just the first word she knew it wasn't going to be the typical conversation anymore, that they would have to tread down the path the night often invited--what Jack used to patronizingly call the navel gazer's way. Stormy softened at the question, turning thoughtful as she eyed Evan. She'd always wondered what people like he and Tuck saw, not just because of their heights but because of their career backgrounds: what had they seen and experienced before coming? How did that manifest at Deus?

He looked dazed, so she slid her hand into his. If she guessed right, then Evan needed something to tether him to the present. God knew she always needed one so that she didn't drift to somewhere else more remote.

"It depends on who the person is at heart," she began, adopting Evan's soft tone, her head still tilted to view his face in profile. "How well they can handle the insanity beyond the veil." She hadn't just seen things, she'd felt them too: the cold gray mists swallowing her whole, the crunch of spines embedding themselves into her body, the crack of broken bones from horsemen weapons--deemed too weak to handle herself, too small to be a real threat. Wasn't that the greatest sin of all here? To be useless?

She was determined not to be in this moment. Not when it was family.

"Some people are like fruits. They start off sour and untested and in time become something wonderful to behold. And then something happens that tips them off, twists them until they shrink and rot. Some are like rocks on the beach: they don't change necessarily, but the waves, the missions, the craziness . . . when it washes over them, it takes a little bit off each time. Maybe good, maybe bad, but it smooths them over until they become a reflection of their surroundings. Time wears at them, but they're still strong and hardy. And other people . . ."

She squeezed his hand a little, offering a little smile. "Still others are just seeds, waiting for the potential to show what lies inside. Time and toil lets them grow into something unique. 'The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all'," Stormy recited, remembering Mulan. It was bordering a tangent, but she couldn't help herself; words had always been stronger than weapons to her.

Inle-roo

 

[Inle-roo]

It could have been a mirage created by the dozens of tiny flames lining the hall, or a product of too much stress and too little sleep, or, as Stormy suggested, an indication of him falling apart piece by piece, but Evan swore he could see a pair of white eyes staring out of the darkness. Candlelight flickered off of something dull and metallic. Whatever was or wasn't out there seemed content to wait patiently, as if it had all day.

Stormy's hand was a lifeline keeping him tethered to reality, preventing him from drifting away into memories and paranoia. Evan squeezed it gently as he deliberately turned away from whatever was out there. He focused on their clasped hands, both marveling and a little sick at how small hers was in his. As much as she was growing up, Evan was reminded once again that she was still little more than a child. She shouldn't be here. She should be out in the world, enjoying growing up. The only things she should ever have to fight off were suitors. And yet--

Despite it all, she managed to thrive. No matter what happened to them, Stormy always managed to bounce back with a smile. There was nothing rotten about her, and if anything chipped at her indomitable good nature, she did a damn good job of hiding it.

Better than he did, certainly. "I watched you die, once," he remarked. "You came back as some...thing, and," he trailed off, not wanting to continue. "How do you deal with it?"

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

That was neither a question she expected nor wanted to answer, and it showed: her smile wilted, her grip tightened, and her expression became more guarded. Even after so long of shoving down the memories, of having them scattered in the Tear and reassembled with hasty panic and coming up missing, the mere mention of the incident made Stormy grow cold. She was sympathetic to all people, yes, and sweet to the point of incredulity--but she was also highly, highly sensitive, especially when it came to her viciously imaginative mind.

Her natural impulse was to give the most optimistic answer, and had this been in the day where not even the light of the sun could reveal her true feelings unless she wanted it, she would have easily given Evan the answer any good little sister should: that she smiled and kept her head up and said she'd just do better form now on. But in the night, by candlelight, with a haunted looking hunter at her side, she just couldn't--at least, not of her own volition.

"Would you like the truth?" Stormy asked quietly. "Or . . . do you want something nicer?"

Inle-roo

 

[Inle-roo]

If Evan had known that such an innocuous question would have had such an immediate and drastic effect, he would have kept his curiosity to himself. It was none of his damn business, anyway, and now he'd gone and dimmed Stormy's blindingly bright spark. Well, this seemed to be his week for ******** like that.

He couldn't take the words back, though. They seemed to hang between them, taking up all of the empty space. Evan squeezed Stormy's hand back and forced himself to look at what he had done. He couldn't--wouldn't--let her suffer for his tactlessness by herself. She didn't deserve that.

When she gave him the out, it was on the tip of his tongue to take it. The way she said it, though, the way it was phrased gave him pause. Like maybe the nicer front that Stormy kept up wasn't necessarily the truth. Maybe there was something substantial trapped inside the thick shell of sweetness and light and all things Disney. Maybe he didn't know her nearly as well as he thought, and maybe she was offering him a glimpse of her real self.

Maybe she was tired, too.

He knew she had suffered during her time here--he had seen it--and all of the physical, emotional, and mental hurt had to go somewhere. It was damn near impossible to have lived through the things they went through on a regular basis and not come out a little worse for wear because of it--and she had been here for some time even before they had first met.

Evan swallowed hard as he realized the full meaning of her words. "You don't ever have to hide anything from me," he said. "I don't want anything less than the truth."

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

That was the release she needed, the signature signed on the document waiving the need to hold back. As always, the power to reveal pieces of herself never rested with her; no, she always gifted that away so she wouldn't feel responsible for it. It had been far too long since she had sat in the light colored offices on comfy couches, clutching at pillows and saying nothing to the woman sitting across from her for minutes and minutes and minutes on end.

