A Tall Glass

Chapter 1: Cold Hands

I don't own anything in this story. Dreamcatcher belongs to Stephen King, not me.

It was another one of those weeks. Those rare, magical weeks where the group of four got together and visited Hole in the Wall. It was basically the only time they got to hang out, and each one of them loved it. For that week, it seemed like they were kids again. They talked about the same things they had talked about all those years ago. Mindless things, really, but none of them really cared. Sometimes they'd talk about Duddits and all the stuff that happened down in Derry. Tina, Richie, Josie-but usually they just thought about that kind of stuff. And thinking, to them, was a lot like talking.

Pete wasn't really sure how many years they had gone to Hole in the Wall, but it had been an eternity. His love for the drink made some of his memories hazy, some days blended with others, but the most important things were kept intact, and that was all Pete cared about. It wasn't time for the cure yet, no sir. Of course he knew he would need to go to AA or something, but now wasn't the time. That was a problem for "many-years-in-the-future-Pete" not "right-now-Pete". He already kind of accepted he was an alcoholic, but that wasn't something that mattered. As long as he kept booze away from his lips until five-as long as he could control the urge-he would be fine. Of course, none of that applied up here in Hole in the Wall. He drank as many beers as he wanted and started as early as he wanted up here. Why? Because up here there were no rules. Of course, Henry would always remind him that there were rules; that the ways of life applied up here just as much as they applied anywhere else, but Pete never listened. He enjoyed being able to drink at nine in the morning. It was something he looked forward to just as much as seeing Henry, Jonesy and the Beav.

Yep. An alcoholic.

On this morning, another day in their week at Hole in the Wall, Pete woke up to the smell of bacon frying in a pan. He opened his eyes to find that the window in his bunking room was shining all kinds of obnoxious light right onto his face. He let out a groan as his hangover reared its ugly head. "Jesus-Christ-Bananas!" Pete exclaimed in a whisper. He barely even noticed that a Beaverism slipped out, as they happened to do very often if you hung around the Beav a bit too much. Pete slipped out of bed, wearing a hoodie and a pair of sweats, and lumbered out of his (and Henry's) room and upstairs into sight of his three friends.

"Looks who's awake!" Beaver yelled as Pete stumbled up the stairs, wincing at his voice. "Ol' sleeping beauty. Good thing you woke up for breakfast-we weren't going to leave you any."

Pete responded with a tired look as he made his way for the refrigerator.

"What do you think you're doing?" Henry asked, frowning as Pete opened the fridge and groped around for a beer. "You wake up with a hangover and your first thought is to drink?"

Pete shrugged, sitting down at the dining table with Henry and twisting his beer open. "Drown the pain. Dull the senses. Hangover's not that strong." He muttered out as he took a big swig of his beer.

"What about future Pete?" Jonesy called, helping Beaver to get the bacon and eggs from the pan to the table. It was proving to be a rather hard job. Cooking for four full-grown men meant a lot of food.

"The poor bastard." Pete shrugged again, taking another drink of his beer as Jonesy and Beaver brought two huge plates of steaming eggs and crisp bacon over to the dining table. The group dug in, quickly polishing the plates. As they ate, they talked about the dreams they had the night before, and the day of hunting ahead of them. They made cracks at each other, and placed bets on who would get the biggest buck and who would come home empty handed. As he laughed with his friends (and continued to drink his beer), Pete felt his hangover slip away.

The next thing he knew, Jonesy was doing the dishes and it was time to get ready to go out hunting. All Pete wanted, however, was to sit around and talk some more (and maybe drink more beer). He knew this wasn't an option, so he stood up and stretched, throwing his empty beer bottle in the trash and searched the fridge for another.

"Uhhh…Houston, we have a problem." Pete muttered, halfway into the fridge and frantically searching for just one more bottle of beer. "What is it, Petesky?" Beav called, holding a toothpick between his teeth.

"We're out of beer." He grumbled in reply, continuing his search nonetheless.

Jonesy, who had finished up with the dishes, placed a damp hand on Pete's shoulders, pulling his buddy out of the fridge and closing the door. "Sounds like someone's going to go on a temporary detox."

