Authors Notes – Hi! Sorry it took a while to get this out, but I finished it last week but then I decided all the Tony scenes sucked majorly, so I redid them, and they still suck so uh…yeah. Their both reeaaal short cuz I couldn't think of anything else to discuss. I also started working on another fic which will be pretty long. It's BH angst of course and it'll be called Footprints in the Sky. Please look out for that in like…a week? Anywho, this chapter's pretty freakish. Have fun!
Chapter Three ~ My Hell Intermingling With His Hell
"So you think you do?" Tony sneered, his upper lip curled into a spiteful expression. "Then tell me, what do you know, being the rich smart motherfucker of the world that you are."
"You're making assumptions," Pietro replied, looking vaguely amused. "Maybe I wasn't rich my whole life."
"But you were," Tony snapped viciously. "That's what makes the difference. That's why you don't know shit."
"Maybe I don't," Pietro said, shrugging. "But maybe I do. You don't know me very well, you know."
Tony frowned at him. "Yeah? Then tell me something about yourself, asshole. What makes you so much smarter than the rest of us?"
"I never said I was smarter," Pietro said mildly. "I simply – "
"Get to the point," Tony cut him off impatiently.
Pietro smiled and studied his hands carefully before answering. "All I said was that you don't know me. For all you know, I could…I could…" He paused, a dreamy smile coming to his lips, and he turned to Tony, his crystalline-flecked eyes clouding slightly. "I could be a mutant recruited by my psychotic dad - whom I had never met until then – to fight some unknown battle against mankind. Maybe he ditched me and three other guys; left us living alone in some dilapidated old house with nothing in the world but each other. For…for all you know, we could have been broke and poor and delinquents and hungry for something else besides screwed lives and messed-up pasts, but maybe we stuck together. Maybe we started getting into drugs and whatnot even though we hardly had enough money to pay for our food, and maybe one of us…maybe one of us OD'd and died. For all you know, we could have decided to quit after that, to make amends. Maybe one of us wouldn't. Maybe one of us couldn't. Maybe one got sent to rehab and I got sent to juvie the next year, and when I came home there was nothing left. Maybe the house was gone; maybe I couldn't find the pitiful remains of my makeshift family anywhere. For all you know, I could have finally found one of them – in jail. Maybe my friend…maybe my friend was no longer my friend anymore, but a hostile stranger that didn't care what happened to any of the rest of us because he had spent all of his caring, because he'd lost too much of himself to care anymore. Maybe I was angry and said some stupid things and messed everything up; maybe I left and never saw my friend ever again. Maybe I went to find the other one, the one in rehab, to be told that he'd run away two years ago. Two years ago." Pietro chuckled softly and shook his head, not noticing Tony's doubtful expression. "Maybe I screwed around after that; maybe I wanted to throw over my life because there didn't seem to be anything left to hold me back. But…but hey, for all you know I could have made it. I could have pulled myself out of a mile-deep pit. Sure, maybe I was dirty and tired, but I could have made it, right? I could have – hey, maybe I did." He smiled lightly at the incredulous boy in front of him, ignoring the skeptical expression on his face. There was a moment of dubious silence as the two of them stared at each other, the older recounting something beyond the other's comprehension, the younger not knowing what to think – or say.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Tony said finally.
Pietro smiled elusively. "Nothing."
Tony frowned at him. "What do you mean, nothing? What the hell were you talking about there?"
"It was just an example. I didn't say it was me."
"Oh…" Tony sighed, a little disappointedly. This didn't escape Pietro's notice, and he looked up sharply, a thin smile quivering on his lips.
"You sound disappointed by that," he said.
Tony rolled his eyes. "No. I was just thinkin' that what you're talkin' about…." He shrugged in feigned casualness, gazing down at his hands so he wouldn't have to look at his counselor. "It sounds…it sounds pretty fucked-up." For some reason, he felt uncomfortable saying this, and he hesitated slightly before looking up again. When he did, Pietro was staring at him with a queer, intangible expression on his face. For a moment the two just looked at each other, and then the older's lips parted ever so slightly.
"It was." He said quietly, and when he spoke those two insignificant syllables, somehow, somehow, Tony – the unobservant smartass streetkid that always seemed to be too blinded by his hatred to just see – somehow, he knew that the sleek, impudent man before him was more than he could ever comprehend. Much more.
~Sixteen Years Before~
"Can I help you?" A bored-looking attendant stared up at him, the jowels of flab on her blotchy cheeks quivering as she spoke.
