Peter Parker | Spider-Man (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
made_up_names) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
daybreakacademy2019-02-03 10:25 pm
made_up_names) wrote in daybreakacademy2019-02-03 10:25 pm
[ 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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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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The very instant that the final realization sinks in - the moment that Héctor actually lets the thought that Peter's dead cross his mind - Peter flinches. He has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, abruptly overwhelmed by dizziness; he can't quite seem to catch his breath. If he'd been standing, he would have fallen, much like he'd stumbled on the roof when Héctor had first begun to put the pieces together. This time, however, the flicker is fainter? Quieter? Not a warning this time, just a sad statement of fact.
More pressing, perhaps, is the faint glowing line that appears on his face. A hairline crack in the magic holding him together. Congratulations, Héctor. You're the first person to find out about him, so you get the honors of putting the first real dent in the enchantment keeping him alive. It glows faintly under Héctor's fingers for a moment, then subsides to a thin white scarline. If Héctor hadn't just seen the damn thing glow, then he would be forgiven for never noticing it in the first place; it will be borderline invisible to pretty much everyone else.
He subsides after a moment, the dizziness passing. The flutter in his heart eases again, and he gulps in air. What the hell was that? A reaction to what Héctor said? Must have been. Somehow, despite all of this, he still clings to a shred of disbelief. He opens his mouth to say something - to ask how Héctor knows what that feels like - but he thinks he already knows the answer. Say something else, dammit. His tío esqueleto looks kind of stricken.
"I'm okay," he manages, finally. "It's just a dream."
That terrifies him, keeps him from sleeping. Sends him out into the night, and makes his daylight hours shorter and shorter the longer he goes on.
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He watches that scar form. It's not coincidence, the timing now. Magic and disbelief. He did this. He caused that scar. And if he pushes this any further, it's going to get worse. Magic and disbelief...
Peter's body eases and he's still staring in utter horror. His heart is breaking in him and he doesn't know how there's anything left to break. His expression twists when Peter speaks. His mouth presses, still trying to contain all of this. Peter's here. He can't cry. He can't even let Peter know.
He takes a gulp of air himself and forces himself to move. His hand trembles but he touches the side of Peter's face and the boy doesn't cave or crumble.
"Sí... of course. Estás bien, Mijo."
He can't do this. He can't but he has to.
"Lo siento. We don't have to talk about this anymore."
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The good news is that now that the damage is done, Héctor can't hurt him any more. If he concentrates really hard on Peter being dead, he can resummon the light - might be useful if he needs to check on how Peter is doing, in fact - but the crack isn't going to widen at this point. It seems stable. When Héctor's fingers brush the side of his face, he still touches flesh and blood, the same as always. Whatever magic it is that holds Peter together, it's powerful, at least, if constrained by its very specific terms. Such is the way with all such bargains.
Most importantly, Héctor has somehow maneuvered his way through this conversation without Peter finding out. It was a near thing, but. He looks up at Héctor with utter trust. If Héc believes Peter when he says it's just a dream, then - hey, no problem, right? That must be the truth. Héctor wouldn't hide something this huge from Peter. Just like May wouldn't. Just like Gwen wouldn't ...
He relaxes back against his pillows, relieved not to have to go into any more detail. "Yeah," he says. "I think you get the idea. Now you know." He turns a bit, cautious of his injured shoulder. "I know it's stupid - being scared of a dream when there's more dangerous things out there." Like tonight, for example. "So - so thank you for listening anyway."
Héctor's stricken expressions didn't get past him, oh no. He just mistakes their purpose.
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"It's not stupid, Peter. It's a scary thing. And it is messing with your sleep. I don't mind listening to anything you've got to say. Okay? Remember that. I want to be here for you."
At the moment, summoning light is far from his mind. He doesn't want much to see to again. He'll take not seeing it for a long time.
For now, he'll try and shift the topic.
"So your Tío's okay now, huh? Wish that news had been broken differently but that is good news. Is he.. do you know if he can stick around?"
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"Okay," he agrees after a moment. "I don't know if I'll talk about it much, though. It's always the same." Usually the same though it might change after this. Fisher had been ... terrifying. On multiple levels.
Anyway, for now he gladly takes the topic change. "Yeah," he says, his expression brightening again. "I don't know how long he can stay? I guess I don't know how the rules work for ghosts. But when we talked, it seemed like he was gonna come and visit me every night he can."
Probably bad for his sleeping habits. But a good cover for him slipping more and more into being nocturnal due to his status.
