2037

[acautionarytale]

It sure has been quiet here in Casa del Astrid. She's been nursing October and Donald back to health and at least trying to make sure Peter isn't terribly unhappy.

Eventually, however, things have to return to business, which is why there is a map spread across the dining room table, October solemnly and carefully marking sites on it.

Comments

[tookhishand]

He's doing quite a lot better. Done away with afternoon naps, at least, and ready to be a hero... sort of. Mostly keeping to himself and trying to avoid Peter, suspecting he blames Donald for... well, everything possible.

"Who is who on this map?"

[emotionisweakness]

Even a hermit has to use the bathroom and make himself a sandwich every now and then. This is likely one of those times, since here Peter is, out of his self-imposed monastic existence in the room at the end of the hall no one dares go (except Astrid). He aims to just pass through, his usual taciturn demeanor, and so on, but when he sees what October is working on, he slows to a crawl, craning his neck to get a better view.

"Sightings?"

[acautionarytale]

October looks up as Peter walks in.

"Yes. This is where I remember having found the others."

He first indicates the dot in Cambridge, where they are, now. Then he circles the Providence, "This is where I found November," and... some point between Exeter and Portsmouth. "This is where I found May," then another spot just north of Boston. "The last time I saw July was here."

Astrid squints at the map. "I didn't know there was anything there. Hang on." And off she toddles to get her computer.

[tookhishand]

"Good morning, Peter." He keeps everything polite and friendly, it's his default.

And to October: "What's the security like where they have November? How many people?" Tell him everything.

[emotionisweakness]

"Good morning, Donald." Equally as polite, if distracted because he's currently examining the map. Looking for patterns.

"It's unfortunate we tore down most of their surveillance network after they left," he says without really thinking. Also without realizing his head is cocked to one side, Observer-style. "We might have collected more information that way."

[acautionarytale]

Astrid returns with what people consider a computer in this day and age, which is mostly hard light display. Onto the table it goes. On the display is a closeup of Massachusetts and Rhode Island. "The only thing between Exeter and Portsmouth is... something called 'Innsmouth.' Kind of a dead town. There was something weird going on there in the 20s, but the records are pretty sparse." Poke poke poke. "North of Boston is... Arkham." She looks up at them. "Everything about it is redacted."

This doesn't seem to bother October, who is quietly attempting to remember what the security was like. "The place where they were keeping November was a ruined town. The... resistance took over a building that I suspect used to be a kind of church from its architecture. I remember seeing... fifteen or twenty people there at a given time." He blinks heavily. "It was a kind of prison or a... dungeon. I think that might be the correct word."

[tookhishand]

Something's off about Peter... and there isn't time to question it.

"You can't travel through time... can you get us in easily, and back out again?" Please say yes, let luck be on their side. "Do they suspect you're trying to break in?"

[emotionisweakness]

Peter, meanwhile, is gawping at Astrid a bit. Because those names...

"You've gotta be kidding me."

[acautionarytale]

"I can... move sideways in time, yes," October answers, thinking. "I do not know if they would expect anything. It is possible that they believe their prisoner is the last of his kind."

Astrid, meanwhile, blinks at Peter. "...What?"

DREAMLAND FOR THE BISHOP BOYS

[emotionisweakness]

Peter doesn't sleep much. It's partially an effect of the Observer tech still in his head, and partly just the kind of insomnia that regular people get. And when he does sleep he seldom dreams. Tonight's an exception, however. And exceptions are always doozies.

Tonight he dreams he's back in his childhood home with Walter and Olivia and... okay, this is how he knows it's a dream: Gene the cow. Walter appears to be decorating a cake with toothpaste, Olivia's feeding toast to Gene who, for some reason, is wearing a black fedora. And Peter? Peter's cradling a large egg. Metallic, almost bullet-shaped. But he knows if he drops it, it'll shatter and the party will be ruined and he'll have to go back to Iraq.

