Forgotten.
The truth Peter had been trying so hard to avoid realizing was now overwhelming him. He hadn't been safe hiding in the bunker. He'd been forgotten there. But he couldn't have been forgotten, he remembered, barely existent, words someone had told him a long time ago.
"Peter, stay here until we come for you."
À jolting memory of something he had said in response.
"Promise you'll come back?"
And another voice he can't remember responding.
"Promise."
Promises that had been broken. People that never came for him. Parents he can't even remember. And something else, too, tickling the edge of his memory. But Peter can't catch that last thought, he's too overwhelmed, too heartbroken. He clings to Mathew, the only one he has left now. Alfred is gone. Jet is gone. Everyone is gone now, it's just Peter and Mathew. So Peter clings to the only one he has left, struggling to catch a breath that won't come to him.
"Hey," Mathew tries to comfort him, concern in his tone, "It's okay."
But it's not okay. It will never be okay ever again, but there's no way for Peter to tell Mathew that, so he just tries his best to muffle his sobs into Mathew's shirt. And Mathew brings his hand up, gently patting Peter's back in a way Peter wishes he could remember someone else doing, until slowly the sobs choke into nothingness. Finally, too long for his own liking, Peter gets a hold of himself and sits up, wiping his tears and tears into his sleeves. He sniffles a little, suddenly hyper aware of the adults surrounding him, likely annoyed and frustrated with his breakdown.
The adults didn't like "outbursts" back in the bunker, they didn't have the emotional or physical energy to deal with it, in the bunker- Peter cuts his thoughts off suddenly. He isn't in the bunker anymore. He feels like he's collapsing into himself, folding like oragami. There's something crumbling inside of him, a pain that is almost familiar. Peter knows, somehow, this isn't the first time he's been forgotten. He just doesn't understand why.
Rationally, he knows. He knows the reason no one came to get him. Mathew had said it himself.
"They didn't keep a proper record... Not all of them were found and opened. "
They had all been forgotten, not just by the government, but the whole world.
"It's been over for almost a hundred years now."
A hundred years was a long time, even to Peter. He knew it had been even longer since everything first started. The world had fallen apart, and by the time they put it back together, some people had already fallen into the cracks, lost forever. Peter has known it for a long time, just not in this way. The race known as "humans" had changed. They'd adapted, found a new way to live in this damaged world. And Peter had been left behind in the ruins of the old world, waiting for someone that would never come. Someone he couldn't even remember.
Peter is tired of waiting.
"I don't want to wait anymore." He whispers the words selfishly to the floor where Mathew rests his feet. "I don't want to be here anymore."
As soon as he says the words he regrets them, flinching away from the expected blow that doesn't come. It's easy to know that the world has changed. It's harder to learn to trust it again. Mathew Tries to soothe him.
"Don't worry. Al is definitely coming."
Somewhere, another person snorts, an echo of Peter's dismal thoughts.Peter can't let himself wait for another empty promise. Maybe this time, he really will die. So Peter spits out his next words spitefully, daring the world to prove him right, daring the world, no, Mathew, to retaliate.
"But what If he doesn't? '
It's a mean and hopeless thing to say, and Peter knows it, but the world he knows is a mean and hopeless world, and Peter's so fed up with it, so hurt, so angry, he'd almost welcome the hurt. Peter's tired of being afraid too. He's tired of hiding.
Mathew doesn't answer. Instead he reaches out a hand and brushes Peter's hair out of his eyes. Somehow, somewhere, between when he was kidnapped and now, the tie had come loose, letting his hair fall back over his eyes. The tie comes loose in Mathew's hand, and he catches his breath, then half-chuckles.
"Jet must have gave you this."
There's something soothing about the constant calm of Mathew's voice, and ridiculously, Peter begins to feel calmer at those words, his anger dissipating. What had Mathew done to deserve Peters anger? Or Alfred? Or Jet? Nothing. In fact, they'd helped him. Alfred and Jet had taken him out of a hopeless abandoned place full of dark and fear, and brought him into a better place, and helped him take each step he couldn't take on his own to get there. Alfred and Jet had saved him. And Mathew- Mathew is the only one that Peter has when he has no one.
So Peter accepts the offered olive branch.
"He said his sister gave it to him."
Peter offers on a shaky voice, not quite fully recovered from his sobbing. Mathew smiles at that, and reaches for Peter's hair to tie it back, fondness in his voice as he speaks.
"I know."
Peter's skin crawls when Mathew attempts to card through his hair, fingers catching on tangles and mats. It had been a long time since anyone cared if Peter brushed his hair, Peter least of all. He knows that Mathew doesn't mean any harm, but years and years of learned instincts don't go away that easily, and Peter struggles to try not to pull away or go too stiff. Mathew finishes tying his hair back, and Peter sags under the relief of the hand's absence, but stiffens immediately when Mathew gasps. Peter seeks out Mathew's face with a racing heart, trying to figure out what he did wrong, why Mathew is reacting that way.
Then Mathew whispers a name no one has called in a very long time.
"Sealand?"