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"Doesnt just have to be nightmares, Mijo. Whatever you need."
Meanwhile, it clicks that Peter can see Ben too. Sora was too surprised by it for it to be something for everyone. He's just got to hope it's not only for the dead.
"Wish I could tell you the rules myself, but, you know, there's no handbook. If he can meet you inside from now on that would be better. Probably for both of you." As opposed to the horror of just minutes, maybe an hour ago. He can probably trust Ben to make sure Peter's being somewhat responsible on another note.
"You'll have to introduce us. We're two for two on bad first impressions."
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“Yeah, for sure,” he says, still grinning despite how much his chest hurts. “I know Ben would like you. You’re like my uncle too now.”
Definitely family; he can’t help but smile every time Héctor calls him mijo. “Wonder what a handbook for the dead would look like. Maybe like that one in Beetlejuice.”
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And despite calling the boy mijo, he wasn't really expecting to be called anything back. Even as a joke, the thought delights him. "I'm Tío Héctor now? Heh. Always wanted to be a Tío." It was just that Imelda's brothers were never going to have children and he had no family at all. Even Ernesto had been a write off before he'd really and done all he had. "Considering Tío Benny just saved our skins with a magic launcher, I'm pretty sure I like him too."
He snorts at the comparison to the old movie. "Now you're making me grateful. All this, but at least I don't have to haunt one dumb house. I bet you a real handbook for the dead would be real boring. Unreasonably boring. Like it was written by a bunch of stiffs."
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"Tío Héctor," he says, trying it out. Yeah. He likes that a heck of a lot. Plus the fact that the title's in spanish makes him feel less like Héctor is usurping Ben's spot or something. That would be a dumb reason not to call Héctor uncle regardless, but. Still. Better this way. "Yeah. I'll keep an eye out for him. And text you the next time he's here."
Whenever that is. He's not going up on the roof alone at night for a while - which is probably a good thing.
Héc gets another laugh for that dumb joke. Also a bit of a shove. "Boo. That's the worst," he says with a grin. "Tío jokes are even worse than dad jokes."
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The moment Peter says it aloud, his chest swells with joy and pride. Tío Héctor. "Alright," He says, voice a little rife with emotion after that. "Just don't leave me without certain details like tonight, okay?"
And then he's back to laughing again, moving with the shove and thankful that it can't jostle his broken arm from here. "You got a bone to pick with my jokes, niño?"
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He was going to finish texting! It's not his fault a monster ambushed him on the roof. Anyway.
"Yeah, they're way too deadpan," he says, utterly serious. Really. "You can't just say stuff like that and get away with it."
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Peter doesn't need to look sheepish. So much as happened, it's pretty much impossible to be that angry. Which is why they're making jokes now, it seems.
Welcome to death-pun hour, Peter. He's been practicing.
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"Stop, stop," he says with a grin. "You're killing me too."
But puns are okay. Puns are way better than fighting undead monsters, or dealing with undead uncles... or undead nephews for that matter.
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"Not humerus enough for you? That's grave news. I guess my jokes really are on their last legs. I'll have to go back to decomposing music."
He's grinning wide at this point. If he's going to stop he's giving his all first.
He sighs. "I probably shouldn't make you laugh. That thing really did a number on you. I don't want to make it worse."
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"Probably not," he admits with a wince. "I think it cracked something."
A lot of somethings? He can't tell and it doesn't really matter, honestly.
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"I think it did a lot more than that, Mijo." He lifts a brow. "How fast do you usually heal?"
Peter's never exactly specified a healing ability, but it's clear he's got one. The kid is already bouncing back and those scratches before barely lasted days.
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“Really fast,” he says, a little sheepish. “Testing it is kinda hard? Like I’m not just gonna cut myself or something, but.” Having said that, he’s not completely blind either. He just has to think back through all the abuse he’s taken over the last year and compare it to his previous experience. “The last time I broke a bunch of stuff, it took me a week to get better? I had a hell of a black eye though. A giant dude sort of hit me into a truck.”
He says, as if that’s completely normal.
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He does want to know this but it doesn't make it easy to listen to. Broke a bunch of stuff. He's already wincing at that. And then--
"WHAT?! YOU GOT HIT BY A TRUCK?!"
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“No no, not like that,” he says, holding up his good hand as if to hold Héctor back. “He hit me into a truck, totally different. The truck wasn’t moving.” A. Pause. Here comes the horrifying caveat, sorry Héctor. “I mean I did kind of fly about sixty feet first? But the truck was way worse off. Totally dented in half.”
That’s better, right??
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