shatterverse | (no subject)

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Thanks to Will, Bridgette has a box of crayons and is putting them to good use.

She's lying on her tummy in the Cooper living room, drawing. A few pictures are scattered around: a blonde-haired girl riding a green and red horse with a huge blue horn. A big tree with black, jagged leaves (or are they birds?), with large red lumps underneath it. Something that might be a lizard, striped and spotted with every colour in the crayon box, floating on a cloud. A man in a green hat with his hand on the shoulder of a young boy with bright red hair. A rainbow.

She's staring thoughtfully at a blank sheet of paper. Possibly the artist does not mind being interrupted.

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"Oh, okay."

With what she feels is the appropriate solemnity (which really comes off as an affected seriousness), Bridgette says, "I am really sorry that you are dead."

Snort.

"Me too, believe me. It's--" okay, language, Alice, language-- "really damn boring, for one."

"You could play with me an' Marie, if you want."

"Marie's sleeping," she points out.

And then frowns.

"--wait, ghosts sleep? I don't."

Marie, for the record, doesn't really sleep. But she remembers what it was like to sleep and she does it.

"I can wake her up," Bridge replies carelessly - only to fall conspicuously silent at Alice's question.

Forgive Alice. She's having a slow day.

Headtilt?

Bridgette drops her gaze and fiddles with a nearby crayon.

(The van is dark. Bridgette's eyes are raw from crying. Ariel stopped sobbing before she did. It's so hard to stop. She'll never make fun of her sister again, she tells herself, because Ariel can stop crying.

"Just go to sleep, Bridge," Ariel repeats, as she does every so often. Bridgette tries and fails, as she does every time Ariel tells her to.

""

Bridgette raises her head. She tries to pull against the tape binding her legs and arms, but of course she can't get free.

"Marie-- Marie--" Then she's crying again, and Ariel is too. Little arms encircle Bridgette's neck.

Bridgette doesn't think about why Marie isn't bound, or why she didn't hear the van door open. All she knows is that Dr. Walker took Marie away and now she's back.)

Tears are in her eyes, but they haven't fallen yet.

...well. Shit.

Good job on that one, Cooper.

...

...

"...Sorry."

""

She can't bring herself to say it. The tears splash against the pristine white of the paper.

So she can't touch the kid, but she can crouch down and do her best at a hug, wrapping her arms around the space Bridge occupies and trying not to pass right through her.

Alice's presence isn't cold. It's like being hugged by a warm breeze, almost.

Bridgette sniffles and continues to cry, no longer silent.

Marie sits up, suspiciously quickly for someone that was sleeping moments ago.

"Bridge?" she murmurs, concerned, getting up from the couch and walking over. Alice gets a confused three year old's stare. It rapidly grows hostile.

"Go 'way," Marie tells Alice, hands balling into fists.

She sits back and shakes her head, a little sadly.

"No," Marie tells Alice, brown eyes blazing. "Go now!"

("Bridgette, you have to take Marie and run. Run and don't stop."

"But-- what about you?" There are gunshots in the distance. They have guns. Footsteps are coming closer, heavy boots thudding against the ground.

"Go, Bridge. We'll meet up soon. I dreamed it."

Bridgette wishes she could see Ariel's face, but it's too dark. She hugs her sister, and Ariel breaks it a moment later.

"Take care of Marie."

Bridgette turns and bolts, her hand damp, clenched tight over Marie's.)

Ariel lied to her. Did she lie about the dream, too? They haven't met up yet....

With a sob, Bridgette leans into Alice's arms.

Marie gets a look.

What Alice would be saying, if she weren't busy: I can't go, you idiot, your sister needs me.

No, Bridgette needs her.

"GO!" Marie shrieks - and then launches herself at Alice's closest arm, attempting to pry it from Bridgette.

She goes-- vanishing in a flicker of light and warmth.

So it's Marie who hugs her sister while she cries.

The flicker gets a confused stare from Bridgette, but only for a moment - she has many more issues to deal with now.

"Okay, Bridge, okay," Marie whispers as she clings.

"'M sorry, really sorry...." Bridgette sobs.

Marie is three. She will always be three, and will never understand why her sister is sorry.

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