Visions and Revisions

[Cobalt Weaver]

What greater thing is there for human souls than to feel that they are joined for life - to be with each other in silent unspeakable memories.

– George Eliot


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May 1984

“So are you excited for graduation?” Cobalt asked his friend, smiling at Elaine as she tied Morgan’s shoes.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Elaine’s face was unusually drawn and solemn as she straightened up, reaching out to Cobalt to hand her Morgan’s sweater. She forced a smile when she saw Cobalt’s concerned face. “But I’m sure you’re turning backflips, huh?”

Cobalt tilted his head to the side, considering, “…Yeah. You okay?”

Elaine glanced at Morgan, who was looking between the two of them curiously. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She said significantly. She gave Cobalt a pleading let-it-go look that Cobalt reluctantly obeyed.

“Later, then.” Cobalt said, bending towards her ear so Morgan couldn’t hear. Then, he turned his attention to the four year old, “Okay kiddo, are you ready to go?” He grinned broadly at Morgan’s happy, affirmative shriek. “Okay then.” He hauled the little boy up on his shoulders and struck a dramatic pose, “To the pond!”

Elaine watched as Cobalt marched down the path with her baby on his shoulders. He was a good friend, and clearly adored Morgan more than anything. He was a little strange, and kind of annoying sometimes, but it was far better than being alone in all this. She snickered as she watched her friend spin around in a circle, clearly on Morgan’s behest, as the boy cheered.

“Morgy, don’t make Uncle Cobalt spin like that,” She admonished her son with a smile on her face, “He’ll hurt his knees.”

“Oh.” Her son’s cheerful face turned solemn and he looked down at the top of Cobalt’s head, still perched on the older boy’s shoulders, “Sowwy, Uncle Coba.”

Cobalt swung the boy off his shoulders and hugged him, “Don’t worry about it, buddy. You hungry?”

Morgan nodded vehemently, causing both Elaine and Cobalt to laugh. “Okay then, sweetie,” Elaine rummaged in her backpack, prepared specifically for this picnic, “Here are your goldfish crackers, be sure to chew them, honey.” She gave her son an affectionately exasperated look as he eagerly took the Tupperware and sat down, already munching on a fistful of crackers.

Cobalt snickered, “He’ll get it eventually. It’s just ‘cause they’re so tasty, huh Morgan?”

“Mmmyeah.” The toddler responded, mouth full of orange cracker.

Elaine grinned and nudged Cobalt’s shoulder with her own, “So, what’s in your backpack?”

Cobalt nudged her shoulder back, “Chips and soda. Want some?”

“Yes please.” Elaine grinned, “And I brought sandwiches, because you’d just squish them.”

“Oh please.” Cobalt scoffed, “I would not squish the sandwiches. I didn’t squish the chips.” He pulled the bag out of his backpack and inspected it. “Much.” He amended with a sheepish grin. Elaine laughed.

“Nice.” She said teasingly, “I’m totally convinced now to leave sandwiches in your care. I can see that they’d be perfectly safe.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” Cobalt admonished, equally teasing, “Chips are way more squishable than sandwiches anyways and—oof. Hey there, Morgan.” Cobalt shifted his position as Morgan absently climbed into Cobalt’s lap. Once both were comfortable, Cobalt continued, “Anyways, I don’t really care. Can I have a sandwich?” He gave Elaine what she supposed he thought was a winning smile. It wasn’t. It was, however, a little funny.

“Hm.” Elaine looked thoughtful, “I dunno. Morgy, should we give Uncle Cobalt a sandwich?”

Morgan looked up at Cobalt, setting the now-empty bowl on the ground. “Mmmm. No!” Morgan giggled, smiling up at Cobalt. Elaine laughed, “Well, there you have it. No sandwich for Uncle Cobalt.” She grinned at him, “I, on the other hand, will eat both of these sandwiches! Mwahaha.”

Cobalt laughed, “You are truly evil. And you!” He reached down to tickle the four year old, “Why don’t I get a sandwich, huh? What am I gonna eat? You?” Morgan shrieked and wriggled out of Cobalt’s grasp, running to hide behind Elaine.

“Oh no, hiding behind Mommy isn’t going to do anything this time, buddy!” Cobalt rolled forward on his knees, shuffling towards the boy.

Morgan shrieked, and darted out from behind Elaine to push Cobalt over before running back. Surprised, Cobalt toppled over and landed on his back. “Oof!” He coughed, the wind knocked out of him. “Ahh, you got me. I’m dead.”

Elaine laughed loudly, “Morgy, don’t push people over like that. Go tell Uncle Cobalt you’re sorry.” She smiled at her son, who beamed and took that to mean he ought to run and jump straight on Cobalt’s chest. “Sowwy Unca Coba!” The boy laughed, oblivious to the fact that Cobalt currently couldn’t breathe. The teenager coughed and sat up, letting the child slide onto his lap.

“That’s fine Morgan.” He smiled and turned to Elaine, “Can I have a sandwich now please?”

Elaine grinned and passed him a wrapped sandwich, “Oh, I suppose so. Here you go, ham and cheese.”

Cobalt sighed, taking the sandwich and flopping over onto his back, “You are a goddess and I love you. And your sandwiches.”

Elaine snorted and rolled her eyes, “Good to know.”

-

After Morgan had been put down for a nap, the two teenagers collapsed on the couch, breathing a sigh of relief. “I swear, naptime was really made for the parents.” Elaine sighed, running a hand through her hair. Cobalt made an affirmative noise, his eyes closed and his head leaning back on the couch. Elaine eyed him, “I don’t want to wear you down. You know that if you had other things to do, you could just let me know, right?”

Cobalt opened his eyes and stared at her, confused. “Uh. Yeah, I know. I mean, I’ve had to cancel on you before, remember? I like being here, Lainey. You’re my best friend, and Morgan’s awesome.”

Elaine’s smile quivered. “Thanks.” She said, her voice wavering, “It’s nice of you to say that.”

Cobalt eyed Elaine, “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on? Something’s bothering you.”

Elaine sighed. She hadn’t planned on sharing her troubles with Cobalt. As much as he’d always be there for her, it wasn’t really something he could help with. “Well…” She sighed, “I’m worried about graduation. I mean… this has been my home more than my actual house. Hammel helped me work things out when I was pregnant, Hammel supported me and helped me with Morgan. Now… I dunno.” She stared down at her knees, looking young and afraid, “…I kind of want to be a florist. But I don’t know if I can do it. Like, how am I going to work and find childcare and afford a place of my own? I mean, Marcus’ family sends me money sometimes but…” She shrugged, a little frustrated, “I want to be free from that.”

Cobalt looked thoughtful and serious, the shadows looping around him as if they were helping him think. Elaine turned away to lean her head against the back of the sofa. She didn’t expect Cobalt to help or even have advice for her. She just needed to get that off her chest.

“Lainey?” Cobalt’s voice was apprehensive. She turned to look at him, and he was twisting his fingers together in anxiety. The shadows rolled around him. She frowned, “Yeah, what’s up?”

Cobalt was silent for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Will you marry me?” The words were rushed, and the moment he said them, he blushed deeply. Elaine gaped at him.

“What?” She blinked, completely taken by surprise.

“W-well, let me explain.” Cobalt stammered hastily, “Look. I know… I’m not the best candidate to marry you. You could do… far better than anyone at this school. And I know…” He sighed, “I know I’m not Marcus. But I think I could make you happy. And- and I love Morgan.” He gestured helplessly, “I just want to help you and your son. I could go to school here and I could easily get a job and that’ll be another income for you. So you could open your flower shop and not have to worry about anything.” He flushed again, looking at her, “I’d… I’d be a good husband. I’d even try to be a social human being.”

“Wait, wait,” Elaine put a hand up, trying to get a handle on this situation, “But… but I thought you were going to Chicago?”

Cobalt shrugged, “It’s just another school, Lainey. I could get a fine education here and I’d be able to find a job easier anyway.” He peered at her, “Just so you know that there’s someone there for you. And—and there’s a lot of like, financial things we could take care of. You don’t have to say anything, or agree, or anything like that. But…” He shrugged, having finally run out of words and courage.

Elaine started to laugh. Cobalt flushed red as Elaine clapped a hand to her mouth, trying to sustain giggles. “Cobalt,” She said finally, beaming at her strange friend, “You are the nicest guy in the world. But we would totally not work.”

Cobalt’s grin was just this side of relieved, “Yeah. I just… You know…”

Elaine nodded, rescuing Cobalt from his own words, “Yeah. Thanks.”

[Cobalt Weaver]

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

- Kahlil Gibran

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August 1977

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t—I’m not— It was a bright summer’s afternoon in New Jersey, and an eleven-year-old boy was curled in on himself, hyperventilating, under his bed. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way…

Cobalt squeezed his eyes shut tight and pressed his lips together to prevent any sounds from escaping. Maybe if he was very quiet, the smiling lady downstairs would forget about him and let him get on with his life. And he wouldn’t have to leave and go away to some school and maybe he could even get adopted and—

Who would want to adopt someone who went to a boarding school?

A dry sob escaped from his thin lips and he was having problems breathing. He wasn’t meta. He wasn’t. He didn’t know how to do anything special. So he was able to hide a little better than most people in the dark. So he could make the shadows do what he wanted. Nobody had even noticed until they took a blood test. And now there was this woman telling him he had to go and—and…

“…Cobalt?”

