rattish (rattish) wrote in fourteenshades, @ 2014-03-09 22:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | !unlucky plot, x-fabian prewett, x-peter pettigrew |
You'll have to face the future when the truth comes out
WHO: Fabian Prewett / Peter Pettigrew
WHEN: March 8th, after the Dolohov encounter
WHERE: Goods & Stuff
STATUS: COMPLETE
NOTE: Considering the amount of noise they made, other G&S employees may have heard the shouting and banging and crashing of things from the back room. By the time they got there, however, Fabian was storming out, Peter was gone and the room was an absolute mess.
Peter was rather pleased overall with the week he’d had, fishing. Maybe it was something to do with the weather warming, but there seemed to be better pickings now without having to go too far from the coast, which he scarcely liked to do, since he was hardly a strong swimmer. In any case, it was a good long while since he’d felt anything like satisfaction in his work, whether here or back in the world, and despite the objections of the horse-faced Muggle woman to the smell of his catch, he felt he had something rather to be proud of.
That afternoon he stayed a little later than he might ordinarily have, to give his catch a better chance of selling, even talking a little with one or two customers he did not know - giving only his first name, just in case - and did not even stop for lunch until his belly started grumbling protests. He closed the fish cabinet and carrying the dirty buckets back into the storeroom, setting them in the large sink for washing and ran the water, first rinsing his hands and then sloshing the buckets out, whistling contentedly as he did so.
__
Fabian’s blood was pumping, it was boiling, and as much hatred as there was running through his heart and veins, it was also one of the first times he had felt alive in weeks. He hated that, he hated that he had to fight (really fight, not the boxing in the gym) to feel alive. He hated what he had become, but the high of adrenalin from Dolohov was a fix he had needed, and like all good junkies, he went looking for his next.
Gideon wasn’t where he was at, he was still a good man, and as they had crossed the limits of the village he had run off to his girlfriend, home and hearth. He went to check that they were alive, that they were alright,this was why people liked him, but only tolerated Fabian. He had only a passing knowledge of the town’s external layout. The shops that he bothered with, the people who ran them, and between that and overhearing various conversations he could pick his way through the storefronts.
It wasn’t his first stop that he found the rat, nor the second or third. But by the time he had reached his fifth, there was a certainty in his step. He knew where Peter Pettigrew was, and he they were going to talk. Stepping in, Fabian reached up above to still the bell as it tinkered, dulling the ring in time with the closing of the door. There was only a standard latch, anyone could break in if they had to - but he turned it anyway. “Peter?” He called out, “Peter Pettigrew? You in?”
Ollie Ollie Oxenfree...
___
Peter heard someone calling his name from the front of the store. It wasn’t anyone who worked in the store, either - they were all girls, for a start. “Back here,” he called back, undoing the knot on his apron with slippery hands and pulling it over his head. He wondered what had happened to Lisa and Emmeline and the new woman. They couldn’t all have gone on a break at the same time. Of course, it was a big store. “I’m just closing the counter…”
__
If there were other people in the shop, Fabian hadn’t seen them, and that was a shame. Seeing someone other than his goal, his ‘target’ may have made him re-think this, calm down and take a breath. It was unfortunate for Peter, a bad hand of luck for a fella that had dealt so many of those cards. Wiping his nose with a shirt sleeve, Fabian followed the voice with practice ease. He’d talk to the kid, he’d hear his confession out... then. Then he wasn’t so sure. Jinxing him dumb didn’t seem appropriate, nor did returning the favor that the kid would give him down the road. This wasn’t the place or time to kill someone. They weren’t at war, as he was often reminded, this was a place of peace.
He’d punch him at the very least, he’d punch him and break him until they were even... though that was a bit far ahead for him to think right now. All he wanted to do was find the little snot, and see his face when he admitted it. “No worries.” He replied, and stepped over some boxes stacked on the floor. “Just looking for a chat is all.”
