Peter was curled up in the armchair in the kitchen, curled in on himself in a way that might seem strange for such a wild boy. Stranger still was the fact that he was mostly asleep, but then it had been a very long few days even for him.
But it wasn't the sort of nap that invigorates a person and wakes them up from inside out. Rather, it was a sleep just this edge of waking and filled with Peter's nightmares.
As Mike came in, he kicked in his sleep, more like a dog than a boy, and murmured something piteous but incomprehensible.
He glances down at the boy and concern flashes across his face. He hadn't asked Eostre how Peter had dealt with the events of Halloween; he'd just sort of assumed that it had been all right. But nightmares can happen anytime.
He shifts Flo higher on his shoulder, leans down and places a hand carefully on Peter's arm. Not shaking, not yet; sometimes it's enough to jar someone out of the dream without waking them entirely.
Ever since before going to Neverland, Peter had had nightmares. He never remembered what they were about when he woke up, but they were there all the same. It's not something you'd expect from a boy like him, perhaps, but then, he was very alone in the world for a very long time.
Since getting to the island, they had started going away. But not entirely.
At the touch to his arm, he twisted away as though he was trying to press himself deeper against the cushion of the chair.
Even for Peter Pan, it had been a rather long few days.
It hadn't worked. He can tell, the way the small body tenses and twists in on itself. If there's one thing he's familiar with it's the structure of nightmares.
"Hey," he says, shaking gently now. "Peter. It's okay, man. Come on."
It's his name that has Peter waking with a start, eyes flying open. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that it's Mike's voice, which means it's safe. But he's still too caught up in the nightmare, and he almost falls off the chair as he flails to get his dagger out, pointing it as his chest, eyes afraid but fierce, dangerous.
He can't jump back, not with Flo in his arms, but he twitches back and one hand comes up instinctively. It's not a large dagger, and Peter isn't a large boy, but Mike knows enough now to know that he's strong for his size, and fast besides. Every parental instinct in him is on screaming red alert. He forces all of them back with an effort.
"Easy," he says, low and even. "It's me. It's okay."
There was a long moment as Peter looked at him with his dagger still out, trying to remember who he was, where he was.
But finally he took a shaky breath as he looked at him, at Mike and one of the girls besides. He slowly let the dagger come down as he blinked and looked away guiltily.
He remembers one time. It had only been once, because when he wakes up it's almost always in a fraction of a second with sleep left totally behind. But once it hadn't happened that way, and one moment he'd been lost in the desert with Iraqi Republican Guard all around him and the next he'd been sitting up with Hobbes crouched over him and the muzzle of his gun jammed against Hobbes's temple.
The biggest fight had been not showing how scared he was.
"It's okay," he says again. He takes a shaky breath and crouches, one hand still supporting Flo against his shoulder. "Just a bad dream. I get 'em too."
Peter closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. Putting his dagger away, he curled up into the chair some. His pulse was still racing, but he just swallowed and looked at Flo for a second before glancing back at Mike.
He'd just pulled a dagger on his baby sister. What sort of brother was he?
"You didn't mean it." He shakes his head, his hand settling on Peter's shoulder again. "I pulled a gun on Hobbes once because of a bad dream. They can be shitty things. It's not your fault. Okay?"
Having just shed his own guilt, it's as though he can't bear to see it in anyone else. Especially not a kid.
"I didn't..." Peter almost said that he didn't have bad dreams, that only girls and cowards had nightmares. But he could still remember bits of it still, swarms of pirates and the only way out was a shut window and water that was rising, rising, rising.
He reached to touch Flo's foot lightly,a nd she smiled at him. That helped some.
"See?" He shifts her in his arms, turning her to face Peter a little more directly. "She's not mad. She probably didn't even notice."
He glances back at the counter and the stove. It would help to have both hands free. "You wanna hold her?" He smiles. "Give me a break for a few minutes?"
He turns back to the counter, shrugging as he goes. "Enough to know how much they suck. Some things you can't unsee." He clears his throat, slightly uncomfortable. It's still not easy to talk about, especially not to a kid. Some things you just forget how to put into words.
"What do you dream about?" he asks, trying to shift tracks a little.
He let Flo catch up his finger and stick, immediately, into her mouth. Peter didn't mind too much though; you get used to baby spittle pretty quick with two baby sisters.
Peter shrugged and looked down for a moment before glancing up at Mike . "I don't know. Different things, I guess."
He glances back at Peter, digesting this. Not real surprising that he doesn't want to discuss it. Even now, Mike's aware that trying to talk to him about his own issues can be about as easy and as pleasant as dental surgery.
"Pirates?" he asks, taking what he feels is an informed guess.
But it wasn't the sort of nap that invigorates a person and wakes them up from inside out. Rather, it was a sleep just this edge of waking and filled with Peter's nightmares.
As Mike came in, he kicked in his sleep, more like a dog than a boy, and murmured something piteous but incomprehensible.
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He shifts Flo higher on his shoulder, leans down and places a hand carefully on Peter's arm. Not shaking, not yet; sometimes it's enough to jar someone out of the dream without waking them entirely.
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Since getting to the island, they had started going away. But not entirely.
At the touch to his arm, he twisted away as though he was trying to press himself deeper against the cushion of the chair.
Even for Peter Pan, it had been a rather long few days.
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"Hey," he says, shaking gently now. "Peter. It's okay, man. Come on."
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"Easy," he says, low and even. "It's me. It's okay."
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But finally he took a shaky breath as he looked at him, at Mike and one of the girls besides. He slowly let the dagger come down as he blinked and looked away guiltily.
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The biggest fight had been not showing how scared he was.
"It's okay," he says again. He takes a shaky breath and crouches, one hand still supporting Flo against his shoulder. "Just a bad dream. I get 'em too."
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He'd just pulled a dagger on his baby sister. What sort of brother was he?
"Sorry," he said softly.
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Having just shed his own guilt, it's as though he can't bear to see it in anyone else. Especially not a kid.
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He reached to touch Flo's foot lightly,a nd she smiled at him. That helped some.
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He glances back at the counter and the stove. It would help to have both hands free. "You wanna hold her?" He smiles. "Give me a break for a few minutes?"
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He settled back into the chair and bounced her as she sat in his lap. For a girl who just had a dagger pulled on her, she seemed pretty content.
"Do you have bad dreams a lot?" Peter asked, unusually hesitant.
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"What do you dream about?" he asks, trying to shift tracks a little.
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Peter shrugged and looked down for a moment before glancing up at Mike . "I don't know. Different things, I guess."
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"Pirates?" he asks, taking what he feels is an informed guess.
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