Chapter Text
We spent the whole day fixing up the house.
We pulled the boards off the doors, wiped down the windows, cleaned out the dust and cobwebs, threw anything beyond repair into the attic, swept the floors, aired out the sheets, etc etc…
Peter acted… different the whole time. He was quiet, lost in thought and memories. He kept touching that wound on his neck, still bleeding from that device, as if not believing he was actually out. Occasionally, he seemed even startled whenever I stepped into his field of view, like he forgot I was even here. Despite this, he still spoke softly, instructing me on what to do and how to do it.
As the day turned to night, and with the house barely a quarter done, he leads me upstairs to the bedrooms. He seems stuck, glancing between the three. Finally, he pushes one of the doors open. A large queen sized bed in the middle, a wardrobe, a mirror, and some side tables. His parents’ room?
He immediately gets to work on dusting everything off, trying to salvage the sheets in any way that he can. I watch, transfixed by this unfamiliar side of him. We need to fix this bad world, but I guess we can’t do that without a place to sleep.
When he deems the place cleaned up enough, or maybe is just too exhausted, he sits on the edge of the bed. His gaze lands on me and, again, that flicker of confusion hits his expression. He’s still covered in blood.
“It’s late,” he says, sounding almost lost.
I blink, glancing outside. Pitch black. “Yeah.”
“We’ll sleep now. Tomorrow I’ll go to the nearby town and… get stuff. New sheets. Food. Other… necessities.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Shopping.”
I nod once. “I don’t think I’ve ever gone shopping.”
“...yeah. Me neither.”
“Oh?”
“Maybe when I was young… With my mother.” He seems to think back, then shakes his head and shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Your family…” I start, voice careful. “This place is abandoned.”
He hums, propped up on his hands as he stares at the ceiling. “They’re dead, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I freeze, but he didn’t say anything I didn’t expect. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he mutters. He mouths a few more words after, lips moving without making sound. An additional comment he says without saying.
I clear my throat. “Should we clean up another room? I guess one was your old room and the other-”
“My sister’s.”
“Oh. I could take one of them?”
“Yeah.” He makes a move to stand up, but it’s as if his body has stopped obeying his commands. He just sits there. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
He sighs, then pats the spot next to him. “I won’t sleep much anyway.”
“You’ll keep the nightmares away?”
“Exactly.”
I walk closer, climbing into the old bed. It’s still a bit dusty and looks like it has certainly seen better days… but I don’t mind. I lie on my back, head on the pillow, and feel the mattress creak under the added weight.
Peter stares at me for a long moment, then pulls the blanket over, tucking me in with careful precision. He sits on top of them, leaning against the headboard, and turns away when he deems me suitably covered.
We fall into silence. I wish I could read minds instead of lifting things. I wish I knew what he was thinking, eyes so distant it’s like they’re looking into a different world. I watch the exact moment they close, the exact moment his shoulders droop and his head lulls forward. The tension drains from his body as he goes slack, uncomfortably folded in on himself.
He used his abilities a lot today. He probably hasn’t done that in a while. Considering he met me in the middle of the night, he probably hasn’t slept in two days.
Neither have I, I guess. Still, the excitement hasn’t worn off. Instead, I gently maneuver him so that he’s lying down. He feels even colder than usual, his skin like ice, and the scent of dust and blood clings to him, overriding the normal bleach. I frown, trying to pull the blanket over him despite his very much being on top of them. I end up folding my side of the covers over him. There. Much better.
I slip out of bed, tip-toeing out of the room. My curiosity getting the better of me, I push open the door of his childhood bedroom. The first thing I notice is the dust, the bugs, the cobwebs. I cough, muffling the sound in my elbow, and venture in further.
The bed is small, really small. It’s for a twelve or thirteen year old. How long has he been at the lab? I notice a picture on the side table and clean it off on my dress. It’s Peter, I think. His hair looks darker, but it's hard to tell in the black and white. He looks very serious, wearing some sort of uniform. I squint. Boy Scouts? Something like that. The room is full of equipment like that, spyglasses and handbooks. I’m not sure why it surprises me, but it does.
I open the drawer, flinching back when a spider crawls out, and grimace. Nevermind then. I turn to the dresser, finding old clothes, half eaten by insects, coated in grime. I frown, glancing around, looking for something interesting. There’s a box under his bed. I kneel down, pull it out, and carefully open it. Please don’t be bugs please don’t be bugs please don’t be-
Oh. Inside is that same uniform from the picture, nicely folded. I notice there’s a few badges as well, plus a medal. I lift up the small bronze coin, squinting to read the inscription.
“Medal of Bravery - awarded to Henry Creel”
Who?