MY SON

[because_its_cool]

Walter hasn't slept in days, since he'd been working on the device. The Device, with capital letters, which could be heard when he said them. He was hoping it was something that could save the universe again, because he seemed to be aces at rebreaking the thing.

The body is hard to argue with, and after 73 hours and two point five minutes, he fell asleep at the workbench. Thankfully, he'd turned off the laser torch, or else the wall might have had a sizeable hole burned into it.

~~
This dream is not like most he's been having lately. They're usually less interesting than when he drops acid, serious and sometimes nightmarish. Observers everywhere, his granddaughter bleeding out, his son's head turning in that way They have, Donald's death. He suspects many of these dreams are forgotten because Michael is usually there.

He appears in a very, very familiar place--it didn't seem strange to be here, nor did seeing Olivia and Peter, and... Gene.

"Nice hat, cheeky girl," he smirks, before finding a beautiful three layer cake, only half-frosted. There's a tube of toothpaste there, something else he's familiar with. The brand had been the one he'd been 'researching' when Peter was a boy. It didn't seem strange to continue the decorations using the stuff. It's was pink, with tiny red spots in.

And then he realizes he's here, so close feeling his dream become lucid, but not quite.

"Peter!" Walter waves to his son with the tube, a small bit of pink stuff oozing down his wrist. "I've missed you so much."

[emotionisweakness]

"That's great, Walter, considering neither of us has gone anywhere," Peter replies with a crooked eyebrow at Olivia. Their shared 'Oh Walter' look. She ignores him, continuing to pamper the damned cow. Something clicks then, some distant memory, but it's taking most of his concentration to hold this egg steady. It's surprisingly heavy, too much of a burden for just one person.

He's about to call out, "A little help here?" to anyone who'll listen, when the bullet egg slips out of his grasp. Rather than shatter, though, it simply manifests a large crack and begins to bleed, the red liquid pooling on the floor. The dull smack of toast hitting the ground, and when he looks up again Olivia is staring at him. Actually, so is Gene.

[because_its_cool]

"Oh!" Walter puts the toothpaste aside and licks the side of his hand to clean up the stray. It tastes like cinnamon and christmas lights. "I must have dreamt--it was awful. It was the end of the world!" He approaches his son with his usual nervous energy, full of excitement, leaving him unable to keep his words up with his thoughts.

"There were Observers, and--" Then the egg hits the floor.

"Oh no... I didn't forsee this happening." He gets on his knees to examine the blood, pooling slowly on the floor. It reminds him of something and his breath catches in his throat. "Son, Olivia. Everything will be fine."

With that, he places his hand over the crack in the egg to stop the bleeding.

[emotionisweakness]

"Olivia's gone, Walter." And indeed, when Walter next looks up, Olivia and Gene have vanished and Peter looks older, wearier. And puzzled by Walter's obvious mistake.

In fact Peter feels strangely numb, staring down at this bleeding egg thing. He's not sure why it's strange, or why he thinks he should feel something more.

Walter's trying to stop the bleeding but there's only so much he can do alone, so Peter drops to his knees to help. And now he's finding this all strangely familiar, enough that he finally begins to feel something.

It's anger.

"You have to do something!" he snaps at his father. "You're Walter Bishop, dammit, you've crossed universes, you've brought people back from the dead! So why can't you save her?"

[because_its_cool]

"I tried--"

Walter is the exact opposite of numb, frantically searching around for something to help staunch the blood while the sticky warmth oozes through his fingers. He looks back to the egg, which is no longer an egg but a woman's head, cradled in his hand, a bullet wound shaped in a perfect circle with a slow, dark stream of blood. In a blink it's Etta, his granddaughter, the same simple, understated hole in the same spot. Olivia, her face blurred from the timelines crossing; dead by his own hand, and by his dopplegangers. Elizabeth, eyes wide and anguished.

"I wasn't there, I couldn't have been, I wasn't meant to interfere, I... I couldn't."

