#train writing

He calls forth his own memories, crystal-clear in his mind because he goes over them so frequently, turning them this way and that in the safety of his own head. He shoves this sharp clarity into the storm in Monopoly’s head, forcing his memories through the empty space—

It’s Monopoly, pinned and panting under an elephant corpse thinking fuckfuckfuckfuck, but grinning up at him anyway; it’s Monopoly, pale and trembling under the weight of Rex’s augmented power when she thought he was going to destroy the entire city. I’m going to die, holy fuck, fuck shit, she thinks loudly, loudly, I hope it doesn’t hurt. Rex waits, waited then and waits in his memory now, for her to pray to get out of this, to think about how she doesn’t want to die. Instead he hears I’m thankful for Annie’s goddamn mac and cheese, white cheddar shells are a godsend I never deserved. Someone should fix that fucking elevator before Mrs. C breaks her hip falling down two flights of stairs. I’m sorry I stole Crown’s muffin yesterday but it was really good and to Rex, this is all the invitation he needs before he dives in.

Nearly caught up in re-remembering — reliving — this moment, Rex almost misses the faint presence by his side, a curiosity that isn’t his accompanying him through his first memories of Monopoly’s mind. When he invaded her thoughts, he was surprised by how open they were for a psychic, a free-for-all space of fleeting ideas crossing like shooting stars; and when he tried to turn deeper, to unlock the core of Monopoly’s memories, he was rebuffed gently — then more firmly when he became insistent. He was turned away from the things Monopoly considers private, and directed back towards the blaze of thoughts and feelings, of here and now, of the things Monopoly worried about when she thought she was going to die —

The curiosity following Rex through his memories strengthens. It twists beside him, shivers, and leans into him. He feels the curiosity—Monopoly’s curiosity—lace its way through his surprise, through the rush of relief and need Rex felt when Monopoly’s mind dragged him back from her recesses and grounded him in the center of her thoughts. He feels the curiosity that is Monopoly trace this relief, this need, back back back, deeper into his own thoughts and memories, and he’s the one following now.

Monopoly slinks her way through the labyrinth Rex has built in his head, picking an unerring path past the warm, silky feeling of Sincos tracing her fingers against Rex’s skin (she skitters away from this, and Rex misses who Sincos was) and the burn of Rex’s chest as he and Cormorant sprint after a villain they’ve been chasing for weeks (Monopoly looks at this, bemused, and Rex wishes he’d never lost those days) and countless more thoughts and feelings and memories until they’re at the center, where Rex doesn’t dare go.

In the center of his head, a shadow of Quickdraw — Kalna — stands there, curly-haired and smirking as he had the day Rex threw himself into the other superhero’s head —

Monopoly, no! Rex shouts in warning, but it’s too late.

Monopoly flings herself into this memory too, and Rex races to go with her, sinking once more into Quickdraw’s — Kalna’s — thoughts.

All they see there is Isaac Wells. Iska.

Iska, a centurion atop a strange metallic horse, setting fire to a wooden structure that burns an improbable green, and Kalna raises a crossbow to shoot him; Iska, in dark robes whipped by the wind, glaring down at Kalna, and Kalna/Rex shoves at him, grim, but determined to force him off the cliff; Iska’s face, hard and serious behind the glass pane of some kind of spacecraft and Rex’s eyes burn with unshed tears; Iska, pale and dying in the snow while Rex whispers tell me you need me —

What the actual fuck, Monopoly thinks, and suddenly they’re back in the room.

Rex has gone from kneeling beside her to laying beside her. Her eyes are still closed, but Rex can tell her mind is there now, snapped back into place and sharp - almost as sharp - as ever.

“Welcome back,” he says out loud. I couldn’t find you.

Monopoly ignores his concern. Seriously, Rex, what the actual fucking shit?

“Didn’t I tell you to never read his mind?” Rex deflects, blinking away Quickdraw/Kalna’s memories of Isaac Wells/Iska. “I told you to stay away from their heads — Wells’s and Quickdraw’s both.”

Monopoly just projects impatience.  

What’s in their heads isn’t — for normal humans, Rex says. I broke in, and I got lost.

Rex remembers Kalna’s memories like they’re his, and he still doesn’t know how he clawed his way out out of the mire of those lives Kalna has somehow lived alongside Wells. He built a labyrinth in his mind to trap away the part of Kalna he can’t get out of his head, but still he would catch himself thinking something, or remembering something, that wasn’t Rex.

Until he met Monopoly. The inexorable pull of her mind, away from there, wherever there is, to hereandnow sings to him, to Rex and only Rex, and Rex has never been more sure of himself than when he’s around Monopoly.

“Holy hell,” Monopoly rasps. Her eyes are still closed, but she twitches her fingers at Rex, and Rex reaches out to hold take her hand. “Your mind is one fucked up maze, Rex.”

No, Rex thinks primly. It’s a labyrinth.

Nerd, Monopoly shoots back. It’s playful, but with an undercurrent of unease, and Rex sees the sifting layer of thoughts that are Monopoly’s attempt to hide her pain. Just some bruises, she assures him when she notices him noticing. And a few broken ribs, she admits when Rex frowns.

Rex doesn’t apologize for what Sincos did. But he squeezes Monopoly’s hand, warm and sure, and feels something he might call love at the back of his throat, thick and heavy.

“I know, you giant fucking sap,” Monopoly whispers. The weight of her mind is a solid reality against Rex’s labyrinth. Hers is a quieted storm, now smoothing out into familiar rolling, open fields and bright skies where Rex feels the sun on his face and a breeze at his back and imagines Monopoly’s living room.  

Yes, Rex, Monopoly thinks, with the impression of a long, reluctant sigh. You can bum on my couch since your wife blew up your house.

You’re a menace, Rex says fondly.