Cain finds Haller, after the chaos.

[x-juggernaut.livejournal.com]

After having his good mood completely buzzkilled by an Elder God, Cain gets a message from Charles to go find David.




Cain, find David and bring him to the house, please.

Before Cain could summon the presence of mind to argue with Charles' psychic plea, the irritating mental touch was gone. He closed his eyes and could see a faint afterimage, one tree bent to where the moon shone over it - ah, the little grove off the cobblestone path.

Striding up onto the shore of the lake, Cain tried to stomp what mud he could off his body. As improbable as it had been, he'd fallen completely through the floor and into a sinkhole that no one had known was there. Now, coated in greyish brown mud, he stomped off through the forest.

Jim roused himself a little at the gentle telepathic warning. The link with Nathan had been terminated; he couldn't sustain the energy it took to maintain. He was having enough trouble finding the energy to maintain himself. It was strange to have to think about control -- it had been so long he'd almost forgotten what that was like. Charles was assisting him, but there was nothing insistent about the contact. The danger was over. Jim didn't need to hold on for much longer.

Something was making noise off to his left. Jim opened his eyes and looked up to identify the newcomer. And then up further.

"And I thought I was having a rough night," he said, blinking at Cain.

"Don't even ask," Cain grumbled, picking up a handful of leaves to scrape some of the mud off his arms. "Chuck says you helped bust Wanda back to normal with your brain, suppose that makes you something of the hero of the day. Think you can stand up on your own, hero?"

"Lemme find my legs again," Jim muttered vaguely. With some effort he managed to lever himself upright, using the tree trunk to steady himself. He tried to concentrate on the weight of his feet on the ground. "Wanda's okay?" he managed. Through Charles he already knew she was, but he wanted to hear the words. Words helped.

"Nate says she's okay, I trust Nate when it comes to brain stuff." Reaching down with one wet and grimy hand, Cain held Haller up with ease. "Took one hell of a risk, bringing yourself out here. Y'don't exactly seem like the hero type, don't get me wrong."

"Not." Jim braced himself against Cain's side, trying to focus. His vision was flickering on and off. "Just easier if I'm close. Can't send very far. Mental inhibition. Closer's . . . safer." He stopped, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Tired. Not used to this. I never tried to use it like that before." But I did. I almost didn't, but we did.

"Welcome to the club, hero," Cain quipped, supporting Haller as the two made their way through the woods. "Although truth be told, I ain't exactly lookin' forward to the reaction Wanda's gonna have when she comes to. Best I lay low for a while if you know what I mean."

"Sorry?" Jim didn't know if there was something he was forgetting from Charles' quick information-dump or if he actually had not been informed. He was having trouble grasping the thread. He kept trying; he needed something to occupy him while he willed his feet to move.

Cain looked down at his mud-covered legs, thankful that at least his boxers maintained some degree of dignity. "Yeah, better not to ask. It's... uh... been an odd night."

Odd. That was one word for it. Jim was dimly aware things weren't processing right. His vision went dark, and it took him an instant to pull himself back. Memories jumbled together, the old blurring with the new. His hand tightened against the back of the figure supporting him, not even registering the mud. Someone was helping him, someone . . . "Dad?" Jim whispered.

Cain recoiled instinctively, barely avoiding dropping Haller face-first onto the grass. "Whoa, you're out of it. Down to see Moira you go..."

That brought him back to his senses. Jim squeezed his eyes shut. Focus. "I -- sorry, I'm confused right now, I . . ." The resurgance of memory, the distant presence of Charles in his head, the larger male next to him, helping him -- it was all running together to trigger something in his mind. He was thinking of the past, not the present. Dad's dead, remember? It was a strange reminder to need. It had been a long time since he'd even thought about that.

Jim collected himself, sought to regain his footing. "Telepathy developed to feed back on me, suppress my own consciousness," he explained. Calm, clinical. There was certainty in clinical. Reality. "Doesn't take any effort to hold back anymore, but tonight . . . never opened up like that . . ." He took a deep breath and readjusted his mental grip. "It used to happen a lot. Just need to sleep. Body'll reset. Be okay when I wake up again."

"Just so long as you don't start calling Moira 'Mom'," Cain advised, "Because then the littlest megalomaniac is bound to get jealous. You know she threw a scalpel at me the other day? Baby has issues, I tell you."

Ducking his head into the back door, Cain assured himself that no one was around before ushering David down to the infirmary.

Jim was distantly amazed that he could still have the presence of mind to laugh, weak though it was. "It's about ten years too late for that. Think if Ray was going to have sibling rivalry she'd have started taking it out on me already." He wasn't cold anymore. He blinked at the hallway, wondering when they'd gotten inside. "Maybe some issues, but good baby. Even with the squirrel-flinging."

"You're not exactly right in the head, are you, boy?" Cain asked quietly, lifting David onto a gurney. As he saw Amelia swiftly materialize out of a wisp of green vapor, he backed out of the infirmary. Thankfully, the doctor was the very soul of brevity and discretion, and didn't bother to comment on his appearance.

"There was a memo." The world was greying out, but that was fine. He was lying down now. I have to sleep.

As the groundskeeper began to turn away Jim reached out through the fog to touch the man's forearm.

"Call mom, okay?" He couldn't hold the position for more than a moment. He couldn't keep his eyes open. The telepath let his arm drop back to his side, his head lolling. With something like a sigh Jim murmured, "Ummee misses you."