AN: Sorry it's taken so long to update, unforeseen personal circumstances have gotten in the way of writing this. But I've tried to channel what I've been feeling over the last few weeks into this fic and it has been hugely therapeutic. I hope you enjoy and reviews would be lovely.

Chapter Three:

Peter stood on the threshold of his room for what felt like an eternity before slowly creeping up to the bed. He didn't have it in him to wake his brother roughly when he looked so at peace. He knew that he was going to hurt his brother, more than hurt him, make him doubt his entire existence but there was no sense in being any harsher than he had to be. Gently he shook his brothers shoulders whilst whispering "Wake up Ed, you need to wake up"

Slowly his brother's eyes opened, first bleary and confused then after adjusting to consciousness, guarded and worried. He sat up and beat the creases out of his shirt and trousers, trying to look at least half respectable, as if looking so would make Peter show him a little respect.

"We need to talk" He said, trying to sound older and more assertive.

"You're right, we do" Peter replied, almost looking past his younger brother, "You shouldn't have had to find out like that but that doesn't change what I said. There's no way I can continue this, not here, not as things are".

"But you lied, Pete, you lied. Why did you tell them I wanted this too? It's not fair; they should know this is all down to you. You can't lump half the blame on me just because you don't want to seem like the villain. I never thought you'd be so under handed. I thought I knew you inside out, knew everything about you. But obviously there's parts of your personality you've kept buried all this time, parts which are despicable and honourless."

"I only told them that to make things easier for them. I didn't think they needed to know the real reason" Peter said, wincing as he knew what he had to do next.

"What 'real reason'? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Look Ed, in Narnia things were different. Really there was only me, you and the girls who weren't creatures and in circumstances like that when you only really have three options to choose from and you're young and your hormones are racing and you're all set to fall in love, falling in love with your brother seems logical and you can pretty much convince yourself that you're doing it because you do truly love him and you can make feelings that you had before seem more important, more romantic than they were. But here in England, where I have a choice, a real choice and I can pretty much have anyone I want, why would I pick my thirteen year old brother? I mean really, at least in Narnia you were older, it was more acceptable but god Ed, you're a child and it would be disgusting to be carrying on with you when you look like that. You're just not attractive to me and seen as I now can pick who I like, why would I pick someone who I would find repulsive to touch?"

As he let the tirade of word fly from his mouth, not pausing once for fear he would break and take it all back, he never looked at his brother. He just let the vile falsities pour out of him, the belief that this would do his brother a favour in the long run spurring him on and easing his guilt.

Edmund watched his brother deliver his explanation, each word feeling like it would be the last he heard, feeling like his brother was kicking him in the stomach and this one might just be the death blow. He kept waiting and waiting for his brother to stop, to take it all back, to apologise, to laugh and say it was a goddamn joke, anything, just anything other than mean it.

"Peter..." Edmund whispered, not trusting himself not to cry. "Peter, please look at me. Do I disgust you that much that you can't even look at me?"

Do I disgust you so much that you can't even look at me? The phrase wouldn't stop, playing in a continuous loop, all the hurt he had put on his brother summed up in one line.

Peter finally looked up at his brother, seeing for the first time what he had done, what he had caused. Edmunds eyes were hollow, fixed in a ten thousand yard stare, tears smattering down his cheeks. His lips were pressed tightly together, trying and failing to suppress the sobs rising through his chest. Looking at him, Peter saw the boy who had climbed into his tent before the battle of Beruna, nightmares of the witch he must face in morning, the witch who nearly cost him his life plaguing his dreams.

When Peter first heard about Narnia in Lucy's farfetched descriptions of a snow covered land trapped behind the doors of a wardrobe where friendly half goat creatures took you home for tea and sardines , he of course, being a boy of complete logic, wasn't about to believe her. He'd felt more guilty than any of them when all four Pevensie siblings tumbled out onto the frozen ground. But more than guilt, he felt anger, anger towards his young brother who for some reason couldn't treat anyone with any respect.

"You lying little rat", Peter said with nothing but contempt ringing in his voice. "You knew about this place and you let us think it was a lie, let us tell Lucy off for making up stories. Of all the disgusting things you've done Edmund Pevensie this is by far the worst. Lucy looks up to you and for some unknown reason loves you and wants to spend time with you and this is how you repay her, by making her look like a fool? Sometimes I seriously doubt that you're a Pevensie at all. How could Mother and Farther be responsible for you? You are a disgrace. A complete and utter disgrace".

