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Worth 50,000: Day Sixteen - Both Go Down Together
Well, we're over halfway through with November. How are you doing? Do you have 25,005 words yet? Do you have 200,000 like some overachievers I know? Do you have 250? I'm about 10,000 words behind. Or will be at the end of the day, I'm sure. I'm okay with this, though, because last night I spent three hours drawing maps and scraping timelines off the inner parts of my skull. We've reached the point where I think we're going to have to pull everything apart and start over new. Handy though, rubble. All the pieces are still there, you just have to figure out how to put them back together.
What have you torn apart so far?

[Belgium after a German invasion, 1914]
Write. Comment. Repeat.
What have you torn apart so far?
[Belgium after a German invasion, 1914]
Write. Comment. Repeat.
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Also I am just shy of 8K which isn't too shabby for being sick for 11 days! I totally have a plan for still making 50K, though. Because I'm a crazy person.
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Also, I have a half-finished one for Friday.
But I can work with today's XD
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***
"It's trashed," Moira says. There's a note of wistfulness in her voice as she surveys the damage, leaning on her crutch.
"It's just things," Charles says. "Ugly things, mostly. Pointless things. My mother's things and my stepfather's things."
"Still," Moira says, "it's your home."
Charles shrugs as carefully as he can, hyperaware of the sling cushioning his arm. He didn't have any attachment to the objects in the room. Kurt had boxed up anything belonging to Brian Xavier long ago, and while Charles wants to remember his mother fondly, he can't seem to muster up any remorse at seeing her art and books and trinkets destroyed. He looks at the mess and he's frustrated at the cleaning that's ahead, annoyed at the set-back in converting the house into a school, dreading explaining the needed renovations to the workers, but he's not sad. Relieved, maybe, that everyone's okay.
He spots a blood stain on the carpet and shudders. Very, very relieved.
"It's our home," he corrects her gently. "And it still is. Just with...some minor alterations. At the end of the day, isn't the point that we're all alive and whole?"
Moira shakes her head in disbelief.
"You're something else, Charles," she says. "I have no idea how you can always manage to be so optimistic. I also have no idea how Erik doesn't smother you in your sleep."
As if summoned by their thoughts (and Charles hopes that isn't the unintentional case), Charles feels a flutter at the edge of his consciousness, the familiar presence of Erik as he orients himself to the waking world.
"Speaking of," he says, "it appears he's awake."
Moira rolls her eyes, but Charles can feel her relief, projected unknowingly. It mingles warmly with his own, for no matter how many times he assured her and the children that Erik was fine, he'd just hit his head rather hard and needed to sleep it off, he had quietly been just as concerned, the longer Erik slept.
"Well, go on then," Moira says. "I know you want to rush to his bedside to coddle him."
"I merely want to see that he's okay," Charles says, tipping his chin up mulishly, even as he feels his cheeks color. "I doubt Erik would allow himself to be coddled by anyone."
"I think he'd make an exception for you," Moira says. She offers Charles the arm that's not leaning on her crutch. "Come on. Let's go visit the convalescent."
Charles takes her arm with his free arm, though she won't let him support her weight despite the cast on her leg, and allows her to set the pace as they head towards the wing of the mansion they've taken over for day to day life, bustling with activity as the children flit about, so different from the cold, empty rooms they're surrounded by now, so different from what the house was like growing up.
If he needed any other proof that he was doing the right thing, he thinks that would be it.
"He won't appreciate you calling him a convalescent, you know," he says.
"I know," Moira says. "That's why I plan to do it at least twice. And also mention how you manfully saved the day after he was hit on the head. And maybe throw in two or three references to Jean's hit. Not because she's a girl, mind, but because she's twelve."
Charles tries to glare at her disapprovingly, but finds himself laughing anyway.
"You're impossible, the both of you," he says, but there's no bite to it.
"Yeah, but you like it," Moira says. "It keeps you on your toes."
"The teenagers weren't enough, then?" Charles asks.
"Nope," Moira says. "But spirited debate builds character, so we're really doing you a favor."
"Is that what your childish teasing is called? I'll keep that in mind," Charles says dryly.
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"Come on," Moira says gently, nudging him towards the hall. "Someone needs to kiss Erik's head wound to make it better and I'm certainly not volunteering for the job."
"You're terrible," Charles says, but he turns his back on the room and leads them back towards the swirl of cheerful mental activity in the far wing of the house.
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now i have a holiday exchange fic to write that will fill out the rest of my nano :D
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Brian immediately drops his backpack on the floor and goes to him. Just grabs Jeff and pulls him into a hug. No questions asked. Jeff will tell him when he's ready.
They sit there like that. Quiet and loud at the same time. One man sobbing as if his soul was leaking out of him. Drop by drop. And one clinging onto him as if he could somehow pull Jeff away from this hurt with his embrace.
Eventually Jeff calms down. His lack of vocal sadness just as heartbreaking and loud as the sobbing was.
He turns his face to nuzzle Brian's cheek. "My brother," he whispered. "He's. Someone broke in and he's. I have to go. My parents."
Brian ran his hands up and down Jeff's back soothingly. Like his hands held the secret to time and could somehow fix this. A doctor of time.
Unfortunately he was not, probably couldn't do much even if he was, but he can be strong for Jeff while he falls apart. While he mourns one of his own.
Brian will be there for Jeff like Jeff will have to be there for him someday. The thought is not comforting.
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