Chapter Text
As Peter’s reminiscence of his past escapes his lips, an abysmal feeling takes hold of your insides. Unfortunately for your naturally sympathetic personality, you place yourself in every single moment in his story, only shocked back out of it when he begins speaking about you. That part makes a chill run down your spine as you stare down into the bed.
To think days ago you were insulting him and trying to bite him in the basement, now you’re here wondering what the hell you’re going to do.
You thought maybe he was just a crazy stalker, you’ve heard just enough true crime to know that sometimes it just happens. You now wonder who Peter would be if he wasn’t made into such a monster, especially by someone he was supposed to trust.
You wonder what you would do if you were completely devoid of love and affection that wasn’t tainted with some semblance of violence and cruelty?
You wonder what you’d do without supportive friends? Or if you never had a first date? Or if your parents were as fragmented, awful, and tragic as his own? You honestly believe you would not be who you are now. A past as jarring as his certainly would curate a psychology beyond recognition. The worst part is he knew there was a problem when he was younger, seeking out a psychiatrist that seemed to be as useful as telling your problems to a stone. Or perhaps more detrimental than you can possibly fathom.
You have noticed that when Peter takes his medications, he is drifty, aggressive, and unpredictable. The days he forgets are the ones that tend to be the most relaxed. It wasn’t usually so instantaneous, but you could still tell the difference.
He sits there, looking at you as if expecting a reaction and you’re not really sure how to react. You just feel an overwhelming pity for him, while that pity mingles with your developing inner conflict.
He poisoned you for months, risking your health just so he could spend time with you. He watched you from the shadows for years without you knowing and only started striking as soon as there was an opportunity. He murdered your friends in cold blood out of pure jealousy just to get to you.
An intrusive thought wonders if you’d do the same in his spot, or if you’d try to overcome in your own way? Nature versus nurture and all that.
You furrow your brows, frowning up at him. “I’m sorry all of that happened to you, that’s…That’s really terrible.” Your hate and pity fight deep inside of your chest. “But… What about your early childhood? Didn’t your dad read you bedtime stories? Or take you camping? Have you ever caught fireflies? Or played lava monster?”
He seemed perplexed at your questioning, his finger raising to his lips thoughtfully as he looked away for a while. His eyes shifted back down to you as he shrugged, “Nope. By the time I came around my dad was pretty impaired and anything ‘mother’ didn’t want, didn’t happen. I did get to dissect someone though before I realized it was a real person.”
You wanted to throw up, a little horrified at the thought. You wonder… If you help try to mend that brain of his, would he be more willing to let you go? Obviously he’d stop at nothing to keep you here, even to the point of harming you. He clearly has no regard for others, especially if they were attached to you in any capacity. You now harbor a distrust for anyone he picked out for psychological help. You see yourself as a shield between him and others, and the pressure is immense as you shoulder the responsibility.
You know you previously thought about killing him, but now you don’t know if you even have the heart anymore. You thought about when your parents divorced what sort of advice the counselor gave you when you were younger… If you heal your inner child, you can be a more well-adjusted adult. You glanced at Peter, looking at his unblinking face still watching you, was he beyond saving?
It won't hurt anyone but you to try, you guess.
“Why do you see a psychiatrist instead of a psychologist?” You were always confused by this detail the most.
He muses for a second before shrugging, “After my dad died I was struggling a lot, then when I met you I had no idea how I was feeling. I told Tyler about it and their dad said I should get counseling… So I told my 'mother' and she brought me to one of her friends.” His smile weakens.
“I was institutionalized, but Dr. Greta let me out when she said I was all better.” As he speaks, his expression is a little unhinged and your anxiety rises into your throat, your fight or flight telling you to leave. You clutch onto the blankets instead to keep yourself still.
They… Did this to him on purpose.
Who would do that to someone who just needed help?
You finally shake your head, “What they did isn’t right. You were more normal before they se-“
He glares, his arms crossing defensively, “No. I’m better now because I have you. I was an empty shell before you, now I-I’m happier than I ever dreamed of!”
As he says this, your eyes don't ignore the marks down his arms, the blood smeared across the walls, and the deep scars you knew were under his shirt across his chest and abdomen. You sigh, knowing you’ll have to tread this situation lightly for both of your sakes. You’ve seen his instability aimed at others, it was only a matter of time before you risked it being aimed at you.
