( He understands what Falco's saying; he really does. He gets that, and it isn't the first time someone close to him has said something similar. That it can't work that way, that it's not about "deserving", that things just happen sometimes. But... Peter's guilty spirit can't let go of what he'd done; it's wrapped so tightly around the concept of punishment. )
i left her alone before she died
she was all alone and because of that something bad happened to her, i was trying to take her to the hospital
she was just a little girl and i left her alone it wasn't a mistake or a slip-up it was because i'm bad my soul is bad that's why he's inside me
( The questions feel like little knives sliding in. Though it goes unheard, Peter's giving soft gasps as he sits there on the bed, involuntary sounds of distress as he's working himself up more and more. )
i didnt want her to suffer but i
( He doesn't want to say it, he doesn't want to say it, not this, not to Falco, not what he hates himself every single day for. )
i did want her to leave me alone i made her go away she wanted to stay with me so bad but i made her go away
( He told her to stay alone, to eat the cake, he told her to do it, he killed her, he didn't know, he killed her, his hands are numb— )
[ peter would've never known that this would cascade into what it did. he wanted to have fun with his friends, do adult things, like colt would've done— drink and smoke and have a good time, and it would probably stop being a good time if falco were at his heels nagging him about his liquor intake.
it's possible for the boy to put himself in both shoes; the amount of guilt peter feels— there was nothing he could do to twist the memory back and make it disappear. he knew that all too well. falco no longer feels afraid when he looks to the screen and takes longer to respond. his sense of duty and nurturing bulks his courage and makes his fear too small in comparison. the silence is a wee thing at the moment— falco is greater. one of his brothers needs him. ]
( On some level, Peter remains aware that he shouldn't be saying all of these things to Falco. It's too much; the younger boy doesn't need this, shouldn't have to read it.... but he's already seen what he shouldn't have had to see, and Peter can barely process the fact. It keeps whispering against the shell of his ear, nudging inwards, making him feel dizzy as though his very center of self is off-kilter. Falco saw, he saw it, that poor boy had to see it.
He doesn't want to face him, can't face him, and yet Peter can't tell him no, either. He just sits there, stunned, staring down at the message on his Omni. He doesn't reply. Falco's coming; how can he face him?
Eventually he moves to the floor, back against his bed, knees drawn up to his chest. There was once a time he'd try to swallow back his upset, but Peter can't do it anymore. He's clearly been crying, thinks he's still crying, because his face keeps feeling freshly wet, and his eyes are red and they sting— but he lets them. He's not moving at all.
[ it’s clear now, what he has to do. he takes a limp imp to get to gaze in under five minutes, then takes another few to trek toward the residence. the whole time, falco’s mind was silent and simultaneously not. imagery would flash, of that video. peter’s voice or lack thereof was what hurt him the most. charlie’s suffering, the accident. it hurt more than what he saw. bodies mangled and blown apart by bombshells in every way imaginable was something he would time and time again block out, but still remember like ghosts. he could feel it— the empathy swells at the back of his throat until it forms a burning knot. he’s already reached their doorstep, let’s himself in, and climbs up the stairs.
the door to peter’s room slowly croaks open, and out pokes a head of sandy blond hair. ]
( He flinches slightly when he hears the door open. Despite everything, it's stayed unlocked. It's stayed accessible to Falco, and Peter... isn't running away from him. He's still just sitting there unmoving, and he doesn't look up — but he hasn't tried to shut the younger teen out.
Still, it's impossible to look up at him. To meet that sweet gaze with his own. Peter's staring down at the floor, mouth parted to release soft, wet breaths. But after a long moment of silence, he does actually speak up. The word feels surreal for how casual it is— )
Hey.