"Um…yeah. I'd like to see Lance Alvers," Pietro said, trying to sound confident but failing miserably.
She frowned at him, clearly annoyed that this would mean work for her. "You family?" She demanded rudely.
"Yeah," Pietro lied, "I'm his brother."
She glowered at him for a moment, unfocused brown eyes shadowed by too much makeup disdainfully scrutinizing his obvious discomfiture. "Come with me," she said finally, heaving to her feet and waddling toward a dimly-lit hallway on their left.
They entered a large, empty room with a wall of glass cutting across the center and counters and telephones for the inmates and their visitors.
"Wait a minute," she ordered, and trundled off to speak with a man at the other door. After a moment, she returned, and said gruffly, "S'down and he'll be out in a minute." She started to leave, but then, as an afterthought, she added, "you got ten minutes, an' your conversation'll be monitored. Come out when you're done." With that, she lumbered away, leaving Pietro standing in the bare room.
After a minute, he painstakingly took a seat on one of the cold metal chairs in front of him, keeping his frosted eyes set on the double doors across from him. They whooshed open and the faceless guard came in with an orange-clad figure at his side. Relief, pain, sadness, regret, remembrance and fear immediately flooded Pietro's veins in one giant, icy tidal wave as Lance took a seat before him, looking vaguely interested by his new surroundings.
"Lance," Pietro immediately uttered, a bitter tang seeping across his tongue as he laid eyes on his older friend for the first time in almost three months. "Lance," he said again, then realized that he had to use the telephone. He quickly lifted the greasy black receiver to his ear, his heart pounding wildly and his eyes never leaving Lance's face.
"Lance!" He almost shouted, a toppling wave of emotion coursing through his veins. The dark-haired boy lifted the receiver to his ear in reply, no feeling evident on his face. His cheeks were sallow and stretched tightly across his bones, and his once richly chocolate eyes were replaced by a smoldering ashen color. His body, which had once been so strong and rugged, was now a diminished little frame blanketed by a filmy layer of pallid flesh. Had it been the jailtime that had done this to him? Or had it been the drugs?
"Lance," he said again, wishing that his friend would say something and stop staring at him in that frighteningly impassionate way. He looked so…so…so cold and uncaring and not like Lance had always looked. "Lance, are you ok?" Pietro blathered stupidly, briefly wondering why he was asking that when the answer was so evident. "I – I mean – when Blake told me you were here – I came down here as soon as possible – but – "
"Not bad," the boy that was Lance but wasn't Lance cut him off, grinning sardonically through pinched lips that belonged on someone else.
"How – what – what happened?" Pietro stammered, his spindly fingers clenching the receiver so tightly that his knuckles had long since turned white. "I – I mean – I meanwhathappened?HowdidyougetinhereImeanaretheygonnaletyouout?"
Lance smiled frostily at him. "I dunno, Speedy, it just might be more than you can handle."
"No – no," Pietro mumbled, a shiver running down his spine. "Tell me."
"Federal assault," Lance replied with a casual sweep of his hand, as if he were speaking about the weather. "Almost killed that stupid bastard. I woulda, too, if he hadn't used that fuckin' pepper shit." He grimaced. "I got twelve years."
"Twe – twelve years?" Pietro repeated, everything else flying over his head but those two words. "Twelve years? What? Why? They can't – they can't give you twelve fuckin' years for that!" His hands were trembling violently and he almost dropped the receiver. "You're joking," he said weakly. "They can't give you twelve years. No way."
Lance smiled twistedly. "Like hell I am. Why would I kid you about somethin' like that? They're rich, I'm not. I got twelve years."
"But you have parole, right? I mean, you'll be able to get out once in a while?"
"No parole," Lance replied lazily, stretching out his legs. After a minute, he added, "who wants it, anyway?"
"Wha – what?" Pietro cried, aghast. This wasn't Lance speaking. This wasn't Lance; this wasn't the same Lance that had bent over backwards to help Freddy study for that big Chemistry test last year, this wasn't the same Lance that had made lame-assed jokes at times that they'd all needed a good laugh, this wasn't the same Lance that had stayed up all night that one time that Todd was sick and vomiting all over the house, this wasn't the same Lance that had cared. This wasn't Lance at all, just some perverted impersonator that possessed his cocky face and bold features. Lance wouldn't say this. "Why do you say that? Don't – don't you want it?" Even to his own ears, he sounded frightened and beseeching.
Lance grinned. "Why the hell would I want it? I'm glad they didn't give it to me."
"Why?"