You backtrack a little, “Earlier, you said you wouldn’t mind ditching your psychiatrist for me.” You reaffirm, he meets it with a nod. “Can you stop taking your medications too?” You swallow thickly as you wait for his response. He searches the floor for answers before his confused eyes meet yours.
“Do you want me to?” He scoots closer to you, “Will it make you love me?”
Do you play into this, or do you try to try to establish something platonic? You’d already slept together a few times. He obviously lacked emotional maturity when it came to relationships with other people… Keeping it simple is better.
“Yes. It’d help.” Your heart hammers and drops at the same time, the feeling is indescribable.
He abruptly rolls off the bed, heading towards the bathroom. You raise an eyebrow, scooting to follow after. You hop down the hallway as you use the wall for support, just catching him dumping bottles into the toilet with reckless abandonment. You watched as he locked eyes with you, pulling the handle as all the medication created some pharmaceutical tornado into nothing. You pursed your lips. Of course he’d do that and not wean himself off. You hoped that whatever his mental state would be coming off of them would be something you could handle.
You will just have to be on your best behavior, by his standards anyway.
He stands up, proud of himself, before you start mapping out the day. You feel like you’ve bitten off far more than you can chew. You think about all the things you used to do as a kid, making snacks for birds, hunting for bugs… You knit your brows, wondering if he would agree to letting you outside if you promise not to run. You especially don’t feel like ditching on foot knowing that the property is booby-trapped since the fox trap incident.
You’re not trying to lose a leg here.
“Have you ever made… bird snacks?” You ask meekly as he approaches you, nuzzling against you almost pushing you onto your bad foot.
He thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “Nope, never done it. Is that what we’re doing today?”
You shrug, “Well, we need bird seed, peanut butter, and some pine cones! If you have those things, we can make some together.”
Oh god he’s beaming. This is the happiest he’s looked since your entire captivity. He scoops you up into his arms, setting you down on a chair in the kitchen in a flash as he starts frantically looking through all the cabinets. You blink a few times, just watching the display before he sets down a jar of chunky peanut butter and some sunflower seeds.
“This is all I have, is this okay?” He taps the table, gazing outside before his eyes fall on you. You nod, knowing that birds aren’t really picky. At least crows would probably be happy with the offering if you throw a shiny thing or two on it somewhere.
You glance at the door before your gaze travels to the floor, “Some of the ideas I have are outside.” You finally breach the topic, and he looks a little pensive. “I promise I won’t run away, I can’t on my foot anyway.”
He hoods his eyes in response, “Hold on, I have a compromise.” He disappears and you internally groan, only imagining what this is leading to. He returns, clicking the handcuffs between the two of you. You look at your hands before staring up at him, his grin wide across his face. “Now we’ll have to stay close darling.” He muses as he leans down, placing a strategic kiss on your forehead. You huff a little in response. It’s something, you guess.
You pull your hood up over your head, trying to slip your shoes on while handcuffed to him. You look up at him who happens to be staring at you dotingly as your gaze falls back on your shoes. Your tender ankle is already throbbing, but you are so excited to just be back outside. A part of you is also so nervous to be back outside.
You ready your crutch, leaning into it. The motion is awkward with the handcuffs linking you, but there’s enough chain for it to not hinder you too badly. He offers to carry you around and you shake your head. Your breath hitches when the door opens, the cool breeze causing your hair to snap against your cheeks, the grey sky obscuring the warmth of the sun. You didn’t mind, smelling earth and pine as you limped out on your crutch, Peter patiently stepping in sync with you and covering a worried hand around your shoulder in case you lose balance.
At the edge of the woods, you try to reach for pinecones, only to wobbly straighten so you don’t lose balance. You scoff, finally throwing yourself to the ground as you crawl around, your hand floating by its metallic constraints. He crouches by you, helping collect a few. You look at the ones he picked out and you shake your head calmly.
“Oh, no you want to pick ones out like this,” You show him the opened, blossoming ones compared to the smaller closed ones on the forest floor. “It holds more seed so they last longer.”
