pullmeoutalive | Ramey

[ He gives a little tilt of his head, a slight movement of his shoulders, as if to say I have no idea what you're talking about. ]

Kinda floaty, which means they've got me on the good stuff.

... Thank you. For pulling me out of there.

[ He snorts derisively, hands twitching against Alec’s arm – considering breaking the contact, not quite able to bring himself to do it. Not yet. That little flare of anger, licking at the back of his sternum. ]

Yeah, well, unlike some people, [ And the sharpness returns to his voice, a razor edge he’s been bitterly honing since Alec left. He’s only had a few lessons in knife-wielding from Drax, but he knows enough to inflict damage. ] I don’t leave my teammates behind.

[ Peter's words have the intended effect, and when coupled with that lick of anger, they cut into Alec like a heated blade. He glances away for a second.

He knows full well how badly he fucked up. How, in the end, he really is no better than his mother. ]

I'm sorry. [ It comes out quiet, with no hint of his usual swagger or sarcasm. ] This was too big for me. Too final, and I couldn't handle it.

[ Another twitch, but this time he tears his hand away. The change leaves him reeling, like yanking the plug on a television and being left with the high-pitched whine of its silence.

He recovers, though, prepared as he was for the difference (though no less prepared for the loss that rings through him, clear as a bell), and his anger powers him through the rest of the way. ]

Oh, boo-hoo.

[ He might have picked up a few phrasings in his time spent with Rocket. ]

‘Cause you were the only one scared shitless by this thing. ‘Cause you were the only one who didn’t want this.

[ He makes a disgusted noise at the back of his throat, flopping back to slouch in his chair. He scrubs his face with his hands, using them to hide his grimace. ]

Fuck off, man.

[ Alec was not prepared, and the sudden loss of contact strikes him physically. He flinches, letting out a small gasp, and it's another handful of seconds before he can even collect his thoughts enough to speak. ]

I know, okay? I fucking know. But don't sit there and act like you didn't want me gone.

Edited 2016-11-09 01:07 (UTC)

Of course I wanted you gone.

[ Snapped back, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He should feel guilty, probably, for having this conversation while Alec is high on painkillers, for doing this right after he’s been beaten half to hell by some petty crooks, but he doesn’t. Rage and frustration have been nesting in his gut for a long time, now, and apparently they’ve seen fit to poke their heads out. ]

But I didn’t make you leave, did I? I could’ve booted you out. I could’ve had Drax chuck you from the airlock. I could’ve done a lot of things to make sure you never stepped foot back on my ship, but I didn’t, did I?

[ He jabs a finger at him, fire in his eyes, fury burning a path up his throat. ]

‘Cause I’ve seen what fucking happens, you goddamn prick. I knew what distance did to people like us. And I wanted that a whole lot less than I wanted this. [ A sharp wave of his hand, gesturing between the two of them. ]

[ Alec wants to get out of this goddamn bed and punch Peter right in the face, but his injuries and the medicine in his veins make him sluggish, make his whole body feel oddly detached. At best, he manages to clench a fist. ]

So why didn't you say something? I can't read your fucking mind. I don't know how this works, so excuse me for panicking.

You seriously didn't know? Like, at all?

[ Because Peter finds that extremely difficult to believe. ]

I knew. I'd heard, anyway.

[ He shrugs, the motion sluggish and awkward, and his gaze falls to his lap. ] My old man had a mark, but my mom never stuck around. He never seemed bothered by it. Figured all that talk was just talk.

[ He crosses his arms over his chest, gaze flitting off to the far wall. ]

Well, it's not.

[ And for a long second, that seems to be about all he's willing to offer. But after that time passes, he continues, slowly, ]

Mom had one. Just here.

[ He drags a finger across his wrist. ]

Good ol' dad left us before I was born. Fucked off who knows where. Left her behind to deal with the consequences.

[ He scowls as he remembers how she looked on those days. How it felt on his worst. ]

Did you even feel anything? Or was that just on me, too?

[ He just looks at Peter for a very long moment, like he's having to reevaluate him all over again. More than anything, he's left wondering why the universe thought it was such a good idea to put two people this damaged together. ]

... Miserable doesn't even begin to describe it.

[ He snorts, a bitter taste in his mouth. He should feel vindicated, he thinks. He should feel glad that he wasn't the only one who had to suffer through this shit.

Instead, he only feels pissed.

Because if Alec felt it too, that emptiness, that sickness, then apparently he felt it was worth experiencing that than dealing with Peter. Which was a completely new fucking level of insulting.

Or else he didn't feel it nearly as bad as he's letting on. Didn't feel it nearly as keenly as Peter, who felt like he would shake apart at the seams on the worst days. Like that hollowness would consume him entirely and crack him open. He might have decided it was just bearable enough to keep shutting Peter out. Which is somehow even worse. A sort of unfair that just cements everything Peter knows about the universe. ]

God, you're an asshole.

[ He spits it out, still avoiding his gaze. ]

Yeah, I know. We covered that.

[ It comes out sharp and bitter. Peter can really stop hammering in just how much he fucked this up any time now. (He supposes he has it coming. Doesn't make it any easier to sit through, though.)

His next question comes out tentatively, because he's not sure he wants to know the answer. ] So, now what?