( —but his voice is strange, nasally from crying, wet around the edges. He sounds five years old. He wishes he were. Wishes he were much smaller and could slip under his covers and hide away from everything. Wishes he wasn't here at all. But some quiet dose of shame comes creeping in, and Peter's sniffling. )
[ falco’s approach is calculated and slow-moving. he doesn’t want to startle, to come in and agitate him. once the boy has come close enough, he settles on his knees and lifts the handle of his messenger bag off his shoulder. he keeps his hands under his cloak until his weight has fully set upon his heels.
he asks softly, inclining his head to peter— but doesn’t force a stare. ]
( The question hangs like a balloon filling with water, so close to bursting with the seconds that tick by. Peter's tongue pushes against the back of his teeth; he's resisting answering. He doesn't want to. He reaches up to rub his fingers against his red eyes, still not looking up at Falco. )
Because I'm supposed to be— better. Stronger. Not...
(...This. This shaking, crying thing. Falco shouldn't have to see him like this again; how many times by now has the younger boy seen how weak Peter is? But it's even deeper than that, and his voice is hoarse as he continues— )
I didn't want you to see me like this. Like... that. In the memory. I didn't want you to know— I didn't want anyone to know— what I did.
( His voice picks up some speed, the words tumbling out; he's so easily overwhelmed by them and they're spilling, and he's crying again. )
....how I left her. ( The act itself was.... horrific, but what came afterwards, too... ) I just kept driving, I just— I just left her like that, and my mom had to find her— I did that to her. How could I do that to her...! How could I?
[ falco sucks in a breath, soft and barely audible at all— peter, he says, so quiet and in between the older teen’s words. this was about vulnerability. this was about exteriorizing something that was buried because it hurt too much. the boy’s hands wander away from him, to peter, to the curve of his knee and the fall of his arm. it didn’t matter how many times peter would condone himself— falco was there. he no longer feels afraid when he knows what to do.
his eyes are young, but not naïve. they’re sad, but he has hope behind the shine they hold as he shares in the sting of tears burning his eyes. there’s so much of it in him, so much he wishes would spread. ]
Peter . . . [ it’s said again, but only a pause after the last of the young man’s spoken, broken and wet words. ] This doesn’t make you weaker.
( Falco's reaching to touch him and Peter's letting out a sound that sounds like an animal, some mix of whimper and groan, shuddering. He isn't pulling back, but he collapses forwards a little, head tipped downwards, like it's too heavy to hold up. )
No... No... I am, and I've always been. Weak.
( He doesn't know how much of the memory Falco saw, where it stopped, where it ended. Maybe some of what he's saying doesn't make much sense without the exact context, but it's spilling up and out of him. )
I should've stood up to my mom. Charlie didn't even want to go to that party, but my mom made her, and I didn't even— I didn't even try to stop her. I just let it happen.
She was just... little. She was so little. She was— your age.
( His voice breaks again at that as a fresh wave of tears breaks simultaneously, it's too much. He can't look up at the younger boy, can't face him. He feels like he's broken some trust, showed him what he really is. )
I'm not a good person, Falco. And I can't— protect you. I'm so weak.
[ just as he falls, falco moves in further— peter's chin could safely find his shoulder as the boy ducks into him. if they were standing, this wouldn't work, falco's too short. but if peter continues to sit, the young boy before him could keep up his kneel, back erect to make himself taller, and wrap his arms around the eldest boy: one across his back, the other behind his head to encourage a dip. i've got you. ]
I'm still here— [ falco was a good judge of character (most times). peter has never been any of those things to him. his words are soft, close to the fabric of his clothes and the mess of curly hair against his ears. ] All of this, you've been feeling all of this, by yourself— how is that weak? How is feeling guilt weak, when . . . It helps us change, Peter?
[ the hand on the elder boy's back soothes, in circles, and his temple bumps against the side of peter's face. ]
But . . . But you can't do this by yourself. There're— so many things we wish we could change, that we can't, because it's done. [ sending those letters. not being more precautions, too eager to please. the ambush on liberio, all the deaths, his friends, the rumbling— maybe if he hadn't been so open to eren jaeger, none of that would've come to pass. ] But we can make sure we do something today, to change today, and I know that's what you're doing. I see it, everyday. That's who I know— That's who I love, and Charlie does, too.
