Chapter Text
Peter Hale was one of those people who remembered being born. He remembered the warmth, the comfort, the nothingness. He remembered the small tense moments of pain, sudden cold overtaking his entire body before muffled voices became clear and his mother’s scent was ingrained into his mind for the rest of his life, a heavy dark cherry and lilac scent. He remembers his first breath and he remembers his next. He remembers being told he was his father’s carbon copy and hearing his mother laugh breathlessly as he was laid on her chest. He remembers how it felt, how it felt hazy yet still so real and vibrant all at once. Peter remembers those first few moments because they were important.
Nightmares became the same way.
Important.
Irreplaceable.
Remembered.
Forgotten.
Peter Hale was not a stranger to nightmares, no, they were old friends. The nightmares made him remember his first breath and his last, made him remember his mistakes and guilt, his pain and anguish, his first kill, and his family. They made him remember he was alone….