Work Text:
dictionarium [ˈdɪkʃəˌnɛriəm]
you are a twin,
and your brother is your mirror.
you are a twin,
and pete walter is your mirror.
*
peter [ˈpiːtə]
1: (formal) the elder twin.
2: (informal) the weaker of a group of two.
3: (archaic) the name of your father.
pete [piːt]
1: (formal) the younger twin.
2: (informal) the most brilliant person you know
3: (slang) a nickname you are glad you are not called.
*
but:
also:
continuing:
you turned out wrong, or different,
maybe worse.
probably worse.
pete can run, and your ankles have a tendency to roll,
pete can walk for hours, and you get weak after standing longer than several dozen minutes,
pete can storm through anything - uphill, rain, heat, storm - and you end up sick in bed at least one day out of the week,
you are worse, there is really no other way to put it,
and you know, is the thing, that you are worse.
and you also know, before you’re even let out of the military physical, that you’ve failed it.
and that pete - next in line behind you - surely won’t.
*
war [wɔː]
1: (formal) an oftentimes violent dispute between two opposing groups or persons
2: (factual) a place young men go to serve their country
3: (by extension) a place young men go to die
4: (opinion) a place where your brother seems as excited as he is grim to end up in
silence [ˈsaɪləns}
1: (formal) the absence of sound
2: (informal) a virtue
3: (by extension) something you tend to be more often than not
4: (fraternal) something your brother isn’t
*
you stand there, as pete leaves for war,
you stand there, as your mother’s hands dig into pete’s shoulders,
you stand there, as your father stands beside you, his hand pinning you to place,
your father’s hand on your shoulder is heavy
your father’s expression is somehow heavier
your tongue feels glued to the roof of your mouth. you stare at pete, your brother, your twin brother,
and you think,
well,
you don't think he will come back.
you don't quite think he will come back.
[2: (factual) a place young men go to serve their country]
there are words in your throat, pressing down like rocks against your tongue,
and there are words in your throat, that you wish you could say,
and there are words in your throat, strangling you from the inside out,
[1: (formal) the absence of sound]
but your fathers hand is on your shoulder, and his fingers ground you to the gravel pathway, and his expression is a storm, and you know he thinks he should sending you both off to this war, and you know you are disappointing him by standing here still,
you know you disappoint him.
but still, you are still, rooted to place,
and you do not move,
and you are silent,
and you do not quite remember how to move until the carriage door down the pathway shuts and, eclipses pete from view, and
and you realize
you realize in stabbing pains to your chest, in a sudden seizing breaths, that you may never see him again,
your mirror,
your reflection,
your brother,
your twin,
pete
[2: (informal) the most brilliant person you know]
you realize you may never see him and you shrug off your fathers hand and you run,
and you catch his [1: (formal) the younger twin.] hand,
and you say,
you say with your throat dry, and your stomach turning,
“don’t get yourself killed, pete,”
and he says
“i won’t, peter”
and its none of it,
it’s none of the words you want,
but it's all of the words you have, [3: (by extension) something you tend to be more often than not]
and you’re still holding his hand,
and he looks at you, and for only a moment you think he might be scared,
but he smiles, he smiles with teeth, and he squeezes your hand so tightly your knuckles click,
and he says,
“peter,” [2: (informal) the weaker of a group of two.] “i’ll be home soon,”
and you
well you can’t find the words to say anything at all
and the carriage rolls forward,
and your cane has sunk an inch into the mud,
and pete lets go of your hand,
and he turns away, and you
you are alone
and you don't think you’ve ever been alone before,
*
alone [əˈloʊn]
1: (formal) by oneself, solitary
2: (modern) something that you are now
3: (colloquial) a rare experience for something part of a set
4: (prospective) something you don't know how to be yet
father [ˈfɑðər}]
1: (formal) a male parent; a male who parents a child (which he has sired, adopted, fostered, taken as his own, etc.)
