Peter Parker | Spider-Man (
made_up_names) wrote in
daybreakacademy2019-02-03 10:25 pm
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[ Closed ] Hollow Aftermath
WHO: Peter + Héctor (open to a thread with infirmary staff too but please make separate top level)
WHAT: The worst month ever, part 1! Peter and Héctor recover in the wake of nearly getting murdered by Fisher. Héctor figures some things out. Peter might be too dense still. News at 11.
WHEN: Very early in the morning on 2/3
WHERE: Infirmary
WARNINGS: Discussion of death and violence. Feels.
Now it's over. For a moment anyway, which won't last anywhere near as long as they think it will but - for just one night at least there won't be any more monster attacks. Somehow, Peter manages to stagger to the infirmary with his ghostly uncle's help; it takes all of his strength to lever himself the last few steps alone, report to whoever's there in the middle of the night, and then collapse into a cot for whatever basic treatment can be mustered. Healing or bandages, or some combination of both.
By the time Héctor arrives with whatever's left of his arm, Peter's resting in a curtained off area, his shoulder a mass of bandages and his leg propped up on some pillows. Mercifully, his shoulder has stopped bleeding thanks to his healing factor; unfortunately, his bones have set wrong, also thanks to his healing factor. If not for Orihime fixing him later, that would probably have been a major problem. His ribs are ... uh, not great, but he's found a comfortable position to lie in, at least, and that's all he can do until his factor recharges enough to tend to them too.
He should be sleeping. He's exhausted enough for it, absolutely. But Héctor said he would come and find Peter after he was done, and after this night? Peter dares not sleep until he sees his adopted skeleton uncle safe and sound next to him, or at least taking refuge in the nearby chair even if the infirmary can't do anything in particular for him. And besides, the events of the night have left him wired for the moment, unwilling to sleep just yet.
So instead he keeps watch anxiously, twitching a little at every movement. Waiting for Héctor to turn up.
( OOC: I will have a separate post / top level for open aftermath stuff too! This is just for Héc and Pete since they have a lot of ground to cover. )
WHAT: The worst month ever, part 1! Peter and Héctor recover in the wake of nearly getting murdered by Fisher. Héctor figures some things out. Peter might be too dense still. News at 11.
WHEN: Very early in the morning on 2/3
WHERE: Infirmary
WARNINGS: Discussion of death and violence. Feels.
Now it's over. For a moment anyway, which won't last anywhere near as long as they think it will but - for just one night at least there won't be any more monster attacks. Somehow, Peter manages to stagger to the infirmary with his ghostly uncle's help; it takes all of his strength to lever himself the last few steps alone, report to whoever's there in the middle of the night, and then collapse into a cot for whatever basic treatment can be mustered. Healing or bandages, or some combination of both.
By the time Héctor arrives with whatever's left of his arm, Peter's resting in a curtained off area, his shoulder a mass of bandages and his leg propped up on some pillows. Mercifully, his shoulder has stopped bleeding thanks to his healing factor; unfortunately, his bones have set wrong, also thanks to his healing factor. If not for Orihime fixing him later, that would probably have been a major problem. His ribs are ... uh, not great, but he's found a comfortable position to lie in, at least, and that's all he can do until his factor recharges enough to tend to them too.
He should be sleeping. He's exhausted enough for it, absolutely. But Héctor said he would come and find Peter after he was done, and after this night? Peter dares not sleep until he sees his adopted skeleton uncle safe and sound next to him, or at least taking refuge in the nearby chair even if the infirmary can't do anything in particular for him. And besides, the events of the night have left him wired for the moment, unwilling to sleep just yet.
So instead he keeps watch anxiously, twitching a little at every movement. Waiting for Héctor to turn up.
( OOC: I will have a separate post / top level for open aftermath stuff too! This is just for Héc and Pete since they have a lot of ground to cover. )
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It sets in slow, but it does set in. This really might not be repairable. He might not have this arm again. And if that's the case, he'll have to cut his losses, leaves this arm to the dirt, and move on without it. Learn to right with his left hand... acknowledge he's really never going to play guitar again...
The thought is no small horror. But... Peter's alive. He's... he's alive. He frowns, a thought settling just on the edge of revelation, but he's not ready to face that yet. He's still just working on carrying his arm to Ekkehardt, a bundle of shards held in a jacket. He shifts back partially, on the way there, stopping it before it hits that shattered arm, leaving some of his ribs to remain an empty cage. He can manage these partial shifts, but they're draining. He's going to be lucky to get more than a few hours in the coming nights, which he'll soon learn from Ekkehardt will be a fair few, about a week. But, if it can save his arm, he'll manage that.
