[ falco should've known better than to look, and watch. the air surrounding this memory had piqued the interest of something else, not him; and that is why he still holds his omni in his his hands and watches the little girl behind these eyes— whose voice sounded like peter. whose eyes were peter's, in the car's rearview mirror. falco's gut feels colder and colder, and his quiet terror escalates. the choking sound is infuriating and driving a car at the speed it escalates to is terrifying. like it could go wrong, any moment, that could get worse.
and there is nothing worse than the thing on the road that causes peter to react and makes the wheels shriek. falco flinches at the ugly sound that cracks through the wind blowing through the passenger's open window. he comes to a horrible conclusion when all he could hear and see was breathing, shock and teary vision through the screen.
the silence drinks it like water on a hot summer day. it wraps and twists itself around the boy's upset stomach and makes it works, makes the tears in his own eyes come hot. a door has been opened— and it seeps out, just a touch, feeling empowered while falco felt despair. he felt fear. he almost felt like every feeling, wailing or otherwise deathly quiet was too palpable. ]
peter ?
[ he couldn't handle it, no matter how many bodies he's seen on the battlefield. ]
( How many times has he replied to the younger boy with "are you all right?" It's the default, the instinct, the little dose of panic that sits in a tight ball at the base of his throat whenever it seems like Falco might be in some kind of trouble. The reply text comes almost too fast, like he was waiting for it — of course he wasn't, but his Omni sits at the ready near his hand, always. Just in case there's some kind of emergency. )
Falco? Hey, I'm here. You okay?
( He doesn't know about it being shared. This memory. It's only supposed to be his own nightmare, revisited for himself alone. )
[ had it been wrong, to throw his honesty out that way? would it make peter feel awful, or would he feel worse to not say anything about it, to begin with? pretending— pretending felt so much worse. it may be a good thing peter doesn't see him immediately: his face is wet with tears, and the veins webbing his sclera have been rippling purple. ]
( That twinge of alarm pulls tighter, and Peter's sitting up more. He knows what Falco struggles with and that's very much where his train of thought is right now. The questions flow in a quick stream: )
You saw something? Something bad? Is it making you see things? Do you need me to come over?
( By now, he does know that some have slipped through to others. But it, thankfully, seems to be very isolated incidents. Not publicly broadcast the way some others have been.
Ice pools into Peter's gut, slow and painful. His hands are weirdly stiff, fingers difficult to work. )
you saw one of m
my memories /?
( He doesn't want to know which, all of them are horrible, but he's asking too quickly, almost desperately. Please not that one, please not that one)
( It doesn't feel real. It feels empty. It feels....—
—like it had back then. Like it's happening to someone else, like he's watching it all play out, and he's helpless, and he's numb. Peter just sits there, not moving. For a moment, he thinks he feels Paimon flicker at the edges of his vision, like a migraine.
Then he's gone. Weirdly, the demon doesn't take over. Peter wishes he would, but it's almost like Paimon's shied away from this. Peter's.... alone.
No, not alone; Falco's still there on the other side. Little and sweet and soft and sad, more than a kid should be. Charlie's age. Something's hitching in Peter's throat and he feels like he needs to be sick. )
[ the pang grows larger in his chest, and the depth of it sinks. he doesn't know what to do, either. he feels like he's teetering on a brink that's very easy to fall from. he feels claws and goop slithering down his back just ready to push him. ]
you don't have to know
[ even if they wished to, that it could be fixed. but sometimes, these things— most times, really. especially if they were traumatic, they couldn't be "fixed". ]
( Peter should be comforting Falco right now. Because— he just saw something horrible (how much did he see, exactly? How much, what specifically; did he see her die, did he just hear it, did he see what Peter had done afterwards).... but he's just sitting there. He can't bring himself to offer any comforting words, anything soft and tender. He's a monster.
And though he knows, on some level, that the shape of Falco's words ('but i'm afraid to') aren't meant about him, Peter can't help asking. It's the only thing he can say. )
[ oh, peter— falco’s chest drops like an anchor in water. it falls to his gut, that’s what it feels like, while something like bubbles rises to his throat. ]
I’m not. I never would be. You take care of me.[ falco hadn’t been the only newer who’s heart was in need of soothing— he had received his, earlier. paul, sharon and levi had helped pull him from dropping too deep in what the silence enjoyed. but he sees peter’s hurt contained within a mask while falco’s own memory was stripped of him. he didn’t remember until he saw. peter, peter had to live with it. he wanted to be there, but two hurting souls? his concern becomes apparent: ] I’m afraid of me.