2: (additionally) a man named peter walter
3: (archaic) a man who in fought a war
4: (innovative) a creator
5: (truthful) a storm
*
your father stares at you, as you walk back, before he takes your mothers arm, and walks her back to the gate,
you know he thinks you should have been able to go with pete,
you know he thinks you are weak,
you know he thinks you are worse than your brother,
you sort of think he may be right.
but as usual,
you say none of it,
silent
[2: (informal) a virtue]
the manor is empty
the robots are gone
your mother is a ghost in the halls
your father never looks away from the newspapers
so you write
you write pete letters
you read the ones he sends back home
half of what he writes is scratched out with ink darker than the oil smudges on the edges,
the things he writes around scare you, the things he doesn't mention, the things you can tell are there,
the things he writes to your father, but never you,
he tells your father of bodies, he tells you of the robots,
and as months pass his letters dwindle - shorten - where large paragraphs were early on become scratched sentences of he is alive, the robots are functional, and he is alive,
[2: (factual) a place young men go to serve their country]
so you write him more
maybe it will help, you think, as his letters come in with fingerprints of oil and smeared ink,
maybe somehow it will help
[3: (by extension) a place young men go to die]
*
lie [laɪ]
1: (formal) an intentionally false statement; an intentional falsehood.
2: (colloquial) something pete hates
3: (modern) something you do more than you should
4: (archaic) something you think your father has been doing for a long, long time
*
the manor is still empty
the robots are still gone
your mother is still a ghost in the halls
your father still never looks away from the newspapers
and pete is hardly writing
you are listless
you are alone
you are lonely
[4: (prospective) something you don't know how to be yet]
*
so:
you are turning twenty-two years old
and your brother is not here.
you need to do something
you need to be somewhere else
somewhere that isn’t in your fathers robotics laboratory working on machines of war to send out across the sea,
somewhere that isn’t next to your mother, your mother whose eyes only slide to your right, where pete should be,
somewhere that isn’t in empty halls where the robots should be, should be singing, should be talking,
somewhere that isn’t here, in this manor
you just need to be somewhere that isn’t here.
[1: (formal) the absence of sound]
and so you go to a stageplay
you are turning twenty-two years old and your mother hardly managed to say a word about it
you are turning twenty-two years old, and your father only briefly mentioned it
you are turning twenty-two years old, and so is pete, but pete is not here
and there's nothing else to say
pete isn’t here
and so you go to a stageplay
and that's where you meet her
her
a woman who sings like an angel in the stage
a woman who when talking to the crowd, is is talking right to you,
a woman who, after the show, finds you, you, catches you before you leave, and
and you know most young men aren’t here at home, these days,
and you know you’re not particularly all that much of anything, especially not compared to pete,
pete has your face and a body that can handle war,
pete has your face and isn’t ill half the time,
but she doesn't know that,
she asks you your name, starry eyed, as she introduces herself and,
and well,
it's your twenty-second birthday, your first without your brother,
and thats when you meet mary
and mary is
well mary is brilliant
well mary is, simply put, brilliant
and lonely,
[1: (formal) by oneself, solitary]
and as you sit with her in the park, after the show, under bright blue streetlights, under california night, and she tells you about her life,
she’s from virginia, she says, she’s chasing dreams of hollywood,
she’s from virginia, she says, and she’s across the world now, practically,
but
but the thing is
she’s heard of steam man band, she’s heard of you,
you.
pete and peter walter’s steam man band, she recognized you in that crowd from the posters, from the photos she’s seen,
and she looks at you, with stars in her eyes, in a beautiful dress, and asks you if she can see the robots,
she must see it in your face as you recoil a bit, frown,
wilt,
you tell her they’re off in europe, right now, fighting for the country,
and her face falls - a moment, mirrors yours, before she shrugs, links her arm through yours, and says
“well, we simply must become friends then, so i can see them when they come back,”
and that's the first time you smile all day
and you say,
“we’ll see,”
*
you very quickly become quite a lot more than friends,
you’re rather convinced you want to marry her by the end of the week, really
*
mary [ˈmɛri]
1: (formal) an extremely beautiful woman, a contender for the most beautiful woman in the world
2: (descriptive) an actress of great talent
3: (prospective) a star of the silver screen
4: (informal) the woman you love
*
your brother is named a colonel
your father laughs when he reads it - he hasn’t laughed in months. he says he didn’t intend on having the same name and rank as his son
you think to yourself - silent as ever - his name is pete, though, and i am peter
you don’t quite pick up that the lack of symmetry is what bothers you until you try to sleep that night
not for the first time, even as mary lays down next to you in your bed, you wish you’d have gone to war with him
but as mary [4: (informal) the woman you love] kisses you goodnight - you’re glad you’re here instead
but well
colonel pete and peter walter’s steam man band doesn't have the same ring to it, really.