Cobalt opened his eyes a crack at the sound of his best friend shuffling around the room they shared with two other boys. A pair of untied sneakers loped into his line of sight, followed by knees and then a kind, round face. Danny. Cobalt sniffled a little, staring back at his best friend. The brown haired boy adjusted his large, coke-bottle glasses and extended a hand out to pull the smaller boy out from under the bed. Cobalt stared at it for a moment before taking his hand.

Silently, the two boys moved to stuff Cobalt’s things into his backpack. Neither seemed willing to know what to say. They had been best friends since the moment they met. Danny was the first friend he’d ever had.

Danny glanced at Cobalt, his brown eyes concerned and upset. “Guess that’s it.” The other boy croaked, zipping up Cobalt’s backpack. “I…well.” Danny stammered for a moment before reaching out and grabbing Cobalt by the shoulders, scooping him into a tight hug. Cobalt gripped him back, trying so very hard not to cry.

“I don’t wanna go.” Cobalt mumbled into Danny’s shoulder.

“Well.” Danny sounded like he was crying, “You learn cool meta-things and then you can come back and tell me about them. Just don’t forget about me, okay?”

Cobalt pulled back, words piling up in the back of his throat. He wanted to say that he would never, ever forget Danny for as long as he lived. That Danny was the most important person in his life. That… Cobalt stared at the boy in front of him for a moment before pulling him forward and pressing his lips against Danny’s.

It was not a perfect kiss, by any means. In all of Cobalt’s eleven years’ experience of living, he’d never had to kiss anyone before. It was strange and desperate and not at all what he expected, but it was okay, because it was Danny. And—

Suddenly, what exactly he’d done came rushing at him. Abruptly, Cobalt staggered back, his eyes wide. Danny was staring back at him, his face shocked. Cobalt’s mind reeled; he hadn’t actually done that, had he? He hadn’t really—Cobalt opened his mouth to try and say something, but no words came out. Everything he’d ever been taught told him that what he’d done was so wrong. He’d just sinned beyond measure and he might have dragged Danny into this and he was such a horrible person.

With a strangled noise, Cobalt grabbed his backpack and ran down the stairs, wiping his eyes furiously. He couldn’t look anyone in the face as he left with the recruiter from Hammel. If he did, he might tell them what he’d done, and then he could never come home.

He stared out the window of the car, watching St. Ives Children’s Home speed from view, his classmates and teachers congregated outside, waving goodbye.

-

A month later, he received a long letter written in clumsy, preteen hand. Danny didn’t mention it. So neither did he.

[Cobalt Weaver]

The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me.

- Ayn Rand

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May 1992

Bill Fredrickson wasn’t used to being in the office so late. The thirty-seven year old attorney was always pretty ready to go when the clock struck six. But he was now privy to the unique experience of getting too caught up in his work. It was now ten o’clock and Bill didn’t know if he’d get into any kind of trouble checking out so late. He wasn’t quite sure. Stretching, the attorney pushed himself up from his desk and gathered up his things. Once his briefcase was closed and his jacket was on, Bill was ready to get the hell out of here and maybe hit up some bars. It was late, but it wasn’t as though he had anyone waiting on him at home.

A light on in one of the cubicles gave him pause. Someone must have left a light on, since there was really no way anyone sane would be here this late. But when he turned the corner, he was surprised to see the new kid hunched over his desk, pouring through an old battered notebook. It took a little mental rearranging to remember that the kid’s name was Cobalt. And he wasn’t really the new kid—he’d been with the firm for a little over a year now—but he had gotten saddled with the nickname on his second day and it stuck. Besides, he was only a kid, and always looked a little younger than he actually was. At least to Bill anyways, who was starting to feel old even at the age of thirty-seven. And here Cobalt was, only about twenty-five, twenty-six years old, still hard at work at ten o’clock at night. It occurred to Bill that the kid might do this every night. Which was really damn absurd.

“You’re gonna wear yourself out, working like that.” Bill pointed out, watching with amusement as Cobalt jumped nearly out of his chair in surprise. He turned and leveled a cold glare at Bill, which would have been rather effective, once upon a time. At least the kid had completed Rule Number One of the Lawyer’s Handbook: how to look intimidating. At least, that’s what Bill liked to thing was the first rule. Not that he ever achieved it.

“It’s fine.” Cobalt replied, his voice quiet and a little peevish, “I already clocked out. I’m here on my own time.” He adjusted his glasses, “Clocked you out too, when I noticed you were still around past six. Boss hates it when people don’t clock out on time.”

Bill blinked in surprise, “Hey, thanks, kid.” Cobalt nodded in acknowledgement and turned back to his work. Bill surveyed the young man’s cubicle; it was bare and sparse, with one Polaroid pinned to the wall of a smiling, young blonde woman holding a beaming, waving toddler. Bill’s eyebrows arched in surprise, “That kid yours?”

Cobalt looked up briefly, a small smile creeping up his face, “No. He’s my…nephew. His name’s Morgan. That’s Elaine.”

“Ah.” Bill grinned a bit, “I gotta few of those myself. Here,” And without really knowing why—it wasn’t as though Cobalt was the friendliest of people, and Bill never really shared this kind of stuff with random coworkers—he fished his wallet out of his pocket and opened it, “This is my brother’s kids: Mike and Catherine and Jonah. They’re six, twelve, and fifteen.” He expected Cobalt to take a cursory glance, nod and make some obligatory remark before turning back to his notes. Instead, Cobalt turned in his seat, the young man’s hard features softening as he examined the pictures intently. “They’re beautiful,” Cobalt said finally, a real, honest-to-goodness smile on his serious face. Bill nodded, “Yeah, they’re all the family I got, you know?”

Cobalt nodded, “Yeah. I do know.” With one last look, Cobalt turned back to his work.

Bill tilted his head to one side, “You know, I never did understand why the boss picked Dunham over you for that one case. You work way harder than him and you’re a helluva lot more professional. Even if you are just a kid.” The last bit was meant as a joke, which Cobalt huffed out a laugh to.

“It’s because I’m the only one who’s openly metahuman in the workplace.” Cobalt said, matter-of-factly, turning a page in his notebook. “I heard him talking with his secretary.”

Bill stared, “Wait…what?”

Cobalt nodded, half-shrugging, “Yeah, well. It’s not that big a deal, since—”

“You’re meta?”

Cobalt turned to look at him, disbelief written on his features. “Uh… yeah. You didn’t notice?” He raised a hand and let the shadows pool and swirl around him, “I’ve never hid it as long as I’ve been here.”

Bill ran a hand through thinning black hair, “I dunno! I always thought you were…just weird.” The older man flushed at the admission, but Cobalt barked out a short laugh.

“I guess I’m not surprised,” Cobalt replied with a wry grin, “I get that a lot, really.” He scrutinized Bill’s face. “Is this gonna be a problem?” His voice was conversational, but Bill recognized, one lawyer to another, the shift in weight and the challenging raise of an eyebrow.

“Nah, what do I care?” Bill shrugged, “I’m just embarrassed I didn’t see it before.” He frowned slightly, “But I don’t understand it. You work your ass off, get passed up for better jobs, and I’ve heard you argue. How come you’re not gettin’ all social justice like I’ve heard you do?”

Cobalt looked at him, his blue eyes gleaming and a confident smile curling his mouth, “Because I don’t intend on staying in this firm forever. I’m getting out, and I want as little ties as possible when I go.” He lifted his chin, “I’m going to start my own firm someday, once I get the money. And I’m gonna leave this place and never look back.”

A grin spread across Bill’s face, “Well, I’d recommend you, kid. Good luck on that.” He adjusted his briefcase and glanced at his watch, “Whoo. It is late. You wanna come out with me, maybe grab a beer?”

Cobalt looked taken aback. “Oh. No thanks. I don’t drink. Besides, I won’t be done here for a while. But. Um. Thank you.”

Bill nodded, “Sure thing. See ya around.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

[Cobalt Weaver]

Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.

-Socrates

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May 2009

Cobalt bent over his computer, fingers tapping rapidly over the keyboard. It occurred to him that he was hungry, but he could let that slide for a little longer. He was on a mission; he had to reach out to some of the connections he’d made to get some help on this case. That, and he still had to worry about some residual paperwork from the last case he took. He really hated paperwork. As of now, he was banging out an email to a colleague of his from another town, trying to convince him to work with Cobalt on their respective cases. There was a link between their two cases, and Cobalt knew it. The other guy just didn’t see it that way.

It didn’t help that he hated Cobalt. And probably with good reason.

Sighing frustratedly, Cobalt passed a hand over his face. His glasses had broken, and he’d gotten tired of paying for new ones every damn year. So he’d stopped wearing them. It probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but he was too distracted to care one way or another about the imminent pressure headache. He could see fine.

Suddenly, the door swung open with a bang and a breeze ruffled his papers. Cobalt looked up, a scowl on his face, to see a young blonde woman probably fresh out of law school, clutching a folder in her hand. Cobalt groaned inwardly. At the behest of one of his (more friendly) colleagues, he’d sent out a call for an intern. He hadn’t really wanted one, however, and had succeeded in scaring any prospective applicants away. Now it looked like he would have to scare off another one. Great.

But before he could open his mouth, she spoke first. “Hello Mr. Weaver, my name is Leila Gold. I’m a graduate from the University of Chicago’s law program and I brought my resume to outline my various qualifications, I am a hard worker, top of my class and I can start right away.” She took one look around his office and spotted the table where the coffeemaker was sitting, “And I guess I can take up that space right there.” She raised an eyebrow, but continued, “Anyways, if you have any other questions, my phone number is with all my other information. Thank you, and I will see you tomorrow.” With a cheery smile and a little wave, Leila Gold bounced out of his office before he could say a word.

