"You brought it on yourself, you know."

The second Stiff's voice is breathless, like he'd just run a marathon trying to get here (and perhaps he had, in his own right—Peter had seen the way he ran away from that train), echoing throughout the barn and forcing itself into Peter's earshot.

"Did I?" Peter almost snarls. He doesn't look back at him, but he knows Caleb is just standing there in the doorway, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot and fidgeting with his hands, like he does every fucking time someone addresses him.

The weakness radiating off of him is palpable.

"Yeah," Caleb says. "Yes—you did. Beatrice isn't—she doesn't cope the same way others do, she doesn't think—"

Peter can't help but flash a bitter smirk over his shoulder. The gash in his cheek is a helpful reminder of that. "So you admit to thinking your sister is impulsive and irrational? Wow, Caleb, way to sell out the only family you have left."

"That's not what I—"

"I think that's exactly what you meant," Peter murmurs, his eye twitching as he narrows them both in Caleb's general vicinity, a predator sizing up his prey. He notices the way Caleb's jaw tightens, and the lump he swallows down his throat, and the doe-eyed look of intimidation widening brown eyes with every step Peter takes closer, and for some strange reason, he's spurred on by it. "Why so reluctant to admit it? Don't you think your parents agree with you?"

Peter's half-expecting him to cry, or go off into a tangent about what a vile and despicable creature Peter Hayes is (it wouldn't be the first time he's heard it), but he doesn't. He stands there, and he shakes his head, and for a split second Peter fears that Caleb is too damn smart to be fooled by the mind games Peter's trying to play.

But fear isn't something that fazes him.

"I'm not my sister," Caleb says—carefully. His voice is trembling. "If you're trying to get a rise out of me, you're not going to get one."

Peter stares at him for a little while, lips stretching into a lopsided smirk. And all of the sudden, he reaches out to seize Caleb by the throat, putting the slightest amount of pressure on either side of his Adam's apple. The action draws no more than a gasp and a flinch out of Caleb, his pupils blown wide and his mouth agape—but alas, no attempt at self defense. Peter can't tell if this is cowardice or simply a testament to Caleb's advantage over his less-fortunate sister in the intelligence department.

Peter chuckles.

"Is this why you're the smart one?" He asks.

"Maybe," Caleb breathes.

That's when Caleb licks his lips. Maybe because they're going dry with how fast he's breathing, or maybe because Peter wasn't imagining things when he caught his gaze flickering down to Peter's mouth just now. Maybe is irrelevant to him.

Peter crushes his lips against Caleb's, and Caleb whimpers, and in that moment, both of them stop thinking.