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NOTE: I am forever backtag friendly and absolutely open to doing things from past events that won't really have an effect on things at any given time. For example, if you'd like to do something with Peter aged down or when he was his spider dream guide, etc.
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You don't have the best track record when you get stressful info. Last year comes to mind.
[So no, not really. And yes, she's highly aware it's the epitome of a panic attack-prone pot calling the kettle an emotional wreck, but that just means the calmer they both stay, the better. Which is why she frowns, wishing they'd stuck to talking about weird witch stuff. It's less macabre than death. This just seems like asking Deerington to jinx them.]
Well, if this is anything like last time, the only thing you'll be bumping into are monsters that want to eat you. Don't worry about it.
[What would a heads up even do? How would that conversation even go? "Hey, don't go for a walk in the park, I died there"? Morbid.]
Why, have you?
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No, not yet. [ He says it quietly, almost... thoughtfully. "Not yet" makes it sound like he expects it to happen someday, which he... kind of does. At least, he's started thinking about it. And worrying about it. ]
I don't know what would like. Happen to me. If I died. [ ...This part is a bit uncomfortable to say aloud. The boy shifts again, eyes sweeping to the clock for a moment. Still time, but less time. Anxiety slickens his throat. ]
What would happen to... him. Like if he would die with me or whatever. Or maybe it I die, he.... takes over me all the way? For good, I mean.
[ Whoomp, there it is. ]
....Whatever you'd have to do if something like that happened, you have to do it. [ He doesn't even know what he's asking of her, really. Kill his body again? He'd just come back, right? Throw him out? Lock him in the basement for real, keep Paimon there for eternity? The rules in this place are weird and he has no idea what happens to a body with two souls in it, when it dies here. Maybe he and Paimon have to duke it out in the afterlife realm, fight for dominance. Maybe he loses. Maybe his soul won't come back. She needs to be prepared for that, he thinks. ]
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[Bruce Banner hulks out. She blows holes in space and time. Fucked upness is a relative state of being.
But he presses on and her efforts to keep this at some kind of baseline levity sink with the heaviness of his efforts to force out what it seems as though he's been building up to share. A disaster plan. A worst case scenario. In case he...
She faces him fully, frowning in earnest now. Henry doesn't like this. Henry doesn't like this at all. The jut of her chin strongly suggests witch stuff, let's go back to that witch stuff.]
If what happened? What are you talking about, Peter?
[You have to do it. It's suddenly cold, despite her jacket and the warmth of the house.]
For the sake of argument--even though, FYI, this has to qualify as one of the more messed up things we've ever talked about--but if you died... Big 'if'. Wouldn't it just... [She makes a vague, fluttering hand gesture toward the ceiling.] ... escape to go possess someone else? Like in the movies?
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But he's forever a wildcard, an uncertainty, and he doesn't know what might happen to him, or Paimon, or both of them. It's another thing Peter would be hiding from facing right now, if there weren't people he loved too much to worry about. Turns out there are, and he's sitting close to one now, and the look on her face hurts but Peter knows he can't pretend. Not for her. Her, who would be the one with him if something happened today when that clock strikes and October hits.
And then she's presenting a thought he doesn't like, a slow frown edging its way across his face, tugging the sides of his mouth downwards. He.... hadn't thought of that possibility too much, admittedly. But that's..... not a good thought, especially sinceβ ]
You'd be the closest person there. It could.... try to do that to you. [ He realises, with a slowburn sort of horror. Jesus fuck. What if it possessed her. ] I don't know exactly what it would or... could do, butβ Henry, if something happens to me, you might need to get away from me. Like, quickly. [ A beat, because he knows they both know what he means. Quickly. The way only Henry can. ]
There's a guy here, an exorcist. His name's John Constantine. If I die, you need to get away from me and call him.
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[She really, really doesn't like this, and she has half a hope that if she keeps mounting an incredulous defense, Peter will be his usual passive, non-confrontational self and lose the steam to try and get around it.
No such luck. Now that he's started purging what's been itching at him, he seems possessed of a different need--a commitment to see it through to the end.]