“…What the hell…?” Cobalt got up to look out the window to see her shrugging at a group of friends, bright red and uncertain. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Well, that was odd. Limping back to his desk, he flipped through her folder, looking over her transcripts, previous jobs, and various other credentials. “Well,” He said finally, “Let’s see what happens here.”

-

The next morning, Cobalt was once again sitting at his desk, tapping away at his computer when the door opened once more, albeit more timidly. Cobalt looked up to see Leila, anxious and trying not to show it. A small smile tugged at Cobalt’s mouth, “At least you’re punctual.” He nodded at the coffee-table-turned-desk, “Set up your stuff over there and we’ll get to work.”

Leila’s face lit up, but otherwise she said nothing, opting instead to nod and get herself situated at the table. Cobalt tilted his head, considering, “I just have one question,” She looked up and Cobalt waved her resume, “You’re more than qualified to work at a bigger company. Why don’t you?”

Leila smiled, breeze ruffling her hair, “I dunno. I read about you, and the work you did. I liked your style. I like how you kind of want to save the world.”

Cobalt considered her for a moment longer before standing and tossing a thick manilla envelope on her desk, “The details for the case I’m working now. I’m trying to get Robert McElroy to work with us on this, but he’s being… difficult—”

“Is this the dad of John McElroy?” A mischievous grin curled Leila’s lips, “I used to date his kid. I got this.” She reached for the phone and began dialing. Cobalt grinned back and returned to his own desk.

This could work.

[Cobalt Weaver]

These silly little wounds will never mend. I feel so far from where I’ve been.

– Vanessa Carlton

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October 1977[/b]

Cobalt stared around the room suspiciously. Today was his first day of something called “group power training”. He hadn’t done much power training before, having been passed between a few trainers in his first month and a half at Hammel. Some trainers thought his control was surprisingly good for someone so new. Others found him completely belligerent, unwilling to make any progress at all. Others still thought he wasn’t quite ready for power training, saying that little boy hadn’t quite adjusted to being at Hammel.

Whatever the case, somehow Cobalt ended up in group power training with some other eleven and twelve year olds who were all looking around nervously. Cobalt put his hands in his lap and scrutinized the other children. There was a little boy who was holding his left arm glumly in his lap, the limb having detached itself completely from his shoulder. There was a frail-looking girl with limp blonde hair curled in on herself, looking fearful. Cobalt wondered what had happened to her.

Finally, two power trainers entered the room, all smiles. Cobalt watched them with a guarded stare. He didn’t quite understand how someone who didn’t have his power could help him with it, but he kept his opinions to himself. For now.

They were instructed to get into groups. Cobalt’s power was designated as a “kinetic” power and he was sequestered with a clumsy telekinetic named Austin who kept accidentally flinging the block he was meant to be moving at Cobalt’s head. After a few minutes, the harried trainer told Cobalt to “take a break” so she could deal with Austin. Exasperated, the preteen sat closer to the “mental” powered group and watched with fascination as a telepath guessed cards that he couldn’t see. The little, frail blonde girl was in that group, looking like she was going to cry. Cobalt watched her, a pinprick of concern in the back of his mind.

“Okay Lucy, it’s your turn.” Tremulously, the girl walked over to stand in front of her power trainer. Cobalt scooted closer to the group, his brow furrowed with concern and confusion. The power trainer and Lucy started on some ritual they’d obviously done before. It occurred to Cobalt that Lucy might be older by at most a year, but she certainly didn’t look it. He didn’t quite understand what was going on, but after only a few short minutes, Lucy looked pale and shaken and tired. Suddenly, the little girl stumbled backwards, wavered on her heel and started to fall. Cobalt sprung up to his feet without thinking. He reached out and steadied her, his hand making contact with hers.

And Lucy began to cry.

Startled, Cobalt froze, his eyes wide and surprised as Lucy twisted out of his hands, falling to the floor and sobbing loudly. Cobalt looked at her then back at his still-outstretched hands, trying to understand what he did. He’d only meant to help. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. “Wh—I don’t…” He looked helplessly at the power trainer who was hurrying to Lucy’s side. The woman looked up at Cobalt with a distracted smile, “Honey, it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. Lucy’s an empath. She can feel what you feel by touch and—”

“H-how can you st-stand it?” Lucy cried, her voice rough with tears, looking up at Cobalt with tearstained eyes, “H-how can you feel all that all the t-time?”

Cobalt looked at her, uncomprehending. Suddenly he was painfully aware of the telepath boy standing to his left with a fearful look on his face. And of the hiccupping sobs of Lucy and the piercingly concerned looks of the two trainers (one of whom was also a telepath). He was vaguely aware that he was trembling. “I’m—I’m sorry.” Cobalt stammered, backing up and out of the room. “Cobalt—” the trainer began, but the eleven-year-old boy turned and ran out of the gym.

[Cobalt Weaver]

We are all born mad. Some remain so.

- Samuel Beckett

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December 2009

Cobalt sipped his coffee, reading a book in his favorite chair. Christmas for Cobalt was always a solitary affair, but that didn’t mean it was necessarily a sad affair. Mostly because Cobalt was a naturally solitary person. Right now, he was warm, he was comfortable, and he was reading. All was well.

Then the doorbell rang.

Starting, he looked up from his book to stare at the door in surprise. It was almost nine; by this point, most everyone was inside with their family, not wandering around. Hauling himself out of his chair, he limped to the door and opened it. To his surprise, his intern, Leila Gold, was standing there with a smile on her face and a paper bag in her hand.

“Hey Blue.” She greeted (she’d stopped calling him “Mr. Weaver” within a day of him actually hiring her), “I thought maybe you’d want some company this Christmas, since you mentioned you weren’t going to be having any.” She brandished the paper bag at him, “I made brownies.”

Cobalt stared at her, a little dumbfounded. Working with her for the last seven months had taught him a few things: Leila was hard-working, responsible, and one of the strangest people he’d ever met. He wasn’t sure if she was aware that this wasn’t all that appropriate, or if that didn’t matter that much to her. At any rate, her intentions never seemed to be anything more than friendship. Which was always nice. That, and he wasn’t all that sure she had family in Chicago to go and see. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if she had anyone to stay with this Christmas. For someone like Cobalt, who was used to it, solitary was a default setting. He suspected Leila was one to want to be with family during the holidays.

That, and she made excellent brownies.

“Oh, all right.” Cobalt grumbled, opening the door wider and letting her in, “Come on. I don’t know why you were running around Chicago at night for anyways, that’s dangerous.”

She gave him a look. “It wasn’t that far. And besides, I’m pretty sure I can take care of myself, thanks.”

Cobalt found himself having this argument with Leila an awful lot since this girl had started working for him. He wondered why he cared. She was a grown woman, if she wanted to gallivant around a big city in the middle of the night, that shouldn’t be his problem.

Still, she smiled and shook her head, “Well, thanks for caring, I guess.” She held out the bag, “Brownie?”

He rolled his eyes, but took a brownie out of the bag anyways. “You want some coffee?” He asked, figuring he might as well be polite to the kid who worked for him. And in her slightly too-large yellow sweater, blue jeans and purple converse, she really did look like a child. She tucked a curl of windswept hair behind her ear and sat cross-legged on his couch.

“Sure, that’d be great.” She beamed at him. Cobalt shook his head as he poured her a cup and resisted the urge to tell her to get her feet off the couch. It wasn’t as though he didn’t always put his feet on that couch. “Here you go,” He said, handing her the steaming mug. She smiled her thanks and took the cup, holding it up to her face to catch the warmth. He sat back in his chair and wondered what he was supposed to do now.

“So. Really, what brings you over here? Are you okay?”

Leila looked up at him in surprise. Then, she grinned, “What, I gotta be in trouble to visit a friend on Christmas?”

Cobalt blinked at her, more than a little surprised. He’d always figured her to just enjoy ribbing him during business hours, but not really wanting to associate with him afterwards. He wouldn’t, if he were her. He couldn’t imagine that he was a very easy boss to work with. Instead of saying any of this, he shrugged, “Fair enough. I guess I’m a little surprised.”

She swallowed her sip of coffee, “Well, if you actually do have plans, I can clear out. It’s no big deal.” She stared at him over the rim of her cup, blue eyes questioning.

Cobalt looked at her, then smiled a little, shrugging. “Nah, I don’t really do anything during holidays. Or ever.” He limped over to his chair and lowered himself into it, wincing a little. He greatly preferred colder weather because it almost always meant less sunshine, but his joints didn’t appreciate it.

Leila tilted her head to the side, considering, “Why don’t you get a knee brace or something?” She asked, nodding at his knee.

He shrugged, “It’s too much of a hassle. Also, they’re not comfortable.”

She gave him another look. “Well, yeah. But eventually you’re not gonna be able to walk. And that’s gonna suck. You might even need a cane.”

Cobalt snorted, “I got a cane. I only use it when I really mess it up.”

Leila rolled her eyes and laughed, “Wow. Between this and the glasses thing, I can tell you really take care of yourself.” She was laying the sarcasm on thick, and Cobalt couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

“Hey, you worry about yourself. All the candy you eat, I sure hope you brush your teeth.”

She laughed louder, hair rustling in her breeze, “Wow. Wow, Blue. Pot, meet kettle?”

He shrugged, “Maybe. Just a little bit.”