( His head falls forwards and Falco's shoulder is there — solid and safe and Peter's letting himself be held like a child. It only feels natural that his arms should wind around the smaller body supporting him, long limbs latching on; he tilts his face to bury it more against the side of the boy's head, and clings to him.
To be given such mercies by Falco, of all people, feels — wrong, somehow. Peter doesn't deserve such mercy, such kindness, such forgiveness. Such understanding. The soft soothing gestures to his back, the attempts to reassure. This boy should be flinching back from him, even if in his gentle ways; Peter knows Falco could never be cruel. Never that. But that he can so willingly be close to him after seeing what he'd done...
He doesn't deserve this, and yet he clings to it all the same, because he wants this. He's wanted it for so long. Dreams of Charlie are usually painful, frightening, but sometimes in a dream.... he's simply reaching down to hug her again. He misses it, knows he took such a thing for granted, knows those pinprick annoyances and resentments of his offbeat little sister made him shrug away from her with age. When was the last time he hugged Charlie, really hugged her? She was never too affectionate, never liked to be, but— when was the last time?
Did she die thinking he didn't like being close to her? That she was a burden? Did she did thinking he wished she wasn't there?
His eyes are closed, but the tears are slipping down, soft and cold and staining Falco's shirt collar. He's listening as the younger boy speaks, even if he can't quite reply yet — 'we', Falco keeps saying. 'We, us.' He understands on some level, and of course there's Falco's message from just moments ago:
if it worked the way you're saying it does because you made a mistake i deserve a lot of things
And then come the words that steal Peter's breathing, make him shudder with an almost convulsive little motion, make his fingers find purchase in the back of Falco's shirt, curling in tightly.
'That's who I love, and Charlie does, too'
He doesn't know how he could remain sitting up at all. Everything feels too weak, like he's a doll with the stuffing ripped right out, like he's in threat of crumbling up into something that's just skin. But of course, the reason he's able to still sit up is because Falco is supporting him.
Peter's moaning the words into the boy's neck. Words doubling to Charlie that he didn't get to say, words to Falco in some apology; in the moment, the boy is his sister too, as though her ghost's slipped right into his skin, as Peter holds on. He loves them both. )
I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I love you, I'm sorry....
you mean one good reason to kill owlie by heart splicing--
[ of course he'd squeeze, of course he wouldn't break free or let go. falco's shirt was damp, but so was peter's curls. falco is unable to contain the rawness that touches him so easily, feels every sobbing jerk from the boy in his own rattling heart as if it were his. if he has stopped his motioning at any moment, it was because his own fingers has balled into fabric and frame to make sure there was no space lingering in between. if they shook, they shook together.
he's this little thing with a heart that's just too big, to which falco would say it could be bigger. there was a reason for so much giving— this was falco. this was his nature, this was who he was and who he'd always be. coupled with his own everlasting guilt, to have ever been forced to pick up a rifle twice his size, to pull triggers, to set off molotovs and grenades, to set loose a monster upon his home—
he forgives, because he knows what it's like to want forgiveness so badly and never seem to be up to par with its intimidating expectations. ]
I love you, too.
[ a whisper. a lining of light in this dark room, shivering but steadfast and golden to the truth it held. ]
( It isn't fair of Peter to equate the boy to Charlie. To... push his past, his loss, her ghost, onto Falco. Some part of Peter knows that, and hates himself for it, and the other part clings onto those small, sturdy shoulders even tighter, lets himself be held the way he needs to be. Pretends, just for a few moments, that he's able to somehow convey these words to Charlie, those things he'll never get to say.
And some other part in him clings on, too. Tucks its face into the crook of Falco's neck and holds onto the smallness of him, and feels.... something odd and yearning. The demon Paimon is currently held by a body that feels more familiar than the one he's currently inside of. A body that's smaller and softer. It was wrong, his existence within the child Charlie; it was always wrong. She was always only meant to be a placeholder until he could be placed within Peter. He doesn't explicitly remember that fact, but he remembers.... pieces of it. Of being within her. Of a pair of small hands, working at their crafts, piecing things together. Charlie was never "home", but a part of him longs to be where he once was.