After leaving that task to Ekkehardt, he makes his way to Peter's bedside, pulling aside the curtain. He looks human again, but more corpse-like than he ever has while not skeletal. His empty sleeve dangles at his side, not yet tucked in or rolled. On the plus side, at least he can blame the exhausted look on the lack of limb.
"Peter?" He croaks. Then, "Oh, you're still up." Ben, if he's still there, doesn't get a verbal greeting but a small lift of his hand. "How you hanging in there, Mijo?" He goes to Peter's bedside, sitting where he can.
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He brightens as soon as he realizes it's Héctor coming to see him at last - and then sits up a little too fast when he realizes the state that Héctor's in. Oh god. He's seen Héc as a skeleton, and he's seen him as a dude. But. This in between state is awful. Héctor looks like he's actually dead and not just kind of homeless.
"Better than you are," he says, his eyes still kind of wide with horror. The fact that he can even comment like that is a good sign; he's recovered enough to talk, even if it does hurt his ribs. Speaking of which. He has to lower himself back down onto the pillows carefully, wincing. Also eying that empty sleeve. "What about your arm? Did you find all the pieces?"
He's assuming not, given he doesn't have it. But. He can hope.
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"I'm not the one stuck in bed, niño," He points out, knowing full well the only reason for that is being undead and the magic involved with that. Being alone means he can take that empty seat and he does, grateful, sighing heavily as he sits.
There's a flicker of a half smile on his face, before he lifts his hand and pushes his collar back from his shoulder. He shows the flesh, stopped at a point, and the bone showing just past it. He tugs it back before that can settle too firmly in Peter's mind.
"I don't know if I got everything. I grabbed everything I could at least. I'll probably know in a week or less if it's enough to put it all back together. But either way, I'm not going to have it back until then. I'll tell people I found some magic healer after it's back." He winces. "If it's back. It won't be the biggest adjustment I've had to make if it can't be fixed."
His attention goes back to the boy, looking him up and down, taking note of what injuries he can see, imagining what he can't. And then, although he's got so many other things to say, so many questions, his throat goes tight then and his eyes well up. His hand rises to scrub at his face.
"I thought I was going to lose you. God, Mijo, you don't..." He shakes his head, unable to quite finish that thought. "I've never... never been so scared-- in life or death. I can't watch you get hurt like that. Not again."
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And really, it's the thought of Héctor losing an arm on Peter's behalf that upsets him more. Maybe Héctor didn't manage to stop Fisher, but he did delay him until the critical moment when Ben could swoop in. That means Héctor saved Peter's life tonight. Both of his undead uncles did. He bows his head at Héctor's tears, not entirely sure how to respond. His usual excuses - that he's okay, he's fine, nothing really happened - all ring hollow in his ears. If Ben had been even fifteen seconds slower...
He swallows his excuses. Instead, he leans over as best he can given his bandages and his ribs. And puts an arm around Héctor, drawing him into as close of a hug as he can. "I'm sorry," he says, tears welling up in his own eyes. He's too tired to cry, really; his throat just aches instead. "I'm - I'm really, really sorry. I didn't want any of that. You lost your arm saving me..."
He'd known about Fisher but he hadn't thought it would come after him like that. Hadn't realized what he'd walked Héctor into - hadn't thought about what he would have forced Héctor to witness if Fisher had killed him then and there. Only sheer, dumb luck and the intervention of others had saved him, and that is enough to make even Peter Parker pause.
For a moment he just kind of leans against Héctor, his shoulders hitching. "I'll be more careful from now on, I swear," he says, his voice weak. "I don't - I don't want to make you go through any of that again."
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He's not really expecting the kid to hug him. It startles him immediately from his fit of emotion. His hand drops from his face so he can wrap his arm around the boy, holding tight to him.
"I know. I know you didn't, Mijo, I know." He doesn't really want the boy to feel guilty. He just wants him safe. He wants Peter to try and keep himself safe. More than he has, at least. "But I can get by with a lost arm if it means you're okay." For whatever given amount of okay this could even be. He can see those bandages, hear the faint wheeze in the boy's breath. He leans in then, over the bed, if only to make Peter lay back down. But he stays with his chair pulled up close and he runs a hand over Peter's hair.
