bitchy_smurf: (outsider)
bitchy_smurf ([personal profile] bitchy_smurf) wrote2010-04-10 01:54 pm

Room 320, Saturday Morning

Illyria was not, per se, sleeping in, since she hadn't bothered going to sleep after last night's radio fiasco. She had instead spent the dark hours of the morning slicing at imaginary opponents in the preserve with her newly-returned sword, before she had to once again stow it in the weapons locker.

Now, after returning to an empty room, she was staring at Sam Winchester's empty bed and... not sulking. At all. The phrase you were looking for was meditation.

Until the banging on the door began.

[For the OMGWTF you're not breakfast, are you. Sam and Peter's boomshakalaka elsewhere modded with permission.]

[identity profile] not4eating.livejournal.com 2010-04-10 06:03 pm (UTC)(link)
"Mooooooooooommy!" came a loud, if rather high voice. "I know you're in there! Open'a dooor!"

[identity profile] not4eating.livejournal.com 2010-04-10 06:10 pm (UTC)(link)
Ohhh, she was being silly. Well, Mitch could open the door all by himself, thank you. He was tall for his age like that. "Mom, mommy mom mom mom there wassa poooortal! I didn't go by it but it came by my bed and schlooooooooooop sucked me up like sketti!"

He was already jumping onto the narrow bed by the time he got to schlooooop, and trying to crawl into her arms on 'sketti.'

"Can we have that for lunch? Where's Dad? Why're you blue?"

[identity profile] not4eating.livejournal.com 2010-04-10 06:24 pm (UTC)(link)
She was yelling at him! Mom didn't yell, not unless he was about to get hurt, or he had got hurt and she was really scared.

"You mad at me?" he asked, eyes huge. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to go by the portal, mommy, honest!"

[identity profile] not4eating.livejournal.com 2010-04-10 06:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Yes, that worked. Now he was blinking back tears and working his way up to a full-on bawl in a moment, because the only reasons he could think of for her acting like this would be that he did something really, really bad, or this wasn't his mommy, it was just some monster that looked like her. Mom and Dad told him about those - those were the reason for Rule #1: Don't Invite Anybody Into The House, Even People You Know.

Instead of the bawling, he went for yelling right back.

"My name is Mitchell Roger Wyndam-Pryce and my daddy's name is Wesley and my mommy's name is Fred and I live at three twenty-two Svulpeda Bovelard--"

Not quite, Mitch.

"--and I dunno why you're YELLING AT ME I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! If you're not my mommy then you're A BAD VAMPIRE AND YOU HURT HER AND I HATE YOU!"

[identity profile] not4eating.livejournal.com 2010-04-10 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)
That would be about when he hit her with the stuffed rabbit. "I WANT MY MOM!"

[identity profile] not4eating.livejournal.com 2010-04-10 06:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Mitchell snatched the bunny back, scrambling backwards across the bed to the wall. "I want my mommy," he repeated, but not so much with the yelling, now, Now was the time for not being able to see because the tears were getting his glasses all messy, and hugging the bunny to his face in the hope that if he didn't look at the bad monster thing, it would turn into his mom when he opened his eyes again, or at least be gone. He did lift his face enough to say, "If you hurt her, my daddy's gonna stake you and make you go POOF!"

[identity profile] not4eating.livejournal.com 2010-04-10 07:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Mitch wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, which only smeared his glasses more. "No! M' not s'posed to go with strangers." Even if his watch said she wasn't. He must have broke it when he fell.

[identity profile] not4eating.livejournal.com 2010-04-10 07:18 pm (UTC)(link)
"DAYS?" Mitch scrambled off the bed and put one hand on his hip, the other still clutching Feigenbaum to him. "I want Mom NOW!"

Look, he was smart, okay, and kind of mature for his age, which happened when your parents had more degrees than anybody had a right to and books at hand that could, with a whispered request, explain harmonic convergences and demonic possession in language any three year old could understand, but he was still three.

"Now, now, now!" Which, coincidentally, was when the actual bawling started. The loud, hicuppy sobbing sort.