"Think about it, Speedy," Lance said mockingly. "It's not like I'd fuckin' have anywhere to go. Our house is fuckin' gone, and we don't have any money. There's nothin' out there that I want to return to."
"But…but…what – what about me?" Pietro whispered, his heart constricting. "What am I supposed to do?"
Lance laughed out loud at that, an entirely mirthless laugh that made Pietro's stomach churn. "You always were fuckin' selfish, Pietro. Always thinking about yourself and what everyone should do to suit you. God, one of your many qualities…." He shook his head bemusedly. "Too bad it won't all work out that way today."
Salty tears formed in Pietro's eyes as he listened to this stranger's cold words. This wasn't Lance. This wasn't Lance. "What about Todd?" He burst out, an uninvited sob fracturing his words. "What about your family? Don't we mean anything to you? Don't you care?"
Lance shrugged nonchalantly. "Why should I?"
Pietro fiercely wiped away the tears that streamed down his cheeks in endless rivers. His short temper curdled with blistering hatred at this imposter, this cold-hearted felon that sat here and smirked at him through too-amused lips. "Asshole," he spat, his rage getting in the way of his good judgment. When Lance looked up, startled at that, he continued, contempt poorly masking his pained words. "You're the fuckin' selfish bastard. You only think about yourself. You always have. You're the one that got Todd started, you're the reason that Fred's dead, it's your fault that our family's in such fuckin' shit." Pain wrenched through his heart as he listened to himself speak, and he yearned to tell Lance that he didn't mean any of it; he didn't blame Lance, he never had. Yet…he couldn't stop. His grief dragged him along relentlessly. "I hate you. You brought us all into this stupid shit and you can't even fuckin' get us out! Me an' Todd – Todd, your fuckin' little brother, Lance! Your fuckin' little brother!" He was dimly aware that he was screaming but he couldn't hold himself in. "You trash us all; you kill Fred, you ruin Todd, and you leave me here to deal with all your SHIT! You always fuckin' have and I don't fuckin' know why the hell I'm surprised now! Stay here, Lance, I don't really give a fuck! Forget about your family, your fuckin' family for God's sake! The people that have put up with all o' your worthless shit for so long because we fuckin' cared! STAY HERE! I DON'T CARE! You're a selfish, useless, lazy asshole and I hope you fuckin' rot in hell!" He was overcome by a torrent of sobs and he collapsed back into his chair, all the hatred gone from his body and dried sorrow left behind in the cracks. He wanted to tell Lance that he didn't mean it, he didn't mean anything that he had just said. It was all wrong and biased and fabrications of an anguished mind, yet he couldn't find anything in him to tell Lance so. Lance, who was looking at him with something unreadable in his eyes – was it pain? – as he spoke.
"You don't know what you're talkin' about." He said coldly. "You think I don't give a shit? You think I don't care? Fuck you, Pietro, I almost killed someone for you." He turned blazing eyes upon the white-haired boy, his lips contorting furiously as he spoke. "You wanna hear it, Pietro? Huh? Do you?" When Pietro merely looked at him through red-rimmed eyes, he said nastily, "well, too bad. You're gonna hear it. You're gonna hear me. For once, you're gonna fuckin' hear what I gotta say.
"After you went to juvie, that fuckin' nosy bastard cop kept comin' by, snooping around, trying to find shit out about us so he could split us up. He hated us, you know, 'cause we were the miscreants of society. We bruised this fuckin' system, we made it ugly. He wanted us apart and he was willing to do anything it took to get us that fuckin' way. He was always comin' around, trash talking all of us and telling me what fuckin' delinquents we were. Well, after a while I snapped. I almost killed the fuckin' bastard and I wish I had, but then that fuckin' pepper spray…" He paused to glare hatefully at Pietro. "I got twelve years for that. Twelve years for you. Twelve years for an ungrateful bastard. I got twelve years of hell for you and you're sitting here, all high and mighty, telling me that I'm worthless, that I don't care." He paused, his words swelling with fury. "If you think I'm a worthless bastard, then look at yourself. Here you are, bitchin' me out, beggin' me to get parole which I couldn't get even if I wanted to. You can't do anything for yourself. You don't know how to do anything for yourself. Always hiding behind me, too scared to step out, an' then, when everything goes to hell, you blame me. I was the one that took care of a fuckin' bastard like you, I was the one that took you in when my life was already buried in ten feet of shit. I coulda thrown your sorry ass out on the street, but I didn't, did I? I didn't leave you to die. But you – you would have in a bare second. More work for you, Speedy, and you woulda turned and run away. Even with Todd, you weren't thinking about him. You were thinkin' about yourself, how you would be bothered if we didn't give him the fuckin' drugs he was lookin' for. Unlike you, asshole, I cared; I wanted to help him even if it meant losing him. Maybe he hated me for it and maybe I wasn't keeping my own promises, but I was saving his fuckin' life. So don't you ever call me worthless and don't you ever tell me that I didn't care. I cared more about you guys than you could ever care for the whole fuckin' world."
