At The Wake (Peter, Casual) -FIN-

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"I didn't know that.”

Of course he didn’t. It wasn’t something he went around telling people. Few people knew what he went through in his past, more than happy to believe what he wanted them to – that he was a well adjusted, nice guy without a care in the world beyond remembering his shoes and solving cases. No one needed to know about the abuse he’d been running from when he came to New York, and no one needed to know that he’d let himself slip into a pain-pill popping addiction that was partly connected to that. Life was much easier without pity. At least Osric didn’t seem to be going down that road. He was far too irked, apparently.

“How do you know I've crossed any line? Your lines aren't the same as everyone else's. And anyway, I can take care of myself, I can. Why do you care at all?"

Christ, he’d walked into this one. Worrying about people wasn’t easy, especially when they didn’t want you to care or try and help. And having seen this pattern over and over again, he knew what he was seeing, probably better than Osric himself knew.

“Everyone’s lines are different, but their reactions are pretty clear,” Peter conceded. “And I care because you’re in my kitchen, out of all the places in the world you could be right now.”

It was true. People sought out what they wanted when they weren’t themselves. Whether Osric knew it or not, he was there because he wanted something from Peter. Seeing as how he didn’t have anything else for him to take, all he had was this.

“And I’ve seen more kids screwed up on drugs than I care to count,” he added, thinking it was all too true. “So if there’s anything I can do to help you, I will.”

[OSRIC YOUNG]

“Everyone’s lines are different, but their reactions are pretty clear,” Peter said solemnly, and what the fuck did that mean?! Osric was not having Peter go all whimsical poet on him, he got enough of that from Wilson and was more than sure it did not benefit him to be treated like an idiot who needed to be spoken to in passive metaphor.

“And I care because you’re in my kitchen, out of all the places in the world you could be right now. And I’ve seen more kids screwed up on drugs than I care to count. So if there’s anything I can do to help you, I will.”

There was a part of him screaming Peter only meant well, and that he knew more than Osric. That Osric should either let him do what he wanted or just thank him and leave it, but he couldn't. Suddenly being outside, alone, seemed terrifying. So instead, he chose…

"I'M NOT A FUCKING KID. I just said I don't need any help, I'm fine, and I-" Osric stopped, unable to say what he wanted - needed - to say. That he could stop? He knew he couldn't just, not anymore. But he wasn't an addict, he couldn't be. If he was turning into Carl, then he'd at least do it more gracefully than this. All sorts of lies justified in pools of denial bubbled up and Osric had too many words, not enough voice to say any of them when they were all fighting and blocking one another.

"I'm not a kid, Peter," he finally made himself repeat, and it came out almost like a plead, unintentionally willing Peter to say that no, he wasn't. "I'm in your house because I was just goddam here and - FUCK!" He slammed his fists against his thighs, tense and trembling ever so slightly. He wrist throbbed with the force, tears springing to his eyes and he did it again, harder, and he wondered if he would never play music again, even if he was physically able. The embarrassment of his behavior would come later, but for now all he could feel was anger, that no one said that he could anymore, and pure, unadulterated hatred for the rut he'd slowly dug himself into, while fair knowing there was hard chance of getting out.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"I'M NOT A FUCKING KID.”

In retrospect, he should have expected that after mentioning all the screwed up kids he’d had to intervene with over the years. He hadn’t meant to imply that he was. As far as Peter knew, they were almost the same age, even if there was something about Osric that made him innocent in a way that Peter envied more than he could put into words.

“I just said I don't need any help, I'm fine, and I-I'm not a kid, Peter. I'm in your house because I was just goddamn here and - FUCK!”

He watched as Osric hit himself, a move that had to have jarred his wrist. He did it again, and Peter could see the pain practically radiating from that wrist. Peter couldn’t watch it anymore. He slowly moved closer to Osric, not wanting to crowd him, and grasped his forearms to keep him from hitting himself like that again.

“I know, Osric, and I’m sorry if I implied that you were a kid. But everyone needs help once in a while.”

And he was practically screaming for it. Peter’d been in the exact same position, being held down by his uncle so he didn’t ruin his shoulder anymore than it already was, and listening to someone spout words he didn’t want to hear. The parallels were too similar for him to just walk away. He didn’t know where he’d be today if Don had just left him to figure out life on his own.

“I’m glad you’re here, and I really can help you, if you let me,” Peter spoke in the most calming and sincere voice he had. “So tonight we can just bake and relax, and then tomorrow we can talk about things, ok?”