Oh, you're askin' me now?

[ He barks that out, too, and this time his gaze snaps to him, all fire and ice and unbridled fury. ]

Figured you'd just blow me off again once you could walk without busting your stitches. Seems to be the running theme.

[ Yeah, alright. He had that coming too. ]

Fuck, Peter. I can't live like that again. I just can't, so what do you want me to say here? Obviously "sorry" doesn't cut it.

I don't give a shit what you say, Brennan.

[ Because Peter doesn't give a shit about words, for all his talk of making verbal deals and keeping his promises. Words are pliable, easily manipulated. He does it all the fucking time, twists and molds them and lets them spill from his lips with ease. ]

You're only apologizing 'cause this thing made you feel like shit.

What if it had just been me, huh? What if I was the only one who felt a damn thing while you were gone? You would've fucking stayed gone, right? You wouldn't have given a fuck, so long as you got out scot-free.

[ once again Peter's words strike him like a physical blow, stinging like a slap to the face. And it hurts all the more because it's true. He would have stayed gone, out of ignorance, perhaps, but is that really any excuse? Peter would have been the furthest thing from his mind, and if he had somehow found out just how he was suffering? He doesn't know that he's a good enough person to come back just to ease Peter's pain.

He wishes he were still unconscious, just so he wouldn't have to face this. He's spent a long time burying the ugly, selfish side of himself, and now here it is, bare and raw and staring him in the face. ]

... You're right. [ quiet at first, because this is the smallest he's ever felt. The universe dealt them a shit hand, but it's clear now that Peter got the worst of it, to be stuck with someone like him. ] You're right.

So go ahead and keep yelling. You're justified, and I don't know what to do.

[ He feels a faint flicker of regret and shame at the back of his head. He knows it’s not from himself, because he’s busy boiling over with anger – but it’s enough to douse the flames a little.

When Alec concedes, it doesn’t feel like a victory. It should, Peter thinks. He should feel like he’s won a long, bloody battle after he’s geared himself up for it all this time, but it doesn’t. It only makes the emptiness in him yawn just that much wider.

He sinks back in his seat, scrubbing his face with his hands. ]

It’s not satisfying if you let me do it.

[ He grumbles it before letting out an explosive sigh, tipping his head back against the chair’s backrest to stare at the ceiling. His hand presses small circles against his temple to stave off a growing headache. ]

I don’t have a handle on this any better than you do, Brennan.

[ Alec doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at his lap, lost in the strange turmoil of anger that’s not his own, and regret that very much is. ]

You’ve got a team, at least. That’s a step up on me.

[ He snorts derisively, casting Alec an unimpressed look. ]

You had one, too. And then you left.

[ His gaze flicks over to Peter, and there’s a flash of annoyance there, but it gets dragged under the regret still threatening to spill over. He leans back in the bed, letting his eyes slip shut. ]

We were never a team. They were a means to an end, just like everyone else in my life.

Well, that’s your problem, isn’t it?

[ His own flare of annoyance shoots up easily, rises in him and bursts through the storm. ]

You had a team. You left them, for whatever reason. You had a team again. We let you on the ship. We let you in on our planning. We took you on, and you fucked us over.

So am I supposed to feel bad for you? “Poor Brennan, so sad and so lonely.”

[ He jabs a finger at him again. ]

You did this to yourself.

[ Alec’s annoyance finds a spark in Peter’s, and flares right alongside it. ]

I’m not looking for pity, Quill, so don’t fucking strain anything.

I know, okay? I’ve been around a lot longer than you, and I’m intimately aware of just what a shitty person I am.

Then do something about it, you asshole.

[ As if that’s the easiest thing in the world. ]

You’ve got problems with trust. You’re used to working alone. The idea of commitment and attachment makes you break out in a cold sweat. That’s goddamn adorable, cupcake.

[ Peter sweeps out a hand, gesturing out to the hall. The fire in his gut makes the movement wild. ]

Have you even met us?

[ He pauses, takes a deep breath. Then another. Then another, before he shoves the chair away, getting to his feet to pace. ]

You’re not a special snowflake, Brennan. [ This, at least, is a little more sedate, though there’s still a sharpness to his words. ] We’re all shitty people. We’ve all done shitty things. We’ve all got issues, but we suck it up ‘cause we’ve got work to do.

[ There’s a few moments where Alec doesn’t trust himself to say anything. He lets Peter pace as he tries to sort out just who’s feeling what in his head. Peter is livid, that much is obvious, and he has every right to be. There wasn’t much trust between them to begin with, and Alec pretty much blew it all to smithereens in one fell swoop.

Alec is… he’s tired. He’s upset and angry, mostly at himself. Peter’s got the truth of it- the Guardians are far from saints, far from team players or well-adjusted people, but they pull it together just fine. Alec’s never had that, never stuck around long enough to get it, and weirdly that makes a little pang of loss ring in him. He only ever took family for granted, until it was gone. And then he spent the rest of his life avoiding getting close to anyone.

He tries to force himself to calm, he takes a deep breath, then another, until the storm inside him evens out. ]

You said you don’t care what I say. So what can I do?

[ He’s out of his depth, and he’s drowning, but he knows that he needs to fix this. For both of their sakes. ]

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