Peter Quill (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
zunesareawesome) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
snowblindrpg2018-03-08 11:28 pm
zunesareawesome) wrote in snowblindrpg2018-03-08 11:28 pm
[log] A Total Eclipse of the Heart [closed]
Characters: Bluestar, Sunpaw/Star-Lord/Peter Quill, Stephen Strange, the Cat/Pounce
Location: Building 317
Date: Night 336
Summary: Sadness. Just...sadness.
Warnings: Animal death/character deaths, drowning, breakdown/potential suicidal ideation, cancer-- will update more CW's as necessary and also within threads
317: Judging from the outside, this was definitely a house, but going inside, it seems to have been converted into something like an infirmary. There are a lot of metal tables neatly arranged in the living room and kitchen, and the bedroom has a mattress lightly-stained with blood: it seems like someone at least tried to clean the thing up as best they could, and even flipped it over so the cleaner side is on top. The toilet and shower still work: the shower even has hot water. Makeshift shelves have been attached to one of the walls. "ALPHONSE ELRIC, DAY TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY SIX, FOR ANY ASSISTANCE PLEASE CONTACT @LELRIC." is written on the wall.
Location: Building 317
Date: Night 336
Summary: Sadness. Just...sadness.
Warnings: Animal death/character deaths, drowning, breakdown/potential suicidal ideation, cancer-- will update more CW's as necessary and also within threads
317: Judging from the outside, this was definitely a house, but going inside, it seems to have been converted into something like an infirmary. There are a lot of metal tables neatly arranged in the living room and kitchen, and the bedroom has a mattress lightly-stained with blood: it seems like someone at least tried to clean the thing up as best they could, and even flipped it over so the cleaner side is on top. The toilet and shower still work: the shower even has hot water. Makeshift shelves have been attached to one of the walls. "ALPHONSE ELRIC, DAY TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY SIX, FOR ANY ASSISTANCE PLEASE CONTACT @LELRIC." is written on the wall.
Night 336 (all CW's above continued through the rest of this thread)
He didn't think anything of it, really, and went to find a spot to grab some shut-eye.
He wasn't sure what woke him up. Maybe it was the quiet, maybe it was the lack of Blue around, how long had it been--
Blearily, Peter gets out of his sleeping bag. Maybe a drink of water will help him go back to sleep. He walks over to the bathroom, and sees the bucket next to the door where he'd left it--
--and Blue inside.
Unmoving.
Underwater.
...
Oh, no. No, she was--it was just for a second, she'd slipped under, right--Peter's heart's frozen solid and suddenly roars back to life with a burst of pain, as if something's squeezed it--she's fine, she's fine, she was just under for a second--
"Blue!" he quickly grabs her, lifting her out of the water. She's...she doesn't feel like the right temperature, shouldn't she be warmer, the water's gone cold and--
"Blue, wake up!" She was just under for a second, just a second--he's patting her fur, shaking her as gently as he can--there's no response, no breathing--
"STEPHEN!" It's a frantic cry of help, something viscerally desperate.
add'l CW for drug use/addiction throughout thread
for now.So the irony is that he's actually one of the first to drop off to sleep after they arrive at the clinic and he lets Peter borrow his bucket, and he remains comfortably snoozing while Bluestar is dying in the next room. Peter's voice registers faintly in his sleeping mind, but it's not until that strangled cry for help that Stephen jerks awake in darkness, disoriented for a moment in that way he is every time they sleep somewhere new.
"Peter??" he calls back even as he's clambering up from the bloodstained mattress, feeling groggy and unreal, fear coiling under it all -- are they under attack? Is someone hurt? He beelines for the bathroom when he sees Peter's silhouette in the doorway, holding --
holding --
"Oh, god," he gasps, reaching out like he's going to grab Bluestar from Peter's hands -- CPR, his brain supplies, the window can't have passed --
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And so, while Bluestar soaks and the humans sleep, Pounce naps.
She must only have fallen asleep in the little tub, because it's Peter getting up for a glass of water that wakes Pounce enough to consider actually opening his eyes. There were no other sounds, no other movements. He doesn't think much of this until Peter starts to shout, bringing the Cat upright and fully alert in a fraction of a second. He races into the room, skidding only a little on the wet floor when he stops.
