pullmeoutalive | Ramey

[ Alec isn't exactly convinced himself, but he's trying. He has no choice. He can't live life as half a person, and neither can Peter. (He's still trying to figure out if he genuinely cares about Peter, or if he only cares because Peter's here, angrily shouting in his face. Hard to tell, at the moment.)

(Something about the way Peter looks him, the resentment in his gaze, hurts all the same.)

He licks his lips. God, he's so tired. ]

I'm open to suggestions.

[ Fatigue douses a little more of his anger, inexplicable and out of nowhere – at least until he glances over at Brennan, remembers that the guy had been beaten within an inch of his life before they managed to find him. A pang of guilt rings through him, but he strangles it soon enough. ]

We’ll talk about it when you’re not drugged to the gills.

[ Truthfully, it’s not a conversation Peter wants to have, either, and he’s glad for the opportunity to delay it.

Alec isn’t in the right mindset for this, anyway. Peter doubts he ever will be, but now, high on meds and coasting on the waves of pain and exhaustion, is hardly the time.

He trudges back over to the chair, steps heavy and dragging. Peter doesn’t want to be here anymore than Alec wants him here, he figures, but some part of him refuses to let him leave. Not after they’ve been so far apart for however long it’s been. He collapses into the seat, kicking up a foot onto the metal frame of Alec’s cot, staring down and away to avoid looking at him. With a quick push, he balances the chair on its back two legs, arms crossed over his chest.

Settled in, then. For whatever that’s worth. ]

Just. Shut up and sleep.

[ He doesn't even have it in him to tell Peter to fuck off, though he sort of vaguely thinks it. It's probably a good thing, the exhaustion, the medication dragging him under, because otherwise his mind would be reeling. Even as sleep claims him, all he can think is, how do I get out of this?

That's always been what he's good at. Shifting the blame, slipping away without a trace. But that's not an option now. The universe removed it when it decided to make staying apart painful for them both, and now here Peter is calling him on his shit.

Then do something about it, you asshole.

Much easier said than done. The whole prospect still terrifies him. Every tug of the invisible thread between them feels like a noose. They didn't ask for this, and Peter-? Peter deserves so much better than Alec Brennan and all of his issues.

They don't talk about it- them- the next day. Or the next, or even the one after that. Alec stays happily medicated and sleeping for most of the time, while his body tries to overcome the beating it took. (His condition is perhaps made worse by relying on his Enhancements for as long as he had, and not just the aftermath when they finally gave out. One more for the "extremely stupid shit he's done" list.)

Peter's always there, a quiet and angry presence, but he's there. Alec's sure he's sticking around more for his own comfort than any real concern, but Alec's still struck by the thought that he really doesn't deserve someone who would hang around for any reason.

And even days after that, they still haven't talked about it. Neither of them are talkers, apparently, but Alec's feeling more like himself. His injuries have mostly mended (thank god for space medicine), and he can get by with mild painkillers most of the time. With his head a little more clear, the desire to run is still there, itching at the back of his mind, though he carefully shuts his doors to keep it from Peter, and maybe himself. The fact of the matter is that there is no running from this, because the only thing scarier than being forced together is that gnawing emptiness when they're apart.

They haven't really said much to each other over the course of Alec's recovery. Sometimes he finds his gaze drifting to Peter's throat, to the mark that's hidden by his magic, and sometimes he similarly catches Peter's gaze on his arm, where the red band lay camouflaged. It always feels like those moments are going to lead to conversation, but they never do.

Until one such instance where he catches Peter's eyes lingering on his arm, and he decides that if they're not going to address the elephant in the room, they may as well at least talk about something. He needs to learn to give some ground. ]

They're spells. The tattoos, I mean. It's how I can do magic without having to cast first.

[ Peter sticks around. He hovers. He stays, because what the fuck else can he do?

He knows, logically, that he could probably head back to the ship or wander around the station while Alec recovers. Distance would probably only be a problem when they were planets apart, but there's a visceral need in him to have eyes on Brennan while he's recovering. The guy's still hurt, and Peter can feel it. Not directly, beyond a soreness across his shoulders, a headache behind his eyes, a quick twinge here and there, but enough that some base instinct is telling him to protect this fucking asshole. Keep him in his sights.

And Peter hates it. He hates every fucking second of it. But what does it say about him that he gives in to it, all the same?