His face turns into a warm grin, throwing the ones he picked off to the side to find copies of yours. Together, you collect three each. While searching for pine cones, you move a rock revealing some roly polys. You grin as you use your free hand to try to scoop one up. He watches over your shoulder curiously, snatching up all the pinecones so you can’t carry any.
“Have you ever collected bugs before?” You ask idly, feeling the poly scuttle around on your hand. He shakes his head and you gesture your hand. “You wanna hold it?”
“O-oh, sure.” He reaches his hands out, and the poly looks so small in his palm. “Heh, it feels weird. I kinda like it.” He grins, watching it scurry around. “So what do you do after you catch it?” He lays his hands down on the ground, trying to coax it back to its home.
“Exactly what you’re doing! We’d collect them and then let them go…” You trail off, envious and sad that a bug has more freedom than you. You sigh a little roughly, pushing yourself up to walk on your knees. “I think we have enough, ready to go back?”
He nods endearingly, “With you darling, I’d go anywhere.”
The sentiment stings, because you know for a fact that’d never be true. Even if you’re stuck here forever, you’d never leave the house. Anyone who comes near you would be in danger. Even if you felt like you solved this puzzle of a person, there would always be that looming anxiety that the next person you meet would get a little too close, or act a little too friendly.
You nod, giving a pained smile, “Okay.”
You trek back to the house, passing by Rat’s cage. As long as you’d been here, you merely watched her in her enclosure but never actually interacted with her. You look at Peter who locks the door promptly behind him, hesitating to unlock the handcuffs as if battling whether he really wanted to or not. He catches your look, his grin deepening as he unshackles you from him. You inspect her through the glass as she’s slowly coiling into her rock.
“So, why a snake? I love snakes, don’t get me wrong. But it’s kind of a different pet.” You look up at him and as he’s disrobing his coat, running his hands over his shirt a little nervously.
“I wanted the company. They’re easy to take care of and don’t need a lot, my, er, hobby-“ You know immediately he means following you around, “-took up a lot of my time so she was the best choice. Plus her face is just so cute!” He clasps his hands together gazing down at her.
“If you like her so much, why name her Rat? It doesn’t seem like an affectionate name.” You skew a brow. Not that you don’t like rats either, actually they’re pretty cute too.
He nervously looks away for a second, “Well… I couldn’t think of anything, and heh, you are what you eat so…” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t value myself as a creative person.”
You skew an eyebrow, “What do you value yourself as?”
He scowls bitterly, his eyes still avoiding yours, “I don’t, actually.”
Your eyes search the floor for a proper response, wondering what your counselor would say if you said the same thing. You try to formulate the response in your head, “I think you should. I think you have value because you’re a person. You don’t need to be anything else. And you are creative, just…Not with names. That’s alright.”
He seems nervous, almost bristled by what you’re saying as he quirks an eyebrow at you. “Why are you being so nice to me? You literally just tried to escape a week ago. I know you’re a nice person but you’re acting weird. “ His face lowers, eerily close to yours as he scrutinizes you, “Are you sick? Or concocting another plan?”
You internally kick yourself. Of course he’d be on guard.
You shake your head simply, wondering how honest you should be. You back away from him a little in case the response isn’t a great one. You don’t want to mention pity, or he’ll take offense. You don’t want to say love, or he’ll definitely run away with the idea.
“Your past made me realize that sometimes things aren’t so black and white.” You card your fingers through your hair, “Sometimes everything is… more complicated. It’s easy to have simple feelings when your view of a situation is simple.” You try to stay just cryptic enough, letting him draw his own conclusion.
He nods understandingly before you head over to the table. “So! Are we making these or not?” You tease and you both start working on the bird treats.
You show him how to slather them in peanut butter, rolling them around in the sunflower seeds until they’re coated. You grin at them, your fingers messy and Peter seems just a tad bit distant as he helps. It’s as though he has no idea how to act or what he’s feeling about it. He only smiles after setting them up right outside the window on the balcony fence, it doesn’t take long for a few different birds to come by and start pecking at them.
You’re nervous that this unusually chatty guy is so quiet, but suspect it’s probably normal given the strange circumstances.
You wonder what your friends would think about this. You imagine TK would be upset, ‘Really? You’re really going to stick around the guy who kidnapped you? To protect others? You need to protect yourself too and get out of there!’ The thought stings. You remember Lulu paying bail for some convicts after hearing their cases, you wonder if it was you instead of her, would she think to give Peter a second chance like some of them?