Seeing no immediate threat he slinks quietly to sit at Peter's side. He can hear the racing of human breath, smell fear and despair coming from both of them, but nothing from Bluestar. Under the smell of dirty water there's only the beginnings of the stink of death. He knows it's too late. Soon the humans will know too.
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"You can fix her--fix this--she's fine, right? She's fine, she's okay--"
He's babbling, because babbling was better than thinking.
Thinking made him realize--
--no, don't think that--
"I just--I wasn't asleep for that long, I was just--it wasn't that long--"
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He knows, on some level, that this is pointless, but desperation sends him to his knees right there on the bathroom floor. His hands are shaking badly, but still he goes through all the correct motions -- check for breathing, clear the mouth, open the airway.
Just like Rocket."C'mon, c'mon..." he's muttering to himself as he starts the chest compressions, pausing to blow into her nose.
She's too cold to the touch.
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“If she had made the slightest sound I would have heard it long before you could. Nothing would be different if you had been awake.”
cw self-harm, major character deaths, freezing, cremation
--the fear's growing, the fear that he's too late, he was too late and it was his fault because he left her, he left her and he fell asleep and she's just a cat and she's so small, so small lying there on the ground while Stephen worked, and his stomach hurts and his heart's beating too fast and--
She's so frail, lying there in that hospital bed. A personality that was larger than life, faded and diminished by the disease that robbed her of her life. She wasn't supposed to look like this, this wasn't her, she looked scary, and she wanted him to take her hand--
--and he didn't. And she died.
He's so big and strong, he's always been big and strong, tough as anything and ready for a fight, but the cold robbed him of that spark in his eyes, that loud, boistrious soul fading away among the stars, he should be here making fun of him, but instead he's being incinerated, to become one with the stars again, and he's so sorry because maybe if he'd just listened to Gamora it wouldn't have turned out like this--
“You musn’t blame yourselves.” The presence of the Cat was comforting, but the words bounced off the tempest swirling in his heart. “If she had made the slightest sound I would have heard it long before you could. Nothing would be different if you had been awake.”
Talking like this about Blue meant she was gone and it was his fault, it was-
"No." It's just one word, a broken sob, his face crumples, he wants to break something, he wants to break his fists against the wall because that's the least he deserved, this wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening--
cw's continue
Maybe the Cat's words will help him later, but for now Stephen keeps working, shutting both of them out. It won't be until the cramping of his hands makes it impossible to continue that he'll stop.
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--and when Stephen finally stops, there's a sense of finality that he just doesn't like.
"No--no, you gotta keep going! You-you can't stop!" He knows that it's too late, but what if it's not? "You can't stop--"
Because stopping meant she was dead, it was over, and it's his fault.
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Stephen's voice is raw; he doesn't look up at Peter from where he kneels on the floor, calves and feet going numb, fingers of one hand still curled in Bluestar's cold, wet fur. He shakes his head, keeps on looking at her.
"She's gone. I'm sorry."
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He could really use some pets right now. Maybe they could too.
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The sound of a heart monitor flat-lining.
Peter shakes his head, he can't--he can't do this anymore and he wants to run, but he can't run, he can't run away and be taken into space--
"You--no. Please."
It's mumbled, he's losing hope and the cold, painful reality is setting in. It forms into a heavy weight in his chest, like a vise around his heart, cold and unyielding.
He finally just sits on the ground, and buries his face in his knees, his shoulders shaking.
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He shifts, shuffling himself off his knees and next to Peter. He doesn't say anything, doesn't put an arm around him, but presses up against him, side by side. He glances at the Cat; lifts his hand in a vague but interpretable invitation.
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After Yondu, though, maybe it wasn't so bad to just let it all out.
He wants to pet the Cat, but he's not sure he can even bring himself to touch fur right now, but the purring is helping. Something kind and warm to simply just be there.
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They'll need to get up eventually, he thinks. Lay Blue out more respectfully, maybe, before they leave her. Throw that bucket out into the rubble for the spiders to take.
Practical thoughts at least give his mind somewhere to go, let him push away the sickening thought, under the shock and sadness, that this almost simplifies things in a way. He hates himself as soon as he's thought it at all; he and Bluestar may not have seen eye to eye, but she was a living, breathing person. She didn't deserve this. Peter doesn't deserve this.
Never this.