(That he's weak, probably. That the band around his throat is as good as a collar and a lead tied directly to Brennan, who couldn't give any less of a shit about it.

Awesome.)

The hospital staff have stopped trying to shoo him away after that first night, though. Apparently Gamora and Drax smoothed things over by being their usual terrifying selves. Rocket had acted as moral support, though he didn't have the first clue why any of them were kicking up such a fucking fuss. Peter sleeps back on the ship most of the time, but that's only when he manages to make it back. Otherwise, there's an uncomfortable couch and extra blankets and pillows with his name on it, that shamefully, he uses at least half of the nights.

It reminds him so much of Earth. Sitting and waiting with Mom as she struggled for breath, struggled to speak. Her thin fingers ghosting across the band on her wrist with a fond smile in spite of everything. It must have faded into scar tissue when she passed, but Peter doesn't remember. Just remembers kicking and screaming and begging, not her. not now. please, please, please.

He's sitting sideways on the couch now as he thinks on it all. On Mom, on Brennan, on the invisible rope between them. His feet are kicked up on the visitor chair (the couch isn't large enough to sprawl out on, which means if he spends the night, he has to curl up on it). He doesn't realize he's staring until Alec speaks, deep in thought as he is. When Alec rouses him, his entire body tenses, like an animal caught in a clearing. He says nothing for a second or two, almost like he intends to ignore the foray into conversation, but the tense silence that so often falls between them wears on his nerves. Makes him jumpy and waspish. And he hates that as much as anything.

At last, he lets out a slow breath as he drags his gaze up to meet Alec's. ]

You mean the wavy thing? [ A little gruffly, like he's still not sure if talking is a good idea. A gesture to mimic drawing in the air. ] That's casting?

[ At first he thinks Peter is going to ignore him, that he's going to let the silence stretch on, angry and oppressive. Alec isn't sure whether the fact that he doesn't is a good thing or a bad thing, but they can't avoid one another forever. ]

Yeah. The tattoos cut the writing out of the equation, so I just have to activate them mentally. Good for "oh shit" situations.

[ His gaze flicks down to the black bands wrapping Alec's forearm, though there's awareness in his eyes, now, rather than the blank stare just seconds ago. ]

You didn't draw anything for the fireball. [ He says it slowly, thoughtfully. The day everything went to shit, when they stood with Kove in the alley. Just a snap of his fingers to summon flame. ]

That's one of 'em?

[ He's quiet for a second at the reminder of that day, when everything got turned upside-down. He decides not to dwell on it. ]

Got one for each element. [ He flexes his fingers, and fire blooms in his palm again, though he's quick to douse the flame. The last thing they need is to set off any alarms in this place. ] My taser- the lightning spell- that's another. The ice one I mostly use to regulate the temperature around me to keep me from showing up in thermal vision. Air's good for winding people.

The water one is basically useless, but I'm a completionist.

[ That's... kind of awesome, Peter decides, and it shows on his face for less than a second. He frowns, though, arching an eyebrow. ]

What do you mean, winding people? Like, what, you suffocate 'em?

[ A shrug. ] Pull the air out of their lungs, like a punch to the gut without the punching. I guess I could keep it out if I really wanted to, but usually that’s enough.

[ This just in, Alec’s magic is terrifying. ]

I have to get in close to do it, so it’s not always viable.

[ Peter, naturally, reacts in the same way any relatively well-adjusted person might: ]

Well, that’s terrifying.

[ He peers at the black bands with renewed interest. He had assumed they were just tattoos. Maybe not as meaningful as the ones scarring Drax’s body, but tattoos all the same. ]

They don’t look like your normal magic.

[ He shrugs. An Elementalist with the right kind of skill and the right kind of… creativity can be a force to be reckoned with. He likes to think he’s pretty creative. ]

You mean the runes? They’re there, I just had them covered to hide the spellwork. If I have to go toe-to-toe with another wizard, they can’t look at me and know what I’ve got in my arsenal.

You runnin’ into very many wizards out here?

[ because Peter can maybe count on one hand the number of magicians he’s encountered, or at least the number of folks who claimed what they were doing was a form of magic, rather than some odd biological quirk. ]

[ He quirks a brow. ] Out here? Haven’t seen a one.

They were everywhere back in Chicago.

Chicago?

[ Peter had already gathered Alec was from Earth, though things being what they were, the had never actually spoke on it at any length. Chicago, though. Crawling with wizards.

