[ Will knows that the way he processes information isn't normal. He's known that since he was a child in class and realized he couldn't keep still when another student couldn't stop fidgeting, known it since he caught onto another's crying fit as if it were a contagious cough. Will's better at filtering himself now...but he remembers what before felt like.
And some of the ways in which he's structured himself to bear the load of so many minds and drives is...a perilous honesty. Probably not useful for bedtime stories, to announce that the classic idea of Heaven sounds more like a prison to you.
It's just never sounded personalized enough, private enough, to be appealing to Will.
Afraid of not going. Will was expecting the cut-and-dry Catholic answer - just afraid of going to Hell, afraid of eternal punishment. This is...more nuanced. Will's expression pinches, eyes on Peter's face. ] So this isn't just fear of not being good enough.
This is a fear of being...wrong. [ Peter said it earlier, 'Something's wrong with me'. Will assumes he's thinking of himself when he mentions Hell, even if 'what if they just disappear' sounds like it could easily be worry for his recently-dead parents.
Will shifts again, and this time he isn't afraid of letting his knee nudge Peter's. His hand moves over to Peter's other shoulder, his opposite one from Will's side, brings them closer together in a half-hug. Every movement is a careful thing, waiting for a sign Will ought to stop exploring boundaries they've never acknowledged before. ] I'd like to think something that powerful and infinite wouldn't punish people for being...confused. Or afraid. [ And this, right here, is where a switch is beginning to happen in Will...because this is wishful thinking. This is reassurance, triggered finally by catching on to Peter's worries (or so he believes) and from...sharing those worries, just a little. ]
cw: continued ideation of Hell and Heaven [ sleepover menu: hot cocoa and....existential despair ]
And some of the ways in which he's structured himself to bear the load of so many minds and drives is...a perilous honesty. Probably not useful for bedtime stories, to announce that the classic idea of Heaven sounds more like a prison to you.
It's just never sounded personalized enough, private enough, to be appealing to Will.
Afraid of not going. Will was expecting the cut-and-dry Catholic answer - just afraid of going to Hell, afraid of eternal punishment. This is...more nuanced. Will's expression pinches, eyes on Peter's face. ] So this isn't just fear of not being good enough.
This is a fear of being...wrong. [ Peter said it earlier, 'Something's wrong with me'. Will assumes he's thinking of himself when he mentions Hell, even if 'what if they just disappear' sounds like it could easily be worry for his recently-dead parents.
Will shifts again, and this time he isn't afraid of letting his knee nudge Peter's. His hand moves over to Peter's other shoulder, his opposite one from Will's side, brings them closer together in a half-hug. Every movement is a careful thing, waiting for a sign Will ought to stop exploring boundaries they've never acknowledged before. ] I'd like to think something that powerful and infinite wouldn't punish people for being...confused. Or afraid. [ And this, right here, is where a switch is beginning to happen in Will...because this is wishful thinking. This is reassurance, triggered finally by catching on to Peter's worries (or so he believes) and from...sharing those worries, just a little. ]