__
Peter looked up, and felt a little chill go up his spine. He’d been avoiding both the Prewett twins since his arrival, so far with success. He forced himself to stay calm. As far as he was aware, no one knew. Everyone was perfectly willing to condemn him for… the other thing… which was fair, but no one had said a single word about the Prewetts, so he assumed that particular secret remained safe. “Fabian,” he said, using all his practiced skill to keep his voice level and his expression blank. “All right? You, er… don’t want some fish, do you? There’s plenty left, for once…”
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“No, no thank you.” Fabian replied, taking another step closer to remove any unreasonable distance between them. If anyone did come up on them they’d only be able to see the pair talking, but he no longer had to yell. So he didn’t, instead he remained calm, remained quiet. “I’d love to reminisce. You know... everyone here is from a different point in their own history. I’m going to die soon, when I return. Oh.” He corrected himself with a raised hand, “I’ve got a good year left I’m told. I get a girl, we... create memories. Then I die, and that’s it. My story is over. But what about yours Peter? Where are you in yours? Nineteen... seventy something? Or are you into the eighties yet. They must be nice. I’m told the muggles elect a woman. Can you imagine? A woman muggle minister.”
He was rambling, but it was all he could do to wait for the confession. He wasn’t a Death Eater after all. He didn’t beat it out of anyone, but he could wait. Waiting, and talking were two of his favorite hobbies.
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“Eighty-one.” Peter could feel the hairs stick up at the back of his neck. He was aware that he was not an impressive man. He was not particularly brave, or strong, or clever. But he did have instincts that spoke loudly to him when his personal safety was in jeopardy. His gaze flickered momentarily to the door, facing away slightly from Fabian so that he wouldn’t see. He could make it. Especially if he went rat, like, now. But then Fabian would know he had something to hide. “I don’t pay much attention to what the Muggles, do, though. I mean who cares, right?” He attempted a grin, doing his best to ignore the adrenaline already making his palms sweat.
__
“So you were there. When they told Molly, when they told the boys what happened. I would think that must have been hard, for whomever found us. I’m told we were outnumbered, like they were waiting, like they knew who they were up against.”
Fabian tried to look relax, and even made the effort to cross his arms, leaning a bit to his side with his weight on one leg. He could still attack from this position, if he had to. But he didn’t see Pettigrew as the sort to strike first. Not even back home did the kid look impressive, and there he wasn’t considered a traitor. “Did she take it well? Did they tell her we fought like heroes? That it took nearly a half dozen? Did she cry? She cried this time you know. When I told her here. But she’d just a kid... that wasn’t fair to her.” He swallowed, and watched the boy sweat. If he tried to run... “Did my baby sister cry then as well?”
___
Peter fought the urge to clench his fists against a shudder. Calm. Innocent. Dim. He had been a spy for over a year. He knew all the tricks, and yet beads of sweat were running down his spine. He let his expression twist into one of confusion and dismay - not difficult under the circumstances. “I… wasn’t there,” he said, swallowing. “Dumbledore… told us what happened to you… I assume he told your sister as well.” He moved away from the sink, as though to hang his apron on the hook - it would put him closer to the door.
___
Fabian nodded, but marked the direction Pettigrew moved, and any places it may have lead him. Like a chess game this was, and he was going to capture that King. “That’s fair. Got us into this mess, might as well clean up after us as well. I pity the bloke who had to clean up my flat. I doubt I made my bed that morning.” He took a step himself, moving Rook to B3 as it was.
“Makes you wonder though, five death eaters is no small wandering of fools. They must have known, they must have... found out, about our habits. Or our schedules. I doubt Dumbledore would like something like that slip, do you?”
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He knew. Peter was sure of it. But what was he supposed to do, break down into a sobbing confession? It wasn’t like he’d murdered the twins with his bare hands. He hadn’t been a Death Eater for that long, then, and he had to give them something, to prove he was worth keeping around. He didn’t like to think of what they might have done to him if he hadn’t. “You-Know-Who can read minds, you know,” he said instead, as coolly as his quick-beating heart would allow. “I’m sorry what happened to you. No one ever said it was a friendly sort of war.”
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Fabian nodded, he had after all, killed people himself. It wasn’t something to be proud of, and their eyes followed him even here, watching him as he tried to sleep. But that had been fair fights, one on one, two on two and the like. His own death.. was not so fair. “Ah, but whose mind? I didn’t spend that much time around him, nor do I think did hardly anyone else. He couldn’t have remotely read someone’s brain... they’d have to be close.” He took a step closer, then another. “This close, I would think. Up close and personal like. You’d have to be sharing the same air, wouldn’t you now”
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Peter swallowed, trying not to tremble with the man’s face half an inch from his own. He was going to have to be quick. Very quick. He knew he had a chance. He'd been too quick for Sirius, but Sirius had been half mad with grief and rage. Fabian was emanating the same kind of calm rage that Peter associated with the Dark Lord himself.
