Wake me up when the Apocalypse ends (Chase)

The doppelganger was galloping towards the walls of the settlement, large, reptilian limbs consuming the ground as quickly as they were able—Chase was so close—so very close to what he’d been craving for years past. Family. Not any family, but his own, legitimate family. The one that had adopted him. The air rippled, and gold eyes turned towards the source. Inhale… exhale… inh—he rose his voice to ask the boy upon his back a question, but the air swallowed the sound. Soon, the air too, was overtaken by a ball of fire that flowered outward, consuming them all. The child hadn’t the time to scream—



The shapeshifter yelled-out in fear and pain, his arms thrust out to break his fall—yet, when his hands met spongy carpet, he found himself reasonably surprised. He inhaled, and opened his eyes—Chase was in his room. his bed sheets had wrapped themselves around his legs, his arms were the only things preventing his face from meeting his carpet. Chase remembered to breath—this was his room, not some dark tunnel, not some barren wasteland. His bedroom. Chase exhaled, a quivering breath insinuating what was to come.

Three years. Three years of an awful place, living as an animal—he was a child. Children didn’t dream things like that, even in their nightmares. Days, months, and years—they never spanned that amount of time. For Chase, his dream was a reality. What ensued when he realized that this reality wasn’t truth was nothing short of expected.

The child howled loudly, his voice a shrill cry in the dark. He inhaled, and let a loud sob out again. He was nine, he was scared, and he needed his Mommy and Daddy. Chase kicked his legs free of the blanket and scrambled to his feet, the cries persisting as he ran for his door. He tripped over his own feet before reaching it, but caught himself on the doorknob, and threw the door open, stumbling out into the hall.

It was dark still—morning or night, who knew—but the nine-year-old had no regard for the hour at which he’d awoken. He was scared, and he needed his Mama.

“Maaaa-maaaaa…” Chase yelled, his voice raw with fear. What if his dream wasn’t just a dream, and is Mommy really was dead, “Mo-o-o-o-o-ommy!”

Tears ran freely down his face, bare feet padding along as he bolted down the carpeted halls. In what had felt like three years time, he’d forgotten that his mother had gone to Jorge’s for the evening. Rationale was replaced by blind panic. He ran to his mother’s room and fussed with the handle—upon finding it locked, he banged on it, his hoarsely-screaming voice dropping to an outright wail, “Mommy...! Mommy, please…!”

It would be difficult—no, impossible—to ignore the screaming nine-year-old. The door wouldn’t open, and Chase could only imagine the worst. He cried loudly, slouching into a sitting position against the door, and sobbed, too frightened to go much of anywhere until he had his mother there with him. In amidst the cries, he occasionally uttered “Mama”, and “Mommy”, and sometimes even, “Daddy” (which, though Jorge wasn’t his official dad, yet, was a title that Chase had readily assigned him, and interchanged casually with “Detective”).

Chase was wracked with tremors when the older boy called-out to him. His voice was vaguely familiar, but not so much so that when Chase lifted his tearful gaze towards that he recognized him. Chase tried to say something in his own defense, but his voice quivered on the first syllable, before he ducked his head. He was so scared, he hardly seemed to care that he wasn’t wearing a human disguise. The boy murmured reassurances, that Gemma wasn’t home, but was spending the night with the Detective. Chase looked up at the older boy, his arms latched onto his knees so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“Mommy needs to come home now,” Chase said insistently, his voice resolute contrary to how irrational he was being, “I-I w-w-want my Mommy, she needs to come home now. Right now. I need her. And Jorge. They need to come here now.”

His voice was quivering whilst he spoke, his limbs still shaking, and the tears sprung forth with renewed vigor. Chase needed his mom and his moms’ arms, he needed Jorge. His dream was too real to shake.

The teenager persisted, inquiring as to whether Chase might have had a nightmare. Against the black sclera of his eyes, his eyes lingered in a white-grey range, tinted by fear and dismay—in the dark, they seemed eerie and luminous. Tears were streaming freely down his face, and the child pressed a balled-up fist to his forehead, as if to suppress the rising fear.

“N-no,” the child replied, his fingers curling into the fabric of his jeans, before uncurling, “It was worse. Lots worse. I don’t even know how I got here.”

Chase was absolutely certain that this was the dream, for the Mansion had been blown-up, he’d seen Gemma die, and had never found Jorge—the three years of the dream had felt like three years for him in reality. His dream was his reality, which meant that reality could only be a dream.

“I need to leave. Everyone needs to leave,” Chase stated, “I saw bad things happen, and we need to go, now. I need to find my mommy. I need Mama and Jorge. Now. Something bad is going to happen. I saw it happen.”

Chase was scared, tired, and confused, and he wouldn't be reasoned with until he was talked-down. His breaths hitched at borderline hyperventilation, and his limbs wouldn't stop shaking, despite his best efforts to still them.

The utterance of a bad word snagged the nine-year-old's attention, and in an odd way, reassured him. Here was an older boy that was taking him seriously. Here was a boy that he could trust. Chase sniffled and mopped at his eyes, his trembles decreasing slightly.

>> "Okay, kid, listen. You need to calm down. Whatever ya saw, it wasn't real. It was someone messing with our minds. I saw it too. I know it is scary, but it was not real. We woke up, and it is over. I promise. Okay? I'll call Miss T for you and she'll come home. Sounds good?"

He saw it, too? Chase nodded mutely, but tears still persisted, the white-gray fear in his eyes did not subside, and the sobs did not cut the cold any slack. They grew quiet, but Chase hiccupped for air. He merely nodded and said little. He didn't believe the reasonable teens' words for a moment and could not seem to calm down, but he could quiet down.