In the present, one minute of silence passed. Two.

Stormy's jaw instinctively was clamped shut just as it had back then. Her own body was betraying her once more, unwilling to give up the ghosts. Why let them wail in the air where others could hear? A cage of flesh and bone could make no sounds, make no disturbances. Why ruin the image? Why disturb the peace?

Because there's none to be found there, she thought, and her expression sank wearily. With protest equal to rusted steel doors, her mouth opened.

"I don't," she whispered to the candles. "I run away. Every morning I wake up and I tell myself it's a new day, I should just move on and accept it happened like everyone else. If it bothers me, pretend it doesn't. I-It's not like things like that haven't happened in the past before, or worse; people get hurt all the time here, people die: it's part of the job. It's stupid to hold on, just--so, so stupid."

Her hand was growing clammy in Evan's despite the body heat and lack of air conditioning inside.

"In the desert, Miss Candace just--she died too, but when time reverse she just popped out of it like it was nothing. Everyone is just so used to it . . . And you and Tuck, you guys were in the military. You did things, saw things before Deus; you know how to take things in stride. A-And I tell myself, if I could be like you guys, it wouldn't be so bad. I chose to be here. I am strong, too. I can take it. I'm not a child.

"And I'm lying to myself." Stormy's vision was growing blurry. "If a nightmare comes, I just don't sleep. If something happens on a mission, I just don't bring it up, just don't think about it, j-just--" Her throat burned and she had to stop to will herself not to cry for a moment. "I-I don't . . . cope, Evan. I just let it sit inside where it can't bother anyone else. Isn't that better? Isn't that where i-it belongs?"

Inle-roo

 

[Inle-roo]

Entire lifetimes passed in those moments of charged silence. The air between them was thick with anticipation, as if it, too, was waiting for Stormy's response. It was a shameful relief as she finally replied and revealed the truth behind the happy facade, that inside, she was just as screwed up as any of the rest of them should be--that trauma lived like a festering wound, too deeply buried to be reached and healed. They finally had something substantial in common, and it broke something inside of him to realize that it was this.

He tugged her closer as her voice trailed off, letting go of her hand to wrap both arms around her. He couldn't offer her platitudes of hope and comfort--not now, when they were being honest with themselves and each other--but he could give her this. "When I was your age," he finally said, "I signed my name on that dotted line knowing full well that I may not live long enough to do it again. But it was something that I had prepared for for, hell, my entire life, because that was what was expected of me. And, yeah, I saw and did some--some pretty terrible s**t out there."

He trailed off for a moment, squeezing Stormy tightly, using her to anchor himself to the present. He took a deep breath before continuing. "But none of that prepared me for the s**t I've seen since I've been here. Nothing could. Me and Tuck and even Miss Candace, we're not a standard you need to hold yourself to. I can't speak for them, but it bothers the hell out of me to see kids like you being made to suffer. The bullshit they must feed you guys to get you to sign on," he ground out and shook his head.

"Point is, I'm sure no one expects you to be able to just shrug it off; you can't do what we do and not be effected by it. Hell, if you're not feeling anything about it, that's probably something to worry about. Everyone reacts to things differently, but being scared, being sad, that doesn't make you weak--it makes you human. And you don't need to keep it all bottled up because, in case you haven't noticed, you're on an island full of people who probably feel the same way you do. Even if don't want to talk to someone about it, you can't just swallow it down. You've got to let it out somehow, or," you might hurt someone almost escaped, but that was as hypocritical as it was true. "Or they win," he said instead.

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

She resisted being moved at first, sensitive to the world being shifted even by a little when even remotely vulnerable. But when his arms came around her, Stormy gave in and leaned against him, a soft noise in her throat leaving her despite her best efforts to be quiet. Her arms came around her stomach in an x, holding herself together.

"Kids like you . . ." Guess not even a haircut could change that image for long. Then again, she felt small and shielded in his embrace, like she had been the one to wake Evan up after a nightmare and this was just the natural reaction. There was nothing wrong with the sentiment--other than the fact that the nightmare was real and that Evan had come to her for an answer. She'd forgotten somehow, switched it so that he had to help her instead. What a failure.

She gazed at the shadowy creases of Evan's shirt as she listened, biting on her cheek to distract her from one pain with another. If being human meant feeling what she had tried to describe (and so, so much more beyond), then . . . Maybe she didn't want to be human anymore. Maybe she should just keep being the idea of one instead: the two-dimensional concept of the bubbly little sister. Maybe he'd prefer that instead of whatever the hell she was right now. Neither of them would have to be feeling bad if Stormy just smiled instead of offering stupid choices.

Her eyes began to sting. Breathe.

"Or who win?" she asked in a tight voice.
 

[Inle-roo]

"The monsters," was Evan's first, instinctive response, but he was coming to realize that that particular definition wasn't just limited to the actual things they had signed up to fight against. It could--and maybe should--be applied to those people who were just as twisted inside as the Halloweeners were outside. He had seen it, just as Stormy had described it. He was living it, and it would be so easy to just give in and let himself get twisted up in all of it. The people he'd met here, the friends he'd made--Stormy, especially--gave him a reason to strive to walk on the side of the angels.

"All of them," he amended. "You're not just a tool to be used until you break or die. Whatever days you have left here, however many there end up being, you don't need to suffer through them, and you don't have to go through them alone."

Ol-j-man

o hi i maek words 4 u