He held his chin up, his body itching all over to be a shape other than his own. "Everyone here knows what knows who - what I am. Was,” he amended hesitantly. “I can’t hardly deny it now. Are you asking me something?”
___
“Are.” Fabian corrected, by now both arms were dropped to his side, but not reaching for his wand. He would not seek justice that way, it would be with his fists. It would be a lasting mark on the man, a red letter, a judas noose for all to see and judge him with. He was fairly certain he’d not kill the boy, but it was hard to deny he saw the positives in that situation.
“I just want to hear you say it Pettigrew, say it out loud, say why my baby sister had to be told by Dumbledore, and why we both know you knew first.”
___
Peter changed. The speed of it he thought would have impressed even Professor McGonagall, and he did it with half a step and half a twist forward, so that Fabian would try to grab for him instead of going for his wand, and be left grasping at thin air. Before he could even breathe out he had all four paws on the ground and scurrying as fast as his tiny legs would carry him towards the door.
___
“Oh like hell you are!” Fabian hollered, reaching for the closest thing at hand to throw. A jar of peaches, which was close enough if he had time to aim. As it was the glass shattered a good half foot to the rat’s right, and only gave the slightest disruption to his goal of the doorway. The rat had agility, Pettigrew had agility, but Fabian could still close the distance between them within a few strides. He wasn’t aiming for something neat when he blasted at the items on the shelves. Just something, anything to get in it’s way.
“I will fucking strangle you no matter the shape. Get the fuck back here” Another blast, and another. He wanted the rat to say it, ne needed Peter to confirm. He needed it more than air, and he was not getting away.
___
Peter did not have the brain power to be afraid as a rat. That was part of the reason he felt so much safer in that form. He dodged the falling things - too big and loud to tell what they were, only a fruity smell on the air - and skidded a little in the mess it made, twisting and turning easily around the obstacles, the exit still well within his reach.
__
There was too many spots for a rat too run, to hide and something as benign as a locked door wasn’t going to slow it down. Fabian nearly roared in rage, and continued to blast at things, whomever came in next would likely think there there had been a robbery, it was the only explanation for such destruction.
“Run you fucking coward.” He called out, “Run, but I will find you. We are going to talk.” Another blast, and one of the shelves fell, shattering everything on it’s way down. He didn’t care, he couldn’t even if he wanted to.
___
One of the falling objects caught Wormtail a glancing blow to the skull. Squeaking in pain, he was sent rolling across the floor, scraping the tiles with his claws and scrabbling for balance. Where was he going? Dazed and panicked, he struggling to regain his direction, searching for an avenue of escape.
___
What had he descended to, that Fabian was now chasing a rat on the ground, his first instincts to stomp it, until better judgement caught up. Finally, finally he thought with his head instead of his fist, and called out an accio to the rat. He wasn’t even sure if it worked on living creatures, or technical humans. Even if it wouldn’t, he’d catch him. Fabian dropped to his knees and reached out, aiming to catch the little bastard’s tail.
“Stop it!” He yelled, “Fucking stop it.”
___
Yeah, like Wormtail was just going to lie down and let Fabian at him. The spell caught him, and he felt hot, painfully-tight fingers grabbing at him, but he squeaked and struggled and scratched and bit, aware of nothing else but the need to escape.
___
Fabian had delt with actual fights before, and a little blood from a rat was nothing. Not right now, not when he was so god-damned close. Holding onto the rat with one hand, he shoved his wand into his pocket before grabbing at Peter with the other, his fingers holding the little head still. “Now listen Pettigrew. Either we’ll deal with this like men, or you’ll never deal with anything else again.”
He raised him then, holding it’s little black eyes at level gaze, “I know you’re in there, you have to the count of five....”
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Peter did not want to change shape, because his human self was not as fast at dodging, and also had a much larger surface area for being beat on, which he had been through enough times to sense coming. On the other hand, he didn’t want to be a squashed rat, either. Probably no one would find his body. Probably, no one would even miss him.
He changed back with a sound like air expelling from a bellows, doing his best to wrench himself out of Prewett’s grip. This would normally have worked, but somehow the man kept a vice-like grip on him, pinning him painfully against the shelves. Grimacing, he struggled to reach his wand. “Gettoffme,” he growled, his brain still stuck half-way in rodentish panic mode.
___
Fabian grinned, properly grinned once he was actually up against a human again. There was something demeaning in fighting a rat, something that belonged to mothers and little kids. Not men, not to them. With Peter up against the shelves, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself once more. If someone had heard their brief scuffle, they weren’t trying to break in, yet. He needed to take control of the situation again.