What? Possess me? [Then she's genuinely incredulous, her scoff built of sixteen years' worth of being able to shelve cartoonish ideas in the realm of fiction where they belong. Resolved, as if it's a matter of making up her mind:] I'm not getting possessed by your demon, Peter.
[She's done her time having no control of her body, at the mercy of male entities. Fuck that. And fuck it. And maybe that's where Peter's hidden resiliency outstrips her own, because she'd take it and herself down before suffering a minute more of it.
But damn Peter a bit, too, for that attention-stealing choice of words. A cord of tension tightens in her and she scrutinizes, uncertain if he's merely speaking in figuratives or finally ripping the curtain down on the wizard. They've never talked about her quickness. Not her and Peter, at any rate.]
Okay, maybe asking the obvious question here-- [She cuts in, grasping at this new piece of information tossed at her, frowning all the harder.] If you have an exorcist on speed dial, why haven't you gotten one already?
[If her elephant in the room is big, his is even bigger, and that does seem like the most obvious missing link here.]
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But she's throwing a question back at him instead, and it's a valid one, one he can still use to try and convince her she should be really worried about this. ]
The people I've talked to, they don't.... they don't know exactly how to handle this thing. It's not really like demons most people deal with, they don't want to fuck me up. [ .....Give the demon the final push needed to overtake him, maybe. Because what he and Paimon currently have, courtesy of Deerington, is co-existence, perpetually trapped in the Purgatory of this town together, but it's not natural. One or the other should be here, but not both. And whatever rules this town follows, even the professionals he's spoken to have agreed it has to be handled with a delicate hand. Maybe he gets turned into some lifeless vegetable in the process. Maybe removing Paimon from him after all this time they've been trapped in one another makes him worse. ]
That's just it. They don't know what could happen. I mean, say I die and it gets into you. John might be able to pull it out since it just happened. I don't know that for sure, but. You need to have like a plan of action, just in case.
[ He's breached rambling territory here, his words coming out a bit too quick, a bit too fretful. Theoretically, he should have had this talk with Henry long before these tense final moments before Hell Month hits, but when has Peter ever been good with healthy timing? He only acts after he's pushed up against the wall, desperate. Even now, he's throwing this at her, someone he cares about so much that it hurts to think about her suffering at all because of him, in an unfair way. Sorry he sucks, Henry. ]
Please. Just in case.
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She doesn't want that.
And she's not alone in not quite knowing how to relieve Peter of his burden once and for all, despite a town full of occult experts. The familiar sound of Peter expounding on maybes and what ifs seems to deflate her, and she releases a breath through her nose, lips pressed into a tight line. Nikolai had taught her that no matter the harm her abilities had caused, they were ultimately controllable. Knowable. Not so for Peter. If anything, he's struggling to keep himself in check more now than he was when he first crash landed on her lawn.
In spite of the evil, unnatural, unknowable nature of his demon and how far from control he must be feeling to talk about his own death in terms of contingencies, here he is, being worried and careful for her instead of himself.
She hates it. Hates that he has to dangle over this precipice with a rage he never seems to show for himself.]
Fine. [Conceded low and soft because she doesn't have the heart add an argument to his pile.] I'll remember.
[The exorcist's name, anyway. She'll do that much, but that's all she'll give sway to. They're not going into this preparing for him to crack like an egg and hatch a demon king.
Without warning, Henry walks around to his side of the coffee table.]
Stand up.
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But it still means something that he... voiced his concern, and she voiced some kind of assurance in return. Maybe he just needed to hear her say it. Maybe through all of the various convoluted ways he's lost his autonomy and is hanging onto some sense of control by a thread, this one little thing means something there, too.
But then she's moving over towards him, and Peter blinks, weirdly surprised by the action. Maybe by the fact that after what they just talked about, what he just brought up, she's willingly getting close to him like this. But he does what she says, getting to his feet, awkwardly looking down at her with all the mannerism of a big nervous dog staring down at a much smaller, and much more intimidating cat. ]
What, uh.... what're you doing?