“Maybe just a lot.” She countered, smirking at him. She leaned back against the couch, cradling the coffee cup in her hands, “Thanks for letting me crash your one-man party.”

He smiled, sipping his coffee, “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Glad you came. Or rather, I’m glad you made brownies. Because they’re delicious.”

Leila snorted, “You so only hired me for my food.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

[Cobalt Weaver]

Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come. Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground.

– James Taylor, "Fire and Rain"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

October 1973[/i]

“Hey Cobalt?”

“Mmmn?” The little boy poked his head up from behind the book he was struggling with. He’d been informed that it was far beyond his reading level and not to worry—he would understand it later. So naturally, Cobalt sat himself down in the homework room, painstakingly trying to decipher this book. Thus far, it was about some guy named Dorian who was kind of a jerk and had a picture painted of him that Cobalt just knew was sinister. That was all he’d been able to discern. He’d spent the entire afternoon and had gotten all but fifty pages in this book, which was far slower than his usual pace. It was frustrating. But it was also a challenge. One that Danny was interrupting. Cobalt bit down his irritation and pushed up his glasses, “What?”

Danny gestured his model airplanes, “D’you wanna play pretend fighter pilots with me?”

Cobalt looked from Danny to the airplanes. “…What? How do you play that?”

Danny looked shocked, “What, you’ve never played pretend before?”

“How are you supposed to play fighter pilots if you don’t know what fighter pilots act like?” This made no sense to Cobalt. “Do you know how fighter pilots act like?”

“Well…no.”

“Then how d’you know you’re doing it right?”

This seemed to catch Danny off guard and Cobalt watched as his friend sputtered, searching for an answer. “Well… I—it… It doesn’t matter!” He threw his hands up in exasperation, “How have you never played pretend before?”

Cobalt shrugged again, not sure why Danny was so upset about this, “Who was I gonna play pretend with? Myself? That would be silly.”

Danny tilted his head, a troubled look on his face. Danny often forgot that Cobalt didn’t have friends before Danny, and Cobalt suspected the thought disturbed him a little bit. Which was weird, since it didn’t bother Cobalt at all. Still, Danny wasn’t willing to give up: “Well…I’m going to teach you how to play now. So get up.”

Cobalt gave Danny an incredulous look, “But I’m reading!”

“C’mon, please?” Danny affixed his brown and earnest eyes at Cobalt, who sighed.

“Fine, okay.” The ten year old huffily shut his book and stood up, reaching out to take one of Danny’s model planes. “So what do I do now?”

“You just…” Danny gestured vaguely, “Play.” He was slowly growing more and more discouraged with this whole thing. Cobalt could tell from the droop of his shoulders. So the younger boy took a deep breath, and stared at the model plane in his hand. He could do this. He’d seen other kids do it. There was no reason he couldn’t. Cobalt rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before reaching out with the plane and tapping its nose to the side of Danny’s plane (of course ignoring the fact that if real planes did that, they would both blow up) and weakly said:

“Pew pew?”

Danny’s face lit up in a huge grin and suddenly he was off, shouting some barely coherent airplane lingo he’d picked up from television that Cobalt doubted was very accurate and waving his model in the air. Cobalt grinned back and sprinted off after him, mostly shouting vaguely airplane-like onomatopoeias for lack of better things to think of

-

When Sister Catherine called them inside for dinner, both boys were out of breath, giggling and leaning against each other for laughing. “So playing pretend,” Danny panted, still giggling, “It’s not so bad.” Cobalt gave him a little nudge with his shoulder and grinned in response.

[Cobalt Weaver]

To fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.

– Sun Tzu

---------------------------------------------------------------------

June 2009[/b]

“Wait. Blue, I don’t get it.”

Cobalt sighed and raised his eyes skyward as he walked down the streets of Chicago, his new intern trailing behind him. “I didn’t realize they stopped teaching you the word ‘lunch break’ at University. I distinctly remember it when I attended.” Cobalt checked his watch then continued walking leisurely down the sidewalk. Beside him, Leila huffed in annoyance.

“Yeah, but I’ve only known you a month and this is the first real lunch break I’ve ever seen you take that wasn’t to the hot dog stand a block away.” Leila scrutinized him, “And besides, we finally have a case again. Shouldn’t we be working it?”

Cobalt shot Leila an amused look, “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?”

Leila raised an eyebrow, “Well I have to tell you how to eat. Nice glasses, by the way.” She gave him a pointed look before sighing, “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re doing?”

“Because I’m not doing anything.” Cobalt said, his face all innocence, “I just want to eat some lunch. Is that all right with you? Or did you become my mother?”

“God, I hope not.” Leila muttered petulantly, crossing her arms and letting the air around her stir.

Cobalt smirked at her, “Hey, blow some air this way. It’s damn hot.” And it was. Summers in Chicago were intense, heat rolling off of the sidewalk and the sun was pounding and blindingly bright. It had Leila in a skirt and blouse and Cobalt still stubbornly in pants and a long sleeve shirt. But that was mostly because he’d get sunburned. Leila gave him A Look and then a gust of wind barreled straight into Cobalt, almost knocking him over. Cobalt adjusted his glasses, “Mature.”

Finally, they stopped outside a little Italian restaurant. Leila glanced over at Cobalt questioningly, “I didn’t know you liked Italian.”

“I like food, Leila.”

She eyed him, “Why are your shadows out so far?” And they were: coiling about his shoulders and wrapping about his arms. She’d never seen them out so far before. Cobalt looked at her, exasperated, “Because it’s hot. I’m trying to get some shade.”

Without another word, Cobalt pushed his way into the restaurant, up to the front where a waitress would seat them. The waitress smiled, but before she could say anything, a man with a tag that said “Manager” intercepted them, a cold look on his face. “I’m sorry,” He said loudly, “We reserve the right to deny service to anyone. Including metahumans.” He cast a pointed look at Cobalt’s shadows and the light breeze ruffling Leila’s hair.

Leila stared and opened her mouth angrily, but Cobalt touched her wrist briefly before nodding congenially. “All right. Thank you.” He replied, his voice polite.

Leila gaped at him all the way out of the building. Once they made it to the sidewalk, she rounded on him. “What was that?” She demanded, “We’re lawyers, that kind of stuff is something we’re supposed to speak out against! And you just let that guy kick us out of a restaurant. What the hell?”

Cobalt looked at her, a hint of triumph on his features, “That fellow happens to own a chain of different restaurants. One in particular happened to fire a young worker immediately after she married an open metahuman rights activist. It was all very circumstantial. I just confirmed my suspicions.”

Leila stared at him. “You set him up. That’s why you were doing those wonky things with your shadows. You bastard, why didn’t you just tell me?”

Cobalt gave her an apologetic grin, “Mostly because it was funny. But I knew this was kind of a sensitive subject for you. I don’t know you very well; I didn’t know how you’d react.”

Leila and he walked down the side of the street. “What,” She said finally, “It’s not a sensitive subject for you too? You’re meta. You’ve had to deal with people and their crap too, haven’t you?” She arched an eyebrow at him as they sat on a bench near a park.

Cobalt shrugged, “Sure. But here’s the thing.” He adjusted his glasses, trying to think of the best way to word this, “When I was around where you are now, out of school, getting a job, whatever…the metahuman rights was just starting to take off. Back then, it was far more common to hear that people weren’t getting jobs because they were black, or Hispanic, or Asian, or a woman or whatever. Then metahuman issues picked up.” Cobalt shrugged, “God knows it’s not a bad thing and I’m not complaining. But it’s important to keep in mind that there’s more to it than just meta rights.”

Leila nodded, “Yeah. I know. Is this a not-so-subtle way of telling me not to specialize in metahuman rights?”

Cobalt snorted, “No. I think you should do what your passion is. I would ask you to hold off on making the specialization for a little while. But you do what you want.” He shrugged, “You asked me how I felt about meta rights and I answered. Oddly, there’s not a whole lot of difference between meta issues and racial issues or gender issues or orientation issues or whatever.”

“Yeah, except that racial issues don’t result in someone accidentally blowing someone up with their mind.” Leila added wryly.

Cobalt shrugged, “Once upon a time, it was commonly accepted that because of the cranial shape of a person with African descent, they were biologically more prone to violence. Some people still believe that.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“But it’s similar. People will always try to limit people because of things they can’t control and then use public or personal safety as an excuse.”

A small grin quirked Leila’s lips, “And then we come back to Hammel.”

“There is no such thing as segregation for your own safety.” Cobalt said, his gaze intense. “There isn’t. Throughout history, every single case of discrimination and segregation has had that excuse of safety. ‘It’s for their own good’. That isn’t true. That’s never true. All Hammel does is validate unfounded fears so that when kids go out in the real world, they’re confronted with a thousand assumptions they don’t know what to do with. And everything stays the same.”

Leila held out her hands, “Hey, you don’t need to talk to me about it. I already know.”

Cobalt grinned, “Yeah well. The point here: do what you want. Just don’t lose perspective.” Abruptly, he pushed himself off the bench, “C’mon. I’m hungry. I bet the hot dog stand is still open.”

“The hot dog stand? Really? You know, I could buy us actual lunch.”

“Hey, do what you want. I want a hot dog.”

“Those hot dogs are gross.”

“I’m not making you eat them.”

“Blue…”

[Cobalt Weaver]

Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be this hard. I’m going back to the start.