It was clear it wouldn’t be something that would happen tonight. Osric was far too keyed up. He was just going to hurt himself more.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

Peter took his forearms into his own arms, and Osric immediately tensed, but did not pull away. He felt too much like giving up to fight against the hold, firm but not harsh.

“I know, Osric," Peter said to his reassuringly, "And I’m sorry if I implied that you were a kid. But everyone needs help once in a while."

"Of course I know that, but I don't need it,"[/b] Osric spat, but it was weak in conviction. He was running out of energy, and he could feel himself slowly becoming more aware of what he was doing. Without a cloud of anger marking his judgement, this was just... pathetic. So, so pathetic. He couldn't bear to think about himself or he might die of shame.

“I’m glad you’re here, and I really can help you, if you let me,” Peter soothed, his voice so level, so... calming, that it simultaneously pissed off and relaxed Osric, if the oxymoron was possible. He remained tense, but less so. “So tonight we can just bake and relax, and then tomorrow we can talk about things, ok?”

There was a long silence, when Osric looked and Peter's hands grasping his own, and his wrist throbbed, and for a few thankful seconds there was simply nothing. Nothing really to think about. The feeling of shame and anger, still there, receded, and he was just... tired. He didn't want to do this anymore, it seemed counterproductive. Really, he didn't want to do anything anymore. While his goal had been not to sleep at first, it was all he wanted to do now. He had firmly decided that giving up would be in his best interest just now.

"I just want to sleep,"[/b] he finally said, and he was so, so tired. He couldn't even bring himself to be very upset, which was usually his immediate emotion he leaned on when he needed something. Now, everything just seemed... blank. The hum of Peter's refrigerator and his slowing breathing created a white noise, broken but blending with car horns and speeding tires from bellow. The sound of the city. I'm just really tired, Peter. I just want to sleep,"[/b] he repeated, and he wanted to be close to someone, suddenly. He wanted to get in bed with someone he loved and just stay there, warm and presented with another person's life that mattered.

He relaxed his arms and without thinking, stepped forward, going to rest his forehead on Peter's left shoulder, even though he was a little to tall for it to work comfortably. But it was enough at that moment, really, and he sighed, a slight, cold shiver that went all the way through his body. "Let me stay here? Please, Peter. I can't go back home."[/b] It was too much of him, there.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Of course I know that, but I don't need it."

Peter knew that he didn’t think he needed it, but that wasn’t the case. He could tell with how Osric just seemed to give up and go limp in his hold, trusting him to handle things. It was a small victory, but at least it was progress.

"I just want to sleep. I'm just really tired, Peter. I just want to sleep."

Osric looked exhausted beyond reason, like a lifetime was catching up with him. Peter could relate – he’d felt that way time and time again. It wasn’t easy, and it was good to have someone to lean on. So when Osric leaned his head forward and leaned on his good shoulder, Peter was alright with it. It couldn’t have been comfortable, but it probably didn’t matter to the other man right then.

"Let me stay here? Please, Peter. I can't go back home."

“It’s alright, Osric. I’m not going to make you go home,” Peter soothed, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck. “You can sleep here tonight.”

It really wouldn’t put him out. Osric could take the bed, and then maybe he’d be feeling up to snuff in the morning. If he was, they could talk, and if he wasn’t, Peter could send him on his way until he was ready to speak to him about things. He might never be, but that was something that Peter would have to just be content with. He’d done his best, after all.

“Here – I’ll show you where the bed is and you can have a shower before you sleep, if you want,” Peter offered, but didn’t move from where he was still offering Osric some comfort. “You should be comfortable, as long as you don’t mind the dog taking up half of the bed. I swear, he thinks he owns the place.”

Baze probably wouldn’t bother Osric, but it was a possibility he had to warn the other man about.

“It’ll be okay, I promise,” Peter added, hoping that the other man knew that it would be.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

“It’s alright, Osric. I’m not going to make you go home,” Peter said comfortingly, putting a hand to Osric's neck. “You can sleep here tonight.”

"Thanks,"[/b] Osric mumbled into the fabric of Peter's shirt, yielding to the warmth and comfort Peter was offering. The high of anger was practically gone now, replaced by a steady background hum of self loathing, and Osric was ashamed of his lapse of behavior. But not enough to leave, not when Peter was offering. Everything in his own house was him, and he just wanted out. This is why he couldn't live alone. He was so damn needy, he thought bitterly.