For a moment, the demon wishes to be impossibly close to the child Falco, wishes to slip out of his current skin and into another. Even with Falco's Corruption so close (Paimon can sense it there, that Darkness), he doesn't flinch back.
'I love you, too.'
Peter exhales quietly at those whispered words. He doesn't deserve forgiveness and this isn't that, but.... some part of him feels as though it is. As though someone he cares for very deeply has seen the most horrific part of his past, the thing he never, ever wanted anyone to see, and loves him anyway. He's not forgiven (he can never let himself be), but he's not unloved. He stays there, holding onto the younger teen, trembling quietly against him. For how long, he doesn't know.
Eventually, when his tears have stopped freely falling and are becoming dried crust on his cheeks, Peter pulls back a little, palms gently finding Falco's face, smoothing back against cheeks. He himself must look an absolute mess, and his voice comes out hoarse, but there's a softness, too. Always a softness, for Falco. )
I'm sorry. You're— we're both going to get sinus infections after this. ( He tries to find a smile, but everything's still raw, and it wavers feebly back into a frown. )
Are you okay?
i believe we may splice ourselves and bring this to a splicing close...... our hearts (crymoji)
[ flaco will help him, in that regard. an inhaling gasp that finds its way into a breathy exhale. a sinus infection— of course. they don't want to get each other sick. falco squeezes the boy's head one more time before he pulls back with a more visibly drawn smile. wet, exposed and tight around the lips as he presses them together, but there all the same. ]
Yeah. [ he's more worried about peter than he was himself— how could peter be an awful person, still asking him those things? the boy dips his head, and offers a suggestion to prove his care toward the elder brother figure: ] Let's— Let's get some fresh air. For our sinuses.
[ he takes peter's hand, gives it an expecting tug— and whenever the older boy is ready to follow, falco will help themselves up, and make for the door.
he's always looking up, always offering peter the same smile, and the support in the grip of his fingers against the other's palm and sleeve. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
i left her alone
before she died
she was all alone
and because of that something bad happened to her, i was trying to take her to the hospital
she was just a little girl and i left her alone
it wasn't a mistake or a slip-up it was because i'm bad
my soul is bad that's why he's inside me
no subject
Did you want to leave her alone? Did you want her to suffer?
no subject
i didnt want her to suffer but i
( He doesn't want to say it, he doesn't want to say it, not this, not to Falco, not what he hates himself every single day for. )
i did want her to leave me alone
i made her go away
she wanted to stay with me so bad but i made her go away
( He told her to stay alone, to eat the cake, he told her to do it, he killed her, he didn't know, he killed her, his hands are numb— )
im so rry imn so sorry
no subject
it's possible for the boy to put himself in both shoes; the amount of guilt peter feels— there was nothing he could do to twist the memory back and make it disappear. he knew that all too well. falco no longer feels afraid when he looks to the screen and takes longer to respond. his sense of duty and nurturing bulks his courage and makes his fear too small in comparison. the silence is a wee thing at the moment— falco is greater. one of his brothers needs him. ]
I'm ready to come see you, sit tight.
no subject
He doesn't want to face him, can't face him, and yet Peter can't tell him no, either. He just sits there, stunned, staring down at the message on his Omni. He doesn't reply. Falco's coming; how can he face him?
Eventually he moves to the floor, back against his bed, knees drawn up to his chest. There was once a time he'd try to swallow back his upset, but Peter can't do it anymore. He's clearly been crying, thinks he's still crying, because his face keeps feeling freshly wet, and his eyes are red and they sting— but he lets them. He's not moving at all.
He's just sitting there. )
no subject
the door to peter’s room slowly croaks open, and out pokes a head of sandy blond hair. ]
no subject
Still, it's impossible to look up at him. To meet that sweet gaze with his own. Peter's staring down at the floor, mouth parted to release soft, wet breaths. But after a long moment of silence, he does actually speak up. The word feels surreal for how casual it is— )
Hey.
