#typhoonagentblue

 Merlin closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to feel his consciousness creeping out of his skull like a worm from an apple, staying based but reaching out. His target, Arthur, lay in the bed on the other side of the room reading a book, oblivious to the struggle that was building in his friend's mind. Merlin's head throbbed, stinging the backs of his eyes as with a frustrated huff of breath he dropped his effort like a fragile glass, letting it shatter against the bottom of his thoughts, where his emotions currently resided as well. He'd been trying for weeks, off and on, to master telepathy. He'd never really had trouble receiving messages and responding, so long as the conversation occurred on his own turf, but it was beyond him to send his own mind out and contact another. Which seemed like a terrifically useful skill with his sort of luck. Attempting to train himself, however, wasn't going so well. He thought he was tapping into the right sort of focus and energy, but he didn't know how to channel it.

The thought of Ty edged into his mind. It was obvious that Ty was very skilled in the arts of telepathy, but Merlin was leery of asking him for any sort of supernatural aid ever since Vorel had warned Merlin of what was within Ty. In Merlin's mind it was like a parasitic insect that was stealing Ty's body to use as its chrysalis, and all it would take was the right weather to provoke its hatching. The last thing Merlin wanted was to be the spark that set that off. However, after warring with himself on this issue, he figured that since Ty used his abilities daily anyways, it really didn't matter if Merlin came to him or not – he would still keep using his powers. Besides, the sort of things Merlin wanted to learn shouldn't effect the thing inside of Ty anyhow.

A repeat of this argument paraded through Merlin's head until, weary of debating the matter, he concluded irritably that he would go to ask Ty for help.

Swinging his legs off the edge of the bed and striding for the door, he tossed over his shoulder at Arthur, “I'm going to the training rooms,” not pausing to listen for a reply.

Upon his arrival, he searched about for Ty. The telepath was often down here, helping out new recruits or practicing or whatever, Merlin didn't know – Merlin himself rarely spent time in this area of the Tower, preferring to practice his magical craft in privacy and preferring not to practice any physical combat at all, if only to save himself the endless bruises that he knew he would accrue.

With over a thousand years travelling through time and space, the Doctor made a few mistakes. Some grander than others, some more impactful than others...but all mistakes at their deepest level, for one reason or another. And he'd hurt people. People he cared dearly for, and people he didn't even know. And though some forgave him (and he never quite forgave himself), there were always doors left open that he never got the chance to properly close. And with time to waste over the past few weeks, the Doctor had found himself alone with his thoughts quite often, making tallies of things he'd never done or finished.

The hate.

He shuddered at the thought, walking down the streets of the city. To this day, the time lord wasn't completely sure what'd come over him. Everything he saw and felt was fire and rage and burning hate. For himself. For his people. For those he loved. And some people got caught in the crossfire. His breath caught in his throat at the familiar thought. 

How many lives?

Shaking his head lightly, he fixed the frockcoat on his body, scanning the groups of people who passed by en route to the tower that he'd seen the blue-haired man going into often enough. He could've easily taken the TARDIS, but when it came to apologies for that day, the Doctor determined surprise probably wasn't the best course of action. Taking his lengthy strides up the walk and stopping at the door, he cleared his throat, preparing for any type of response.

It had become much easier to know when an angel, or two, had started tracking him. He had learned long ago that many never attempted to hide their signature graces. At first he had attempted to jump from city to city yet his trackers had managed to always catch up to him. It made it clear that he had no other choice but to confront them. And he needed to do it away from the view of any humans.

He finally touches down in New York City, hoping regain some strength from numerous trips while he plans on a battle ground, but fate isn’t on his side this time. “Castiel,” The level voice catches his attention and Castiel glances up to see two angels, one within the a well-dressed male body, the other within a female vessel dressed as a normal mother, standing above him; perched on the edge of a nearby roof. He recognizes them as two angels who’s garrison was almost identical to what his had been in terms of Heavenly tasks. Pahaliah and Gadreel.

