[ The words hang in the air, echoing strangely, or at least it feels that way. Feeling a little like his knees didn't work anymore, Doug -- no, Wayne, it's always just been Wayne -- almost sits down on the minibar because he might otherwise lose his balance, but he manages to recover, simply standing in place.
Shit.
It's one of those things that hits him in several folds, but it's the death Wayne latches onto immediately more so than the superhero admission. It's weird, and it's surprising, but he's talked to people that turn into cars and has such trained himself to deal with "weird." But the rest... if he wasn't already sobered, he would be now. Death is like that. But Peter's so young.
He thinks about Pete. Pete, Doug's friend, not Wayne's, that Dale had murdered and Wayne had helped to bury the body. He thinks about what lengths he went to hide the murder of a man he had liked, had felt sorry for, who was killed because he just got a step too close. (All of it's too close, like Dale is in the room; Wayne at least feels like he can understand perfectly.) He thinks about Sammy, only a few years younger than Peter here, saying Dad, thanks for not abandoning me back there. This kid-- this Peter was not his son, but just like Pete he was friends with a different man than he thought he was. Sammy's words help ground Wayne again, insist to him that he can't abandon Peter right now. He's talking to a dead kid. One that knows he's dead, has nothing to go back to, and can't do a damn thing about it. ]
Hey.
[ He's not really sure what he's going to say, yet, but he'll figure that out. First, he walks over to pull Peter into a hug because it seems like the right thing to do. ]
Nobody owns you. All right? You're-- you're not... nothing. [ It feels meaningless to say, almost, but he does mean it. He thinks about Sammy again, even DiDi (sorry Cael), and instinct takes over. ] Isn't your fault.
no subject
Shit.
It's one of those things that hits him in several folds, but it's the death Wayne latches onto immediately more so than the superhero admission. It's weird, and it's surprising, but he's talked to people that turn into cars and has such trained himself to deal with "weird." But the rest... if he wasn't already sobered, he would be now. Death is like that. But Peter's so young.
He thinks about Pete. Pete, Doug's friend, not Wayne's, that Dale had murdered and Wayne had helped to bury the body. He thinks about what lengths he went to hide the murder of a man he had liked, had felt sorry for, who was killed because he just got a step too close. (All of it's too close, like Dale is in the room; Wayne at least feels like he can understand perfectly.) He thinks about Sammy, only a few years younger than Peter here, saying Dad, thanks for not abandoning me back there. This kid-- this Peter was not his son, but just like Pete he was friends with a different man than he thought he was. Sammy's words help ground Wayne again, insist to him that he can't abandon Peter right now. He's talking to a dead kid. One that knows he's dead, has nothing to go back to, and can't do a damn thing about it. ]
Hey.
[ He's not really sure what he's going to say, yet, but he'll figure that out. First, he walks over to pull Peter into a hug because it seems like the right thing to do. ]
Nobody owns you. All right? You're-- you're not... nothing. [ It feels meaningless to say, almost, but he does mean it. He thinks about Sammy again, even DiDi (sorry Cael), and instinct takes over. ] Isn't your fault.