Caspian Finn (crowisfear) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2015-04-05 07:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | eric draven, peter petrelli, zz:status complete |
Flights of Angels Sing Thee Home (Peter Petrelli; log)
Since Evey's crash, Peter had narrowed his focus. There was a steady monitor on the older version of Evey, constant (though non-invasive) awareness of her status. He didn't read her thoughts, but made certain she was still there. Her efforts to shield herself were non-existent, forcing Peter to devote enough energy to the link to protect himself from the feedback of her despair. The link to the younger Evey was feather-light, only touching upon her once in a while. It was easier on him.
The Leeloo he'd known on the island had found solace and even happiness with the younger version of Eric. Peter wished them both happy, and had withdrawn his monitoring of this version of his beloved. So it was with full devotion and will that he had given himself up to his Leeloo, his perfect being.
Which wasn't to say he didn't occasionally check up on his friends.
There had been a chord in the air, a hint of something ethereal, something somber and sinister. The truth of it eluded him. Peter had kissed Leeloo's sleeping form, wrapped a warm blanket around her, and then ventured out to find what was troubling him.
He did a tally in his mind as he walked, following that subtle sensation. His mind touched on those he knew, but found a chilling blankness when he tried to focus on the younger Leeloo. And when he reached toward the younger Eric, there was more of the same.
Emptiness, where there had once been a mind.
His pace quickened. On the lingering touch to Eric's mind, Peter reached and found the other, the changed one, but that presence was filled with nothing good. His footfalls were taking him in that direction, and suddenly, he couldn't run fast enough. Peter took to the air and, moments later, settled to the ground beside his friend.
The disturbance in the earth was clear. There was nothing subtle about it. The stone was marked in blood, and Peter didn't need to be told whose blood it was. He put his hand on Eric's shoulder, kneeling beside the grave to offer his own sorrow.
--
The air shifted. It changed to accommodate his friend and Eric was thankful for the presence. For at least an afternoon and an entire night he had sat. Stayed. His period of mourning was not finished yet. Though it probably would truly never finish entirely. Mourning was one of those things that never truly vacated. It made a hole in your heart large enough to allow other, more important things to pass through.
The hand on his shoulder was a comfort. Peter was a comfort.
Eric lifted his head from his hands and with a blood stained face, the tears he had cried and now was not, he turned to look at his friend. A sigh of relief. Things would be alright.
Turning his attention back to the stone with the symbol upon it, Eric leaned in to the palm at his shoulder. "It's over."
--
"I'm sorry."
It was the right thing to say, Peter knew, but his words held a solemnity that made it more than just a token response. He was sorry, sorry not only for the pain his friend was obviously feeling, but for the loss of the man in the ground. A man Peter knew, knew, could have been just as great a friend as the one kneeling at the patch of dirt.
He mourned. Peter's faith had long since lapsed, but it was to that spark of hope he still managed to carry that he prayed, hoping the troubled soul in the grave had found some measure of peace.
Wordlessly, he supported his friend. He wondered what had happened, but he didn't want to ask. Not yet. Not unless Eric wanted to talk about it. Grief was for the living, who continued on, picking up the pieces left by those who had gone. It touched everyone differently. Peter knew that Eric carried his pain silently. He ached for how much more the man had taken upon himself now.
--
Peter would want to know. He would want to know everything. Perhaps one day Eric would share it with him but today that was not the day. All the hybrid could manage was a soft "Ben," keeping the alias his mate had taken. The name, surprisingly, had come with some relief. Relief. He needed his mate and Eric had been so selfish lately. So very selfish, as if he was the only creature on the planet to hurt.
But maybe he was. Macklyn did not grieve for the man in the ground. No, he had taken that life. What could have been.
Eric looked down at the pile of dirt he had dug with his own hands and mourned still.
He would carry all of this burden. He would never share it with anyone even if they demanded it of him. It wasn't theirs to carry, it was his. His alone.
--
The name told him a lot. More in the way it was spoken; softly, reverentially, thick with relief and love. Peter tightened his grip on the man's shoulder for a moment in acknowledgement. He wasn't going to press for anything further.
"He was with Leeloo," Peter said, his voice soft. "I don't know if you knew that. The one from the island. I know they were together, they were happy. But... I can't feel her anymore." He wasn't certain what that meant. She couldn't have been hiding, so she must have been... sent back? Perhaps. Was it a blessing, that she wasn't here to mourn for the fallen avenger? Or was it one more blow, that he be denied another voice of grief in his passing?
No. Pain, grief... these were for the living. The dead had no use for them. As much as it hurt, Peter was grateful Leeloo wouldn't have to bear this sorrow. He knew the woman sleeping in his apartment would have her own grief for their friend.