( —but his voice is strange, nasally from crying, wet around the edges. He sounds five years old. He wishes he were. Wishes he were much smaller and could slip under his covers and hide away from everything. Wishes he wasn't here at all. But some quiet dose of shame comes creeping in, and Peter's sniffling. )
I didn't want you to— see me like this.
no subject
he asks softly, inclining his head to peter— but doesn’t force a stare. ]
Why not—?
no subject
Because I'm supposed to be— better. Stronger. Not...
( ...This. This shaking, crying thing. Falco shouldn't have to see him like this again; how many times by now has the younger boy seen how weak Peter is? But it's even deeper than that, and his voice is hoarse as he continues— )
I didn't want you to see me like this. Like... that. In the memory. I didn't want you to know— I didn't want anyone to know— what I did.
( His voice picks up some speed, the words tumbling out; he's so easily overwhelmed by them and they're spilling, and he's crying again. )
....how I left her. ( The act itself was.... horrific, but what came afterwards, too... ) I just kept driving, I just— I just left her like that, and my mom had to find her— I did that to her. How could I do that to her...! How could I?
no subject
his eyes are young, but not naïve. they’re sad, but he has hope behind the shine they hold as he shares in the sting of tears burning his eyes. there’s so much of it in him, so much he wishes would spread. ]
Peter . . . [ it’s said again, but only a pause after the last of the young man’s spoken, broken and wet words. ] This doesn’t make you weaker.
no subject
No... No... I am, and I've always been. Weak.
( He doesn't know how much of the memory Falco saw, where it stopped, where it ended. Maybe some of what he's saying doesn't make much sense without the exact context, but it's spilling up and out of him. )
I should've stood up to my mom. Charlie didn't even want to go to that party, but my mom made her, and I didn't even— I didn't even try to stop her. I just let it happen.
She was just... little. She was so little. She was— your age.
( His voice breaks again at that as a fresh wave of tears breaks simultaneously, it's too much. He can't look up at the younger boy, can't face him. He feels like he's broken some trust, showed him what he really is. )
I'm not a good person, Falco. And I can't— protect you. I'm so weak.
no subject
I'm still here— [ falco was a good judge of character (most times). peter has never been any of those things to him. his words are soft, close to the fabric of his clothes and the mess of curly hair against his ears. ] All of this, you've been feeling all of this, by yourself— how is that weak? How is feeling guilt weak, when . . . It helps us change, Peter?
[ the hand on the elder boy's back soothes, in circles, and his temple bumps against the side of peter's face. ]
But . . . But you can't do this by yourself. There're— so many things we wish we could change, that we can't, because it's done. [ sending those letters. not being more precautions, too eager to please. the ambush on liberio, all the deaths, his friends, the rumbling— maybe if he hadn't been so open to eren jaeger, none of that would've come to pass. ] But we can make sure we do something today, to change today, and I know that's what you're doing. I see it, everyday. That's who I know— That's who I love, and Charlie does, too.
another unnecessarily long essay omg.....
To be given such mercies by Falco, of all people, feels — wrong, somehow. Peter doesn't deserve such mercy, such kindness, such forgiveness. Such understanding. The soft soothing gestures to his back, the attempts to reassure. This boy should be flinching back from him, even if in his gentle ways; Peter knows Falco could never be cruel. Never that. But that he can so willingly be close to him after seeing what he'd done...
He doesn't deserve this, and yet he clings to it all the same, because he wants this. He's wanted it for so long. Dreams of Charlie are usually painful, frightening, but sometimes in a dream.... he's simply reaching down to hug her again. He misses it, knows he took such a thing for granted, knows those pinprick annoyances and resentments of his offbeat little sister made him shrug away from her with age. When was the last time he hugged Charlie, really hugged her? She was never too affectionate, never liked to be, but— when was the last time?