“Here – I’ll show you where the bed is and you can have a shower before you sleep, if you want. You should be comfortable, as long as you don’t mind the dog taking up half of the bed. I swear, he thinks he owns the place," Peter joked, and Osric gave a somewhat unhinged gasp of a laugh. Oh, Peter knew how to make light of a situation, didn't he? “It’ll be okay, I promise."

Osric stepped back, still close to Peter but giving up hiding behind him and forced a weary smile that held little faith. "My life is fine, Peter,"[/b] he said colorlessly. "I'm just a whiny bitch."[/b] It felt good to say that, really.

He'd never really been one of those everything-just-sucks teenage phases that the media knew so well, but his confidence in himself was dramatically more empty than one would expect. And the problem was, he not only had faith in other people but in his own talents as well. It was purely himself - he hated himself for the things he alone did. The bad choices he made, the pain he inflicted on others, and especially for having the nerve to do this to himself when he knew he didn't have it that bad at all; he was loved, after all. It was his selfishness, which he recognized and needed.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

When Osric stepped back with that tremulous little smile, Peter couldn’t help feeling for him. Clearly there were a lot of emotions going on in his head and it must have been one heck of a jumble.

“My life is fine, Peter. I'm just a whiny bitch."

“You’re not whiney,” Peter sighed, slinging an arm around Osric’s shoulders. “You’re talking about how you feel. It’s not whining.”

At least Peter didn’t think it was. It was either talk about it or let it slam you down. Clearly it was slamming Osric down right then. He needed to talk to someone, and apparently Peter was that someone.

“And life isn’t always fine. Lord knows it can be down right shitty,” Peter told him. “But its how we deal with it that defines who we are.”

Some people drank, so they were drunks. Some people did drugs, so they were druggies. Some people bet, so they were gamblers and so on and so forth. Osric played music, so he was a musician. Osric was nice and honest, so he was a good guy. He could bake cinnamon buns, so he was a baker. Those were ideals he didn’t want to see him lose. Those were things that he should be proud of. If he could lean on those good things instead of the bad, then he didn’t need to do this to himself. Peter was willing to help however he could.

“So, how about we find a game on the TV and just chill out?” Peter suggested. “Then bed.”

At some point he was going to have to sleep. He needed to be up in the morning for his day job, after all. And if he wasn’t at his best, then he would have to deal with Gerry on him all day about his night life getting in the way of the job.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

“You’re not whiney," Peter tried to assured him, putting an arm over Osri'cs shoulders, “You’re talking about how you feel. It’s not whining.” Well, that was debatable. There was a difference between going to a shrink and going to a random guy's house you don't even know that well to have a small breakdown. Oh god, this was really humiliating. Peter seemed strangely good at playing therapist, though. “And life isn’t always fine. Lord knows it can be down right shitty, but its how we deal with it that defines who we are.”

Osric thought about saying something in jest about Peter's philosophical sentence, but he knew the guy was only trying to help and after all, it was good advice. He had no room in his head for jokes at the moment, anyways. Sometimes he just needed to stop trying and let himself be like this. It seemed his moments of euphoria often built up a deposit that grew and grew until it spilled from its neat little pile. The higher, the more devastating it was when it fell. It was a bit like being high. The fall after the rush. In those cases, Osric thought the happiness wasn't worth what came afterwards. But life itself? It was far less temporary and he didn't know what to think.

“So, how about we find a game on the TV and just chill out? Then bed," Peter suggested, and Osric nodded.

"Yeah, that sounds good, Peter,"[/b] he said, somewhat shyly; at the moment he had little trust in his own voice. He looked towards the couch near Peter's television, and he thought it would be nice to just relax and watch something with Peter, who he was now 100% sure was the most gracious person in the world. He had no idea why he wasn't kicked out, yet.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Peter watched Osric for a long moment, wondering what was going on in his head, whether he was going to stay or if he was going to turn him down and leave. He would be well within his rights to do either. Peter hoped he would just take the suggestion and stay, but he was ready for either occurrence.

"Yeah, that sounds good, Peter.”

And now Osric was back to being shy. Peter had to admit he preferred Osric being shy over aggressive.

“Alright,” Peter smiled, patting his shoulder. “I’ve got chips and stuff on the coffee table and I get ten basic channels now.”

Peter guided Osric over to the couch and flopped down, gesturing to the rest of the couch in invitation. Baze sat by his feet, head on his knee, watching Osric. The dog wasn’t quick to let go of things. Peter scratched his ears idly, turning his attention back to the TV. The game was still on, but Peter had no interest in trying to sit and make sense of what must have happened while he was busy...what, talking Osric down off the baking ledge? Giving him a pep-talk about not taking drugs? Telling him not to screw up his life? He wasn’t so sure he’d done the right thing, but he knew he couldn’t just sit back and let Osric bake himself into a stupor. He just hoped the guy would watch a movie, fall asleep, and be more like himself in the morning. Maybe he’d have better luck with that Osric.