Coldplay “The Scientist”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

March 1978[/b]

If there was one thing Cobalt knew how to do, it was hide. A naturally small and quiet boy, he was learned in the art of being unnoticed. Shadow manipulation only helped with this skill. The good thing about how the metagene manifested in him was that while his power didn’t do much, it was almost instinctually manageable and kept him out of sight. Which was all the thirteen year old asked of it as he crept along the halls of Hammel at 12:23 at night, reaching out with his powers and crouching in the darkness. His blue eyes glinted behind crooked glasses as he scanned the halls. After a moment of quiet, he leaned against a window, forcing it open.

Ordinarily, that would have started up a silent alarm that would have at least three security members up there (he knew this from experience), but Cobalt knew that the alarms for that window had been temporarily disabled since it was broken. He’d bribed a younger student with enhanced hearing to do some eavesdropping for him. Cobalt waited for a good ten minutes, his hands trembling slightly at his sides as he waited. The easiest way to escape from Hammel was, of course, to just go on a daytime trip to the town, and never come back. But Cobalt had already tried that, and he had to be accompanied on trips to Pilot Ridge now. And trying to lose someone tailing you was just a big hassle. So he was left with no other alternative.

Satisfied that nobody was coming, Cobalt crept towards the window and slung his legs over the side. There was a bundle of vines that crept up the walls of Hammel, and they could support his weight. He’d been sure of that. But it was different in the dark. Swallowing tightly, Cobalt lowered his small body out the window and hooked his feet into the helpful plants. It was a long, harrowing trip down, and several times, Cobalt was pretty sure he was going to fall and die. However, somehow, his feet hit the ground and the thirteen-year-old let out a sigh of relief. Straightening up, Cobalt pressed himself against the wall, eyes peering through the darkness, watching for anyone who would give him away. He had no backpack, and whatever money he could scavenge up was bundled up in the pockets of his darkest jeans. He adjusted his black hoodie and strode out into the night.

He’d looked at maps and had done some surreptitious research on the area. He knew where the bus stops were, and the bus schedules. He’d decided, however much it made him sad, that he couldn’t go back to New Jersey. They’d sent him away once before and he had no doubt he’d do it again. Besides, Danny hadn’t written him back in about a month, maybe more. There wasn’t anything left in New Jersey to come back to.

So Cobalt had made plans to go to New York. He could easily hide amongst the crowds and bustle of the big city. He would wait until he was far enough away from Pilot Ridge to take the bus and then ride it as far into New York City as he possibly could. He didn’t know what he would do then, but he figured he could find a soup kitchen or some such for food. That, and if he were to believe the incredibly stupid catchsong of the YMCA, he could find some manner of resources with them. He could get by, and at least it would be on his terms.

Once he got outside the city limits of Pilot Ridge, Cobalt actually started to get that anticipatory feeling in his stomach. He was starting to believe that he might actually be able to do this. He might actually be free.

The next town over was Rutland, and in the pre-dawn hours, it looked like something out of a picturebook. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and padded over to the bus station, content to sleep on the bench until the next bus came. He’d just gotten settled, shivering lightly in the chill March air, when a taller man in an overcoat came to sit next to him. Cobalt eyed him warily, but said nothing. He didn’t recognize him, but his wide brimmed hat, while it made the stranger look straight out of a noir, also obscured most of his face.

“You know.” The man spoke, and there was laughter in his voice, “Never have I met someone who would prefer living homeless in New York to going to a really well-funded school in Vermont.” He eyed the teenager, who was now frozen in his seat. “But I have to give you credit: you got really damn far before we realized where you were. Which is saying something when you’re pretty much Public Enemy Number One with the security staff.”

Cobalt stared back with wide eyes and a sinking stomach. They’d found him anyways. And here he thought he’d be able to do this, to escape and try to…

Try to—

The older man took off his fedora and peered at the small teenager, frowning slightly, “C’mon kid, what’s the deal? What’s going on that you don’t want to be here this bad? You getting bullied?”

“No, I started those.” Cobalt said, trying to keep his voice dismissive. “Except for the one with Brett, but I started the last one. Me and Brett hate each other, so…” He shrugged, “It’s not my fault he’s an idiot.”

The security official raised his eyebrows bemusedly, clearly not following this all the way. Cobalt wiped angrily at his eyes, cold and angry and tired, “I hate it there. I hate being there all the time. I h-hate everyone there and-and I hate being there at Christmas.” The last part threw off the older man, and he squinted, trying to follow the little boy’s logic.

“What’s wrong about Christmas?”

Cobalt scowled at the ground, his lips pressed together tightly. Finally, he said, “Because I’m stuck there listening to people whine about how they hate their parents, or they would go home, but they don’t want to, or how their parents don’t like them for some reason or another.” He glowered deeper, his mouth wavering, “It’s stupid and I hate them.”

Ohh… Things started to make more sense. The older man leaned back, thinking. Finally, he said, “You don’t know me, I don’t think. I’m new. David.” He held out a hand to the boy, who started. There was a tense pause and David got the feeling that he was coaxing out a skittish animal. Finally, Cobalt reached out and took his hand, shaking once before snatching his back. “Cobalt Weaver.” He muttered, eyeing David suspiciously, “How’d you find me?”

David grinned apologetically, “Tracker. I was notified when they found you out of your bed. If it makes you feel any better, it took me ‘til about here to get you.”

“Cheater.”

David had to laugh then, briefly. “Yeah, sorry.” He sobered, looking at the younger boy. “So what’s the deal? Your parents don’t like you?” That was the usual story anyways.

“Don’t have any.” Cobalt shrugged.

“So you thought you’d go to New York City and wander about ‘til you found some?” David didn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.

Cobalt flushed angrily. “It’s better than sticking around in a boarding school for metas. Nobody wants to adopt a meta kid who goes to a year-round boarding school.”

David shrugged, “Kid, I can’t help you with that. But trust me, being homeless in New York is never a good plan.” He glanced at Cobalt sternly, “And I know you’re thirteen and it feels like nobody can understand your special pain or something, but there are kids with worse circumstances than you. There are kids at Hammel with parents who don’t even want ‘em. For something they couldn’t even control. How fair is that?”

Cobalt paused, staring down at his sleeves. “When I have kids,” Cobalt said finally, “It won’t be like that. Parents are s’pposed to love their kids no matter what.”

David huffed out a laugh, “You’ll be a fine father, then. But c’mon, you gotta go back.”

Reluctantly, Cobalt pulled himself up to his feet, head down. David clapped the teen on the shoulder, “You know what? The quickest way to get outta here is just to do what you gotta do to graduate. All this running away crap only makes it worse.”

“Yeah… am I in trouble?”

“Hell yeah you are. I don’t even want to know what they’re gonna do to you when we get back.”

“Heh. Maybe I’ll get drawn and quartered.”

“…You’re a weird child.”

[Cobalt Weaver]

They would not find me changed from him they knew - only more sure of all I thought was true.

- Robert Frost
---------------------------------------------------------------------

May 2011[/b]

[ooc: this takes place directly after Making it Better ]

It didn’t take long for Cobalt to find the number. For being fairly disorganized in all other aspects in his life, Cobalt kept meticulous care of his contacts. He had everyone he ever knew written down in a brown planner, their name, phone number and address, if he had it. The problem wasn’t finding the phone number. The problem was using it. Elaine was right, he did have the unfortunate tendency to slip away and leave people out of reach. And Sam had been a good friend who had stuck with him through a lot of trouble. And they hadn’t talked in almost ten years. If Sam was even interested in still being his friend, that wasn’t fair to him. The problem was figuring out what to say. Finally, Cobalt sighed, ran a hand through his hair and wondered when he’d became a sixteen year old girl. He tapped in Sam’s number and waited as the phone rang, hoping he didn’t have to leave a message.

After three rings, the other line picked up. “Hello?” The voice was female, and familiar. Rosie.

“Hey Rosie.” Cobalt smiled in spite his awkwardness, “I don’t know if you remember me, it’s been a while. It’s, uh. It’s Cobalt. I’m—”

“Cobalt! Of course I remember you, dummy. How are you? Still being a proper pain in the ass?”

Cobalt laughed, relaxing instantly and feeling a little stupid for having felt so awkward, “I have it on good authority that I am still keeping up on those duties. How are you?”

“Still the only sane one in the room.” Rosie’s voice was affectionately exasperated, “I bet you’ll be wanting Sam. Your timing is great, we just got done with dinner, I’ll go get him.” The noise of a phone being set down, and then some muffled voices. Finally, another familiar voice sounded on the other line, “Hello?”

Cobalt grinned, “You sound all surprised. Hey Sam.”

“Cobalt! Hey man, how’s it going?”

“Not too bad. Going crazy over here, thought I’d call for some sanity.”

“Shit, you must be somewhere nuts to call here for sanity. Where are you now? Aren’t you in Chicago still?”

Cobalt felt a little guilty, “Uh. No, I moved. Like, almost a year ago. I’m in Pilot Ridge now. In… Vermont.”

A pause. “You moved?” Sam sounded a little betrayed, but not all that surprised, “You’re so weird, why didn’t you tell us? Rose is gonna have a fit, you know. You should give me your address later.”

Cobalt winced slightly, “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. Tell Rose I’ll sacrifice a small animal to stave off her bloodlust. I dunno, it was really sudden and I don’t really think about these things anyways.”

“Wait. Pilot Ridge, Vermont? Isn’t that the meta school place you told me about? The one you aren’t really supposed to talk about?” The disbelief in Sam’s voice would have been funny if Cobalt wasn’t feeling a little embarrassed.

“Um. Yes. I went back.”