Did she die thinking he didn't like being close to her? That she was a burden? Did she did thinking he wished she wasn't there?
His eyes are closed, but the tears are slipping down, soft and cold and staining Falco's shirt collar. He's listening as the younger boy speaks, even if he can't quite reply yet — 'we', Falco keeps saying. 'We, us.' He understands on some level, and of course there's Falco's message from just moments ago:
if it worked the way you're saying it does
because you made a mistake
i deserve a lot of things
And then come the words that steal Peter's breathing, make him shudder with an almost convulsive little motion, make his fingers find purchase in the back of Falco's shirt, curling in tightly.
'That's who I love, and Charlie does, too'
He doesn't know how he could remain sitting up at all. Everything feels too weak, like he's a doll with the stuffing ripped right out, like he's in threat of crumbling up into something that's just skin. But of course, the reason he's able to still sit up is because Falco is supporting him.
Peter's moaning the words into the boy's neck. Words doubling to Charlie that he didn't get to say, words to Falco in some apology; in the moment, the boy is his sister too, as though her ghost's slipped right into his skin, as Peter holds on. He loves them both. )
I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I love you, I'm sorry....
you mean one good reason to kill owlie by heart splicing--
he's this little thing with a heart that's just too big, to which falco would say it could be bigger. there was a reason for so much giving— this was falco. this was his nature, this was who he was and who he'd always be. coupled with his own everlasting guilt, to have ever been forced to pick up a rifle twice his size, to pull triggers, to set off molotovs and grenades, to set loose a monster upon his home—
he forgives, because he knows what it's like to want forgiveness so badly and never seem to be up to par with its intimidating expectations. ]
I love you, too.
[ a whisper. a lining of light in this dark room, shivering but steadfast and golden to the truth it held. ]
it is in fact MY heart that has been spliced....
And some other part in him clings on, too. Tucks its face into the crook of Falco's neck and holds onto the smallness of him, and feels.... something odd and yearning. The demon Paimon is currently held by a body that feels more familiar than the one he's currently inside of. A body that's smaller and softer. It was wrong, his existence within the child Charlie; it was always wrong. She was always only meant to be a placeholder until he could be placed within Peter. He doesn't explicitly remember that fact, but he remembers.... pieces of it. Of being within her. Of a pair of small hands, working at their crafts, piecing things together. Charlie was never "home", but a part of him longs to be where he once was.
For a moment, the demon wishes to be impossibly close to the child Falco, wishes to slip out of his current skin and into another. Even with Falco's Corruption so close (Paimon can sense it there, that Darkness), he doesn't flinch back.
'I love you, too.'
Peter exhales quietly at those whispered words. He doesn't deserve forgiveness and this isn't that, but.... some part of him feels as though it is. As though someone he cares for very deeply has seen the most horrific part of his past, the thing he never, ever wanted anyone to see, and loves him anyway. He's not forgiven (he can never let himself be), but he's not unloved. He stays there, holding onto the younger teen, trembling quietly against him. For how long, he doesn't know.
Eventually, when his tears have stopped freely falling and are becoming dried crust on his cheeks, Peter pulls back a little, palms gently finding Falco's face, smoothing back against cheeks. He himself must look an absolute mess, and his voice comes out hoarse, but there's a softness, too. Always a softness, for Falco. )
I'm sorry. You're— we're both going to get sinus infections after this. ( He tries to find a smile, but everything's still raw, and it wavers feebly back into a frown. )
Are you okay?
i believe we may splice ourselves and bring this to a splicing close...... our hearts (crymoji)
Yeah. [ he's more worried about peter than he was himself— how could peter be an awful person, still asking him those things? the boy dips his head, and offers a suggestion to prove his care toward the elder brother figure: ] Let's— Let's get some fresh air. For our sinuses.
[ he takes peter's hand, gives it an expecting tug— and whenever the older boy is ready to follow, falco will help themselves up, and make for the door.
he's always looking up, always offering peter the same smile, and the support in the grip of his fingers against the other's palm and sleeve. ]