“Here, you pick,” Peter offered, holding out the remote.

He honestly didn’t care what he wanted to watch. It was all just noise.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

“Alright,” Peter said kindly, patting his shoulder with a kind of evasive approval, "I’ve got chips and stuff on the coffee table and I get ten basic channels now.”

Osric nodded. He now realized he might have completely interrupted Peter's free time, evening relaxation, and he felt bad about that too. But he couldn't find anything to say, or find it in himself to apologize, and just let Peter guide him over to the couch. The television showed basketball players running back and forth with sports commentary blaring, merged with the cheers and noises of the game. He sat next to Peter, some distance away; he was truly afraid, at this moment, of whatever he was doing.

But afraid of what? His thoughts were scattered and unkempt, refusing to be blown back into order. He got upset at nothing and everything, and he got physicality and mentality all wrong, mixed and knotted. Numbness wore away to a low buzz and he ached when there was anything at all.

Peter's dog stared at him and Osric imagined the creature could see through his mind. He would be afraid of him, too. He was already. He nudged at the dog gently with his toe, in an attempt of gentleness, but it just made him glare harder and Osric gave up on reconciliation. He pulled his feet up under him and leaned against the arm of the couch, troubled thoughts tumbling around in his head and making him want to escape. It was too warm, anyways.

“Here, you pick,” said Peter, offering the remote him him.

"That's alright, I like basketball, whatever works,"[/b] Osric said dismissively, distracted once again by staring at Baze. The dog really was good looking, if not intimidating. Peter was good looking too, in a rugged way. Osric felt strangely isolated from the rest of whatever was outside here, if not misplaced. He stifled a yawn and shuffled over to lean against Peter, his eyes turned blankly to the TV. His level of physical closeness with Peter might not have been entirely appropriate, considering their relationship was slightly more than acquaintanceship at best, but Osric had never had much of a concept of personal space, and anyways, he just wanted to be with someone right now.

"Hey Peter?"[/b] Osric asked tentatively after a moment. the question came out bitterly skeptical, "How do you... I mean, stopping, you know, is it really worth it?"[/b] His eyes were closed already, and he knew he could easily fall asleep if he let himself, but he needed to know, he really did. It wasn't like he was popping pills every hour, nothing that ridiculous, and it was only one kind. He wasn't in that troughs of drug-induced failure - he held his jobs. He'd already ruined what he'd had going for him, and that had been without the help of anything but a drink. He took health class in high school, he saw Carl go off and ruin his life through the eyes of society, but really, was that all it was? Society's eyes? Because maybe it wouldn't be so bad, being blank for the rest of his life, or at least when he chose to be. There was no easier way to deal with problems than by not-dealing with them, and maybe if he forced himself not to care anymore, he could just take the easy route for the rest of his life.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Peter wasn’t all that surprised when Osric sat on the other side of the couch like he was going to bite the guy. He wouldn’t bite him, but Baze was definitely trying to make Osric understand that he might feel differently. He scratched the dog behind the ear, hoping he’d just leave Osric alone already. It was awkward for a moment before Osric turned down his offer to pick something.

"That's alright, I like basketball, whatever works."

Peter shrugged, channel surfing for a moment, landing on some black and white movie. Even if Osric was alright with the game, Peter didn’t want to invest in it too much with company. Some boring movie was perfect. He doubted Osric even cared. He shuffled closer and leaned against Peter. Peter took a moment to process that, deciding to just let it happen. Most of the time he wasn’t a fan of being close like this unless he chose to initiate it. But Osric didn’t mean anything by it. They were just two world-weary pals on a couch.

"Hey Peter? How do you... I mean, stopping, you know, is it really worth it?"

Peter didn’t hastily jump in to say yes or no. He knew if someone had jumped in to tell him either of those answers immediately, he wouldn’t have believed whoever was doing the talking. It wasn’t something he could easily answer. On the one hand, he thought it was pretty awesome to just pop pills and wander off into his own little world. There was no pain and life seemed to make a lot more sense that way. On the other, he didn’t like how it had put something between him and everyone else he knew, especially his detective uncle and guardian, Don. He hated feeling like he was the outsider at home and school and even on the side walk. He’d had to find his way back to who he was before he’d realized the tension was all caused by his addiction. Was it worth it? Well...