~Present Time~
Silence dragged on for over a minute in the tiny office, both Pietro and Tony thinking about something other than this counseling session and each other. Finally, the thread of quiet was broken by an abrupt knocking at the door.
"Come in," Pietro said, jumping slightly at the pounding. A bushy-haired thirty-something woman stuck her head in, smiling apologetically. "Sorry to interrupt," she said rapidly, "but I wasn't sure if you guys were done or not and I didn't know if I should wait in the car. Are you finished? I can wait in the lobby if you want me to, but I've really gotta be home by three-thirty because it's Marty's birthday today and I've got to set up for his party – "
"It's all right, Karen," Pietro said graciously, neatly stacking Tony's papers and placing them back in the file folder. "We were just finishing up. Ready, Tony?"
"What? Oh, yeah." The young boy leaped to his feet, suddenly eager to leave. "Good to go. Let's get the hell outta here." With that, he tore out of the room without bothering to say good-bye. Pietro smiled and shook his head as the footsteps became more and more diminished. "He's a nice kid, Tony is."
Karen looked mildly shocked. "That's generous," she said, shaking her head. "I don't even say that yet, and I've known him for close to four months."
Pietro smiled in reply and stood up, stretching as he did so. "He is…hell, what a guy's been through…it's hard not to expect some sarcasm outta someone who's lived his entire life the way he has. I almost understand."
~Sixteen Years Before~
"What'd you say his name was again?" The secretary asked politely, peering up at him through thick round glasses that greatly magnified her eyes.
"Todd Tolensky," Pietro said impatiently, drumming his fingers rapidly against the counter. "T-o-l-e-n-s-k-y. Tolensky."
The secretary nodded and resumed her thumbing through the file cabinet at a pace that Pietro found maddening. "I'm sorry," she said after a couple of minutes, shaking her head. "Maybe I have the wrong spelling. Could you repeat that one more time?"
Pietro gritted his teeth and repeated it for her.
"I'm sorry," she said again after two more futile attempts at locating Todd's file. "Are you sure you're at the right center? There's another one about three miles away, maybe you'd like to try there – "
"No," Pietro interrupted curtly. "He's here, lady. I know it. Look again."
She frowned at him as if longing to tell him to fuck off, but complied anyway. "I'm sorry," she said, shrugging, after flipping through one more time. "There is no Todd Tolensky here."
"Yes there is," Pietro retorted, feeling an uncomfortable combination of fear and anger fill his throat. "I'm positive. Todd Tolensky. He's been here for about two years."
The secretary shrugged helplessly and started to look again just as a tiny nurse barged into the room.
"Hey!" Pietro said immediately, recognizing her wiry hair and bird-like structure. "Hey, you! Don't you know Todd Tolensky?"
She paused, looking annoyed at this interruption to her busy schedule. "Who?" She demanded, her hands planted on her hips.
"Todd Tolensky," Pietro repeated impatiently. "You're his nurse, I remember! Todd Tolensky, y'know?"
She frowned and tapped her nail against her chin. "Todd Tolensky…sounds familiar…"
"About sixteen now? Short and skinny?"
"Hm…" The nurse scratched her head. "The name sounds familiar, but I don't think he's one of my patients."
"Yes he is! Yes he is!" Pietro cried, agitated. "He's been here for two years! You're his nurse!"
"Oh, Todd Tolensky!" She said suddenly. "I remember now. Yes, Todd. What about him?"
"I need to see him," Pietro said hurriedly. "It's really important."
She gave him a strange look. "Todd doesn't go here anymore."
There was a sudden pause in which Pietro gazed disbelievingly at the nurse. "Wha-what? What the hell are you talking about?" He sputtered. "He's gone here for two years! Don't give me that!"
The nurse frowned skeptically, her bird-like features sharply jutting from her face in doubt. "He doesn't go here anymore," she said again, her voice firm. "Maybe you should try somewhere else."