“Not until we talk Pettigrew. And I‘m not meaning we braid each other’s hairs here. You destroyed lives and they’re just letting you live? Like nothing ever mattered?” He shoved Peter even further back against the racks. “Sounds to me like the full truth hasn’t come out yet.”
___
Peter felt the breath fall out of his lungs at the shove. There was really not much of him these days, and he could already feel a bruise coming up on his spine, but his more immediate attention was on getting out of the man’s grip. “What do you want from me?” he mumbled, his feet almost falling out from under him as he slipped in some of the tinned peaches. “I - I passed on information - I had to - they would have killed me otherwise...”
___
Fabian stared at him, stared through him trying to find the right words to say. Trying to find the right questions. He’d probably get no other chance, they’d call him out, haul him off for being a troublemaker and everyone would forgive poor Pettigrew. That was the sort of place this was, and maybe that would be the best end result for all. But not the immediate one.
“If you weren’t willing to die for the cause. Why the ever loving fuck did you join?” When it came down to it, Fabian would be willing, he was, in that strange future past tense. Even with all his hold outs, with the knowledge that he’d have a daughter he’d never know. His nephews would grow up with only a shadow of a memory. He was still willing to die for it. “You could have died nobly. But you chose to kill others? You fucking killed me Pettigrew. You killed me.”
___
“I didn’t! Peter protested. He was tired of people accusing him of murder when he hadn’t even been anywhere near the scene of the crime. “I didn’t! I just… I didn’t even know for sure, but I had to tell them something!” He tugged uselessly against the bigger man’s grip.
“I didn’t even want to join the stupid Order,” he said desperately. “I just - the other three - I’ve just always done what they have, but I don’t want to die nobly, I don’t want to die at all, and I never wanted to k-kill anyone, I never -” he was about to say, I never have killed anyone, but those Muggles… “It’s not my fault,” he finished instead.
___
Fabian frowned, debating on how much he’d pay for if he just reached up for Peter’s neck and began to squeeze. Would he see Megan again? Would he see Gideon? Or would they just put him in a cell until he returned back home to die. Would killing this waste here, be worth the repercussions later?
He wasn’t sure.
“You need to rephrase your thinking there mate.” Fabian shifted his weight, using his height and the months of the gym to his advantage. “You killed people. I don’t even know who all yet. But if you spied for that filth, you killed as good as holding the wand yourself. And you’re going to tell everyone. Every. Damn. Person here, you will conf-fucking-fess everything. And if you don’t.” With one arm braced against Peter’s shoulders and chest, he reached up for the kid’s neck. “Not even hiding like the flea you are will stop me.”
__
“I g-got Lily and James killed,” Peter said, shakily, and not just because of the fingers curling around his throat. He thought it was harder to say now than it might have been, two months ago. Two months without all but the smallest use of Dark Magic. Perhaps his humanity was almost intact, again. “Everyone kn-knows that, and no one’s killed me yet. I never denied giving information - you think anyone’ll be surprised? And I have killed people,” he added, meeting Fabian’s eyes with all sincerity. With all Fabian’s weight concentrated on his shoulders, his arm could just about reach his wand, in his back pocket. It would only take seconds. “I didn’t want to. Sirius forced me into it. But I can do it.” He meant it to sound like a threat, but it came out more like a whine. “Let me go, or… or your sister’ll have to cry over you over again.”
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“Lily and James are good kids who have a life here. Gideon is a good man who has a life here, I am not a good person. I thought I was dead when I came, do you think I’ve changed that opinion so much?” He squeezed a little harder, “Ah. Ah. Ah- you really think you can kill in cold blood? You said it yourself, you didn’t want to. It’s not in you. You’re just a fucking little rat.”
He dropped Peter then, and took two large steps back. “I have a life here. And if you touch my family again? You won’t.”
___
Peter gasped and put his hand over his aching neck. “I never touched anything,” he protested. He used the added space to scramble away. His arm was itching badly. “Everything I touch turns to crap anyway,” he muttered.
___
Fabian was almost able to walk away. The high from the fight with Dolohov was fading, and instead of a second rush - he was just tired, tired and sick and wanted to sit in his office, in his home and think. Then Peter had to go and talk, and Fabian spun back around to face the kid, and with one blow he aimed his fist towards the kid’s gut. If nothing else, it’d keep him keeled over long enough for Fabian to walk away.
“Stop being such a fucking piss ass wimp.”
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