He's sitting on the (burnt, ruined, wreaked) couch laptop infront of him when he hears the patter of small feet. (there's no feet Peter, you know that, they're all dead, burned up like you but you lived. like a cockroach. and you killed Laura and Derek killed you (maybe you're still dead))

A small familiar body wriggled onto the couch. "What'cha doin', Uncle Peter?" Derek still wearing glasses, his wolf hadn't woken and fixed his eyes yet, asked him, eyes bright and curious and innocent (but Derek's eyes aren't bright or curious, they're dead and hollow and sad (burnt like the rest of your family)) (and Derek hates you now, you killed Laura and he killed you (ring around a rosie a pocket full of pose-y)) (Derek would never come to you willingly not now not ever again) (why didn't you die then Peter? in the fire with your children. (you're a coward))

"Nothing," you say smiling, maybe if you act normal you won't have to wake up. Maybe you're already awake and you had a nightmare. (oh you wish. you wish you wish you wish you wish that it was just a nightmare, a six year long nightmare that you can laugh about with your family in the morning)

Derek flops onto the lounge by your side, forearms pressed against your thigh as he rested his chin on his hands. An achingly familiar body presses against your other side, Anna, wrapped in her Cinderella blanket (you remember buying it for her, she'd laughed and thanked you, hugging you so tight that you felt like she was going to crush you, you'd laughed, 'maybe I should've gotten a Hulk blanket instead, huh? you little monster.')

She rests her wrists against your arm, nearly at the elbow and you freeze, all of your being goes to listening, feelingher heartbeat. (she's not there Peter. you know it. you held her little, burnt, charred body in your arms before you ran. couldn't even save your daughter. truly pathetic.)

Aaron's shoulder bumps your knee as he leans on the table to stare at the laptop screen, you start talking, you aren't sure what about but it must be interesting because the kids are all still and listening and you start to relax. This must be reality, there was no fire, no death or destruction. Your wife is sleeping upstairs with the rest of your pack, Laura is alive and Derek doesn't hate you. Hasn't killed you. You could sing, you could cry.

"…Peter,"

You wrap an arm around Anna's waist and she leans into you but it's wrong. She's too light, and the smell…

"Peter…"

There's flames licking their way up Anna's Cinderella blanket, melting the polyester and you can smell Anna's flesh cooking. (but no. no. she's still smiling at me, she's not screaming. no. this can't be happening) (but it is)

Aaron hits the floor with a thump, skin and fat bubbling under the heat of the flames even as he laughs, "Daddy look, I fell over,"

"Peter."

You turn, look for Derek but he's gone and Aaron is silent (but he's not because his skins bubbling and you can smell it.)

And Anna's gone, disappeared and then Aaron's gone too and the house is burning around you and this is hell.

"Peter!"

Peter gasps, head snapping up from where he'd been frozen staring down at the floor, standing stiffly in the middle of the room and Derek's there and he's staring. Eyes dark and wary, cautious (and the part of you that's still the uncle that first taught him how to hunt is filled with pride), "Are you…alright?"

Peter tilts his head at Derek, blinking just too slow, "…Alright…" He murmurs vaguely, then he bursts into laughter. (if he doesn't laugh he'll cry) Flopping back onto the (burnt, ruined, wreaked) couch and howls with laughter, shaking and wheezing with it and by the time he's finished Derek's fled and he's alone in (the tattered shards of his mind) the broken living room.