[ He wanted honesty, yes. He wanted humanity, yes. He wanted to apologize, obviously. But violated? The word brings color up high on Quentin's cheeks. ] Peter, come on. I didn't know it was real, I didn't even know it was yours until I woke up. Do you think I would have told you if I knew what it was?
[ peter can forgive quentin's ignorance... he's heard the stories, whispers through the grapevine, hell, he struggled with controlling his own abilities when they first manifested. but that last line— he sets his jaw, his gaze intense and unwavering for a long second. ] Jesus Christ, Q. [ exasperated, ] How— how am I supposed to believe this was the first time when you say shit like that?
What else did you see, huh? [ he feels that anger — usually controlled, now taking on a life of its own — rolling through his limbs, rippling outwards. ] What else? [ as the words come out, objects around them rattle and move in the slightest. not enough to notice outright, but enough that a sane person just might question their sanity. ]
[ He doesn't pick up on the rattle, not consciously. Later, the noise will shiver in the back of anxiety dreams, letting him know something's coming. But now, Quentin only sees Peter twisting tighter, coiling in a way he's never seen on Peter--but that he knows well. ]
Nothing. [ Left alone, his hands curl tight over his knees. Quentin's shoulders square, even as his head ducks like a dog. Defensive. ] You're not listening. I'm telling you this has never happened. I'm sorry.
[ it's hard to ignore what quentin's feeling at this moment, it seeps through peter's bones, mingles and mollifies the burning temper that threatens to consume him. it hasn't always been, but the longer they're in each other's orbit, the more he's tempted into breaking a promise made to himself, to form a sort of attachment— friendly or otherwise.
a difficult task to circumvent, almost impossible when his true power is to connect, to feel everything so very deeply.
peter sighs heavily, the crease in his brow still prominent. ] I am listening... [ a snap, ] I hear you loud and clear. Never happened... but if it did, you wouldn't tell me. Great, glad we cleared that up.
That's not what I mean! God, you know that's not what I mean!
[ Because he's not stupid, right? If anything from what Quentin's seen, Peter is too smart for his own good--always restrained, always careful. He's not a teenager or a parent at wit's end taking everything sideways. Quentin shakes his head sharply and shifts closer at last. He sits up on his knees directly across from Peter, grabs him sternly around the wrists. Frustrated, angry: ] Don't. Don't try to twist my words, I have never pushed you for anything. Why would I start now?
[ Then, just a little vindictive: ] What, you hiding some deep dark bullshit?
[ he knows... but it's excruciatingly easy to twist, and veer from the fact that he's fearful of the potential free rein quentin could have on his innermost thoughts. it's not in his nature, as far as peter knows, but it's easier to get mad and escalate the situation when quentin seems all too eager to bite back. ]
Why don't you have a look? [ a light scoff, threaded with indignation — he doesn't mean it — peter yanks his wrists from quentin's grasp to move further away, closer to the edge of the bed. ] Now that you have an all access pass— it's not like I can stop you.
[ but now that peter has the genetic template for quentin's so-called abilities... he probably can. ]
[ Quentin is, in this as in most things, an easy mark for escalation. Sensitive, reactive, combative. Even with just a little twist, he's already out of shape. Peter moves away, and Quentin reaches out for him again, catches one wrist in a more sturdy grip. His eyes water (he's an easy crier, in this as in most things), teeth bare as he shakes his head. ] That's not it! It's nothing like that, just--wait, let me talk to you! Whatever you want, tell me. I'll tell you whatever!
[ fuck— guilt washes over him like a cold shower, the lines of his body tense, and lightly vibrating with conflicting emotion. this isn't how this shit is supposed to go, it's the reason he kept quentin at arms length, to offer a clean break when things teetered too close to uncertainty.
but peter stops, doesn't resist the hold this time, settles down with a heavy sigh and an expression somewhere between irritated and resigned. ] What more do you have to say?
[ His mouth hangs open for a dumb few seconds. Then, he blurts: ] You remember--remember before we started dating? And I told you about the guy from my town--the preschool?