*
the war ends
what else is there to say?
the war ends
*
the robots and pete are dropped off at the manor
and pete is
pete is helping unload the robots, from the cargo vehicle, as you come out, and as you reach for him, he startles so terribly he nearly trips and,
and you know, from the moment he looks at you, that there is something wrong with your brother
he is looking at you, pete is looking at you and,
and then he’s grinning, again, as he grabs your shoulder, squeezes it, pulls you in for a crushing hug,
but beneath it, just beneath his smile,
there is something wrong with your brother
*
shellshock [ˈʃɛlˌʃɑk]
1: (medical, europe) the syndrome caused by explosive shells exploding close to the human head, similar to a concussion. symptoms include fatigue, tremor, confusion, nightmares and impaired sight and hearing.
2: (shameful) the syndrome caused by being too weak minded to continue to fight, a disciplinary problem between soldiers
3: (theoretical) a reason you do not like war
4: (factual) something you do not know how to handle
*
he pries open their transport crates, and he’s thinner than he was when he left, even if he’s broader, even if he’s quicker on his feet,
his hands are stained blue to the knuckles,
you say, from beside him, “pete,”
and he says “peter not now, i need to make sure they weren’t damaged while we were driving from the train station,”
and you say “pete”
and he turns, and you haven't seen him in over a year, and he hasn’t been home in over a year,
and he turns to you, wide eyed, irritated, and he’s opening his mouth to say something, and
and then your mother rushes past you and he’s dragged into her arms and,
and you watch him fall against her, strings cut, any urgency he had to tend to the robots gone as your mother cradles him.
your mother stumbles at his weight, you wrap your arm around her back as she steadies herself,
you put your hand on pete’s shoulder,
there is something terribly wrong with your brother,
your father is beside you both, moments later,
his hands at his sides,
he looks at you, and he says
“peter, get the robots inside,”
and then he’s walking your mother and pete in,
and
and you don't say anything, quiet
[3: (by extension) something you tend to be more often than not]
*
once the robots are on and walking, you bring them downstairs, they're
well they’re in no shape to sing on stage
you and pete are going to need to fix them again,
not as extensively as before but,
but you’re going to need to fix them again,
rabbit and the spine haven't let go of each other's hands, since you got them unpacked and powered on,
the jon and upgrade sit beside each other, talking quietly,
hatchworth’s in a state you hate, you really hate it and,
and mary is waiting at the top of the stairs, and she asks
“peter?” her eyes are wide, “is everything okay?”
and you can't quite make yourself say much of anything at all, instead she pulls you into a hug, and you think, you think,
you think there is something terribly wrong with your brother
*
sleep [slip]
1: (formal) to rest in a state of harmless unconsciousness, to rest to regain energy
2: (medical) an important function of the human body
3: (descriptive) something your brother has become incapable of doing
*
so the fact is
so the fact is your brother came back from the war wrong
your brother came back from the war wrong and
and more importantly
and more importantly you don't know how to help him
*
pete doesn't sleep that first night,
he’s in the living room all evening, your mother shoving a plate of food into his hands, sweets, your father asking about the front, about the robots,
and you
and you, sitting there next to pete, staring at him as he talks but says nothing,
sitting there as words come out of his mouth, but still, he is saying nothing,
he has an unfocused look to him,
a distance in his eyes,
you don't know what to do,
your father tells you he’s going to go look at the robots,
your mother hasn’t let go of pete’s hand
finally pete draws himself away, up, - he says he’s going to sleep
you follow him up, after your mother stops crying,
you follow him up, once she says she’s going down to talk to your father,
you find pete at his desk, head in his hands,
when you open his door, he turns towards it like it could kill him and,
and you have never really seen pete cry
but then again
there is something terribly wrong with your brother
“pete,” you say, and it feels like the first word you’ve said in hours,
and he says, choked up, shaking,
“peter.”
and you go to him,
and he grabs you, after the door is shut, he grabs you and he crushes his arms around you, holds you so violently tight you think your ribs might snap, and he
he says
“i missed you”
and you say, wrapping your arms around him,
“i missed you too”
you try to talk him into laying down, eventually, but he only clings to you tighter
“i’m alright,” he says,
and you know he is lying
[1: (formal) an intentionally false statement; an intentional falsehood.]
eventually you pry him off his chair, and into his bed,
and you’re tired
and he tells you with a smile you can see through to go to sleep,
[2: (colloquial) something pete hates]
but you leave,
*
morning comes.
and there is something very wrong with him,
he stumbles into the kitchen, red eyed, and freezes
he stares at mary and
and then he turns and sprints the other way,
you stare after him - mary looks at you, and you tell her to please watch the eggs you were making, and follow him.