Edmund had stared at Peter, not moving or saying a word, just staring, and Peter for the first time in his life felt he might hit his brother if he didn't at least say sorry, or say something.

He turned his head to look at Lucy, cheeks bright red from what Peter thought must be embarrassment and said "I'm sorry Luce"

"It's alright" she said with a slight smile on her face. "Some little children just don't know when to stop pretending".

Peter laughed, as did Susan at Lucy parroting Edmunds earlier line, neither looked to see if Edmund laughed, neither really cared.

Peter rummaged in the back of the wardrobe for coats for the four of them to wear as the shorts and dresses they wore in the English summer time were a little bit more than inadequate right now. As Peter picked out the coats, he let his spiteful side win out. He found four almost identical thick caramel brown fur coats, all slightly different sizes, two small enough to fit the youngest members of the family a little better. He grabbed each coat one by one from the large wooden hangers but hesitated when reaching for the forth. Instead of choosing the last brown coat for Edmund, he picked a rather extravagant and coat in white, grey and black with a large, plush collar and much longer the fur than the rest that was quite obviously designed for a girl.

He put his own coat on then passed the others out, watching as his sisters put on their coats with no complaint. They looked like they were wearing a uniform, all the same, a family. He then handed Edmund his coat with a stiff and dismissive gesture.

Peter watched with a satisfied smirk as Edmund examined the coat he had been given, glancing over at his sisters, back to Peter, and then finally back to the coat in his hand. He looked up at Peter, displeasure painted all over his face. "But this is a girls coat" He said, looking much more upset than that simple fact should warrant.

"I know" Peter said, his voice saturated with his obvious pleasure at upsetting his brother. He wasn't a nasty person, not someone who went out of their way to hurt others, but there was just something about his brother that really got under his skin, made him feel sick. He looked, once more at his brother who had begrudgingly put the coat on, trying desperately not to notice how the white coat with the black tipped fur matched his brothers raven hair and ivory white skin perfectly, making him looking like one of those aristocratic ladies Peter had seen in paintings on the many trips into the big city his family had taken him on, and stopping his brain before it could make a connection between Edmunds beauty and Peter distain for him.

Edmund ran from Peter bedroom without a second glance, he had heard all he could take. His small feet pounded against the wooden floor of the old hall way with such a force that he was sure he'd have bruises the next day. Although it was the middle of the night, Edmund had no desire to get into bed. All notion of sleep had been shattered by the revelation Peter had dropped on him tonight.

It was all one, huge, disgusting lie, Edmund thought bitterly to himself, something he cobbled together in the hope of getting a good fuck every other night. He manipulated me, made me love him and then used me. He used me to fill his empty bed at night, to hold him when he was lonely, to make him feel good about himself, to give him endless support, so he could have my body whenever he wanted. He was my everything, I had nothing else in this world or the next but I didn't mind, I had him and that was more than enough to compensate. I didn't need anything else.

He remembered sitting on Peter's balcony in Cair Paravel, gazing at the stars and lazily stroking his sometimes brother, sometimes lovers arm.

"I need a hobby" He said, absentmindedly. "I never seem to do anything at all anymore".

"You don't need a hobby" Peter had said, looking a little concerned. "I'm your hobby".

Tears streamed down his face as he walked into the moonlight bathed garden, looking for a place to curl up and hide.

"You're my hobby are you Peter? You're my fucking hobby? You took everything from me, you filthy bastard, everything! I had a life before you, a shitty one but at least was mine. And now all I have is you and you don't want me so I have nothing. You've taken everything from me you greedy cunt, I hate you!" he screamed into the night, half of hoping Peter heard everything, and hoping it at least stung a little.

He carried on walking up the vast, luscious lawns and into the woods that in another life time would have provided for endless games of hide and seek. Tonight he was looking to play his own version of hide and seek except this time he was pretty certain no one would find him.

When he'd climbed out the beavers damn on his second visit to Narnia, placing each foot with more precision that anything he'd ever done before in his life, so worried about making a sound, he was feeling nothing but anger at his older brother. Even though the wind bit his exposed flesh and violent shivers ripped through his delicate frame, there was no way in hell he would have brought the abomination of a coat that Peter had given him. Edmund had known there was more to it than simply humiliating him by making him wear a girl's coat. No it was much more than that; Peter had made Edmund the odd one out, made him look like a stranger, not part of the Pevensie clan. Until that moment Edmund had been having reservations, second thoughts, doubts as to whether or not he really wanted to take his siblings to the witch. After all, when he really thought about it she had done a pretty terrible thing to that faun Lucy liked so much and he didn't think he really wanted to cause any upset by splitting everyone up, they'd all only worry about him. But when Peter gave him the coat it became obvious he wasn't a part of the family anymore and that they all saw themselves as better off without him, he was just extra baggage weighing them down.

