"Sure you don't," Claude smirked. Peter would go through life with one hand holding tightly to whomever he'd decided he cared about at the moment if he could. Then again, he was an empath. But Peter hadn't quite gotten the whole scope of what his power meant for his life. And Claude was more than content to sit back and watch him try to figure it out.
At Peter's snark, Claude simply rolled his eyes. "Hardy har, really. Just full of chuckles today, aren't you? No, smartass, no crystals. No candles. Just you." A grin that was more mocking than anything else crossed his face. "Why? You afraid to work without a net? This is all just going to be you, Peter. Nothing you've begged, borrowed, or stolen. We're going to just work on your power, who you are apart from everyone else." He paused. "Maybe you'd feel better with a teddy bear to hold?"
Without waiting for a reply, Claude commanded, "Shut your eyes. Breathe. Open yourself up to everything you're feeling. Every emotion running through you. Don't shy away from any, don't try to understand. Just see them in your mind's eye. Do you have it?"
Peter knew that Claude was being mocking when he suggested a teddy bear, but the idea was a good one. Peter brightened, and immediately hopped up to stride quickly out of the room - even when Claude had started passing on instructions on what to do.
On the way, he found a note from Rachel. Peter studied it, cursing under his breath as he crumpled the bit of paper and tossed it onto the table. Gone for a few days on a run. Perfect excuse to leave and not deal with him, much less her own emotions.
When he returned and sat down again, Peter looked a little shifty, and there was a suspicious shape under his shirt.
Okay, shutting eyes, breathing, he could do that. Emotions, of which there were a lot of. Determination, irritation, embarrassment, misery, tired resignation. Peter couldn't really tell which were his, and - if Claude was right - which belonged to Claude, and what had been prompted from Rachel. "Yeah, I got it," he said slowly, trying not to break his concentration while speaking.
Snorting softly, Claude didn't comment. Fine. A focus object actually wasn't a bad thought for a fledgling empath - anything with deep emotional resonance would do. Maybe he'd even explain that once the lesson was over. Or maybe he'd just laugh at the kid having a stuffed elephant from his nappy days or whatever the hell it was. It was hard to tell.
"Now picture a giant sieve," he coached Peter, voice calm but gruff. "You have to trust, completely, that that sieve is going to be able to sift out your emotions from the rest. This is natural, Peter, what you were born to do. Don't fight it. Just pour everything, all the emotions, into the sieve. Everything that's from you will go into a mental bowl. Whatever is left behind belongs to other people. Try it."
That was a lot easier said than done, Peter supposed. Exactly how was a person meant to filter emotions? Was the human brain even capable of doing that? ...Apparently his was, according to Claude, so trying probably wouldn't hurt.
Imagining the sieve as Claude mentioned, Peter mentally told himself that only his own emotions would pass through. He had to trust in this - and Peter had no problems in believe in something that seemed strange. The first try definitely didn't work, and neither did the second. Just as Peter was assuming he must be doing something wrong, he tried a third time. Some of the stronger emotions dimmed, leaving his own rather too-tired-to-feel-much emotions by themselves.
Huh. Maybe it did work. Absently patting the stuffed animal under his shirt, Peter opened his eyes and smiled slightly at Claude. "Did it. I think." It was a start, at least.
Of course it was easier said than done. If it was easy, his brain would be doing it automatically. But it was necessary, which trumped any degree of difficulty.
He watched Peter carefully, jerking a nod when he said he'd gotten it. "Okay, your emotions, put in the bowl. They're separate, now, from everything else. Once you've gotten that, you can let go of the sieve. Everyone else's emotions will flow down around yours - like a bowl set in a bathtub. You can see them, but they're not all mixed up." Claude didn't fidget, didn't drum his fingers or show any other sign of nervousness. But it was there, all the same. If Peter couldn't get this right, it didn't matter a lick and a half if he could stop himself from exploding. He'd meltdown from having too many emotions in his head, become a sad shell of a human being, and eventually go insane. What was worse, there wasn't anything Claude could do to help besides lead Peter on these inane mental exercises.
Okay, that sounded easy enough. Like a bowl in a batht- shit. Peter groaned in frustration as the other emotions, no longer separated, shoved their way back into his head.
"Sorry, lost my concentration," he muttered apologetically. Now he had to start from the start again, goddammit.
Sieve, separation. It felt odd not feeling them, but knowing them. Like something he could see and remember, like memories, but not truly affecting him. Weird. But the second time he tried the bowl in the bathtub thing, every emotion meshed together again. Maybe it was because he'd always had too much of a vivid imagination and kept imagining that the bowl didn't really float and keep mixing with the outside water.
Lowering his head into his hands, Peter pressed his palms into his eyes, getting annoyed. Or maybe that was Claude getting annoyed by his failure. He didn't know. Knowing about this whole empath thing with even more confusing with emotions. "I'll get it eventually, I promise."
Clenching his jaw, Claude held up his hand. "Okay, okay, you're not a bowl person. Don't blow a bleeding gasket. Just stop and regroup." He paused, thinking. "Right, so, in all your time being holding onto mommy and brother's apron strings, did they ever take you to the aquarium?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued. "Dump all of your emotions into one of huge fish tanks. Everything else is on the other side of the glass."
