|Peter Vincent thinks people see what they want to (smokingmagician) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2014-02-18 22:29:00
Who: Peter Vincent
What: Peter hits a trigger head-on.
Where: Phoenix House, in Peter’s study
When: Tuesday night, February 18, 2014
Warnings: Peter’s foul mouth & psychological trauma, otherwise tbd
Status: Open to Castiel!
(cut text lyrics from This is Gospel, by Panic! at the Disco)
He hadn’t felt it at first, reading over Sam’s post the same way he skimmed over so much of the board anymore. It was all just words on a screen, and he didn’t feel like talking to most people these days, even when it was important, even when he had something to say. But Sam’s post... the words lingered, unsettling and poisonous, until his hands were shaking. Suddenly nauseated, Peter stood abruptly with the vague thought to go splash some cool water on his face. The screech of his chair against the hardwood made him flinch. He made it two steps from his desk and dropped onto his hands and knees, vomiting onto the floor, but even then the sick feeling was still there, sweeping through him, cold and oily.
He remembered it so clearly - feeling that way, not wanting his soul back. The vampire Peter would have done absolutely anything to keep that spark of life and humanity out. The pain it had caused, the fear and hurt it had reveled in, that was all it knew. That thing was all rage and blood and that empty well of cold from within, blacking out his heart and spreading through him until he, Peter, was blotted out.
It felt so threatened by his fragile little soul. The demonic part of it saw its own end of existence. The part that came from him, from Peter… that part saw what would come after, the guilt, the fear, the anguish, the horror. That part had seen this. The vampire Peter would have rather burned away with its sire than have his fragile, fractured soul thrust back inside it, a tiny little light pushing the dark back out again. He wasn't sure which was more afraid of the other, the vampire of the human or the human of the vampire.
He was paralyzed, gasping for breath and staring sightless at the floor. Couldn't be human without a soul, broken or beaten or blackened though it may be. There was something just so intrinsically wrong about a person without a soul. Peter's skin didn't fit him right. His fingers scrabbled uselessly at the floorboards. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't feel his heart beating and he couldn't, he just could not fucking do this again.