What does this have to do with anything? [ far too curt for such a sensitive topic— peter doesn't know the full story, just enough to put two and two together. he shakes his head, mentally kicking himself, and yet... it doesn't stop him from rubbing salt in the wound. ] Do you really think telling me any of this is going to make up for the fact that you invaded my fucking head?
You asked what I had to say, so I'm saying it, christ-- [ Peter hasn't pulled away, so Quentin scoots closer on his knees--even slings a leg over his lap to keep him from getting off the bed. He frames Peter's face with his hands. ] Listen.
He wasn't human. Isn't. Human. He's some kind of--I dunno, we used to call him a demon. The only time I've been in someone else's dream or had anyone in mine, to the absolute extent of my knowledge, was when he was trying to get into my body. Mine and Nancy's. My girlfriend. She was at the school too, she was--his favorite.
[ It all spills outs quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. Still hurts. When he hits the end, Quentin sucks in a sharp breath and looks down with a shake of his head. ] I dunno, that's--everything but the details, man, but I swear, that's the only time I've ever--I never meant to--
[ the weight of quentin isn't exactly unwelcome— though it should be, peter thinks. (in this moment, at the very least.) he even goes as far as reflecting it in the way he stiffens briefly as he meets his gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. he listens, hesitant hands finally coming to rest on the top of his thighs, unsure of whether they should hold him there, or shove him off.
peter won't admit it — out loud or to himself — but the press of his body, and his touch is... comforting. ]
Okay, fine, I believe you— [ still wary, but his temper gradually wanes, then shifts. a flicker of a protective nature that's been idle for so long, he barely even recognizes it. ] Is that supposed to be a sign? If it hasn't happened since you last saw him, does that mean he's here?
I don't know. [ Just as fast, just as earnest, but that fear he woke up with flutters back to life. ] I don't know, I haven't had an incident for like...for like six months. That's why I was...
[ This time, he slows to the pause, lets the air out of his lungs long and slow. Quentin searches Peter's eyes, thumbs stroking down his cheeks. If Freddy was here, if Freddy was here... ] That's why I woke you up. He can't get you if you're awake.
[ And, it goes without saying, he has no idea what he would do if that happened. ]
[ peter murmurs, bewilderment faintly creasing his brows. if the room was filled with half the sound that echoes in quentin's apartment, he probably wouldn't make out the words. but here and at close proximity, it's not difficult to understand. it comes out of nowhere, hitting him like a ton of bricks. peter doesn't know much about him, but some of what quentin describes matches up.
some might even refer to him as a demon... if they didn't know better. ]
Is that— does that ring any bells? [ he skim his hands over quentin's hips, reacting to his fear, arms encircling his waist instinctively. ]
Nightmare man. [ It's not familiar, but Quentin's eyes brighten at the term anyway. It's not inaccurate-- ] Freddy Kreuger. He's--all burned to shit, he has this glove he wears that's all knives--
[ His right hand draws along a series of four messy scars--puncture wounds Peter has surely noticed and Quentin has surely danced around till now--that trail down the left side of his ribs starting from his collarbone. Battle scars. ]
[ peter's gaze flits down, mild fascination in the subtle tilt of his head as he traces the uncolored tissue with his eyes. ] He can hurt you— [ it all comes together in an instant, the lightly tattered and torn pages that litter quentin's walls, the overlapping sounds... the sallow and tired look under his eyes when he goes without sleep. ] —in your dreams.
[ the distinction throws him off, makes him wonder if they're one and the same or two completely different breeds of monsters. ]
I— [ peter hesitates for a moment, glancing back up. ] I don't know his name, don't really know much about him other than what I've heard. [ he leans back with a deep breath, slow, controlled, his hands now resting at his hips. intentionally sustaining this topic in the hopes that it's enough to derail quentin's thoughts, keep him from remembering anything he might've seen or heard in peter's dream.
because they eventually fade, right? he's counting on it. ]
He's a telepath— fucking powerful one. He can do so much more than read your thoughts, he can get inside your head and make you see... anything he wants you to see. Trap you in your own head— in a nightmare. He holds all the power there.
