Fringe Fic - At Fault
“Dad?” The voice was painfully hopeful, and painfully weak. His son had been waiting up for him, denying himself well needed rest for a chance to see his father. It made him feel guilty the he had nothing to show for his absence.
Walter was unsure how to answer, choosing to reply with a noncommittal “Mm?” as confirmation of his presence, as he walked into the room.
“I’ve almost got it.” He says whilst trying to roll the coin over and under his fingers. From Walter’s vantage point, it flashes with a brilliant silver light, before darkening, then shining again. The coin makes its journey uninterrupted over his son’s fingers, falling off the edge and onto his bed covers as he failed to master the final part of the trick: keeping the coin for a repeat.
Walter gave an appropriately impressed “Ooh,” before gently taking the coin himself. “Let me show you. Now…slowly…watch…” he demonstrated, “one finger at a time.” He completed the trick. “You show me.” Peter took the coin with a new reverence, and slowly completed the trick as his father had shown him. “Very good.”
Peter looked up into his father’s eyes, seeming…at peace. Which was a dangerous thing. It meant he had stopped fighting. “I want you to have it.” He pressed it against the hands that had gone stiff with shock and dismay. “My lucky silver dollar. If I die.”
“Peter…”
“It’s okay.” He breathed, energy sapped by the conversation he was having. “I’m not scared.” He said, but his body tensed. He may not have been scared, but he was in pain.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise.” He had no way to secure that promise, but he promised nonetheless. Just as he had promised Elizabeth. Just as he had promised himself. “You’re going to be just fine. Okay? Now get some rest.” Even a simple thing as their conversation was a huge effort on Peter’s behalf.
“Okay. Will you wake me for dinner? I don’t wanna miss it.”
“You’re not gonna miss anything.” And he set himself towards ensuring that was true. Peter would not miss football games, dates with girls, or and part of his life. He would not allow this to stop him.
And just as he resolved on his son’s future, Peter died. He felt it instantly in the way his body relaxed, free of the pain that had plagued much of his existence for the past year. He felt the absence of the faint fluttering against his cheek, his heart no longer keeping him alive. But most of all he felt his absence. Peter was not in his arms any more. It took him moments to process what had happened. How it had happened. Why it had happened. And once his mind had worked through those questions it turned to sheer and utter panic.
His son was dead.
He had failed. He had relied too heavily on his alternate, not seeking a cure by himself. He could well have explored options on his own, but had chosen not to. He had chosen wrong.
His son was dead, and it was his fault.