you catch him on the stairs, grabbing his shoulder, and by the time you do he’s shuddering like a rabid animal, and he crackles like foil as you grab him, and you say
“pete,”
and he says nothing,
and you say “pete, have you slept?”
and he says nothing
and you say “pete, you’re shaking,”
and he says nothing
and you say “i’m making breakfast,”
and he says nothing
and you say “lets go to your room,”
and he says “who was that?” and his voice is like sandpaper, rough, panicked, explosive like your fathers, [3: (archaic) a man who fought a war] and you cringe, but
but you say “pete that’s just mary,”
and he says “from the letters?”, and the words are so strangled its like he’s pulling out his teeth to do it and,
and you say “yes, pete, of course from the letters,”
and he sits, then, right on the stairs, and he’s shaking, and you
and you have no idea how to handle this
and he says “why is she here?” like her being here is unthinkable,
and you say “she moved in, i wrote you that,”
and he says “you’re not married,” like that means anything right now,
and then he grabs at his head, and makes a wretched sob of a sound, twisting away, and then he’s
you have seen him upset,
you have seen him so upset he’s thrown things or broken chairs,
you have not seen him this kind of upset,
[1: (medical, europe) the syndrome caused by explosive shells exploding close to the human head, similar to a concussion. symptoms include fatigue, tremor, confusion, nightmares and impaired sight and hearing.]
pete’s twisting away from you, and he’s digging his nails into his scalp, and his hair is so short you can see the way he’s clawing blood into his skin and,
you grab at his hands - but he only rips himself from you, and he’s shaking, and he’s heaving, choking on every breath, as he drags his nails down his arm, scratching violent red lines to his skin and you,
you say “pete, stop, stop,”
and he’s practically retching now, deconstructing on the stairway,
and the only thing you can think to do is drag him against your chest, and he screams practically as you do, but then he’s clinging to you, wretched sobs, and he’s so broken in your arms, and he’s shaking and,
and you say nothing,
and he says nothing.
and you both say nothing at all
[4: (fraternal) something your brother isn’t]
*
days turn to weeks
weeks to months
and he only gets worse
*
he isn’t eating, you notice as you make him a bowl of soup, he sits across from you at the table, pokes at it with his spoon, doesn't take a full bite for the full hour you sit there,
he doesn’t like mary. you don't know why. when you mention her he freezes up.
you don't know how to help him
[4: (factual) something you do not know how to handle]
*
shellshock [ˈʃɛlˌʃɑk]
5: (descriptive) the scariest thing you have ever seen
6: (malady) what is slowly killing your brother
7: (modern) a word your brother hates hearing
*
your father doesn’t know what to do
your father insinuates pete’s weak, for this,
[2: (shameful) the syndrome caused by being too weak minded to continue to fight, a disciplinary problem between soldiers]
and you feel like you’re boiling under your skin, but you don't say anything, because saying anything to your father he disagrees with makes him,
upset.
[5: (truthful) a storm]
you do not want to make him upset, today
your mother doesn’t know what to do, pete pulls away whenever she tries to talk to him, he shouts at her he’s fine even when he’s not, even when he’s not at all,
[6: (malady) what is slowly killing your brother]
*
he paces all night long, one week
you don’t see him sit down for a moment
you can hear him all night,
and he’s doing awful,
he’s doing very very awful,
his hair hangs nearly at his neck, now, his cheeks are nicked with razor burns, and you don't know what to do,
and you hear him outside your and mary’s room, pacing up and down the hall, and mary looks at you, then to the door, then back at you
“you should check on him,” she says,
and she isn’t wrong
he startles (he always startles, these days) when you open your door
he freezes,
and he stares at you with wide empty eyes
[5: (descriptive) the scariest thing you have ever seen]
“pete,” you say, stepping closer to him,
he stares at you, silent
[1: (formal) the absence of sound]
“pete,” you say again, and he blinks, sleepless, eyes red and swollen
“peter?” he asks, bleary,
and you sigh,
“you’re sleeping.” you tell him, and he
he just wilts.
he doesn’t fight you though, as you wrap an arm around his back, walk him to his room.
you know mary is waiting for you back in your bed.
but you think pete might be more important, right now
he tries to sit at his desk, but you steer him to the bed, lay him down, take his hand.
his cuticles are bitten to bloody quick, as you take his hand, his skin is a blueish white up to his wrists, now.
he’s all but trembling.