What hurt Edmund the most as he trampled through the snow, water sloshing in his shoes and sending the tips of his toes numb, was how much he had loved Peter. He had thought that nothing he could have done would have turned Peter away from him, that Peters love was completely unconditional. He never would have thought pressing his lips to his brothers would have caused this great chasm to open up between them, leaving them marooned on separate sides, unable to bridge the distance. Still, years on Edmund couldn't work out why Peter had acted the way he had. Of course he knew normal brothers didn't kiss but normal brothers also didn't share a bed, or spend all their time together or hold each other for hours. No brothers he'd heard of ever did that, but him and Peter did. And according to Peter that was fine. And he had meant it when he told Peter he loved him, he loved him very much. Whenever the boys in his class would talk about pretty girls they knew and wonder in awe what it would be like to kiss them one day, Edmund would always find his mind wandering back to his older brothers tanned, smiling face and tousled blonde hair that looked to Edmund like a halo and wonder what it might be like to kiss him.

Just like he had all that time ago, Edmund ran through the cold night away from his family and everything that he knew. Only this time he didn't have the promise of a warm castle, a comfortable throne and all the Turkish delight he could eat. All he had was a desire to escape Peter, a desire strong enough to subdue the ache in his legs and the burn in his throat. All he wanted to do was find somewhere to curl up and hide. Hide from Peter and his cruel words, hide from the sympathetic stares of his sisters, hide from his life, and let the night swallow him.

As his feet hit the ground in a rhythmical beating, all he could think was I wish I didn't exist, I wish I didn't exist, I wish I didn't exist, over and over like a mantra, a holy hymn that if he repeated often enough Aslan might listen. It wasn't enough for him to wish to be dead, because even if he was dead he'd still be suffering in some or another he was sure. No he wanted never to have been born so he would never have met Peter and never loved him and never lost him. His whole life wasn't worth this pain.

Back in the house, Peter sat swaddled in thick blankets to try and drive out the cold he felt clamped around his heart. His chest felt tight and his breath was coming in short burst. He felt as though there wasn't enough air in the room and he was gasping and gasping, slowly drowning on his own cruel words. He'd heard his brother's outburst in the court yard and knew he fully deserved it. He had never been called a cunt in his life but right now he didn't doubt that it was the word that summed him up best. He knew he should be out there looking for his brother, bringing him home, wrapping him in the quilts he was now using and kissing his beautiful lips, telling him he was sorry and that he simply adored him. But he didn't, he stayed put, waiting for Edmund to come back, all cold and tired and worn out and beg him to let him climb into bed.

Edmunds pace had slowed to a walk, each foot groping clumsily in front of him, as he searched for a shelter to rest. The weariness had long since set in and he was too far gone to turn back now. Despite the dogging tiredness that consumed him, he didn't regret running. Running was all that kept him from slamming his fists against Peter's door in the middle of the night when he woke up and turned round, expecting his slumber filled arms to be rewarded with the soft, warm flesh of another body and instead found the cold, smooth, un slept in sheets that adorned the now surplus side of his bed. He knew he'd scream that he didn't care that Peter didn't love him, had never loved him, didn't care if Peter wouldn't look at him, never mind touch him, that all he wanted was to sleep next to him, to feel the heat of his body radiating from the other side of the bed, to be gently lulled to sleep by the steady, homely sound of Peters breathing. He knew he couldn't stay and maintain his dignity.

In the sparse moonlight that filtered down through the interlacing pattern of the canopy, Edmund saw his salvation. An old, weathered oak stood ten paces ahead of him, covered in moss and illuminated, like a spotlight on stage, by a clear and straight beam of light, as though some divine intervention had taken place and saved Edmund from the numbing cold. In the stream of light, he could see a split in the bark of the tree, just large enough for a fox or a deer or a small boy to climb inside. Knowing he could carry on his doomed pilgrimage all night and find no where better to rest his travel heavy feet and thought burdened mind, he climbed into the giant circumference of the tree, for the first time being grateful for his lithe, adolescent form, and curled up into a small ball, all bone and ice, as though he were the foetus in the great old womb of the weather beaten tree, hoping to grow into someone strong enough to survive this.