“You went back? Why on earth would you do that? That place almost drove you crazy the last go-round.” Another, more serious pause, “So is everything okay, man?” The sincerity and seriousness in Sam’s voice caught Cobalt off-guard.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. Why? You sound all worried.”

“Well, I mean…you go back to the one place that caused you all kinds of grief when you were a kid, and now suddenly you call out of the blue needing some sanity? That, and considering the reason for the last time you called, I feel a little concerned you’ve gotten yourself into some shit.”

“Okay, well, first of all, you sound like my mother.” Cobalt rolled his eyes.

“Like you would know.”

Cobalt laughed, “That’s awful, you should be ashamed of yourself, mocking my sadness like that.” Of course, those things were long past the both of them. “Secondly, I can’t remember what happened the last time I called you.”

“It was like… ’97. Cosovo case. I hope you remember, because I still got the scars for that.”

“Oh yeah… well I’m not in that kind of trouble. That was the last of the stabby, risky kind of trouble.” Cobalt grinned wryly, “I’m too old for that.”

“Amen. But you are in trouble.”

“We’ve had trouble. I’ve not been involved in it. Directly.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “You know when we were both just starting out our jobs, and nobody would tell us shit?”

“Yeah.”

“A little like that.”

“Christ. And you haven’t done anything about that?”

“The hell am I supposed to do?”

“I’m thinking ’89. I’m also thinking of that thing with the detonator.”

“Oh, let it go. Unfortunately, all the criminal activity and the retaliatory criminal activity in the name of justice I used to be so fond of has already been taken care of. Now, it’s just another thing that I’m probably not supposed to talk about.”

“’Cause I’m not meta or some shit like that.”

“Well, that and you’re a cop.”

That left Sam silent for a moment. “Okay, level with me here. What’s going on up there?”

Cobalt sighed, gesturing helplessly even though he knew Sam couldn’t see, “I dunno, Sam. I still don’t have any answers on that. Just…keep an ear to the ground for news about Vermont. You want my opinion?”

“Sure, why not?”

“You remember that thing in ’93? With the Dark Hands Liberation?”

“No way. If it was that bad, people would know it.”

“I dunno. Things got really weird there for a while.” He sighed, “Anyways, it’s all over now, I’m just livid. I… Morgan was involved.”

“Oh Jesus. Is he…?”

“He’s okay. He got hurt really badly, though. In more ways than one.” Cobalt ran a hand through his hair, “He was played. ‘Member Donnelly and that thing with that girl? I think it went kind of like that.”

“Ahh shit, Cobalt. I’m sorry.”

“He’ll pull through. He’s a strong person and he’s got a good support system, it’s just…” Cobalt shrugged, “He’s my kid. Or as close as I’ll ever get. And I couldn’t do a damn thing.”

“Hey, don’t do that. You can’t be there for everyone. You told me that, remember?”

Cobalt huffed out a reluctant laugh, “How could I forget? Still got the scars for that.” None of which were physical, but both knew what Cobalt meant.

“Hey look, man. You do your best, and nobody can ever say otherwise. Also, Morgan isn’t a five year old anymore. Pretty sure he makes his own decisions now.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Cobalt’s grin grew more genuine, “So, in an attempt to move things back to lighter territory, how are you and Rosie? Any kids?”

“Nah. We made the decision to have it just be us.”

“Where’s the fun in that? You need a tiny, cute body to distract Rose with when you get in trouble.”

“Heh. With all the fifth graders she teaches all day, I think she’s immune to the small child sad face.”

“Well, we figured that out when we were in college.”

Sam laughed, “True. What about you? No kids still? You’re the one that wants ‘em.”

“Nope. Wasn’t in the cards for me, I guess.”

“That’s a shame”

“I’ll survive. Hey, it was good talking to you. Good to know you’re doing well.”

“Yeah, you too. Or as well as you ever let yourself be.”

“Oh please, not another lecture, I think I’ve already got this one.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I’ll have you know I have friends now. Several, in fact.”

“Golf claps. Well, man, I gotta go. Work in the morning.”

“Sounds good. Work treating you well?”

“All right. It’s tiring. Same boulder, same mountain, you know?”

“I do. Talk to you later, Sam. Good to hear from you.”

“Yup. Quit being such a stranger, Cobalt. And try to call me if you get into trouble. You know I got your back, but I can’t bail your ass out of places if I don’t know about it.”

“Duly noted. See ya.”

“Bye.”

Cobalt clicked his cell phone shut and stared at it pensively, a slight smile on his face.

[Cobalt Weaver]

The way I see it is the more people that hate me, the less I have to get along with.
-Unknown

---------------------------------------------------------------------

March 1991[/b]

“It looks stupid.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“What? I’m just saying, it looks stupid on you. I think it’s too small.”

“I don’t recall asking your advice, fashionista.”

Cobalt snorted at Sam’s indignation. And the nickname. “Don’t be so pissy.” Because Sam really was being pissy. His friend had made the mistake of buying a brown abomination of a bomber jacket and seemed surprised when Cobalt had been honest about his opinion. An idea struck him. “Oh wait. You know who you look like? Ah… what’s his name...” He thought for a moment before snapping his fingers, “That guy from Starsky and Hutch! The brown-haired guy.”

“I do not!” Sam rolled his eyes, laughing incredulously, “You’re stupid. Besides, you’re one to talk, how long have you had that jacket?”

Cobalt shoved his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, “Since a while. But it’s old, not ridiculous. There is a difference.”

Sam snorted, “Yeah, this conversation is pretty over.”

Cobalt shrugged, “Whatever. So what’s this new place that you’re dragging me to?”

“I am not dragging. It’s just your typical bar and grill thing. It’s tasty though. And the owner’s real nice.”

“Sounds fine.”

They finally reached the place in question and pushed the door open. Sam directed him to the bar area—just because they could get seating there quicker, he promised—and flashed a friendly grin at a grizzled old man in a stained apron. “Hey, Jeff!” He waved, and the man came shuffling over. Sam leaned over to Cobalt, “That’s the owner. He runs the bar on Fridays.” Cobalt nodded mutely as Sam and Jeff exchanged pleasantries.

“Ah, Jeff, this is my friend Cobalt. Cobalt, Jeff.” He sat back a little and Cobalt nodded, reaching over to shake hands with Jeff, shadows curling self-consciously about his elbow. He hated meeting new people.

“Jeff, nice to meet you.” He said politely, extending a hand

Jeff started to reach over, then stopped at the sight of Cobalt’s shadows. There was an awkward moment of stillness before Jeff snatched his hand away as though he thought Cobalt was going to bite it off.

Sam started, “Whoa, what—”

“We don’t serve metas in this establishment.” Jeff growled, eyeing Cobalt with intense hatred, “So you best be on your way.”

Cobalt raised an eyebrow in surprise. Well. This hadn’t happened in a while. University of Chicago wasn’t really a collegetown, but it tended to be more liberal in the immediate areas. Sam and Cobalt now shared an apartment farther away. Well, this was the real world. And as much as he’d like to, Cobalt couldn’t punch this guy.

Sam, on the other hand, looked like he was going to try. He pushed off the barstool and stood there, his glare infuriated. “You can’t do that! That’s—you—”

Cobalt touched Sam’s elbow. “Cool it, Sam.” He said quietly, “It’s not your fight.”

Sam spluttered, enraged and at a loss, but he shook his head and stepped away from the bar. He turned steely blue eyes at Jeff: “You’re a real douchebag, you know that?”

Jeff glared, “Don’t think I don’t know what them metas do in their schools. I’ve seen it. They go and disappear once they get their powers and nobody sees ‘em until they’re fully-grown and powerful. Don’t think I don’t know what they teach ‘em.”

“Well, if your answer is math, sciences, and the liberal arts, you’d be correct.” Cobalt said loudly, rolling his eyes.

“Bullshit—”

“Well, that too, but what private school doesn’t, if you ask me.”

“They’re lookin’ to make them mutants take over us normal people.” Jeff talked over Cobalt, clearly getting up on his soapbox. Cobalt rubbed his forehead and sighed. “That’s why it’s all secret. They don’t want everyone else to know about it.” Jeff pointed at Sam, “And you, son, you’re just bein’ manipulated. They just want people to trust ‘em so it’ll be easier to take us over!”

“Well, this has been insane and all,” Cobalt said, “But I’m leaving. Have a—”

“Excuse me, what did you say?”

Sam, Cobalt and Jeff turned to see a middle aged man standing with hands on his hips, glaring sternly over his glasses. Behind him, his wife and two children sat, mouths open. “If you don’t mind, I’ll thank you from keeping your ignorance to yourself. My sister’s a metahuman, and what you’re saying is very hurtful to my family.”

“Yeah.” A bushy-haired, awkward looking teenage girl with a peace sign on her shirt glared up at them from another table, “What the hell, my boyfriend’s mother is meta.”

“Also, I’m pretty sure, like…” A strung out, skinny college-aged boy blinked placidly from a booth, “Mutant isn’t politically correct or somethin’.” He yawned, “’Sides, who cares if you’re meta. S’not like they can control it or nothing. Live and let live or something.”

“Yeah, who cares if they’re meta, it’s no reason to kick them out of a restaurant. This isn’t the 60’s.”

“My next door neighbor is meta. There wasn’t anything wrong with her.”

“I’m meta!”

Everyone turned to look at a suddenly sheepish woman in the corner. She flushed, “Telekinetic.”

Cobalt raised an eyebrow; suddenly there was a group of people getting up and grumbling and leaving the restaurant. It wasn’t a huge group, by any stretch—only about eight or ten people. But still. Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder, “C’mon man. Let’s get outta here.”