“For me, yeah,” Peter replied, letting Baze lick his fingers. “I felt like I...I don’t even know how I felt. I just didn’t like myself. And at the end of the day, that’s what it comes down to. If you can’t look yourself in the eye, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

He had hated himself by the end. The only person who never gave up on him was Don and he was just terrible to him. He lived for the pills and nearly crashed his life into the ground before he’d gotten the wake up call. He’d been frustrated one night without pills and hit Baze before kicking the wall and sobbing himself out on the floor, clutching his broken toes. He hadn’t been able to look himself in the mirror after that incident, but what really hurt him was how the dog refused to come near him for days. It was just something that he never wanted to go through again.

“You gotta do it for you,” Peter offered, knowing it was true. A million people could be standing there, yelling at him to stop and it wouldn’t mean a thing unless it was his choice.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

There was a long pause before Peter said anything. In a way, Osric just wanted him to say "Yes, of course!" and be done with the matter. He knew that wouldn't do anything in the long wrong, of course it wouldn't, but one could hope for an easy solution. He listened to the old movie now playing - the dramatic lines and subtle jokes. He had wanted to be an actor once. Now he thought that might be nice again - to have all your words and decisions planned in a script for you. All you need is pretending.

“For me, yeah," Peter finally answered, and while he hadn't expected Peter, or anyone, to say 'No, it's not,' there was a certain relief to hearing the affirmative words. "I felt like I...I don’t even know how I felt. I just didn’t like myself. And at the end of the day, that’s what it comes down to. If you can’t look yourself in the eye, you shouldn't be doing it.”

He had never cared for advice. He appreciated it, but he was a massive hypocrite - following up unless he legitimately wanted to was a problem for him. Often, if he wanted to do something and someone told him that he should do it, it actually turned him off to the idea, not wanting to be bossed around - so when Peter said, “You gotta do it for you," Osric understood fully: this. This is what the truth is. That his egocentric view of the world was centered on himself enough that he could never stop just because it was the right thing to do.

And that... that was disappointing really. That he couldn't just follow up on what he knew, truly, was good. Elder Ross would hate him, right now. All of them would. It's why he never went down the missionary path - directions were not him. He would keep his damn first name to himself.

"That's good advice Peter,"[/b] Osric said quietly, because it was. He just wasn't how sure he could follow it. He stayed still against Peter's side, wondering: did you really have to hit rock bottom to get back up? That was just a rumor, he'd thought, but then again - maybe it was a reality for half of them, or him.

Come to think of it, he didn't even know how one was supposed to stop, besides just, literally, stopping. And apparently, that wasn't happening. But he could think about that later - everything could always wait for later. He could find conviction some other time. He drifted off against Peter to the TV, the white light going in and out, bright enough in a dark room so that he could see through his eyelids.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

OOC: WOOT, 300 posts!

Peter was glad that Osric didn’t just jump up and tell him he should keep his opinions to himself or something. It wasn’t a major confession – he had far too many of those that would never come to light, if he had any say in the matter – but it was still something he didn’t really want thrown back in his face for sharing. It wasn’t his proudest moment, and it was a part of his history he couldn’t erase, but it was still something that he went out on a limb in sharing.

"That's good advice Peter.”

Peter hummed a bit in reply, not bothering to reply. Agreeing with himself never seemed like that great an idea. So he turned his attention to the TV, one hand still rubbing Baze’s ear. Osric leaned on him a bit more and it didn’t take long before he seemed to go limp in sleep. Peter let him, knowing he would need that more than anything else. Sleep was the cure-all, after all. After a while his own eyes started to feel heavy and even Baze was yawning. As carefully as possible, Peter shifted out from under Osric, guiding his head to the pillow Peter kept on the couch for when he did the same thing after a tiring day. Baze stretched and gave Osric a long look before trotting down towards his bedroom.

Peter paused for a long moment, looking over the man on his couch. He sure hoped Osric did the right thing, but as much as he wanted that, he knew it would have to be something that he decided on for himself and nothing Peter said to him would make a difference unless he did. So he tugged the blanket off the back of the couch and let it cover Osric so that only his hair was sticking out. He was an endearing guy and Peter couldn’t help but think of him as a kid, even though they were the same age. Experience had aged Peter more than he liked to think about. He was fifty years old some days, especially when his body hurt and his mind was stuck in the past. He really hoped Osric held onto whatever it was that made him the way he was.

“Night,” Peter whispered, shutting off the light as he followed Baze down the hall to his own oblivion.