"Jonesy, man…" Pete frowned, looking at Jonesy as he walked away. "I can't do that. I mean, if I don't have any booze, I'll never bring down a buck-hell, I won't be able to shoot at anything!" When Jonesy started to speak up-to say something along the lines of "you shouldn't be so dependent on beer" or "I remember when Carla…", Pete stopped him. "If I don't get to have anymore booze today, Beav can't have any more toothpicks-"

"-Bite my bag." Beaver cut in, chewing down on his toothpick.

"And you can't read anything…sci-fi-related."

Jonesy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, whatever Pete. If you need the drink so much, you drive yourself to Gosselin's."

Pete looked around, a troubled look plastered on his face. "But then I can't drink any on the way back. I mean I can but what I'm not all that good on ice…"

Beav and Jonesy exchanged a look and laughed. "Well, you're on your own, Petesky." Beaver said, pulling his jacket on and placing his hat over his head. "I've got a buck calling my name." He smiled at his friends, waving a hand up to them in goodbye. "Hey, Beav!" Jonesy frowned at Beaver walked out the door, quickly shoving his boots on and grabbing his gun. "See ya!" Jonesy called as he raced after Beaver, shutting the door behind him.

Pete looked over at Henry, who was slowly lacing his boots up. "Henry…?"

"Not gonna happen, Pete." Henry said, concentrating on his boots instead of his friend. "You know how I feel about you and your booze."

"Yes, Dr. Devlin, I know." Henry chuckled at the tone in Pete's voice. "Here, let's do this. You take me to go get beer, and I'll let you go all crazy shrink on me. Deal?"

Henry, who had no intention on "going crazy shrink" on Pete unless he specifically asked him for help, shook his head. "Deal." He said.

After paying for his beer and getting back into Henry's car, Pete twisted the cap off of a bottle and started to drink. He went through his first beer fast and was well on his third when he began to feel a bit loopy.

"Y'know, Henry…girls never like me." Pete frowned, not really knowing why the words were flowing out, but they were. Probably some kind of shrink/jedi mind trick Henry was pulling. Finishing off his third beer and opening a fourth, Pete continued. "I'll be lucky if I can even get a drunk to come home with me." Pete took a big gulp of beer and let out a burp. "I know you probably don't understand, Mr. Suave-All-My-Female-Patients-Fall-For-Me Devlin."

Henry looked over at the drunkard for a second, then back to the road. "Don't know what you're talking about, Pete."

"Hell, in Junior High all the girls loved you. They all wanted your dick." Pete, known for his insensitivity, didn't even notice the look Henry gave him. "I'm surprised you aren't married yet."

"Is that what this is about? Carla?" "What, Jonesy's girl? Well I guess it kinda is. Dunno, man, its just weird. I mean, I know Jonesy better than than Carla. Why would he marry…marry someone who doesn't even know him? That's just…she doesn't know anything about him, Henry! She barely knows about Duddits. The physical stuff, yeah but the emotional stuff…" Pete drank again. "No clue."

"So, what you're saying is that you're jealous of Carla."

"I guess." Pete shrugged it off, reaching for another beer. Henry grabbed Pete's hand, stopping him from reaching into the backseat.

"Save some for later."

Pete made a face at Henry and withdrew his hand. "Hey, wait so girls aren't all over you? What happened? I mean, you're a very handsome man. Always have been."

Henry raised a brow and glanced at Pete. "Handsome?"

Pete nodded. "Yeah. I mean, what girl could resist you? Or are your suitors men now? Whatever your fancy." He shrugged.

"What? Pete, do you even know you're speaking?" Henry's voice had a twinge of annoyance in it. Pete couldn't tell why.

"Of course. You know, I've always looked up to you." He smiled, looking out his window as he remembered. "You were the most bitchin' guy I knew. Still are. You had the hair, all the girls, you were brave…" Pete's smile turned to a frown and he stopped mid-sentence.

"What is it, Pete?"

"Nothing, man." Pete looked over at Henry, who was watching him out of the corner of his eye. "Well…" Henry's eye narrowed and he focused back on the road. "It's like…you're my hero or something. And I always knew you were the toughest emotionally but sometimes…" Pete paused and Henry looked back over at him from the corner of his eye. "It seems like you're holding too much."