[ It's a good ploy; for all that he does to avoid discussion of, interaction with, or thoughts about Freddy, Quentin has a hard time pulling away once he's on the topic. The tension that keeps his muscles jump-tight starts to ease, joints loosening in Peter's hands as he thinks through the inventory. ] No...no, that can't be him. Freddy--if he gets you deep enough, he can keep you in a dream, but if you pull him out of it, he's just an ugly guy with a bunch of knives.
But this guy--the Nightmare Man. [ Yeah, the gears are turning fast. His hands wring over Peter's shoulders, thumbs tap at the base of his neck thoughtfully. ] You've heard about him. Where do you hear about him? Do you know someone who knows him?
[ it's safe to say that peter really didn't expect quentin to pose those particular questions, even while it's the most obvious route to tread. (who wouldn't be curious?) his fingers curl lightly where they rest, more of a twitch, an involuntary reaction. he swallows hard, tensing for the briefest moment. ]
At an EVO meeting— [ you know, the support groups that are only for evolved humans. a roundabout way of outing himself, if quentin knows anything about them. peter doesn't make a habit of going, has only been to one or two at the start, where there were 2-4 people in attendance. the groups have grown since then... to go again now would be bad news for him. he's not aware of it yet, but absorbing too much at once would overload his system and shutdown for an undetermined amount of time. ]
Overheard a couple of people talking about his obsession with this child. And with everything that you told me, I thought— [ he shakes his head. ] So—you said, pull him out... does this Freddy live in the dreams?
Yeah. Yeah, since he died. [ He mutters, almost as an aside. An obsession with a child, mental lockdown, nightmares and sadistic tendencies--he feels stupid for never realizing before that someone so much like Freddy has just been kicking around. Quentin has been digging into the past, into academic, into mystics. He should have been looking at real people.
[ It's almost certainly an ethical breach, but: ] You don't remember who was talking about him? Maybe you have their contact or--
[ There's a beat, then his brow pulls tight and low. ] --wait. So...you're...?
[ since he died rings loudest, so loud that he barely registers the rest, mulling it over with a somewhat vacant expression. wondering just how one would go about killing someone who's already dead. quentin has surely thought about it— fire, he remembers clearly.
but the look on quentin's face pulls him out of it, gaze refocusing as he goes over it again. peter ducks his head with a shrug, hands pulling further back, but still pressed to quentin's thighs. ] I— [ he nods, and sighs softly as he tips his head up again. his lips press together, deciding if he should feed quentin half-truths or not. ] Yeah, [ softly, almost whispered, ] I can mimic what other people can do.
[ the whole damn truth that only manages to last about two seconds: ] When I'm in their vicinity.
[ Automatic, baffled: ] When were you gonna tell me?
[ He winces at his own question only a split second later. ] No, I know that's not fair, just--it seems like a big deal, like--I don't know, I don't know what it's like being someone like you, what's the etiquette of--hey.
[ Abruptly, he pauses, brings his fingertips gingerly under Peter's chin to draw his attention back up. Quentin tilts his head to get eye contact again, to look at him seriously. ] Hey. Don't hide. I'm sorry. Just...kinda seems like you can relate to why I didn't spill my fucking guts earlier.
[ peter goes rigid as soon as the question passes quentin's lips, and even though he rectifies himself, it doesn't quite assuage his jangled nerves. ] Sure, yeah, I can relate— [ just as quick, not as delicate, peter reaches up and curls his fingers around quentin's wrist. tight. tighter than he means to. he holds his gaze, intensity looming the edges of his eyes. ]
But I'm not the one that invaded your head, am I? [ he bites back, unnecessarily. ] Are you actually sorry, or are you just sorry you got caught? [ obviously still sore about the whole ordeal, and nurturing his cynicism. ]
You said it yourself, you've never pushed me for anything. [ his jaw tightens, ] If you knew it was real, would you have spilled your guts? Or would you skulk around in my dreams for all my dirty secrets?