That’s a new one on him. ]

What, some secret, underground society of wizards and witches? Secret handshakes and decoder rings?

[ He rolls his eyes, though he supposes it's a small blessing that Peter doesn't make a Harry Potter reference. ]

We just live there. My old man was a mechanic. Just so happens we can use magic.

[ what does someone who makes vases and the state of their hair have anything to do with this. ]

Cut me some slack. I’m just now learning magic is apparently a thing on Earth, aside from the shit David Copperfield pulled.

[ a pause. ]

He’s not actually a wizard, is he? ‘Cause that seems like an abuse of power.

[ Eh, all right. They’re actually having a kind of decent conversation, and he’d hate to ruin it by being an asshole. He’ll back off. ]

David Copperfield? I don’t think so. The rules about letting normal people know about magic are pretty strict, and doing actual magic on TV is bound to get you in trouble.

We kind of have little communities of our own, but unless you’re rich and super powerful, you gotta blend in with the normies best you can.

“Normies.” [ He parrots it back flatly. ] Charming.

That why you left? [ The question comes unbidden, and it’s a little more prying than what Peter usually goes for. He doesn’t seem to care much, though, already stretched thin and exhausted by everything that’s happened. ] Didn’t wanna blend in anymore?

[ He hesitates for a handful of seconds. This is getting personal, more personal than he cares to be, but, in the end, there's probably not much they can keep from each other. He's trying to embrace this.

He's trying to do something about it. ]

I just felt like there wasn't anything left for me there.

[ The hesitation clues him in to the fact that Peter might be wandering a little too close to the barbed wire, to the big, giant fences that scream keep the fuck out. Usually he knows better, considering the company he keeps, considering he typically knows how quickly folks are liable to slam doors down in his face, but right now, it’s hard to muster up the capacity to give enough of a shit.

So it comes as a surprise when Alec answers him, rather than asking him to fuck off, or telling him where he can shove his questions. Peter watches him for a second, as if weighing his options.

Then, carefully, ]

Why are you telling me this?

[ He… doesn’t know how to answer that at first, and spends a moment prodding at his lower lip with his tongue while he turns the possible answers over in his head. ]

Because you asked. Because you know fuck all about me, and I’m trying to be less of a selfish prick about it.

[ For a second, Peter’s eyes narrow, as if he suspects a trick. As if he expects Alec to somehow pull the wool over his eyes.

(Again.)

But when Alec prods at his split lip, Peter shoots him a quick glare. ]

Quit that.

[ Running on autopilot, apparently, given the absent way he says it.

He watches Alec for a few more seconds, arms crossed over his chest. It’s an olive branch, he guesses, and a hard-earned one at that – not that Peter was looking for it. Not that he even wanted the invitation to probe into Alec’s life in the first place.

He’s making an attempt, though. Peter has to concede that point, at least. ]

You know you don’t actually have to do this. We can get by just fine with this thing without either of us knowing the intimate details of the other’s life.

[ The fact that Peter scolds him catches him by surprise, enough that he does stop, looking rather like a kid who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ]

I'm trying to give some ground here, Quill. You wanna know what I can do, I'll try to tell you. You wanna know where I'm coming from, I'll try and tell you that too.

I'm not gonna share my whole life story, but I owe you something.

[ ... It's a start, he has to admit.

It's not at all what Peter wants (because what he wants is to rewrite the universe, is to take each strange little atom connecting him to Brennan and crush them into microscopic dust), but it's more than he expected from day one. And far more than he expected that first day Brennan's bunk turned up empty, when he left Peter with a gaping pit in his chest.

But because Peter's a surly bastard when he wants to be, ]

Guess it's only fair. I'm still pretty sure you've dug up my entire life story before we even met.

[ If Peter’s goal was to offend him, then it really failed. Of course Alec researched every single one of the Guardians before approaching them. He dug up their records, their rap sheets, anything he could, but he would admit there were some gaps in his knowledge. Peter’s life on Earth, aside from what very little Nova could figure out about his parentage, was a complete unknown.

But all that aside, it’s becoming clear that he needs to treat Peter as more than a set of statistics. When Alec ran, he was unprepared for the consequences, both physical and emotional. In avoiding the former, he needs to learn how to avoid the latter. ]

I know things about you. That doesn’t mean I know you. I may be an asshole who has no idea how relationships work, but I can at least figure that much out.

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