TWENTY SIX ✖ SPAM/TELEPATHY

[wedonot]

[(Telepathy) Spam for Jean and Morgana]

[It was frustrating, to lie awake at night and not be able to get to sleep. Actual insomnia and not I really need to finish this paper and therefore can't get to sleep at regular hours lack of sleep was almost a foreign concept to Charles, because while it was true that it wasn't like he'd never had nightmares before, these were worse, more frequent, and couldn't be brushed off as a figment of his imagination, or a memory he'd absorbed from someone else. They'd actually happened, to him, and when he did finally get to sleep, it often wasn't for very long.

Tonight, sleep was being especially evasive, so he read, and tried to find ways to occupy himself and hopefully wear himself down enough that he'd eventually have to go to sleep. But his eyes had started feeling gritty and sore, and the words had started to blur together, so he'd finally crawled into bed, and... couldn't fall asleep.

It was late. Very late, and he couldn't let his mind wander without it starting to dive into territory he really didn't want to confront anymore than he already had, so, as he did every few nights since port had ended, he carefully extended his telepathy to check on people.

He couldn't sense Erik at all, which was to be expected, even though his friend was likely lying awake next door trying to fend off nightmares himself. Charles wanted to help, but he knew Erik would be stubborn about accepting it, or just outright refuse, and he didn't want to fight with him right now. Merlin and Arthur were sleeping, which really made sense, as it was late, and he didn't linger too long in their dreams, enough to try and smooth them out a little instead of taking a turn for the worse. They'd never even realize he'd been there.

Which left Morgana and Jean for tonight, and he carefully reached out to them separately, hoping they were asleep and weren't dreaming.]

Comments

[burnmythoughts]

[Jean hasn't has nightmares - brutal, awful, frightful nightmares - for a long time. It's dangerous, for her. Xavier taught her techniques to sooth her mind, to draw her into the deepest sleep.

She tried. She really did.

But the helpless horror of those few days has been steadily catching up to her, and it's too great to combat alone any more.

She's in the cages again, and corpses litter the floor beside her, ever shifting; the Professor, Erik, the X-Men, Annie.

The Vanquish, too, never quite hold their form - sometimes they're the monsters she'd so desperately fought against. Sometimes they look like sentinels, or lava men, or demons; flickers of Magneto and the Juggernaut.

Always they sneer at her she tries to fight, sluggish and weak, her strikes sliding off of them.

You're useless, little girl. You couldn't save them. You're going to die here.

She can't do anything to them, as they drag her kicking and screaming through the same tests and tortures, but outside of her head, her rage isn't contained; it lifts her body and rocks her room, tearing through everything in its path.]

[youwillgotohell]

[Morgana's sleep had been fitful for years before Morgause's gift. She would toss, and dream, she'd tangle herself in her sheets and blankets and wake screaming, images and terror behind her eyelids. That happened only rarely, once she'd put on the bracelet. Only the strongest of premonitions could break though the old magic protecting it.

She hadn't had any dreams of the future here. She hadn't thought about it; the bracelet protected her. But it could not protect her from ordinary nightmares. After she'd woken sobbing from the first, Morgana tried to put off sleep. It wasn't unfamiliar; she'd often only slept when exhaustion won the battle. The difference was that now she didn't want to lose the battle at all.

When Charles' thoughts came through, she was sitting in her chair, a short blanket around her shoulders. She was dragging her nails over the skin of her right arm - the one that had been broken, practically mangled. Now, there was no sign it had ever been. Watching as the white lines her nails drew turned red, she shifted just slightly when she felt Charles.]

Shouldn't you be asleep?

[It was dry, sarcastic. She doubted he could sleep any more than she could. And it was difficult, but she tried to guard her thoughts, tried to push away the bleak wonderings over her healed body and how it all seemed so surreal once you were tired enough.]