--
Leeloo. Eric had forgotten her in the whirlwind of events that had taken place. If Peter said she was gone, then she was. Eric was both relieved and sad for the same reasons his friend was. He wanted to spare her the grief. The mourning. And yet he missed her all the same.
"I know," Eric replied, acknowledging the fact that Peter had mentioned the phantom and the Leeloo from the jungle had been together. "He made her a home. I was there." He would burn it down. It would blaze, just like Devil's Night. But not yet.
Already Eric missed Leeloo. Even Lee. He knew she would be sad to hear of this passing and he hated himself more for it. She didn't deserve that.
This had all spiraled out of control unexpectedly.
Eric closed his eyes. Silently he wished the roles had been reversed, that he lay beneath the dirt instead of that one. Instead of the one with potential. But it was not to be. What had this one said? He was a failure. A coward.
The hybrid laughed. "Before he died, he told me I could have taken Leeloo from you," Eric mused. That was impossible. "Obviously he didn't know either of you very well if he had that mindset."
--
Taken Leeloo? Clearly the man hadn't realized just what a force of nature the Fifth Element was. "She has her own ideas about that kind of thing," Peter said after a moment's consideration. "You can't argue with a hurricane." Leeloo could, of course, fight her own battles. Just like a hurricane. But he never would have willingly given her up. This man understood. It was a shame the other hadn't.
Peter caught the undercurrent of self-doubt, and shook his head. "You're one of the bravest, strongest men I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, Eric. Don't let his words hurt you. What we went through, what that island changed... he could never understand." They were survivors, all of them. The ones who had come back from the savage world were changed forever, marked by the trials, the horrors, and the joys they had found there. The walking wounded, the immortals, the ones who carried the weight of uncounted broken lives on their shoulders. Peter had carried millions in his time. He knew grief, he knew pain, he knew burdens. But even he, with all his experience, wouldn't insult Eric by thinking he could understand the other man's pain. Pain was personal.
But he could empathize. And he could support.
--
Leeloo was her own entity and Eric had always known that. It was one of the things he had loved about her. The spirit she had was unmatched. She was a fighter, a protector. And whatever she set her mind to she got. She changed people for the better. "I know." It was all he could say. Leeloo deserved a man as good as Peter and he was glad the two had found each other again.
"He did know," Eric breathed. "He knew all of it. Everything." And yet.....and yet, it still hadn't mattered. It hadn't changed his mind.
Again Eric felt grateful for Peter. He was glad they had made amends, had bonded and become friends. The one in the ground would never know what being such allies with Peter entailed. Maybe Eric was glad for it.
Slowly he started to feel a little bit better.
--
"He knew it. He didn't understand it." How could he, without having experienced it for himself? Clearly he couldn't. Peter went over what he knew about Ben, what had driven Ben to kill Inque. For the ancient being to have assaulted the doppelganger of the man he was bound to, only one thing could have prompted that. Ben would not have tolerated any threat to Eric. Not even from himself. The man beside him was covered in blood, but how much had been in which body was nothing Peter could determine. Nor did he particularly want to. Eric wasn't injured in any way Peter could heal.
Still, Eric was his friend. A dear friend, at that. Through the physical contact, Peter let the other man feel some of that affection, knowing he would understand what was being given.
--
The relief from the touch washed over him. It coated his skin like a blanket and finally the grief began to melt slowly away. Like the tide it ebbed and then flowed, receeding into the depths where he kept all of the rest of the pain and grief.
"How could he?" It was rhetorical. Peter knew. They knew together. The other Eric would never have known. It was too early to know.
In turn, Eric offered Peter his own level of affection in the touch. Skin to skin contact was all the hybrid needed to transmit. He was glad to have the man there. Very glad.
--
Peter felt the heavy weight of despair pull away from Eric. It seemed to settle back to the melancholy that had always shrouded the avenger, something as essential to his being as the black bird that shared his life.
Then he felt the return of affection. It warmed him, gave him a new depth into the complexity that was Eric Draven. Peter was glad for their friendship, glad for every step it had taken to get them from there to here. And, while still sorry for the loss of potential, he was glad it was this man kneeling on the ground instead of being the one within it.
He smiled gently at his friend. "Come on," he said. "I'll buy you breakfast. If you eat that sort of thing."
--
Eric nodded, "I do." He hungered for something more than pancakes and eggs, but indulging Peter seemed right. Bran cawed at both of the men in agreement.
The bird would stay a bit longer, to finish guarding the space while the Avenger was gone.
Slowly Eric pulled from Peter and stood, brushing the dirt off of this hands. He turned to face his friend feeling more vital than before. Maybe tomorrow would be better than he had originally thought.