When Peter wakes up, there's a smell of food in the air and sunlight streaming in through the window. Its familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, and Peter struggles to remember which time this is. His memories say that it's the time after the end of the world, after the bunker, but older memories are convinced he is at home, safely tucked in bed, and in only a few moments, his Mama will pop their head around the corner to make sure Peter is awake, to tell him Papa is making breakfast.
"Wakey, Wakey, eggs and bakey!"
The cheerful voice that announces breakfast is so jarringlywrongthat Peter instantly knows when this is. There's a heavy weight on his bed as the man throws himself down, chewing on a chunk of something that smells suspiciously like meat. It can't be meat, Peter knows that, meat ran out just before the power did all those years ago, but Peter is coming to expect the impossible from the strangers. The man seems to notice his look.
"Its not really bacon." He explains sheepishly. "Its beef jerky. But its kinda close?"
This time, Peter pushed aside the questions that bombard him - Meat? Where did they getmeat?- and instead focuses on another, more important fact.
"Food?" He questions hopefully barely daring to let himself believe the man.
He receives a grin in response, then he's being pulled out of bed, and hauled down a hallway into another room. He's not even fully in the room before his stomach is growling in a way it hadn't done for years at the rich smell of baked beans and coffee. It all seems so surreal to Peter, like a fairyland of wonders. He knows that its all impossible - the care he's been given, being givenfood,not just once, but twice, being allowed to stay even though he's useless, and the carelessness they had with treasures like chocolate and coffee, but Peter doesn't care anymore.
A part of him wonders if he's dying, and this is all an elaborate dream he's made up for himself, one final paradise before he finally sees what happens to his kind when they die. The greater part of Peter simply doesn't care. There's something he'd locked away deep inside himself, a childishness that is only now venturing out to view the world with the awe he once had, and he doesn't want to throw it away. As the other man slides him a plate with rich and saucy baked beans, and what Peter swears are tomatoes, real, juicy, sweet-acidic tomatoes, Peter is ready to accept whatever death-induce hallucination this may be, no matter what follows.
A single bite of the rich and flavourful beans that seem to fill his whole mouth with flavour and stick to his ribs is all Peter needs to confirm this. He thinks that if this is what dying is like, he wishes he'd done it sooner. Peter tries to take his time and savour each bite, but in no time at all Peter finds himself licking the last of the sweet sauce of the plate.
"Oi, Peter," The man with the scar begins carefully. "We're just about done in this area, so we figure its about time for us to move out."
The peace that had settled into Peter's stomach with the last of the beans disappears violently. They're leaving? Then what about him? He knows he cant ask them to bring him with them, not after everything they've done for him already. But then what will become of Peter? He doesn't want to go back, not into that dark and scary place, where there's no lights, no food, no one to call him Peter, or to hug him when he cries, no one to wake him up with stupid sayings, where there's no Alfred, no Jet.
But Peter doesn't want to go outside by himself either. The world is full of monsters, and just because he was lucky enough to find "people" once, doesn't mean he'll be so lucky next time. Peter is scared of the monsters. Peter also knows that no-one who went outside ever came back. He clenches his fists tightly on his knees under the table, and suddenly all peter can see is the redish brown spot on the plastic table. Its probably dried sauce, he knows, not blood, but its colour is so similar that Peter finds the beans churning in his stomach.
"-Peter?"
The question jerks him out out of his thoughts and he spins a little too quickly to face the man, eyes wide and startled. Peter realizes belatedly that the man was speaking to him, and he feels sweaty and sticky when he realizes he has no idea what he said. He tired to read the mans face to see what he wanted, but the man's face is casually passive, only a hint of mild curiosity showing.
"I-" Peter digs for an answer that will fit a question he never truly heard, but the man just laughs at his expression.
"You're a right space cadet, you know that? I was just asking if you need to get anything before we go?"
"I- No, I-" Peter tries to answer, then stops, confused.
"What?"
The man's brows knit together in concern.
"You didn't think we'd justleaveya, mate?"
That was exactly what Peter had thought. There was no reason at all for them to bring Peter, he'd already been a burden and consumed many of their precious resources, the idea of them bringing him with them was unthinkable, and yet-
"I can come too?"
"Dude, obviously." The other cuts in, finishing off his coffee. "You're one of us now."
Peter tells himself he won't cry, he's cried yesterday, and he doesn't want them to think he's a crybaby, or give them any reason to leave him behind. He screws up his face to hold back the tears and focuses on the question they asked him. Does he need to get anything? There's a number of things Peter would like to collect. His worn-to-the-nub toothbrush, though the toothpaste has been gone for a long time, his threadbare blanket, his faded sailor cap he's had ever since he can remember - but Peter doesn't want to go back to that dark place, not ever again.
Peter shakes his head in response to the question. "There's nothing." He whispers, and if the pair think it's strange, they don't say anything.
"Alright then!" The tanned man says as though that settles everything, and the other man stands ups, wiping his hands on his pants.
"I hate packing." His familiar whiney voice is back, the same as the first time Peter heard his voice, and Peter cant help but compare his situation then vs now. Back then Peter was scared, alone, and hungry. Now his stomach has food in it for the first time in a long time, he's not alone, and perhaps because of this, Peter thinks he's a little less scared than he used to be.
Peter has something he needs to say.
"Alfred, Jet," He calls out in the clearest voice he can muster, and they both stare at him with wide eyes.
"Thank you."