you brush his too-long hair from his eyes,
his eyes are wet,
his expression is distant, still
and there is something terribly wrong with your brother
he stares up at you,
and you don’t know what he sees but you don’t think it’s entirely you
"pete," you say, "please sleep,"
his shoulderblades jut from his back, as you set your hand against his back,
he’s so thin, now, and it’s been days since you think he’s even been in bed,
and he stares at you,
and you don't know what to do,
you don't know what to do,
“im not going to sleep,” he says and there are tears in his voice, tears in his eyes,
and you say “you are.”
and he says “i don't know how”
and you pull his blanket up and over his shoulders,
and you say “you are,”
and he’s shaking again, properly now,
and you take a breath,
“i can't,” he repeats, tries to sit up, suddenly, abruptly, and he’s trembling worse now, under your hand, “peter i can't, i try and i can't,”
so you lay next to him, on his bed.
he falls back next to you.
and you say nothing
and he
you don't expect him to start crying, fully
its pete
pete doesn't cry
or pete didn't cry, before this,
but the sound that crawls out of his throat can only be called a sob, its hitching, as he curls up, as he curls against you, as he claws at you,
you don't know how to describe the way he’s crying
you don't know how to describe the way it sounds like his lungs are refusing air,
the way there aren't even really tears as his fingertips dig bruises against your back,
you don’t know how to describe the way he gags against his own throat, coughing, with how he weeps,
[6: (malady) what is slowly killing your brother]
you hold him though,
because that's all you can do,
that's all you know how to do at all,
and you know mary is waiting back in your bed
but she can wait, for one night,
she can wait because pete
because pete needs you
he needs you
he needs something and the only thing you can give him is you
and he eventually stops choking on shaking sobs so violently,
instead with choking sniffles,
and eventually not at all
and
and you stay,
you draw his blanket over you both and stay,
you pull him to your arms and stay,
because if you wake him up now, now, now, he'll never sleep again
there is something terribly wrong with your brother
*
pete looks at you like he’s dying, some days,
he looks at you with blank cloudy eyes, and he’s thinner and you are, now
shakier than you are, now
you don’t know how to help him
and you don't know what to do at all
[6: (malady) what is slowly killing your brother]
*
it doesn’t stay terrible forever
*
eventually pete starts working again
you don’t know quite when it started - him working on the robots again, on steam man band.
he works on the robots all day and night, new stage setups, new dance motions, new instrument capabilities,
and the robots are happier, you think,
and you help him when you can,
but you have mary,
and you have business and your father’s finances,
and you don’t help him with steam man band as much as you probably should,
but he’s working on the robots,
and at least its doing something other than rotting
even if the robots do bring him upstairs, half the nights, make him sleep somewhere,
at least he’s sleeping at all
you think him getting the robots back on stage is good for him,
at least he’s doing something
*
he comes to you at night, some nights,
which is something,
which is better than when you’d find him sick in the morning, pale as death somewhere having spent all night throwing up or pacing again,
he knocks on your door until you answer, shaking, ill with bullets long-since shot and oil he’s long since gotten out from under his nails,
and you think
you don't think he’s getting any better
but
but maybe you’re getting better at helping him, at least,
you leave mary to your bed,
and you wrap him up in your arms, in the hall,
you crush him to your chest, and
and the thing is
there is something terribly wrong with your brother
..but you’ve gotten a lot better at handling it
*
silence [ˈsaɪləns}
5: (formal) the act of refraining from speaking.
6: (obsolete) a virtue
7: (by extension) something you are despite that you shouldn't be
8: (fraternally, modern) something your brother finds comfort in
*
you are a twin,
your brother is not quite your mirror, anymore
but you are his twin,
and pete is yours to keep safe, now
*
the papers talk about shellshock, or war neurosis,
pete hates the word, the words, - hates the concept of it
tells you as he rants that he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine
you think of your father, as he tells you this, and you do not quite tell him he’s wrong
you’re sort of just glad that at least he’s not uniquely hurt by all this
*
you stand next to him, as the robots show off a new song,
he’s telling you about how he’s given Upgrade and The Jon the ability to dance together
and he’s telling you about how he thinks you can start doing stage shows again
and
well
maybe you turned out wrong, or different than him,
and he’s doing worse.
much worse than you in a lot of ways
but he’s still there, you think
and as he rambles about outfit design and stage setups and instrumentation, pacing back and forth across the stage setup downstairs,
and you think things might be okay soon
or in the very least - okayer
*
pete’s not alright
of course he isn’t.
but even at the worst of times, he has you
he has you.
and you are his twin
and you are his brother
and he spent years being stronger than you
[2: (informal) the weaker of a group of two.]
but you can be strong for him now
someone has to be, really