There are voices in the background when Peter wakes up.
".. Can't possibly know-"
"He said myname, Jet!"
"He said "America"! He probably recognized your accent!"
"Yeah, bu-"
It only takes a moment for Peter's panic to set in. There are voices. Why are there voices? He sits up to bolt from the bed, but a sharp pain in his arm pull him back with a gasp. The voices stop abruptly. The lights are dim enough that Peter can see if he squints, and he takes in the room in a moment, adrenaline pumping. There's a needle in his arm. Why? What are they putting into him? Where is he? He knows from just a glance that he isn't where he should be. He knows every room by heart, and he doesn't recognize this one. His heart is pounding, and he becomes aware of a loud beeping beside him, keeping pace.
Peter suddenly finds he can't breathe, that the breath won't come to him. There's a voice at his elbow.
"You're okay, mate, calm down, its okay."
He flinches, twisting to stare wide-eyed at the sudden speaker by his side. Okay? What part of this is okay? Peter isn't where he should be, he needs to go back, he's supposed to be waiting! He takes in the tanned skin and scarred face, and instantly, his head starts pounding. There's a new voice by his side, instructing, but gentle.
" Calm down, its okay. You're just a little sick and we're going to make you better." He soothes.
Peter is remembering what happened bit by bit, but the memories are discordant, not in order. He focuses on the blue eyes, and he remembers the man, hand to his forehead.
"He's burning up!"
But wait, no, wasn't he running from them? They're dangerous. He remembers that his arms are tied, he's in a straight-jacket- but no, his arms are free. He seeks their faces desperately, looking for answers.
"Peter!" The tanned man is calling him. His eyes are green, Peter notes. A clear, grassy green. They remind him of someone else, a face lurking just out of reach in his memories.
"Peter, you're okay. Do you remember us?" The blue-eyed man takes Peter's hand, gently, and Peter has to resist the urge to pull it away. He can't make them angry. He's finally remembering everything.
"We saved you last night."
Saved him? No, they'd kidnapped him. Peter's fingers are trembling the slightest bit.
"Hey," The blue-eye man calls softly. "Do you remember me?"
Peter does. He's the one with the whiney voice. Peter had kicked him in the groin. A tiniest bit of a smile tries to pull at Peter's lips, but he bites it back. Peter nods, shortly.
"Do you remember my name?"
He seems to think its important, eyes imploring Peter to say yes. Peter doesn't want to say it. He doesn't want to admit they have names. Because if he knows their names, he'll start thinking of them as people, and there aren't any "people" left. The man moves, and Peter realizes he's going to hit him, and he tries to force the word out, stuttering over the sound.
"A-"
The man brightens, casting a strange look to his partner, but then his face falls as Peter finishes the name.
"Alfred."
Peter's heart is speeding up again. Did he get it wrong? He tries again.
"J-Jet?" He offers again, tremulously .
The tanned man grins at him.
"That's right. I'm Jet and he's Alfred. Good job."
A hand descends and Peter flinches away, waiting for the blow to fall. The blow never comes, and instead the hand falls gently on his head, ruffling his hair, pushing away his bangs from his eyes. The feeling is familiar and soft, even though the hand is rough and caloused . For a moment, Peter is in a different place, a long time ago, and there's a different person ruffling his hair awkwardly.
"Papa?"
The grin melts away from the man's face, turning into a much more grim look.
"Ah."
Peter flushes with shame and looks away.
"Listen, do you know-" The tanned man starts to ask, but the other man puts a hand over his mouth with a shake of his head.
They probably think Peter can't see, or that he won't understand, but he can. He sees the lighter man mouth a single word to the darker one, and the darker man deflates.
Don't.
They're hiding something. It scares Peter.
The two hold a hushed conversation through mostly hand signals and facial expressions while Peter watches, nervously. Finally, they turn back to Peter.
"So," The blue-eyed one, begins carefully, settling on the edge of the bed, "You were pretty hungry, huh?"
The beeping accelerates with a high pitched beeping, and Peter jerks so hard he nearly yanks the needle put of his arm. He was stupid to be so trusting, he should have ran as soon as he woke up! He needs to go,now.Peter coils up, ready to run, but before he can something is thrust into his hands. He's almost afraid to see what they put in his hands. He's not likethem.Well technically, he's never been like them, but he refuses to become a monster like they did. He raises his hand, ready to throw the item away and run- then freezes.
A banana? He jerks his head to the pair, watching him with concern. When neither moves, he looks wonderingly back down at the fruit. It's a real banana, no doubt about it, fresh, and soft and tangible in his hands. Unasked questions overwhelm him. Why were they feeding him? How could they just give food away? Why did they capture him if they had food?Howdid they have food? How did they get fresh fruit? Even back when everything started, there hadn't been any fresh fruit left. Only canned food. Always cans. Because the cans were supposed to last until it was over.
But it was never over, and the cans didn't last.
Peter is jerked out of his thoughts by a movement as one of them awkwardly shifts, and he quickly peels the banana before they can take it back. They look relieved as he bites into it hesitantly, then everything melts away. Peter doesn't even care what they might do to him anymore, he can only focus on the flavor, the taste, the sweetness of the banana. It tingles over his tongue, spreading through his mouth and all too soon he's finished, licking the residue from his fingers. A hand reaches for the peel, but Peter pulls away. He won't let any of the nutrients go to waste.
He starts on the peel, and realizes for the first time that he's making soft, appreciative noises as he eats. The blue-eyed man looks like he wants to say something, but this time its the tanned man who stops him, putting a hand out in front of him. There's a feeling in Peter's stomach that he'd all but forgotten. It had never gone away, not really, bit Peter had learned to ignore it. Yet, with only one banana, the feeling comes back to life, growling and angry and twisting inside his stomach.
Peter is starving.