[ Closed ] Hollow Aftermath

[made_up_names]

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. )

Comments

[unpocoloco]

He's a big softie who loves his family and never had problems adopting others into it. He did write that the world was his family once, however long ago. It's just, in this case, there's actually something real.

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?"

[made_up_names]

Oh yeah. He. Uh. Did kind of fail to text Héctor all the relevant info here. This is also an emotional moment for him too, but first he has to look sheepish and apologetic for a moment. "For sure this time, I promise," he says. "In my defense, I did kind of get attacked."

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."

[unpocoloco]

Deadpan, Peter says, and he slaps his hand down on the bed with a guffaw. "That's a shame. You know I'd hate to kill the party."

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.

[made_up_names]

Look, sometimes all he has left is jokes. Especially in a situation like this.

"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.

[unpocoloco]

He almost winces there. It's a close one but he manages to push it away with a laugh.

"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."

[made_up_names]

Okay, he gives up. There's no beating that barrage. He groans a little, throwing up his good hand. That's it, you got him.

"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.

[unpocoloco]

It gets one last laugh, Peter giving into his defeat. He'll remember this victory in the future, when Peter isn't beat into a hospital bed.

"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.

[made_up_names]

Uhhhh. Peter sort of blinks at that, looking deeply uncertain. He doesn’t really know either.

“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.

[unpocoloco]

There's a quick flash of alarm followed by relief when Peter makes it clear he has no intention of testing that all out. The protest is still half-formed on his tongue.

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?!"

[made_up_names]

Whoops. He could have phrased that better? Then again there’s probably no amount of phrasing that makes this better.

“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??

[unpocoloco]

His head shakes and he stares at Peter with continued horror. It does not really stop, because even being without the caveat, or actually being run over, that's still not a great thing to have happen.

His head goes to hang suddenly, his hand meeting it half way. Heard from Héctor is a muffled, "Oh god, Peter..."

This is boy is a curse unto himself. His head lifts, expression still dismaying, "A truck can't feel pain, Mijo."

[made_up_names]

A curse unto himself: the story of Peter Parker’s whole life tbh.

He just sort of. Shrugs awkwardly. “I got it all on camera actually. Well, most of it.” Not the truck but the flying for sure! “I can show you if you want.”

But okay he’s drifitng off topic and he knows it. Focus, Peter. “I’m just saying that I’m really sturdy, and I heal really fast. If it can’t kill me, then I won’t die.” Which might be the dumbest thing he’s ever said but. Look. Hopefully Héctor gets what he means anyway. Something’s gotta disintegrate him to kill him, basically.

[unpocoloco]

He groans. It's on camera. Of course it's on camera. Why focus on protecting yourself when you can film it?

He looks very, very unhappy with every other thing Peter says here too.

"Please, do me a favor. Don't push that, Mijo." His hand scrubs at his face once more. "I was asking because I wanted to know if I should bring you anything. Or rather, who I can enlist to bring you something because I haven't... got a free hand for that."

[made_up_names]

Oh. He - should probably be nicer to his tío, huh. He at least has the grace to look a little guilty and also less flippant.

"I really don't need anything in particular," he says. "Just - lots of food. I think that's what it runs on." A pause. "I'm okay, Tío Héctor. Really I am. You saved my life tonight."

And he's deeply, truly grateful. Even if he is also going to continue to be obnoxiously reckless.

[unpocoloco]

His newly appointed tío would greatly appreciate it if Peter were better about this, yes. He's growing to very much distrust those guilty looks.

But being called Tío Héctor again, that admittedly does a lot to soften his expression. There's a lot of care on him now, and a lot of sadness too, as he brings his hand again to cup Peter's face.

Saved the boy's life-- tried to. But the boy's still hurt and the boy's still dead under all that. That's something he's going to have to deal with, just not here and not with Peter.

"Can't just have you die on me," He says, voice quiet but rough with emotion. "You've got to get older than I am. People can mistake you for my Tío someday." He smiles weakly and exhales just as shaky. "I'll talk to who I can. I'm sure you'll get whatever you need. I'm going to leave you to rest now okay? You think you can handle sleep?"

[made_up_names]

Probably a good idea honestly. Those looks are always accompanied by something horrifying.

He leans into Hèctor's hand, his own expression gentle and fond. "I'd like to see that, yeah. I was gonna ask how but. Dead people don't age, I guess." Makes sense to him anyway. He settles back a bit, relaxing. "I think I can sleep now. Yeah."

And not dream, hopefully.

[unpocoloco]

No aging. He always guessed that if they were going to be undead there had to be some difference from life.

He bobs his head as Peter settles and he lets go, rising to his feet and bringing his cane with him.

"Buenas Noches, Peter," He says.

He slips then through the drawn curtain, gets out via the button of the automatic door. His heart is in his throat the whole way but he manages to make it to the dorm and close himself in before he really cracks.

The weight of it crashes down, tangling with the old memory of when he realized he was dead. So many things that could never happen, so many things one didn't even think about until the chance was gone. And Peter's got less. He's not the first dead kid he's run into but with his primos, there was no shock to it, it was just how they'd always known one another to be. But this...

He doesn't know how long it takes for him to collect himself, if it can even be called that. But soon enough, he's climbing into the desk chair and pulling up his phone, making use of a skill and number that Peter gave. He sends a text.