6. Coins

That horse was like a large curtain of velvet. The softest creature Peter Lake had ever touched.

He felt an almost childlike stubbornness to not let go of the white horse until they'd reached Grand Central Station. He was walking at this point, not riding, but he couldn't just let go of it.

Despite all the strangeness that had occurred that day, Peter was still shocked by how spotless that white hair was. A cloud of filthiness or weariness was common in even the most cared-for animals in New York City. But he found none on the white horse. No matter where he looked. It was impossibly clean. It was impossible. Impossible…

"Well, horse, I think I owe you some supper."

The white horse moved its head forward, bumping its muzzle against his shoulder.

"I can't do much to thank you… for, uh, whatever you did, but… supper is a good place to start. I can afford that much."

He looked into one light hazelnut eye. The sky had darkened and the stars swirled in the animal's gaze.

"Let's hope you eat normal food… Carrots and such… You know, what normal horses like to eat." Peter led his new companion toward the stables. "Because I can't cut out a piece of the sky for you to eat. Or put little stars in your hay. I can only do so much."

The hum of the station bled through the ceiling of the stables. Peter Lake guided the white horse into the shadows, almost effortlessly. Cecil's eyes shone from the darkness and the teeth appeared between his smiling lips.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

"And Saint Peter."

"Ha!"

Cecil went to them, put his dark hand on the horse's white muzzle. His touch was gentle, of utmost reverence. The fingers slid delicately on the coat of silver hair.

"My God, Peter. He's beautiful."

"Yes. He's, huh, he's quite the jumper, too."

"Where did you find him?"

"He found me."

"Uh-huh. And no one will come looking for him?"

"I don't know… He's a very special horse."

Cecil smiled.

And Peter felt the cold again. The wind. The city shrunk and fragile underneath him. Like a glass mockup. He looked at the white horse, his savior, and then at Cecil, his friend. Both his accomplices. Two walls sheltering him from Pearly Soames and his wolves.

"I need a couple things, Cecil."

"Sure."

"A blanket… Uh, and some food… For the horse, I mean. I have some spare coins, here, hold on…"

"Don't you want some food, too?"

"I have all I need upstairs."

"You look pale."

"I'm alright, I've just been running around all day."

"Peter."

The coins spun between his fingers. The gold surface had been caked in ice and dirt. Peter Lake blew on the money, rubbed his hands together, warming it up.

"Peter," Cecil said.

"Huh? Here's all I have."

The coins twinkled as they descended onto the palm of Cecil's hand. And his dark brown eyes lost much of their mirth.

"Peter, you cannot stay here anymore," he murmured.

It was too hot down there, too dark. Peter couldn't understand how Cecil could stand it. He wasn't even sweating. Didn't ever look tired. Or filthy.

"I know, Cecil…"

"You know it's not because I want you out of here."

"I know."

"But you've become too comfortable. You need to move. If you stay, you'll be found out. Peter, the- the boys are everywhere. They're gaining up on you. They will eat you alive."

"I know…"

Peter Lake missed the cold. The wind. He missed flying.

"They ran me like a dog today, Cecil."

"Oh, Peter."

"And he found me… He saved me… I don't know why, or how, but… he saved me."

"Get out of the city, Peter. Go south."

Cecil's smile returned hesitantly, trying to sweeten up the sour conversation.

"Go where it's warm, my friend. Aren't you tired of this winter?"

It was too warm down there…

"Sure…"

"Go where the sun shines… And the seagulls sing… And the shadows can't find you…"

He put a hand on his shoulder, his face twisting in a theatrical attempt to lighten the mood.

"Go to Florida."

Peter couldn't help but smile back. Cecil chuckled and his body trembled alongside his laughter.

"Florida," Peter said.

"Hell yes."

"Well… that sounds nice…"

"I'll visit you whenever I can…"

"Okay…"

The white horse snorted at his side. Following a tug of stubbornness, Peter Lake finally let go of the coat of pale hair.

"If I can afford one more thing… Th- I have nothing more to offer you, Cecil…"

"That's alright, Peter. What do you need?"

"A saddle. And reins."

"You got it."

"I need to go now…"

"Alright."

Peter looked back at Cecil. The horse's large head was cradled comfortably on his shoulder. They looked like they belonged side by side, Cecil and the horse. Dark and light. Pale and brown. Both of them had dark eyes, full of gentleness. The white in those eyes, their eyes, caught the light that wasn't there. Even in the dim shadows, they glittered slightly.

"You're a good friend, Cecil."

"So are you."

"You've been good to me. Thank you."

"Have a good night's sleep and get out of here. Don't run anymore, Peter. If this ever gets resolved, I will go to you, and I will let you know you can come back home."

Home...

Cecil went forward then, and offered his hand. Peter Lake took it, without question, and they shook. Cecil's palm was cold. His fingers were dry and clean. It was so warm down there.

"Good night, my friend."

"Good night, Saint Peter."

And Peter smiled, despite himself.

Author's Note: Soooooo, I made Peter and Cecil's talk last much longer than in the movie.

I always felt a bit bad that Cecil's friendship with Peter was not developed at all, so here's my chance to change that. I'm thinking of adding more to Cecil after this chapter, when it comes to Peter's perspective on their friendship and his theories on whether or not he's connected to the white horse.

To those who are reading, thank you so much! It means a lot to me.