“Gadreel. Pahaliah.”

“Castiel,” Pahaliah’s voice is soft, tinged with regret. They had been comrades in battle; and closer than he had been with Gadreel. “You destroyed Heaven. You killed so many of our brethren… I love you, but this is unforgivable.”

Castiel doesn’t try to refute it. Talking has never worked in his favor. Instead, he rotates on the ball of his foot and with a flutter of wings, pushing off to escape. He doesn’t get far.

Gadreel hurtles herself off the roof, managing to maneuver in front of him before he can even exit the alleyway and the angel in the coat forces himself to a hard stop with a frantic beat of still invisible wings, causing his heels to skid into the ground. There is no expression present on Gadreel’s face after she lands in front of Castiel and strides towards him across the dingy concrete. To his left, Pahaliah drops down to flank Castiel. His feet are on barely on the ground before he is rushing towards his target, sword at the ready to kill the angel.

“Don’t make me do this-,” He can hardly get the warning out before he has to duck down to avoid the first swipe from Pahaliah. Castiel places a hand near the others gut before blasting him back with a quick burst of grace, though he tries to keep from seriously injuring Pahaliah. Gadreel is on the attack before he has a chance to recover and he automatically lets his own sword drop from his sleeve into his hand. He barely has enough time to raise his blade to block the downward arch of hers.

The clang of metal is almost deafening when it echos in the confined area. “Gadreel. Just leave.” She doesn’t answer, but he can see the pain and  rage within her eyes. He had killed too many of their breather to be forgiven. Instead, she lashes out with her foot, catching him in his side, sending him crashing to the floor. She’s on him before he can get his bearings, raising her sword for a kill shot. He manages to twist his arm, bringing the hilt of his sword into her forehead, causing her to fall off of him. The angel is on his feet instantly as Pahaliah appears behind him and Castiel turns, the blade catching and tearing his coat.

The fabric catches the blade near the end of the attack for a brief moment and Castiel takes the opening to grab Pahaliah’s arm as it finishes causing the cut. He slams his own blade into the others back, holding him tightly as Pahaliah screams, light exploding from his vessel’s eyes, nose, mouth, and ears as the angel dies.  He can’t dwell on that death yet as Gadreel charges and he drops the now-empty vessel, trying to block the swift swipes of the others blade as she attacks relentlessly. All he can do is fend her off as the repeated clang of metal clashing rings through the alleyway. She somehow manages to switch her sword to her other hand and, while he’s recovering from one swipe, catches him in the jaw with her fist, causing him to stumble back into a lone dumpster flushed against the bricks.

“No more, Castiel,” she murmurs as he tries to balance himself upright. “No more death. No more suffering.” She charges and aims the thrust of her sword towards his chest. He manages to get his fingers around a stray pipe as she charges and he throws it at her to halt her advance. Of course it doesn’t faze her other than causing her to throw out an arm to stop it, but he takes the presented opening. He quickly raises his sword and swipes it quickly across her throat. Her blade clatters to the ground as she grabs for the wound, ignoring the spray of blood in favor of trying frantically to contain the grace spilling past it. Castiel stares at her with a hint of sorrow and regret on his face as he reaches out, pulling her to him while he digs the blade up into her gut for the finishing blow.

Trying to see the top of the tower when you stood at the bottom was somewhat of an impossible task that only hurt his neck. The speedster sighed and gave up, directing his attention back to the entrance.

Even the entrance alone seemed bigger than the entire Kaplan home. It made Tommy wonder what the rooms on the inside would look like. The speedster stepped inside, shoving his hands in his hoodie as he looked around. He had no idea where to go except for Stark Tower, or the Avengers Tower or whatever the place was called.

There were people around, but nobody seemed to look up at the presence of a white haired teen in the middle of the day, when most teens were supposed to be at school. Then again, Tommy had never been most teens. When most people his age were studying for their tests, he had been trying to do a little good in the world by saving people.