You wish you could talk to them.
“Okay, now what do you want to do, y/n?” You’re shocked out of your thoughts, your face meeting his as you try to feign a smile.
“Have you ever made a fort?” You notice the sun slowly setting and of course he shakes his head. You shakily try to stand up from the table, grabbing your crutch as you make your way over to the center of the living room before throwing the couch cushions onto the floor. He clasps his hands behind his back observing from the outside.
“Grab some chairs and blankets!” You instruct, a little more excitedly than you intended. He’s a little shocked by your abruptness, quickly pulling all the kitchen chairs towards you and bolting to his room. It’s not long before all the blankets and pillows from his bed are thrown onto the floor. You instruct him on where to place the chairs, layering the pillows between all four of them. You sit inside as he flaps the blanket over and the fort is partially covered. It becomes a whole fort after a few more blankets join the mix.
“Er, okay, what now?” He asks while you lay in the fort thoughtfully before snapping your fingers.
“Do you have a light? Or like an electric lantern?” There’s a pause before you hear shuffling away.
“I think so, hold on a second.” You hear the basement door open and shut, his hard steps down. You look up into the ‘ceiling’ of the blanket fort and sigh roughly. You’re supposed to just be helping this tragic guy out because you pity him and hope he lets you escape… Now you’re having fun? You rub your face, closing your eyes. Maybe your brain is just so sick of being scared, bored, or sad all the time. Maybe this is something you both need.
“Hey! Grab a book too!” You yell out, you hear him trace back up the steps of the basement before heading towards his room. It isn’t long until you see his socks, awkwardly standing at the entrance of the fort. You reach a hand out and he gently lowers a small book into your hands. You reach out again and a red, electric lantern follows. You finally snap your hand back out of the tent, giving a ‘come hither’ finger gesture.
He obliges by crawling in on his hands and knees. Even on his haunches, the blankets lift up from his height. You find it a little hilarious before you pat the space next to you, placing the light between you as you lay down. His large frame has to adjust on his side, drawing his legs in to fit. You’re able to sprawl out a little as you start to mess with your fingers over the light.
“What are you doing?” He peers at you quizzically and you shoosh him.
“Look up!” He follows your gaze, seeing the shadow of your hands. His eyes crinkle in amusement.
“Oh, is that …a turtle?”
“Yup!” You switch your hands up again, he gently laughs.
“Is… It’s a dog?!”
This time, you snicker, “Well, a wolf but…Here, how about this one?”
He pauses for a second before laughing again. “Oh, a moose! How clever.”
You gesture him to try and he knits his brows, looking at his hands before messing with them over the light. Once he understands the gist, he makes a heart over it and you can’t help but roll your eyes.
Something other than emptiness flutters deep inside of you, but you push it away quickly.
You pick the book up, holding it over your head as you read the cover, he stares at you dotingly past the light. “What is this?” You thumb through the pages, losing balance as it falls on your face. You pick it back up before Peter can grab it, his fingers instead brushing lightly against where it landed.
“I don’t have a lot of books but… That’s just my favorite one. I really like poetry. Some day I might finish writing you one but I want it to be perfect.” You ponder the way he says that, and if he’s been writing one for as long as you think he might. You shove that thought away, too.
You open the book, thumbing to the perfect one he needs to hear.
“I have learned to need the body
I spent years trying to rid the world of
Have learned to cherish its pale rebel hymn
Warped by ghost heat, carried, carried
By all my loyal dead. I have learned
To crawl backward into the wilderness
To ask, to eat, to steep in your gentleness.
Let this be where I permit forgiveness
To know your name, to leave our cruelest years
Where and how we need them mostBehind and unlit. “
Before you can look at his reaction, the lantern is obscured in shadow before falling off into the blankets. Your body is forcibly mashed against his, your face deeply imbedded in the smell of generic body wash and fabric softener. You feel wet hitting the top of your head and you sigh a little tension away from your chest.
For the first time in your many embraces, you take a moment to smooth your hand over the ridges of his marked arms before rounding yours around his heaving shoulders, matching his tightness.
Sometimes healing can feel so bittersweet.