"No!" Pietro yelled suddenly, feeling the helplessness melted into anger. "No! I won't! He's gone here for two years, you fuckin' whore! Tell me where he is and don't give me that 'I don't know what the hell you're talking about' bullshit!"
The nurse and the secretary exchanged uncomfortable looks, unsure of what to say. "He doesn't go here anymore," the nurse repeated nervously after a moment. "I think you should leave."
"No!" Pietro retorted, his icy eyes blazing with a violent fire. "No, you stupid whore! Don't lie to me! Where the fuck is he?" He lunged forward suddenly, catching the frightened nurse by surprise and pinning her against the wall, a hand clutched tightly about her throat.
"Oh my God…" she whimpered, her eyes darting about frantically. "Oh my God…"
"Where the hell is he?" Pietro shouted, his fingers tightly gripping her thin neck.
"He…he ran away…almost as soon as he got here…" she whispered, her fingers scrabbling frantically at the wall, as if searching for some sort of escape. "He – he ran away…"
There was a pause. "Why the fuck didn't I know?" Pietro said dangerously, digging his nails into her tender skin. "Why the fuck didn't anyone tell me? Tell Lance? We're his fuckin' family, for God's sake! We're his family!"
"Be-because…I don't know," she said, sobbing piteously. "I don't know why we never contacted you…"
"Fuckin' whore…" he breathed, clammy perspiration veiling his pearly skin. "You fuckin' whore…I should kill you. I should blow this fuckin' center down to the ground."
"Please…"
"Don't move!" Pietro yelled, sensing the secretary shift behind him. "You move, I'll kill her. I'll kill both of you. Fuckin' whores…" He tightened his grip on her throat, causing her to cry out.
"I…I can't breathe…" She gasped, glistening tears squeezing from between her eyelashes. "Please…I can't breathe…"
"Fuck you," Pietro sneered, though his eyes stung with a fiery pain. He angrily wiped away the intruding wetness that dribbled from his eyes, wondering just why he was crying, just why it hurt so much. "Fuck you," he repeated softly. "Fuck you. My friend couldn't breathe either, you know that? My friend couldn't breathe, and he died like that. Ever wonder what that feels like? Huh? Do you, you little whore?"
"No…" she whispered, her breaths coming in grating pants. "Please…I have a son. Please – "
"So you got a family?" Pietro interrupted harshly. "You got a family, too? I do. I did, at least. Then one of 'em died and the other two got themselves even more fucked up than they already were. I thought I'd get 'em back, y'know? I thought we'd fix everything that we'd screwed up…" He dug his nails into her neck again, hard, until she let out a cry of pain and warm blood started to trickle from between his fingers. "I thought we'd fix everything," he repeated, crying now. "I thought we'd fix everything and we wouldn't fuck it up again. But now…but now…thanks to you, thanks to an evil bitch, we never will." He gazed hatefully into her frightened eyes, relishing the fear and horror that lay reflected in their too-blue color. "Why'd you let him run away? Why the fuck would you let him go die, you slut? Huh? Answer me!" He shook her violently, causing her to cry out again.
"I…I…" She whispered, her tiny voice trailing off meekly.
"You didn't care, did you?" Pietro said bitterly. "You didn't give a fuck. He was just some delinquent addict to you, it didn't matter if he died. It didn't matter that he had a family, did it? It didn't matter that he was supposed to come home…" He gazed out the window, a sallow hatred burning in his eyes. "He was just another kid to you…just another loser kid tryin' to kick it on the streets…did you know that his favorite food was cheeseburgers? Did you know that he loved to read, even though he was failing every class in school because his teachers never gave a fuck? Did you know that he never wanted to do drugs, but the world was so fuckin' screwed that he did 'em anyway, just for the trip? Did you know that he had a family that loved him…?" He stared at her for a moment, his jaw clenched and intermingled perspiration and tears streaming from his face. "You didn't did you?" he said softly, more to himself than her. "Fuck you. Fuck…you." Shaking his head disgustedly, he turned and left the building.
Authors Notes – Hey, it's me again! I hope you liked, and as you can tell, I was angry…or on drugs when I wrote that last scene. I credit Alanis Morissette cuz I always listen to her really old angry cd when I write this because it um gives me inspiration but that sounded pretty screwed didn't it? Yeah, so you can ignore me because I just took a buncha VERY LONG midterms and my mind's still functioning in sine and cosine and tangent and fatty acids and carbohydrates…so uh yeah. Back to the point: the grand finale aka chapter four and then some will be out in two weeks? I hope? Whatever…REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWNUCLEOTIDES – err…review. Yeah.