It looked like Pete was just going to leave it there, so Henry prodded him to continue his thought.

"Holding…" Pete drew patterns with the condensation on his window. "Too many emotions. Bottled up. Tight cork." He closed his eyes, as if he could visualize it. Henry looked back to the road, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "I was always…always afraid that the bottle'd break open. Or something." Pete placed his hand on top of Henry's, which caused it to relax off the steering wheel a small amount. "I really wish you'd let things out more."

Henry didn't know what to say and he just looked at Pete. Good ol' drunken Pete, who probably didn't even know what he was saying. Before Henry could come up with something encouraging to say back, Pete removed his hand and looked back out the window.

"Wonder if Jonesy and Beaver caught a buck." He asked, not really to Henry, but mostly as an audible thought.

Henry chuckled heartily, and Pete jumped in his seat. "Beaver's probably chattering away with Jonesy. I doubt they'll even see a rabbit."

They were both quiet for some time. Henry thinking about…something, and Pete thinking about Henry. Henry did seem to be depressed, but maybe that's just how shrinks were supposed to act? Maybe it made their patients feel like they weren't alone. Well, Pete thought, if that was true then he had nothing to worry about. But he did worry. He worried about Henry more than anybody else. Sometimes he felt like…well, Pete wasn't sure what he felt like. That Henry meant more to him than anyone? No, he loved everyone in their group the same amount. It was an equal partnership.

Is that really what you think?

No. It wasn't. Jonesy obviously liked Beaver more, and Pete had Henry. That's kinda of how it always was. One smart for every dumb. But what if that wasn't how it really was? Beaver was dumber than Jonesy or Henry, sure, but Pete was the dumbest. He knew that. What if Henry had pitied Pete and just took him in?

"Hey, Henry." Pete kept his gaze on the snow-covered blurs outside his window. Henry glanced over at Pete, sensing the distressed tone in Pete's voice. "Was it difficult? In junior high, that is. To be friends with a stupid underclassman?"

Henry shrugged. "Never thought anything of it. What's up with you, Pete? Why these questions all of the sudden?"

"Dunno, Henry." Pete reached back to grab another beer. Henry didn't stop him this time, to Pete's excitement. He gulped the beer down, wanting to stop whatever was causing all these questions to pop up in his head. Drown it, maybe.

"Y'know, Pete. You say you're worried about me, but there isn't anything to worry about." Pete got a flash of "that's a lie" in the front of his head, but decided to ignore it with another gulp of beer. "But I worry about you. You and your drinking…"

"Nope, Dr. Devlin. We're not going there." Pete said, placing his empty bottle in the floorboard. "Not yet." Pete closed his eyes tightly, feeling his beer start to take effect.

"If not, then when?"

"How about…" Pete cleared his throat. "How about when…wh-when I start doing uh, dumb things." His voice was shaky and so was his vision. The wonders one more beer could do.

"Where do I draw the line?" "When you see it. That's when." Pete burped behind his hand. "Why is it so goddamn cold?" Pete hissed, looking around the vehicle, like it was a leaking submarine or something.

"Probably the alcohol. The Scout's not too good at sputtering out heat, either." Henry frowned, his eyes on the road.

"Fuck-me-Freddy my hands are cold!" Pete grabbed Henry's hand off the steering wheel, grasping it between both of his. He blinked, looking at Henry's hand. "Man, your handssa soft. Do you use that perfume-y girly stuff?" Pete frowned, a red flush settling in his cheeks.

Henry looked at Pete, chuckled, then looked away. "Lotion? No." He started to pull his hand away, but Pete tightened his grasp around it. "Hey, Pete, c'mon."

"Nahhh." Pete said, pulling Henry's hand over so that he could lean his head against the window. Henry made a grunt of disapproval at the stretching of his arm, but Pete ignored it and hugged the arm close to him.

"We're almost back to the cabin…" Henry said cautiously. "And I'd rather not die five miles away from it. May I have my arm back?"

Pete, like a child giving up a lollipop, slowly let go of Henry's arm. Henry thanked him and they drove the five miles to Hole in the Wall in an awkward silence.