He reached forward, then, Claude pulled out whatever Peter had under his shirt. A stuffed polar bear. Huh. "Hold this," he muttered impatiently, shoving the thing into Peter's hands. "Do you more good where you can focus on it. If you're going to look like an idiot, you might as well do it right. Try again."
A little embarrassed, Peter defensively clutched the stuffed polar bear when it was shoved back at him, glaring at Claude for mistreating it. It was old, and had significant emotional value, it didn't deserve to be shoved around!
Fine, an aquarium. He'd been to one once - he couldn't remember if Ma or Nathan had ever taken him, but he definitely had memories of one. That should work.
Only, it wasn't. Peter was too tired from nearly exploding and using too many powers, his concentration was shot to hell. All he wanted to do was sleep, not go through mental exercises about how to control something he'd only known about for a few months.
"What do I need to do this for, anyway?" Peter gave up for the moment, looking at Claude with something between frustration and curiosity. "Is feeling what somebody else is feeling really so bad?"
At Peter's snark, Claude simply rolled his eyes. "Hardy har, really. Just full of chuckles today, aren't you? No, smartass, no crystals. No candles. Just you." A grin that was more mocking than anything else crossed his face. "Why? You afraid to work without a net? This is all just going to be you, Peter. Nothing you've begged, borrowed, or stolen. We're going to just work on your power, who you are apart from everyone else." He paused. "Maybe you'd feel better with a teddy bear to hold?"
Without waiting for a reply, Claude commanded, "Shut your eyes. Breathe. Open yourself up to everything you're feeling. Every emotion running through you. Don't shy away from any, don't try to understand. Just see them in your mind's eye. Do you have it?"
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On the way, he found a note from Rachel. Peter studied it, cursing under his breath as he crumpled the bit of paper and tossed it onto the table. Gone for a few days on a run. Perfect excuse to leave and not deal with him, much less her own emotions.
When he returned and sat down again, Peter looked a little shifty, and there was a suspicious shape under his shirt.
Okay, shutting eyes, breathing, he could do that. Emotions, of which there were a lot of. Determination, irritation, embarrassment, misery, tired resignation. Peter couldn't really tell which were his, and - if Claude was right - which belonged to Claude, and what had been prompted from Rachel. "Yeah, I got it," he said slowly, trying not to break his concentration while speaking.
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"Now picture a giant sieve," he coached Peter, voice calm but gruff. "You have to trust, completely, that that sieve is going to be able to sift out your emotions from the rest. This is natural, Peter, what you were born to do. Don't fight it. Just pour everything, all the emotions, into the sieve. Everything that's from you will go into a mental bowl. Whatever is left behind belongs to other people. Try it."
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Imagining the sieve as Claude mentioned, Peter mentally told himself that only his own emotions would pass through. He had to trust in this - and Peter had no problems in believe in something that seemed strange. The first try definitely didn't work, and neither did the second. Just as Peter was assuming he must be doing something wrong, he tried a third time. Some of the stronger emotions dimmed, leaving his own rather too-tired-to-feel-much emotions by themselves.
Huh. Maybe it did work. Absently patting the stuffed animal under his shirt, Peter opened his eyes and smiled slightly at Claude. "Did it. I think." It was a start, at least.
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He watched Peter carefully, jerking a nod when he said he'd gotten it. "Okay, your emotions, put in the bowl. They're separate, now, from everything else. Once you've gotten that, you can let go of the sieve. Everyone else's emotions will flow down around yours - like a bowl set in a bathtub. You can see them, but they're not all mixed up." Claude didn't fidget, didn't drum his fingers or show any other sign of nervousness. But it was there, all the same. If Peter couldn't get this right, it didn't matter a lick and a half if he could stop himself from exploding. He'd meltdown from having too many emotions in his head, become a sad shell of a human being, and eventually go insane. What was worse, there wasn't anything Claude could do to help besides lead Peter on these inane mental exercises.
"Do you have it?"
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"Sorry, lost my concentration," he muttered apologetically. Now he had to start from the start again, goddammit.
Sieve, separation. It felt odd not feeling them, but knowing them. Like something he could see and remember, like memories, but not truly affecting him. Weird. But the second time he tried the bowl in the bathtub thing, every emotion meshed together again. Maybe it was because he'd always had too much of a vivid imagination and kept imagining that the bowl didn't really float and keep mixing with the outside water.
Lowering his head into his hands, Peter pressed his palms into his eyes, getting annoyed. Or maybe that was Claude getting annoyed by his failure. He didn't know. Knowing about this whole empath thing with even more confusing with emotions. "I'll get it eventually, I promise."
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He reached forward, then, Claude pulled out whatever Peter had under his shirt. A stuffed polar bear. Huh. "Hold this," he muttered impatiently, shoving the thing into Peter's hands. "Do you more good where you can focus on it. If you're going to look like an idiot, you might as well do it right. Try again."
Reply
Fine, an aquarium. He'd been to one once - he couldn't remember if Ma or Nathan had ever taken him, but he definitely had memories of one. That should work.
Only, it wasn't. Peter was too tired from nearly exploding and using too many powers, his concentration was shot to hell. All he wanted to do was sleep, not go through mental exercises about how to control something he'd only known about for a few months.
"What do I need to do this for, anyway?" Peter gave up for the moment, looking at Claude with something between frustration and curiosity. "Is feeling what somebody else is feeling really so bad?"
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