He laughs softly then. "I guess I'm going to have to find a job that hires dead guys back home. I can't make you pay for plane tickets, but there's no way I'm letting you go without you visiting me." He smiles a pained sort of smile. He knows Peter will connect the dots. You're in this now, Parker.
Then, just like that, the fragile smile crumbles. "But... there's some things I've got to talk to you about. Some things I've got to ask..."
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Reluctantly, he lets himself be led back down into bed. All of him still aches terribly, so he won't even argue, really. Just rearrange himself on his pillows so he barely has to move, except to breathe and talk. Also smile a little at that, his expression warming. He really did get adopted, huh? He's gonna have to tell May; he's pretty sure she won't mind. "There's gotta be something," he says. "Do they have death metal bands in Mexico?"
Okay, that's just a dumb joke. But. They need a joke before they get into this. Peter has a real bad feeling about this, given the way Héctor's face falls. His guilt returns for a moment; he resettles back a bit, looking away. "I guess I owe you anything you want at this point," he says, still trying to keep it light. He has no idea what Héc is going to say or ask here; he thinks this has something to do with his own superheroic recklessness.
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He's glad Peter takes that comment well. He even smiles himself, almost laughs, making a face that says Probably as he shrugs one shoulder. But that does take them back to where they are. He doesn't mind the dumb joke going in-- honestly, he's usually the type to make the dumb jokes himself. Shake it off, always shake it off. But not this time, though he appreciates Peter's efforts all the same.
His mouth opens and closes, nothing coming out the first time. He looks downward, his hand moving down to Peter's so he can look at that instead. He tries again. This time, he finds his voice.
"Peter, I saw you shimmer. When he fought that thing, I saw... that light happen to you. And I saw what it did too." He swallows, still keeping his head down. "I've seen light like it many, many times, Peter. And I don't think you're keeping anything from me, exactly-- I can't imagine why you would. But I do think something is wrong. And you're not dealing with it. Your nightmares, these headaches, the gap in your memory..." All bad, bad things on their own but other things could be blamed. "Now this. Something's wrong. And if there is something you do know, I want you to tell me now."
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But - anyway. More important things. Peter's ... not expecting that comment? Not after Héctor looks frankly kind of stricken, and seems to take multiple attempts to find his voice. He's expecting questions about how he'd worried May, or what kind of life he could have possibly lived before that would prompt him to try to fight a massive monster like that. Maybe some judgement of his aunt and uncle that he'd have to vigorously defend. Or of the Avengers, who ... would probably deserve more judgement.
He doesn't expect - well, that. In Peter's defense, he seems entirely oblivious to where Héctor's going with this. If there's anything he's hiding, then it's clearly not on purpose. "What?" he says, looking at Héc like he might be a little bit crazy. Or just stressed out from the night, which is completely understandable. "I didn't see anything like that," he says. "Are you sure it happened?"
He's asking genuinely here, because he's so confused. Not denying that Héctor saw anything! But deeply uncertain about where Héc is even going with this. Poor Héctor will have to spell it out for him for Peter to even mention what Fisher had said about being held together with magic and stupid disbelief.
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"Okay. Okay that's..." He scrubs his face a little before dropping his hand back to Peter's. "Maybe you can't see it. Maybe only I can." After all, there had been other things he could see that no one else could, hadn't there?
He bobs his head a moment before going on. "Do you remember you asked me if I saw the dead and I told you I didn't know? Well, I saw someone. And I don't mean your Tío, I mean I saw some other guy. Which means it's possible that it's just me that sees this but... that doesn't change that I saw it and it's not good."
Which means... he's got to explain. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to detail this out, it's hard enough to think about with just himself alone, he really doesn't want to dump this on the kid, especially not now. But he hasn't got a choice has he? He stays still and silent for a very long moment. His eyes are glassy and distant, lost in thought and memory that it takes a good push to surface from. His mouth presses and his expression twists, but he's going to do this.
