— 𝐜 𝐨 𝐧 𝐭 𝐚 𝐜 𝐭

[possessum]

action / text / video / etc.
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.

Comments

gah just leave me to die

[oldhound]

[ In a way that isn't wholly wrong. John had woken up. He'd woken up back home and lived through months and months and a myriad of things that put even his constitution for the strange and magical to the test.

How does one go about waking up back here in this place after having died and come back, found out there's only a couple of handfuls of years left on the clock? He's seen and done a lot in his time. Fought demons and angels, gods of a kind. These ones---well, they nearly didn't win the day. It did a number on him and true to form, he turned tail and ran.

So when the door there's relief and anguish in equal measure at seeing the boy. Hearing the small way his voice sounds when he says his name, all questioning like--- He nods, chin trembling and throat too thick with all the words he doesn't know how to manage yet. ] It's me, I uh---

[ Oh, bollocks. He wants to fade into the background and pretend he never came here. He's useless at this sort of thing. So many things to say but he'd better start with the first and best. The most obvious. ]

I'm sorry.

[possessum]

[ In a way, Peter had run away, too. He really could have tried to see John at least once, but he... hadn't. He'd been too afraid of rejection, maybe, hearing the way the exorcist didn't seem to want anything to do with anyone. It's easier to hide yourself so that you won't get hurt, instead of try and end up rejected. Those are lessons that aren't new to Peter by any means: distance learned well over time in his life. Even with his own parents, there was always some protective layering around himself. A coating of isolation. He learned that early on. Ways to make the hurt less, keep it numbed down.

Only.... only it does still hurt, he's finding. The shock holds onto that numbness for a few long moments, as Peter's brain tries to process the arrival on his doorstep — and then John says 'I'm sorry', and that breaks the numbness right down the middle. Makes all of this real.

But Peter finds that he's shaking his head in response, that he doesn't like the idea of anyone being sorry to him. He doesn't deserve that; nobody should have to apologise to him. ]

No, it's— you don't have to be. [ Peter's still all wide-eyed and stunned, standing unmoving in the doorway like a statue. ]

It's okay. [ He offers some kind of reassurance on autopilot; a way to temper down the upset, because that's something he learned, too. Hide from confrontation, or hurt, sweep it under the rug. Say and do what it takes to keep things peaceful. He's not explicitly aware that's what he's doing, but it's there. Trying to ignore the achey feeling in the pit of him, his own throat a bit tight. ]

[oldhound]

[ But fixing this, trying to, at any rate, wasn't down to Peter. It was down to John. He needed to swallow it down and own up to things. It wasn't that he didn't want to be near anyone at all. It was that he was scared to, which may well be what he has to go about trying to explain here. ]

I do have to be. [ A gentle correction. ] And what I did wasn't okay. Far from it.

You needed me here and I swanned off like it didn't matter. Like we aren't all just trying to get through dealing with this place on the regular. I owe you more than an apology for that but that's what I've got here.

And---and hoping for a chance to make it up. [ Somehow. ]

cw: themes of suicidal ideation

[possessum]

[ Peter blinks, surprised by the words — unsure exactly how to take them, for their.... unfamiliarity. This isn't what he knows: stuff being voiced aloud like that, so... cleanly and clearly and to the point. Isn't used to anyone telling him they owe him an apology, insisting that they do, even. ]

You really don't— have to make anything up to me, [ The teen fumbles over the words, awkward and shy and unsure, and his heart skipping an odd beat. He doesn't want John feeling... bad, guilty. ] Really. I've been okay.

[ Except he hasn't been okay, not really. "Okay" is a weird spectrum for Peter anyway, but lately.... especially lately.... through December and January, he's been... It's been especially hard. He'd been wondering about his family, about the things he's been realising about them over time, and it's all been building and building, and he'd told Luna that sometimes he thinks it'd be better if he wasn't here at all.

Peter swallows, eyes still wide. ]

Have you been okay? [ It's deflection in its way, but not only that. He has been wondering, been worried, very worried about John. Something clearly happened to him. ]

[oldhound]

[ John's still surprised to be saying them. It isn't that he doesn't mean them. It's that he doesn't let himself get so engrossed in things normally to warrant needing them. Apologies, that is. Normally there's whatever is happening popping off and him leaving with nothing else to say in the wreckage of it all.

He looks the boy over as he explains what he does. Stumbling over it and halting on certain things. He knows the routine. Trying to pull one over would be better served on a bloke that didn't check himself in and out of an asylum a handful of times since he was Peter's age. ] This is what okay looks like?

[ Sorry, mate, he isn't all that convinced. But he's here to talk, not judge. Not to push too far too quick and cock it all up again. The kid asks after him and he huffs softly, mouth turning up as he casts his face toward the ground, uncertain what to say. ]

Not really. Went home for a bit. Apparently, it was just a few days here but---it was longer there.

[possessum]

[ Peter blinks, yet again — because yet again, he's surprised, unsure how to react to this. It doesn't fit the normal pattern that he's used to, with adults. Not that he's trying to project his own parents onto John, but.... he doesn't know what else to look for, here. He's used to deflecting, and then the other person letting it happen. Backing away. Not pushing any further.

The most recent memory of this (and the last one Peter will ever have) is a painful one: his dad, gently suggesting that maybe Peter needs therapy. Maybe after what happened to his sister, he needs help. Peter, deflecting: the kneejerk reaction. His dad, immediately giving in. Making excuses to leave the room. And it hurts, to see him giving in. It hurts that his dad wouldn't fight more for him. Wouldn't... challenge him a little. Sometimes Peter had needed that. Needed someone to look at him and see that he's not okay, and not be afraid to say so.

.....And here John is, doing that exactly. The teen's mouth opens, clearly taken aback, then he sighs out through his nostrils a little. ]

I guess I've been better. [ Said a little bit sullen, like he doesn't want to be saying it. ......He appreciates it, under that. Watching John look downwards, Peter studies the older man quietly. So he did go home. ]

Fuck.... How long? [ he wonders, tone softening a bit. Almost encouraging, and a bit concerned, because.... fuck, he went home and then came back here. Peter slips out of the doorway, lets the door close behind him. Hands slipping into the front pockets of his warm hoodie, he joins John on the porch, looking at him, giving him all of his focus. ]