Rating: T for language

Spoilers: Basic spoilers mostly from the end of season 1

Summary: "Simply asking hadn't worked, neither had bribery, roundabout questions, reverse psychology, and threats. And Peter needed an answer." Peter finds out about his past.

A/N: I didn't want this to be another comfort fic. I honestly think Peter will be very pissed when he finds out about his past and I wanted to write more about that anger I guess. I haven't written in a while, so if I messed up let me know.

Disclaimer: Fringe isn't mine

Wish Granted

I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning?

I almost think I can remember feeling a little different.

But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!

Alice, Alice in Wonderland

...

"Why do they want me," yelled Peter as he stared down his father and slammed his hand against the table for the added effect.

Walter looked terrified. Peter had approached him in such an aggressive manner that he moved away until he was bent backwards over the table just to keep some space between them. The man could barely keep eye contact for five seconds while muttering hundreds of excuses or strange things in an attempt to escape.

Peter would have felt horrible if he wasn't at his breaking point. Cryptic message after cryptic message had finally brought him to this, intimidating his crazy father for what would probably be crazy answers. If Walter had just told him what the fuck was going on he wouldn't have to do this. It was his fault, really.

Simply asking hadn't worked, neither had bribery, roundabout questions, reverse psychology, and threats. And Peter needed an answer. He had needed an answer the first time the Observer had paid him a visit and the first time his mother tried to have him killed.

All that stood between him and understanding his role in all of this pattern shit was his selectively tight lipped father.

"Why do they want me dead," he hissed.

He could see Astrid fidget off to the side. She had a strange thing for Walter and was obviously considering pulling them apart. But Olivia, oh Olivia, she stood out of the way with her arms crossed and a steady calculating view of the interrogation, which she felt was long overdue. But she couldn't be the one yelling at Walter, she had told him. She never did say why.

For a while it looked like Walter would continue to stonewall him and hide behind his insanity or maybe just run away. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and chewed at his bottom lip all while ignoring his son's piercing gaze.

"I need to know." He hadn't meant for it to come out so... desperate, but finally his words seemed to reach his mentally ill father.

He stopped fidgeting and met his son's gaze with one of complete seriousness. "Because you were born over there," said Walter. "Because, by bringing you here I have started a war that will destroy an entire universe."

He's fucking with me, was the mantra that ran through Peter's mind as he backed away from Walter so quickly he ran into the desk.

A fake and destroyed smirk rose to his face and he let out a laugh, so twisted and insincere that Walter flinched but didn't look away. "What are you talking about? Don't look so serious and then give me some bullshit answer."

"My Peter was sick-"

"I was sick," corrected Peter.

Walter looked at his son and shook his head lightly. "My Peter was sick. My Peter died."

"I didn't die," insisted Peter. He tightened his grip on the edge of the desk to keep himself from launching back across the room to beat the living shit out of Walter. He needed to shut the fuck up and watch what he was saying.

"No, you were fine, you were never sick, and I hated you for that." Tears started to roll down his face, but he continued.

"Why did you get to live while my boy died? Why did some other me get to be happy while my world crumbled around me? So I found you and I took you and I thought I had rescued myself from insanity." Now the tears were streaming down the elder Bishop's face as emotion closed his throat and hysteria jumbled his thoughts.

Past the anger, the disgust, and the confusion, Peter felt like he was going to be sick. Who was he really? Did he just change overnight? One morning when he woke up was he just not the same person anymore?

He vaguely noticed Astrid run up to... that person and keep him from taking even one more step towards him.

Sure, save the homicidal kidnapping sociopath. He might cry some more but then he'll make himself feel better by abducting another child, but what the fuck, he's a great guy when he's so hopped up on drugs he can't even remember your name.

Astrid gave him a shocked look and he realized that he must have said that out loud. The realization made him chuckle to himself.

Then there was Olivia, oh so strong yet oh so weak Olivia. She had given up her station by the stupid cow and was now approaching him.

He had always sympathized with Olivia and her trials with her missing memories in the same way someone sympathizes with someone else who has the flu. You feel bad but all you can really think in that politically incorrect corner of your brain is, 'thank god I don't have that' and 'I hope I don't catch it.'

All this time he was there to comfort and soothe away the terrible mishmash of real memories, fake memories, and no memories that haunted her. He was the babysitter to yet another fractured mind.

But when Olivia reached out to give him a comforting touch he flinched and pulled away. He noticed that she looked hurt by his rejection and he just didn't care.

She was a leper after all. Distorting and disfiguring everything she saw and touched and thought about. John Scott in that machine, Charlie's missing body, Astrid's new home in the lab's office, Ella's kidnapping... Who was she to keep taking him away from his carefully constructed illusions and shove him into reality?

Retreat, that's what he had to do. He needed to slip through the looking glass, to go back to where he could reject his father's words like his stomach was rejecting his breakfast. He stumbled through Olivia and towards the door.

"Son..." said Walter in a small wavering voice.

"I'm not your son," snapped Peter. He paused and burst out into laughter so intense that he fell to the ground.

He had finally gotten what he had always wished for and it hurt so damn much.