"...There were others like me in the outlands. My primos. I told you about them before. We called each other family because we were all we had there. And it was hard enough that we needed somebody, something... We didn't know what brought us back, but every once in a little tiny while we'd find another of ours and take them in. But it didn't matter. Our group was always small. Sometimes, things just happened or one of us said goodbye. But sometimes... sometimes the time we had... ran out. The power you've seen in me is the same that could take us away. You could tell the difference. Not just because the way they'd get weak and their marks would fade. You could tell because... it would hurt. My shifting doesn't hurt me. But this would. You'd see the light flicker in their bones and on their marks, and you'd see them collapse, and even if they got back up you'd know that time was running out. Sometimes fast, sometimes bit by bit. Didn't always matter how long they'd been dead or how old they'd been when they'd died. It just happened."
He doesn't say it. He probably doesn't have to. It's implied in his words that he's seen far more people disappear and die than he can really bear to think about.
"Tonight I saw a light flicker in you. And I watched it nearly take you down. I don't know what's going on. How or why. But the only thing... that I can think is..." He shakes his head, unable, unwilling to put words to that.
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“How many people did you lose like that?” he asks first. “How - how many friends faded on you?” And meanwhile his brain churns uncomfortably, circling around Héctor’s implication, the one his brain won’t quite let him look at head on. Héctor saw him flicker. He’d - felt something too, had stumbled painfully for no reason that he could see. But what does that mean? What can it possibly mean? This has to be different, it has to be.
But despite having asked the question, it’s clear he already knows the answer himself. Just as Héctor had implied it. Too many, no matter what the literal number might be. Too many people... and now Peter, maybe? Is that what he thinks. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says after a moment, looking up at Héctor with a bit of panic in his eyes. “I’m not - whatever you saw, it’s not —“
So what is it then, Peter? Does he even have an answer? He doesn’t know. Can’t know. But - Fisher’s words rise to the top of his mind again. “It’s not true,” he says, stubbornness rising up one more time to fight off the truth. “I’m right here. And - that thing was talking nonsense about being held together with magic and disbelief. I’ve never even heard of anything like that.”
He sort of holds his breath, looking up at Héctor again. That’s the last barrier right there. If Héctor insists, regardless... His doubt will be too strong. Héctor knows this topic better than anyone else, and Peter, well - Peter trusts him too much to just dismiss him.
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Faces flash through his mind. Chicharrón. Tía Chelo. Face after face, some whose names he can't remember, but he remembers the way they laughed or sang. He clings to the hat, to the jacket, the other things he picked up but didn't manage to keep. How many songs did he sing to a soon empty space?
He shakes his head. He can't... he can't answer that.
When Peter speaks, he's looking up too, seeing that panic and feeling his guts churn further. That fear is so old and familiar, but he can almost believe the denial. Until, ironically, Peter pushes it farther. His own eyes go wider with a horror he's having trouble suppressing.
"A magic?" He repeats. "I couldn't understand what language that thing was speaking, that-- it mentioned magic? And belief?" It sounds like something out of a children's story. Only those were supposed to be built on hope and good things and not this. "Peter, what did that thing say to you? What..."
I'm right here. A phrase so insistent.
His eyes drop from Peter's face, going down to his own hand. If he wanted, he could shift right now, dissolve it all away. And it would horrify Peter. That had seemed reasonable, at first. Why wouldn't it? But his gaze goes back up.
"...Peter... these nightmares you've been having... what are they?"
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Cold fear starts to trickle in as Héctor asks for more details. The closer he gets to this precipice, the more his instincts realize that something is wrong. There’s a tipping point for his doubt here - and he’s edging closer to it. Much the same way Héctor is, surely. “It - it said I was already dead. And then the thing about magic and disbelief.” He clutches at the blanket he’s under with his good hand, just. Sort of stressing out now, with no way to get up and pace or flail or something. “But that’s stupid. I’d know if I was dead, right? You knew.” Héctor is a damn skeleton and Peter just has his flesh and blood body. Which still eats and sleeps and breathes like a normal body, except. Except...
He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Héctor turning back right then and there would be very educational, but it would also be kind of a dick move jeez. “I’ve told you before, I think.” Has he? He’s not sure and he’s too stressed out to go back and try to remember. “It’s always the same. I’m fighting Thanos, and - I’m trying to get that artifact off his hand? The one he’s going to kill half the population with.” A pause; he squeezes his eyes shut a little more. “I - get it off, but. Something’s wrong.” Even talking about it in this level of detail hurts. He’s always shied away from the end, claiming not to remember, or just moving onto something else. But Héctor he trusts. After tonight, Héctor gets the truth.