"I don't know what's real," Chase groaned, tiny hands combing through the gnarled bedhead, "How fake can it be if we both saw it? I dreamt for forever. Dreams don't work like that--" tears were rising more persistently, and Chase mopped at his eyes. He wasn't following directions very well. A big boy would be braver than this.

"I'll feel much better when I see my mommy and Jorge," was the embarrassed, woeful ultimatum that the child offered. He needed to touch his parents with his own hands, see them with his own eyes, to be sure that they were alright.

Chase nodded mutedly at the guy’s offer, but did not take his hand. The child got to his feet on his own fruition. A slender hand curled into the fabric near the hem of the older boys’ shirt and the shifter followed close behind him. It was the gesture of a child much younger than Chase, but it was dark, it was early, and Chase didn’t much care. The older boy was the only one physically-there for him at the moment, so Chase was fastening to him.

Wide eyes swept around the hall as the child donned his human guise (so as to fight the urge to turn into the older boy), but the genetic leftovers on the older boy’s shirt did inform the child that he knew this person—this was the male counterpart to his friend Maya, and his name was Gawain.

Chase was reverently quiet as he trailed into the office, and was still tethered to Gawain’s shirt when they got there. Nor did he release the shirt once they were there. By now, Chase had quieted—no longer was he in practical hysterics. Yes, he still cried, hiccupped for air, and quivered, but he was no longer letting loose howls that would do a banshee proud. Having an almost-grown up around, having someone act like they were in control, was slightly more reassuring.

The little shapeshifter leaned against the older shifter’s side, burrowing his face in the fabric of their shirt—it was the wee hours of the morning. Not only was he frightened, but he was exhausted. He just wanted Gemma and Jorge. He needed to see them. That’s all he wanted. He wanted his mother to answer the phone, and nothing more. The child's grip tightened as he listened.

Chase remained at Gawain’s side, clinging to shirt, as he picked up the phone and dialed Gemma’s number. His sobs had quieted completely, and the tears suspended—it was as if Chase’s panic had paused just to see if his mother would pick up. The phone rang once… then twice, then three times… and then it paused. A familiar voice murmured on the other end of the line. Chase’s breath hitched, but he said nothing—he listened as his mother and Gawain exchanged words.

>> "Miss T? Hey, this is Gawain, I'm, um... calling from the school. Yeah. I guess there was some kind of a... mutant... thing? We just woke up and there was this, um... dream, it freaked everyone out. Chase is here with me in the office, and he wants you to come home... Yes. I think you should come back too. I'll try to keep things... well. It's a mess. Yes ma'am. Thank you."

“Mom,” Chase whined quietly. His biological Mom wouldn’t have been so sympathetic. The child would have been spurned, told it was a dream and to back to bed. Gemma, however, was not like his blood-mother.

>> "She is fine. She will be here soon, okay?"

Chase nodded his head mutedly, and released Gawain’s shirt, rubbing his face quietly. It was cold and dark, and the child couldn’t stop his mind from turning. He couldn’t stop worrying—he wouldn’t stop until his mother was there, at least—and/or Jorge as well.

The petite blonde looked up at Gawain, his features still a touch haunted. He had so much to say, yet no words with which to say anything.

“Whoever made us have those bad dreams,” Chase murmured, “Is an evil person.”

He sniffled and said little more. How could he put into words all that he’d seen? How could a nine-year-old explain the three years of damage, the three years of gradually turning into a half-human creature, when his young mind could scarcely comprehend it? How could he explain being orphaned, and being left to raised by a pack? He couldn’t.

He continued shaking, continued uncertainly, anxiously rubbing at his face, until he finally inquired, “W-what do we do now?”

It was a nightmare getting to the mansion from his house. Though Jorge didn’t live that far away from it, with every passing moment, he was just thinking about the dream over and over again. After everything that he went through in the dream, and from how he reacted, how would Chase be? Jorge felt knocked off of his very feet, as if every last ounce of breath was taken out of him. And he was an adult reacting to the dream.

Chase…well…that was the reason he was pushing himself to get both himself and Gemma there.

He was fairly certain that he broke a few laws driving to get to the mansion but Jorge just didn’t care. Gemma was silent the whole time and Jorge couldn’t blame her. He knew that he had to get her to that mansion and to see if Chase was okay. Hell, HE wanted to make sure that Chase was okay. The boy was practically his own son.

In what must have been ten or twenty lights barreled through, Jorge made his way to the mansion gate. After stumbling their way through security, both were inside the mansion and on the search. It didn’t take long but eventually they did find Chase with Mirror. Chase, of course, looked shaken.

>> "Chase! I'm so sorry baby..."

Jorge breathed a sigh of relief. Chase was latched onto his mother again. After a dream like that, Jorge could only imagine what the boy may have seen. Kneeling next to the two, he squeezed Chase’s shoulder, inspecting him to make sure that he was okay. He was concerned but he didn’t want to peel Chase away from his mother. Instead he could only thank his lucky stars that it was a dream. All of it was just a dream.

He turned and nodded to Mirror in thanks for keeping Chase okay. He would confer with him later about if he had the dream too. For now, though, he needed to be with Chase.

>>"Momma! Mommy, don't ever leave me. Promise."

"I promise, baby" Gemma muttered, letting Chase hug her as if she was going to disappear any minute. She hummed quietly, the same hum she always used when she was comforting Chase. "It's okay, it was just a dream. I'm here."

She couldn't even imagine what it would be like to wake up after what felt like several years, and be back to where it all started. At least waking up was better than the dream...

>>"I-I had this really scary dream that felt like a really long time, Mommy. And you weren't there... Jorge... did you... dream about a really long time, too?"

"It was just a dream" Gemma repeated, holding Chase close as she sat down on a kitchen chair. She felt bad in a way that she did not experience any of the dream; she did not know what it was like. She was glad Jorge was there to help.