Author's Note: Well I know I kind of disappeared, but that's because I've been writing mostly smut that I can't really post here. But if you want to check it out, it's on my Livejournal. And speaking of LJ, a friend and I created a community just for bare fanfiction…the address is in my profile…go join us!!
Disclaimer: Not mine. As always.
The shock didn't really hit Peter until a couple hours had passed. A couple hours and he was still sitting in the hospital with his mother and Nadia. Jason's parents were talking to doctors, talking to anyone, trying to figure out what they could do and how soon they could do it.
It was a small disaster scene.
A thousand words went through Peter's head, but none of them connected. Had it really been a couple short hours since he had told Jason it was over? Even shorter since Jason had finally told Peter that he loved him? And even shorter since Jason had died in his arms?
It felt like it had been an eternity.
Peter held out his arms, looking at them. They didn't look any different. And yet just a couple hours ago, tragedy had occurred in these very arms. His love, his everything, his Jason…just hours ago…
"Peter?"
The boy looked up when he heard his mother's voice. He stared at her. She pointed at his arms, still outstretched in front of him. Peter shrugged and lowered his arms, looking back down at the floor. The boy wasn't sure if his mother said anything else; if she had, the screaming in his head drowned it out.
In his peripheral vision, Peter could see Nadia, staring straight across from her to the nurse's station. Peter was sure if he had a marker, he could draw a line from her gaze and it would be parallel to the ground. Her eyes were wide, filled with tears that wouldn't fall; she wouldn't let them.
Peter had run out of tears a couple of minutes ago. He had sobbed for however long it had been, and all of a sudden, there was nothing left.
He was still sitting there in his costume. Surely, Peter thought, he looked like an idiot. But Nadia was still in her costume too. The two of them, sitting side by side, must have looked ridiculous. Peter wondered briefly if Jason was still in his costume too.
What the hell had happened? Peter had vague memories of the doctors coming out, saying it had been a drug overdose. Lucas had still been there at that point, and the look on his face had been completely indescribable. Like he had just been hit with something heavy. Of course, where else would Jason have gotten the damned things from? Peter wanted to go over to Lucas, wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault…but he couldn't move in that moment.
He had noticed. He had seen that Jason was high.
But…this?
Something hit Peter as he came back to the moment. It was his fault. It was all Peter's fault that Jason had taken those drugs. Because Peter knew it wasn't an accident, Jason was smarter than that.
If he had gone with him.
Had said yes.
Had said anything.
Maybe even a simple I love you would have done it.
But Peter hadn't. He hadn't done anything that could have saved Jason. He shot Jason down…but how was he supposed to know? Jason had everything, everything and then some. How was Peter supposed to know that he had that much influence over the other boy? He had spent most of their time together convincing himself otherwise, especially after Jason broke up with him. If his words hadn't mattered then, why would they now?
When they first arrived at the hospital, Nadia in the ambulance (their parents hadn't shown up to the play), and Peter and his mom close behind, there had been more people right behind them. Ivy and Matt and Lucas had somehow managed to get there, along with Sister Chantelle. Jason's friends…the people that thought they knew him.
Because that was all they were. People that thought they knew Jason McConnell.
They had left after an hour. After they knew for sure that nothing could be done. Claire tried to convince Peter to leave as well, but he refused. She had said they could stay until Jason's parents arrived, but even then Peter wouldn't move. He couldn't, he wouldn't. No one could make him.
"Peter," the boy could hear his mother's soft voice. "Peter, we're going to go now. There's nothing more you can do sitting here."
Where was Peter going to go, though? Back to school? Back home? He chanced a glance at Nadia, who finally had tear streaks on her face. She didn't know what was coming either. What more could happen at this point.
Jason was gone.
It all hit Peter again and there were suddenly tears streaming down his cheeks once more. He felt his mother take his hand, and tug him out of his seat. This time, Peter followed. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand to be in this place of death and sadness…he wasn't sure how much longer he could last here, knowing that Jason…no, Jason's body…was right down the hall.
Because Jason wasn't here anymore.
As Peter was pulled towards the door, he heard the McConnells coming back, talking to Nadia, asking who Peter was and why he had stayed so long after everyone else left. Nadia didn't answer, all Peter could hear were her sniffs before his mother pulled him out of the building.
The car ride was silent. She was taking him back to school. Peter didn't want to go back to school, back to that place, that hell…that hell where everything had started and ended. As the building loomed into his eyesight, Peter curled over slightly, feeling sick. The drive, the feeling, it brought back memories of his first day coming here. How scared he was, how awful it felt, how he was so sure that his mother had figured something out and was sending him away to fix him.
Nothing had seemed right then. And then he had met Jason.
After that, everything was right. No matter how confusing it was at first, no matter how many nights Peter had spent awake, staring in the direction of Jason's bed…
This time, there would be no smiling boy to greet him. To make him feel better, to show him that maybe, maybe, the next four years wouldn't be so bad.
Claire walked him to the door, promising that she'd be back first thing in the morning. Of course, there would be nowhere for her to stay here. Peter walked through the brightly lit building. As exhausted as he was, he didn't go to his dorm room…at least not the one he had been in the past few months. Peter had switched rooms so suddenly that he still had the key to the room he had shared with Jason for the past three and half years.
The door opened easily, and Peter stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it. He flipped on the light, looking around. Not much had changed since he left, except for the half of the room that had been his was now empty. Jason's side was still obsessively neat, clean…just the way he had left it. Just the way he would never come back to it.
Tears flowing again, Peter approached the carefully made bed and sat on it. Then he laid back on it, kicking off his shoes and untucking the covers to crawl under them. He was surrounded by Jason's scent…and if he concentrated, he could imagine that Jason's arms were around him. Holding him, like they were supposed to, like they always had, right here, right like this.
He wasn't sure how long he had been like that before there was a knock on the door.
Peter bolted up. He shouldn't be in here. Who was that? Cautiously, the boy got up and unlocked the door, opening it a crack.
"Come on, Peter. We're going to talk."
Sister Chantelle looked a little worse for wear, but her tone was firm. Peter nodded, going back to get his shoes and slip them on before following the woman down the hall.
Peter wasn't sure what was in store for him. Walking down these halls, through every twist and turn of St. Cecilia's, brought up pangs and memories, brought up fears and sadness. Nothing was certain anymore. What would Peter do now? Where was he? Who was he?
And as he took a seat in Sister Chantelle's office, Peter realized one thing. He was alone. Not in the sense that there weren't people with him, because there were, but in the sense that he had to take this on himself. No one would hold his hand through anything anymore…he wouldn't let them. It was a horrible realization, and Peter hiccupped, trying to hold back tears.
"Talk," his teacher demanded.
The boy was silent for a moment. He didn't want help, but it was there. And maybe this was his last chance to get everything off his chest. Peter looked up.
"It was a beautiful day in September…"