Peter opens his eyes again, but doesn’t meet Héctor’s. Instead he lies back, looking up at the ceiling. Quiet, still. “I don’t - know what happens after that,” he says at last. “Sometimes it’s just cold, sometimes I kind of collapse on the ground first, or one of the Avengers catches me. But it’s - like -“ He’s fumbling for the words now, uncertain. “I feel like I’m just coming apart.”
Literally dissolving but. That’s too strange of a sensation to put into words.
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It knocks the wind from him, to hear that. There's not much room left to tip. He says nothing when Peter points out that he knew. Sure he did. After he dug himself up out of the dirt in sheer blind panic, after he looked upon his body and saw it wasn't exactly his body anymore. And even then...
Peter has told him about the dream. But more details always come out the second time around. Things stand out when there's actually something to look for. An artifact, some kind of worn thing, that could kill, something Peter got his hands right on before his memory cuts like a pulled plug.
Peter's not looking at him, but his eyes are fixed on the boy. It's not the first time he's listened to someone describe things like this-- nothing so fantastical, but that's never the part that people are afraid of. The most visceral thing is always so mundane. The dark. The cold. The feeling of one's own body giving way.
Peter doesn't put it to words, that last and final thing that only he and his primos know. But he does. Voice quiet as whisper, he speaks it to the air.
"...Like you're falling to dust."
His breath shudders out. His eyes close, his head hangs over Peter, face twisted in pain. He doesn't make a sound, all of it held in so tightly behind his jaws that it's obvious he's not breathing. He knows if he lets free even one bit of this, he won't be able to stop. So his jaw holds tight, even as his head lifts back up, that pained expression turning on Peter. And he reaches out, hand trembling to stroke back Peter's hair again.
He's here. Peter's here, he tells himself. There's no loss. This doesn't have to mean what it could. But he knows too well that standing on the border doesn't change what they are. It doesn't take away the scar this all leaves.
Peter's dead.
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...Although after a bit of staring at Peter while he was all banged up, Maya has resorted to scribbling in her songbook while she waits for him to wake up.
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"Maya?" he says, surprised. "You're here."
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"Yeah, so are you. Barely." Maya shifted a little, putting down her book, "I'm really good at sneaking into places, it's sorta my thing. Nobody on staff knows I'm here."
And if they did they were just ignoring her. Maya's harmless. "...wanna talk about it?"
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"Oh yeah, super quiet and stuff." Sometimes he forgets. Somehow. "Don't let 'em kick you out."
He could use the company, honestly. Given everything else that's happened. Which ... hoo boy, does he want to talk about this? Not really, but Maya is a friend and he trusts her a lot. "You remember your friend? The one who showed up and tried to eat you?"
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"I guess you didn't get lucky and an R.A. with a giant cat monster didn't come to protect you?" Peter was pretty good at looking out for himself. So she didn't want to think about what 'the other guy' would be to put him like this.
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Man there's a lot to unpack here. He's not sure whether to start with Zomben or Fisher or. Both? Both at once somehow? He rubs at his face with one hand.
"No RAs either. Uh. Wait, which RA was that?" He has questions okay.
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Maya smirked as to the second question, "Not the topic at hand, this is about you and what happened. But to answer, the one you had me remake Footloose over a music ban."
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But - okay, right, focus. "It is," he says. "But there's a monster out there doing it to them. They're not just turning on their own or something." A small pause and a wince. "The monster that's changing the dead went after me. Guess it didn't like me messing with its plans."
Mostly that had been Orihime, but Pete's not gonna tell her secret.
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Once Cam was talked down, and Imelda wasn't going to turn him into a cat toy, Maya ran, she ran and hid. Because she could only keep herself together for so long. She didn't think there was anything deeper cause she just couldn't deal.
Maybe if she could... then maybe...
Maya pushed those ideas away, long enough to find a question to ask, "Why is it here, weaponizing the dead?"
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"I don't know," he says, looking incredibly tired for a moment. "Maybe there's more dead here than usual? I know there's some undead people here." He's thinking of Héctor, but. Well. Obviously he counts too. Unknowingly.
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"I haven't heard any undead around..." Speaking of what she hears, "So... what's the magic thing you and Orihime have in common?" She'll tap at her ear to just confirm that's what brought this on.
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So instead, he opens his mouth to respond - and blinks? Blinking is happening. "What?" he says, looking puzzled. "We don't have anything in common like that."
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