Cal Chandler (
americas_son) wrote2011-02-18 12:48 pm
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Sunnydale AU: careful of the curse
Tina is finally asleep. Richard has been and gone, leaving a mild sedative so she can sleep between transformations. Cal closes the guestroom door quietly behind him, trying to think through his own physical and emotional exhaustion (and low blood sugar, and nicotine withdrawal) to decide exactly where Sherlock will be.
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So he does.
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"I thought - I just kept thinking this morning, 'I can't do this again.' What if -"
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"What if what?"
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"I had to kill my dad."
Most of the time, reminding himself that Reed Chandler was long gone from that body helps.
Sometimes, when he's tired or it's been a rough day or something has his mind chasing itself in circles, it doesn't.
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Oh, Cal.
Sherlock hugs him again.
"It is not at all the same," he murmurs.
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There are no words for the relief he'd experienced when he'd realized that. He doesn't even bother to try to find them. Instead, he says, still near a whisper,
"But I was so scared it would be."
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But it is extremely preferable to the alternative.
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"It's not so bad," he says quietly. "It could be worse. But I don't know how to tell her that without sounding like an asshole."
No one likes the guy who goes around telling people things could always be worse, especially when he's not the one they're happening to.
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Cal can think of ways in which every one of the shitty things that have happened could be worse.
(if he hadn't had his laserpointer, if he'd been alone in New York that night, if he hadn't stopped Tony in time to keep him from reaching the seal -
If he hadn't decided to go to Angela's party that night . . .)
It really doesn't help.
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So, hugs.
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(He hasn't cried over it since.
He doesn't know if he'd be able to stop.)
He's nowhere near tears this time, though; he breathes carefully for a moment, composing himself, then says,
"The furniture's not gonna move itself."
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Sherlock lets go and steps back.
"Can you manage the desk if I take the chair?"
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"Let's find out."
It turn out that he can, more or less, pushing it toward the door. It's lighter than he would have expected.
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He does exactly that. The vaguely office-like room at the end of the hall is small, but sparsely furnished; the desk will indeed fit just fine.
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He doesn't really get a lot of sustained exercise.
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They are, he realizes, going to have to take it apart to get it through the door.
Well. It'll be easier to carry.
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Tools of some kind. Probably.
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"Okay."
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As it turns out, once they have extracted the mattress, the frame comes apart quite tidily.
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