Peter-- [ His eyes cut briefly to the vicious grip on his wrist, more appraising than anxious, before coming back to Peter. ] I didn't invade shit, I'm trying to tell you. I can't, you--
[ He'll see the gear click into place. Quentin's wrist flexes in his fist. ]
Are you fucking joking? [ peter lets go with a huff, then shoves at quentin's hips as he pulls himself back. far enough to remove himself from the bed completely, sheets and blankets hanging off the edge as he stands just a foot away, brows pulling together. ] How the fuck am I supposed to pull you in if I don't know how this shit works? [ he spits out the bold-faced lie, knowing damn well that his own ability is tied to emotion. peter doesn't need to know how it works, he just needs to emulate quentin's moods... or...
[ Quentin fumbles off him, worms upright again to grab for Peter--but he just gets handfuls of sheets. ] I don't know either! I told you, the last time I shared space with anyone was totally different, I couldn't do this on purpose! Peter. Please.
[ Sheets yanked away, he makes another grab for Peter's hands. Hips. Backs of the knees, thighs, whatever. It just feels like the farther he lets Peter get from him, the worse he feels. If he backs up, Quentin will slide to his knees to lengthen the reach--to show off his penitence. ]
What do you want? Tell me what you want from me, I'm trying here.
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What else did you see, huh? [ he feels that anger — usually controlled, now taking on a life of its own — rolling through his limbs, rippling outwards. ] What else? [ as the words come out, objects around them rattle and move in the slightest. not enough to notice outright, but enough that a sane person just might question their sanity. ]
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Nothing. [ Left alone, his hands curl tight over his knees. Quentin's shoulders square, even as his head ducks like a dog. Defensive. ] You're not listening. I'm telling you this has never happened. I'm sorry.
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a difficult task to circumvent, almost impossible when his true power is to connect, to feel everything so very deeply.
peter sighs heavily, the crease in his brow still prominent. ] I am listening... [ a snap, ] I hear you loud and clear. Never happened... but if it did, you wouldn't tell me. Great, glad we cleared that up.
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[ Because he's not stupid, right? If anything from what Quentin's seen, Peter is too smart for his own good--always restrained, always careful. He's not a teenager or a parent at wit's end taking everything sideways. Quentin shakes his head sharply and shifts closer at last. He sits up on his knees directly across from Peter, grabs him sternly around the wrists. Frustrated, angry: ] Don't. Don't try to twist my words, I have never pushed you for anything. Why would I start now?
[ Then, just a little vindictive: ] What, you hiding some deep dark bullshit?
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Why don't you have a look? [ a light scoff, threaded with indignation — he doesn't mean it — peter yanks his wrists from quentin's grasp to move further away, closer to the edge of the bed. ] Now that you have an all access pass— it's not like I can stop you.
[ but now that peter has the genetic template for quentin's so-called abilities... he probably can. ]
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but peter stops, doesn't resist the hold this time, settles down with a heavy sigh and an expression somewhere between irritated and resigned. ] What more do you have to say?
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He wasn't human. Isn't. Human. He's some kind of--I dunno, we used to call him a demon. The only time I've been in someone else's dream or had anyone in mine, to the absolute extent of my knowledge, was when he was trying to get into my body. Mine and Nancy's. My girlfriend. She was at the school too, she was--his favorite.
[ It all spills outs quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. Still hurts. When he hits the end, Quentin sucks in a sharp breath and looks down with a shake of his head. ] I dunno, that's--everything but the details, man, but I swear, that's the only time I've ever--I never meant to--
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peter won't admit it — out loud or to himself — but the press of his body, and his touch is... comforting. ]
Okay, fine, I believe you— [ still wary, but his temper gradually wanes, then shifts. a flicker of a protective nature that's been idle for so long, he barely even recognizes it. ] Is that supposed to be a sign? If it hasn't happened since you last saw him, does that mean he's here?
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[ This time, he slows to the pause, lets the air out of his lungs long and slow. Quentin searches Peter's eyes, thumbs stroking down his cheeks. If Freddy was here, if Freddy was here... ] That's why I woke you up. He can't get you if you're awake.