( Falco would have every right to be afraid of him, now. But maybe he doesn't know the full story, maybe the memory didn't show it all — how Peter had abandoned his sister, left her on her own at a party she was never even meant to be at. How he'd swallowed down his mother's vitriol and hadn't challenged her on the instruction to bring Charlie along in the first place. He should have gone against her, told her no, because they both knew Charlie shouldn't be there—
He should have protected her. Saved her. (He should've died instead of her) )
it was my fault i killed her i cant take care of anything
( His head's dipped down, and with those words the tears are finally coming, even if they're kept privately contained to his own room. )
you dont deserve it what happened to you that thing inside you making you afraid
[ he wants to be there— but he can already feel the bubbling, the enticement for his words to pour out differently from his tongue, from softness and comfort to a sharp sting on top of shame that already hurts. at least from here he could think enough to delay anything said without thought, hurtful things— that's what he was afraid of. ]
we don't deserve anything that happened if it worked the way you're saying it does because you made a mistake i deserve a lot of things
[ he knows he doesn't deserve it— but he does feel guilt always swell at the back of his throat when he thought about it. it might never go away, but it was the drive to do better that made him feel like he was making a difference, somewhere. ]
( 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
accidental video | un: graham crackers
no subject
and there is nothing worse than the thing on the road that causes peter to react and makes the wheels shriek. falco flinches at the ugly sound that cracks through the wind blowing through the passenger's open window. he comes to a horrible conclusion when all he could hear and see was breathing, shock and teary vision through the screen.
the silence drinks it like water on a hot summer day. it wraps and twists itself around the boy's upset stomach and makes it works, makes the tears in his own eyes come hot. a door has been opened— and it seeps out, just a touch, feeling empowered while falco felt despair. he felt fear. he almost felt like every feeling, wailing or otherwise deathly quiet was too palpable. ]
peter ?
[ he couldn't handle it, no matter how many bodies he's seen on the battlefield. ]
no subject
Falco? Hey, I'm here.
You okay?
( He doesn't know about it being shared. This memory. It's only supposed to be his own nightmare, revisited for himself alone. )
no subject
[ had it been wrong, to throw his honesty out that way? would it make peter feel awful, or would he feel worse to not say anything about it, to begin with? pretending— pretending felt so much worse. it may be a good thing peter doesn't see him immediately: his face is wet with tears, and the veins webbing his sclera have been rippling purple. ]
i'm sorry i saw something
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You saw something? Something bad?
Is it making you see things? Do you need me to come over?
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on the omni,, i watched something
i don't know if i should see you
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Ice pools into Peter's gut, slow and painful. His hands are weirdly stiff, fingers difficult to work. )
you saw one of m
my memories /?
( He doesn't want to know which, all of them are horrible, but he's asking too quickly, almost desperately. Please not that one, please not that one )
what did you see was it
my mom?
no subject
a girl
my age
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—like it had back then. Like it's happening to someone else, like he's watching it all play out, and he's helpless, and he's numb. Peter just sits there, not moving. For a moment, he thinks he feels Paimon flicker at the edges of his vision, like a migraine.
Then he's gone. Weirdly, the demon doesn't take over. Peter wishes he would, but it's almost like Paimon's shied away from this. Peter's.... alone.
No, not alone; Falco's still there on the other side. Little and sweet and soft and sad, more than a kid should be. Charlie's age. Something's hitching in Peter's throat and he feels like he needs to be sick. )
i dont
( His fingers type the words, numbly. )
im sorry
i dont know what to do
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you don't have to know
[ even if they wished to, that it could be fixed. but sometimes, these things— most times, really. especially if they were traumatic, they couldn't be "fixed". ]
i'd like to see you
but i'm afraid to
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And though he knows, on some level, that the shape of Falco's words ('but i'm afraid to') aren't meant about him, Peter can't help asking. It's the only thing he can say. )
are you afraid of me
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I’m not. I never would be. You take care of me.[ falco hadn’t been the only newer who’s heart was in need of soothing— he had received his, earlier. paul, sharon and levi had helped pull him from dropping too deep in what the silence enjoyed. but he sees peter’s hurt contained within a mask while falco’s own memory was stripped of him. he didn’t remember until he saw. peter, peter had to live with it. he wanted to be there, but two hurting souls? his concern becomes apparent: ] I’m afraid of me.
no subject
He should have protected her. Saved her. (He should've died instead of her) )
it was my fault
i killed her
i cant take care of anything
( His head's dipped down, and with those words the tears are finally coming, even if they're kept privately contained to his own room. )
you dont deserve it
what happened to you
that thing inside you making you afraid
but i do
no subject
[ he wants to be there— but he can already feel the bubbling, the enticement for his words to pour out differently from his tongue, from softness and comfort to a sharp sting on top of shame that already hurts. at least from here he could think enough to delay anything said without thought, hurtful things— that's what he was afraid of. ]
we don't deserve anything that happened
if it worked the way you're saying it does
because you made a mistake
i deserve a lot of things
[ he knows he doesn't deserve it— but he does feel guilt always swell at the back of his throat when he thought about it. it might never go away, but it was the drive to do better that made him feel like he was making a difference, somewhere. ]
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?
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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.
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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. )
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the door to peter’s room slowly croaks open, and out pokes a head of sandy blond hair. ]
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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.
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he asks softly, inclining his head to peter— but doesn’t force a stare. ]
Why not—?
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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?
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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.
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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)
another unnecessarily long essay omg.....
you mean one good reason to kill owlie by heart splicing--
it is in fact MY heart that has been spliced....
i believe we may splice ourselves and bring this to a splicing close...... our hearts (crymoji)