Outside, Sam turned a mortified face to his friend. “Man, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—I didn’t know—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Cobalt grinned, “Really. I’m just… surprised that other people were willing to say anything.”

“Hey look.” Sam grinned, “People aren’t as bad as you think. Who’da thought.”

“Shut up.” Cobalt grinned back, “Let’s go find something to eat. And I’m picking the place this time.”

[Cobalt Weaver]

I sought the Lord and he answered me and delivered me from my fears. Look to him and be radiant, and your faces will not be ashamed. This poor man cried out to the Lord and He heard him, and saved him from all his suffering
Psalm 34:4-6

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[ooc: this takes place after So Long to the Headstrong, I Should Tell You and Between the Lines of Fear and Blame, but before To Be With You @.@ apologies for the continuing angst with the side of religious fuckery.]

August 2011

“And do me a favor? Would you tell everyone at my church, too? The Methodist church on 2nd street. Please. Thank you so much. Love you."

Cobalt stood on the opposite street corner from the United Methodist Church, wondering what the hell was his problem. There was some kind of perverse humor in that thought: what the hell his problem was. He didn’t think it was very funny at the moment.

He’d been trying to convince himself to go into the church for about twenty minutes now. It wasn’t all that hard. It wasn’t as though he had to actually go to a Mass; he just had to go in, tell the pastor that Leila was ill and she wanted their prayers, and then he could go. It wasn’t that hard, and it was something she wanted and needed him to do. And he couldn’t do it. A spike of anger shot through his body. This was pathetic. He couldn’t do something for his friend, his partner, his little girl because of issues and hurts he’d long abandoned to the winds. Just because he hadn’t set foot in a Church for two decades didn’t mean anything. Shouldn’t mean anything. Because this wasn’t about him. This was about Leila, dammit.

Finally, Cobalt just… sat down on the sidewalk and put his head in his hands. “…Shit.” He muttered thickly. He needed to talk about this, as odd as that thought was. He couldn’t do this alone this time. He just…didn’t know who to talk to. The obvious choice was Elaine, who always knew what to say, and was always there for him. But he didn’t know if he could talk about this with her and say all he needed to say. For once, he didn’t think talking to Elaine would help. He obviously couldn’t talk to Josh about this, because they didn’t talk about this kind of thing. And while he knew Josh would try his best, it would just be too awkward, and things would get lost in translation. Riley was out as well, for similar reasons.

…Oh. That’s right.

There was someone else he could call. Someone who would definitely understand everything that Cobalt needed to say and because he’d been there. Cobalt fumbled for his phone.

“…Danny?” He asked as soon as the receiver picked up, his voice tired and small. “It’s Cobalt. Could—d’you think you could come and meet me somewhere? I’m across the street from the Methodist Church on Second Street. Yeah… no, no. I’m fine. I just… I need your help with something. Thanks.” He hung up the phone and continued the staring contest he was having with the little Church across the street.

True to his word, Danny was there in less than three minutes, his brow furrowed in concern. “Cobalt? Cobalt, are you okay?” He sounded cautious, as if he was trying to figure out just how concerned he should be. Cobalt felt bad for worrying him.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” Cobalt watched Danny shuffle his feet awkwardly before sitting down on the curb next to Cobalt. Abruptly, Cobalt had a brief memory of them doing this as children, waiting for one of the sisters to call them inside. Cobalt’s chest tightened. “Leila wanted me to go and tell her Church that she’s ill and I can’t… it’s just… shit.” Cobalt glared at his knees, feeling stupid, “I thought I was past this.”

Danny’s brow was furrowed in confusion for a moment before comprehension dawned on his face. “Oh… Cobalt. I don’t—I’m sorry—”

Cobalt shrugged, feeling bitter. “At least she didn’t ask me to pray for her. I’m not sure my prayers would do her any good, seeing as I’m not exactly on God’s To-Be-Saved list.”

Danny looked at him, eyes wide and startled. “What do you— Cobalt.” Danny’s voice was shocked and a little pained, “You don’t… I mean. Um. I…kinda thought you were atheist now.” He looked apologetic, as though he had vaguely insulted Cobalt with the assumption, “Or at least agnostic.”

Cobalt shook his head, a humorless half-smile on his face. “No. I wish.”

“You… why…?”

“Because.” Cobalt hunched over his knees a little petulantly, “Because at least then I wouldn’t have to believe any of it. I feel like my life would be so much easier if I didn’t.”

There was a moment’s pause as Danny worked through what Cobalt was saying and—more importantly—what he wasn’t saying. What they never talked about. What they should have talked about when they were eleven. “Cobalt.” Danny’s voice was uncharacteristically serious, “We’re not going to Hell for...we’re not going to Hell.”

Cobalt barked out a laugh that sounded like a sob. “Yes we are.” He pressed his hands against his face briefly, knocking his glasses askew. “Or rather, I’ve found nothing in the world that can make me stop believing that, in the back of my mind.”

“We don’t deserve it.” Danny said firmly, but his eyes were wide and ghosts of old fears passed over his face, “I don’t believe we deserve Hell. We’re good people. You’re a good person, Cobalt.”

Cobalt examined Danny’s stricken expression. “I’m so sorry, Danny.” And he really meant it. “I didn’t… this was a bad idea. Forget I said anything.”

“What? I—wh—how can you expect me to just forget you just said that?” Danny spluttered, looking stricken and concerned, “We’re friends, we talk about things.” Danny’s brow was creased with worry, “I mean…God, Cobalt. How do you even function, believing that?”

Cobalt shrugged, “It’s not so bad. I like to believe that even though I’m not really going there, at least if Leila… if she…” Cobalt curled over his knees again, his lips pressed into a hard line. “…She’ll be all right. And Elaine. And Sam and Rosie.” He rubbed his eyes, sighing, “It helps.”

“Cobalt—”

“I wish I didn’t,” Cobalt said fiercely, glaring at the Methodist Church, “I wish I didn’t believe that there was a God. And—and how completely fucked up is it that I can’t stop believing in a divine being who is eventually going to damn my eternal soul? And how completely ridiculous is it that I actually don’t give a shit anymore?” Cobalt spread out his hands in front of him, “I’m just...It’s just so…I’m so tired.” He leaned back, not taking his gaze off the Church, “I’m so tired of caring.” He huffed out a resigned chuckle, “I’m so tired of my religion, Danny. I wish I could believe something else.”

Danny stared at him for a moment before reaching over and pulling him into a fierce, tight hug. Cobalt leaned into the hug and clung to Danny’s arms, pressing his face against his friend’s shirt. “I know, I know.” Danny mumbled into Cobalt’s shoulder, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He sounded tearful; Cobalt hoped he wasn’t going to cry. “You don’t have to go, you know.” It took Cobalt a second to realize that Danny was talking about the Church. “This… I mean, you’re ripping yourself apart over this. It’s not worth it.”

Cobalt burrowed into Danny’s arms for another few seconds, but then pulled away, blinking rapidly. “No, I have to. Leila asked me to. I promised her I would.”

Danny looked at him for a second, his eyes still furrowed and earnest. Slowly, he nodded. “…Okay. Well, I’ll go with you. It’ll be like old times.”

Cobalt had to laugh a little bit, shakily. “Just like old times,” He agreed with a nod. “Thank you.”

Danny reached down and squeezed his hand briefly before dropping it. “We’re friends. That’s what we’re supposed to do.” He looped an arm around Cobalt shoulders; like brothers would. “Let’s go.”

[Cobalt Weaver]

I watched you grow away in photographs and memories like spies. The salt betrays my eyes again. I started losing sleep… and wishing I was ten again, so I could be your friend again

Brandi Carlile “Turpentine”

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November 1977

Dear Danny,

Hammel isn’t fun at all. The teachers are stupid and dont like being told theyre wrong. Even though I guess Sister Frances would scold me for acting too proud. But I wasnt! They were wrong! And when I told them, I got detention. I guess I was being disrespectful. Which was stupid, wouldnt they want to know if they’re wrong? I would.

I miss you a lot. I hope Mikes not acting too mean. I’m trying to get back home, but they wont let me yet. Soon, I hope. Im trying to work really hard in class and then maybe they will let me go home. My power doesn’t do anything anyways. Its stupid too. Everything is stupid. Exept for you. I think I grew a little taller though. Maybe you could come visit and see.

Cobalt.

February 1978

Dear Danny,

I hurt someone today in class. I swear I dint mean to. Rember when I told you about that girl who was an empeth? I guess I do the same with telapaths too. Which made me sad, since Johnny is so nice. But he says my thoughts make him cry. I dont mean to. I dont think my thoughts are that sad. You never thought I was sad did you?

I guess I’m more sadder now that I’m here and I dont ever get to see you. But Im glad everything is well. I am glad you did so good on your science project I bet it looked great and I wish I could of seen it.

Cobalt

March 1978

Dear Danny,

I waited for your letter all day. I even skipped class. Dont feel bad though. I thought about things and if you want to stop writing that is okay. I just wish you could send me one more to tell me what I did wrong. I must of made you mad, and I am sorry. I dont think I will send this letter so I guess I will tell you everything I cant say out loud. Even the stuff I wish I could. I cant talk about stuff like this when Im looking at the person. Then everything I feel pushes on my chest and I forget how to breath. Its scary. But I should of tried to say things to you because youre my best friend and you wouldnt do anything bad to me. I dont think there is anyone here who is safe. I should of tried to say that Im sorry I kissed you Im sorry that I made you mad when I kissed you when I left. I didnt mean to I just had to tell you all these feelings and words are never good enough.