[ And, it goes without saying, he has no idea what he would do if that happened. ]
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[ peter murmurs, bewilderment faintly creasing his brows. if the room was filled with half the sound that echoes in quentin's apartment, he probably wouldn't make out the words. but here and at close proximity, it's not difficult to understand. it comes out of nowhere, hitting him like a ton of bricks. peter doesn't know much about him, but some of what quentin describes matches up.
some might even refer to him as a demon... if they didn't know better. ]
Is that— does that ring any bells? [ he skim his hands over quentin's hips, reacting to his fear, arms encircling his waist instinctively. ]
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[ His right hand draws along a series of four messy scars--puncture wounds Peter has surely noticed and Quentin has surely danced around till now--that trail down the left side of his ribs starting from his collarbone. Battle scars. ]
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[ the distinction throws him off, makes him wonder if they're one and the same or two completely different breeds of monsters. ]
I— [ peter hesitates for a moment, glancing back up. ] I don't know his name, don't really know much about him other than what I've heard. [ he leans back with a deep breath, slow, controlled, his hands now resting at his hips. intentionally sustaining this topic in the hopes that it's enough to derail quentin's thoughts, keep him from remembering anything he might've seen or heard in peter's dream.
because they eventually fade, right? he's counting on it. ]
He's a telepath— fucking powerful one. He can do so much more than read your thoughts, he can get inside your head and make you see... anything he wants you to see. Trap you in your own head— in a nightmare. He holds all the power there.
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But this guy--the Nightmare Man. [ Yeah, the gears are turning fast. His hands wring over Peter's shoulders, thumbs tap at the base of his neck thoughtfully. ] You've heard about him. Where do you hear about him? Do you know someone who knows him?
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At an EVO meeting— [ you know, the support groups that are only for evolved humans. a roundabout way of outing himself, if quentin knows anything about them. peter doesn't make a habit of going, has only been to one or two at the start, where there were 2-4 people in attendance. the groups have grown since then... to go again now would be bad news for him. he's not aware of it yet, but absorbing too much at once would overload his system and shutdown for an undetermined amount of time. ]
Overheard a couple of people talking about his obsession with this child. And with everything that you told me, I thought— [ he shakes his head. ] So—you said, pull him out... does this Freddy live in the dreams?
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[ It's almost certainly an ethical breach, but: ] You don't remember who was talking about him? Maybe you have their contact or--
[ There's a beat, then his brow pulls tight and low. ] --wait. So...you're...?
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but the look on quentin's face pulls him out of it, gaze refocusing as he goes over it again. peter ducks his head with a shrug, hands pulling further back, but still pressed to quentin's thighs. ] I— [ he nods, and sighs softly as he tips his head up again. his lips press together, deciding if he should feed quentin half-truths or not. ] Yeah, [ softly, almost whispered, ] I can mimic what other people can do.
[ the whole damn truth that only manages to last about two seconds: ] When I'm in their vicinity.
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[ He winces at his own question only a split second later. ] No, I know that's not fair, just--it seems like a big deal, like--I don't know, I don't know what it's like being someone like you, what's the etiquette of--hey.
[ Abruptly, he pauses, brings his fingertips gingerly under Peter's chin to draw his attention back up. Quentin tilts his head to get eye contact again, to look at him seriously. ] Hey. Don't hide. I'm sorry. Just...kinda seems like you can relate to why I didn't spill my fucking guts earlier.
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But I'm not the one that invaded your head, am I? [ he bites back, unnecessarily. ] Are you actually sorry, or are you just sorry you got caught? [ obviously still sore about the whole ordeal, and nurturing his cynicism. ]
You said it yourself, you've never pushed me for anything. [ his jaw tightens, ] If you knew it was real, would you have spilled your guts? Or would you skulk around in my dreams for all my dirty secrets?
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[ He'll see the gear click into place. Quentin's wrist flexes in his fist. ]
You pulled me in.
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fuck—
an emotional connection. ]
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[ Sheets yanked away, he makes another grab for Peter's hands. Hips. Backs of the knees, thighs, whatever. It just feels like the farther he lets Peter get from him, the worse he feels. If he backs up, Quentin will slide to his knees to lengthen the reach--to show off his penitence. ]
What do you want? Tell me what you want from me, I'm trying here.
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let's call it a wrap on this thread...........we can talk next steps B)