[emotionisweakness]

Peter's laugh is bitter and cold and bordering on hysterical. "All you do is interfere, Walter! I'm living proof of that."

He's backing away from the body, she's already a body now, already beyond saving. Somehow, in that fuzzy dreamworld logic, he knows this. Just as he knows it isn't Walter's fault; it's his. He should have been faster to get to her, he shouldn't have left her behind.

It should have been him.

[because_its_cool]

Peter's angry words stung; he could feel them, needle-like, all the way up his spine and into his skull. Oh yes, he interefered. He did more than that; he damaged so many people.
But isn't he looking for salvation?

"You would have died, Peter! You'd be dead, I would have lost you again--"

He looks down at the egg, only it's not an egg. The face keeps shifting; Olivia, Etta, his Peter, Elizabeth, Olivia, shimmering as he knew she saw the other universe, through the cortexifan.

"We can still save her!" Walter struggles to his feet. The world is beginning to rock, like a ship on stormy seas, perhaps a reaction to Peter's anger. Wind is starting to blow, and they're not in the house anymore, but on the ice.

Reiden Lake.

"I can save them all! You have to believe, you have to."

Pleading and yet firm below the surface. Walter would do it, if he had to move Heaven, Earth, and several universes.

ARKHAM, MASSACHUSETTS

[acautionarytale]

A bright blue Volkswagen Beetle drives under the floating letters, kicking up a few roostertails of water from puddles on the road. It turns a corner and trundles up a side-road to stop in front of a slightly crumbling ivy-covered edifice.

(No bald man in a suit walking by in this location shot, sadly.)

The car's doors open and disgorge its passengers.

[tookhishand]

It's about time. Not that he complained, complaining's not what he does.

Freedom! Fresh air! Out of the car!

[emotionisweakness]

Peter's probably the last to get out, considering he was cramped in the back. Being quiet and vaguely sullen in this group doesn't do you any favors, apparently. But even he can appreciate this being-out-of-the-car feeling, finally being able to stretch his limbs, etc. etc.

"Perfect place for an eldritch nightmare," he comments to nobody in particular, scanning the building and surrounding grounds.

[acautionarytale]

Even Astrid was feeling a bit cramped in that driver's seat. This teenymobile is a far cry from the nice, roomy Bishopwagon, but it got them there nonetheless. She stretches briefly and digs her mobile phone out of her pocket, looking about.

October, for his part, had said nothing during the entire journey (typical Observer), and exits the car without a word (typical Observer) but with rather a rather audible popping of joints (not... so... typical Observer.) He looks down at his own body as though wondering why it betrayed him by making so much noise.

"Huh," Astrid says, looking at the building. "They said this place would still be running, but I didn't believe them."

Indeed, there are lights on in there.

October tilts his head, gazing at the lights. "He is here," he intones.

[tookhishand]

He tends to migrate towards October when he can, almost protectively. It's oddly nice, having someone familiar from his past around. He can't stand losing things, and all his old things are gone. Forever. So are the people.

"How is he?"

[emotionisweakness]

And as October says it Peter feels it too, just on the edge of his still raw senses: another one of them, somewhere very near here. He stands there, alert, like a dog who has just scented something on the wind.

[acautionarytale]

"I do not know," October answers, sounding a bit puzzled by this fact.

Astrid blinks at Peter for a moment, then just chalks it up to his probably being conflicted about the presence of another Observer, given what he'd said regarding October. She opens her mouth to ask a question, but then the door opens and a small, dark-haired woman steps out, closing it quietly behind her. Her eyes scan the group, lingering curiously on October (clad in jeans and a grey hoodie over a black t-shirt) for a moment before she heads toward Astrid.

"Astrid Farnsworth?" She says quietly.

Astrid nods.

"I'm Cheryl Armitage." Her gaze goes back to the building for a moment, then returns. "I have to ask what you want with him."

[tookhishand]

He glances at Astrid, probably unseen, in a 'may I?' manner--does he or does he not have the right to answer, as one of them?