I dont know how to say words right. They get all jumbled up in my mouth and then they choke me. You rember how I get sometimes.

I miss you all the time. And sometimes I wish one of us was a girl so we could get married and not have to worry about going to Hell. Id even be the girl if you didnt want to be. Even though youd make a better one But I don think we are old enough anyways. But thats how I feel. Youre my best friend forever so I guess I would marry you if we were allowed. When we both grew up. If you wanted.

I keep worring I sent you to Hell by kissing you. I hope God understands it wasnt your fault and that it was mine. I tried praying a couple of times to try and explane to him but I dont know if he listens anymore. I hope he does for you.

I love you I miss you I love you

Cobalt

[Cobalt Weaver]

Dry, this is all your fault

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Firsts

1. Who was your first love? Um. Danny. I was eleven and I didn't really know any better

2. Who was your first kiss and when? ...See above

3. Who was your first prom date? I didn't go to prom. Are you kidding me?

4. Who was your first room mate? I...had dormmates in Hammel, but we all had our own rooms. So I guess my first proper roommate was Sam Hill. He's a cool guy.

5. What was your first job? I worked as a cashier at a McDonalds

6. What was your first car? Er...a blue one? I can't quite remember. I think it was a beaten up Camry or something.

7. When did you go to your first funeral? Thankfully, I've never been to a funeral.

8. How old were you when you first moved away from your hometown? Eleven. And against my will.

9. Who was your first grade teacher? Sister Frances. I remember she was always very nice.

10. Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane? Pilot Ridge, Vermont. Whoo.

11. Where did you go for your first date and who was it with? I...don't recall. I think I was in college and we went to dinner. I think I was a freshman and I'm reasonably certain it was a blind date.

12. When you snuck out of your house for the first time, who was it with? Nobody. The first time I snuck out of anywhere, it was Hammel, I was eleven and trying to run all the way back to New Jersey. Because I was that angry.

13. Who was your first best friend and are you still friends with them? Danny. Yeah, I like to think we're still pretty good friends.

14. Who was the first person to send you flowers? I've never been sent flowers. Which is a good thing. I wouldn't know what to do with them.

15. Where did you live the first time you moved out of your parents house? Well I don't have parents, but I moved from St. Ives when I was eleven to go to Hammel. That was a fun day.

16. Who is the first person you call when you have a bad day? I don't usually call anyone. I would probably call Elaine though, if pressed. She usually knows what to say.

17. Who's wedding were you in the first time you were a bridesmaid or a groomsmen? I have never been a groomsman at anyone's wedding. This is because I've never attended a wedding before. Though I have been invited to one.

18. What is the first thing you do in the morning? Look for my glasses.

19. What was your first career choice? When I was younger, I wanted to be a policeman.

20. What was your first sport? I don't play sports.

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Either Or

Sparking or still water: Still

Kisses or hugs: …I’d…really rather not have either. I guess if pressed, hugs.

Piercings or tattoos: What, would I rather have one or the other, or do I have one or the other? Um. Well, I don’t have either. I guess piercings are less permanent.

Hot or cold: Cold

Nike or Adidas: Umm… I think my tennis shoes are Adidas. I just buy whatever fits. It’s surprisingly hard to find male running shoes in my size >.>

Cats or dogs: Cats. They don’t bother me as much

The US or the UK: The…U.S.? I’ve never been anywhere else

McDonalds or Burger King: I don’t care. Wherever’s closest

Church or nightclub: …This is a terrible question.

Mariah or Madonna: wh—I…don’t know who those people are.

Beer or soda: Soda

Rock or rap: Neither. Any. I probably won’t like it either way.

Winter or summer: Winter.

Sun or rain: Rain.

Love or lust: ...Um. I… love?

Pepsi or Coke: Coke. There is a difference!

Love or money: Love

Indiana Jones or James Bond: Indiana Jones

Sweet or sour: Sweet

Night or day: Night. Definitely.

Originality or acceptance: Originality

Independence or Companionship: Independence

Stability or Freedom: Freedom

Introvert or Extrovert: Introvert

Wicked or RENT: Neither, from what I’ve read. Wicked sounds weird and RENT just seems damn depressing

Music or Television: …Television, I guess. At least you can learn something.

Blondes or Brunettes: Wh—these questions are stupid. brunette

Birds or Squirrels: Birds

Car or Truck: Car

Driving or Riding: Driving

Mexican or Chinese food: Chinese

Pie or cake? Hell, either. Unless it’s made by Riley. Then pie.

Chocolate or vanilla? Chocolate

Smile or frown? By nature people prefer to smile. I find I frown more often. According to Leila I should work on this.

Tears of joy or tears of sorrow? Joy, I guess. I’ve never cried tears of joy.

Past or present? Present. The past is messy.

Science fiction or fantasy? Shitty murder mysteries. …What? Okay, I guess from those two, I read fantasy.

Dull or sharp? Sharp

Live forever or die young? Well, considering I’m already too old for this question… if given the choice earlier: die young.

Books or television? books

Jump or skip? …I have bad knees.

Fast or slow? Fast

Run or walk? Depends

Disney or Warner Brothers? I don’t have much experience with either. But I would hazard Warner Brothers.

Belle or Jasmine? …Who?

Gaston or Cruella Deville? I… still don’t know what we’re talking about.

Colors or black and white? black and white

Cute or pretty? What? Uh. Cute?

Good or evil? Good

Fruits or vegetables? Fruit

Milk or juice? Milk

Hot chocolate or gingerale? hot chocolate. Definitely

Beer or wine? I don’t drink.

Movies or cartoons? I don’t watch much of either. But… movies.

Moon or stars? Stars

Sky or sea? Sky

Vision or hearing? Vision

[Cobalt Weaver]

“More weight.”

- Giles Correy, “The Crucible”

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The first time Cobalt ever cried while reading a book, he was nine, and he read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. He didn’t cry because he understood Maya Angelou’s desires for freedom, and he was far too young to fully appreciate the gravity and beauty of her language. He cried because she was hurt so badly as a child and nobody in her family knew how to help her. That wasn’t what family was supposed to be like. That wasn’t what family was supposed to do for each other.

He’d been unusually recalcitrant and moody for the rest of the day. Danny had been worried, but Cobalt didn’t know how to explain. He didn’t know how to explain how, when her blind moments of terror when her mother took off her dress to put on another one froze her in place, it made his chest hurt. He didn’t know how to tell him that her determination to keep her unexpected child made him curl up under his blankets and cry as quietly as he could. It would be one of the last times Cobalt cried ever, and he couldn’t articulate to Danny why he felt this way. Probably because he didn’t know himself.

--

When Cobalt was fourteen, he read The Crucible as assigned reading. It made him angry, uncomfortable, and sad. But he didn’t cry.

-

October 1979

He couldn’t remember how he got there, but his soporific brain insisted that it made sense, that he should be here because he was in so much trouble for what he did and that he ought to be ashamed—

It’s your fault, it’s your fault, it’s your fault, it’s—

—And how do you feel about tha—

—calcitrant, stubborn, unpleasant—

—Problem child—

Don’t forget me.

Cobalt looked around, recognizing the voice and the plea. Danny, Danny. He tried to call out, but he couldn’t speak and he couldn’t move and there was something crushing on his chest, and he couldn’t breathe and—

More weight

Cobalt didn’t know who spoke that, although his brain insisted that he did. But he didn’t mean to and he certainly didn’t want more weight because he couldn’t breath as it was and he wanted to make it stop but he couldn’t find his voice—

More weight

No, no he didn’t want more weight. He wanted to get up, he wanted to move, he wanted to run. He was pinned to the floor, something blurry and horrible and heavy pressing on his chest and he couldn’t—he wanted to—

More weight

Cobalt was fairly certain he was crying now, and a thousand eyes were looking at him, and judging him and he was guilty for everything they thought he was, and if he could find his voice he would apologize because he was so, so sorry but the shadowy people watching him were just shaking their head with disappointment and disapproval and all he wanted was to—

More weight

The shadowy people were parting, making way for someone else and Cobalt almost cried out when he saw it was Danny because Danny would save him, Danny would always save him—

More weight

Danny stood over Cobalt, as he struggled for breath, pinned to the floor. There was a rock in his hand. He stared at Cobalt impassively before placing the rock on the slab that was already crushing his chest—

More weight

--And Cobalt could feel his insides splintering as Danny turned to walk away and he wanted to scream but he couldn’t as breath piled up in his throat and—

More weight

It’s your fault, it’s your fault, it’s—

Don’t forget me—

--inner, filthy little animal—

More wei—

“NO!” Cobalt jerked up in his bed, his sheets and pajamas drenched in sweat. He was gasping, still feeling the weight of the slab on his ribs, crushing his breath out of his lungs. As his breath stuttered out of his throat, Cobalt trembled violently, pressing a thin hand to his sternum, reminding himself that there was nothing there. He was fine, just fine, calm down. Only half-aware, Cobalt tumbled out of his bed and crawled underneath it, pressing his knees to his chest as he curled up in the small space, taking comfort in the closeness.

After a while—once he felt as though he could breathe again—Cobalt’s body relaxed slightly, and he uncurled, still keeping under the bed. Dust tickled his nose as he breathed easier now. His face was wet, but only from sweat. No tears. Never tears. He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t.

He had a hard time sleeping for the rest of the year.