Chapter Text
"Hey, Peter, are you alright?"
Peter was sitting on the balcony, knees curled to his chest, staring at the distant ocean waves. His cheeks were marked with dried tear tracks, and his skin was red and blotchy. Mike could tell he'd probably been crying for quite some time before anyone got home.
Peter shook his head, but he didn't say anything. That made Mike more worried than anything else. "Well, want me to sit with you?"
Peter nodded slowly, and Mike sat.
Peter had a dream, a terrible one, with hands grabbing him all over and holding him down, and a soft voice ordering him not to tell anyone their secret. He woke up sobbing, thankful that Davy was already out of bed. He knew what the dream meant, who the hands belonged to, and it made him cry even harder to realize that he'd be seeing him at his cousin's wedding the following month.
He couldn't tell anyone. He knew that if he did, nobody would take him seriously. How could they? He barely knew how to describe what had happened, barely understood what sex was in the first place. Everyone would think he was misremembering things.
"Are you homesick? I mean, we're going to visit soon. Thanks for the invite, by the way. But…I mean if you are, I don't mind you makin' a phone call as long as it's short."
Peter shook his head again, and more tears flowed from him without his permission. He wanted to stop crying, to stop being so sad and scared and, worst of all, angry. He hated being angry, more than he hated anything else.
"Maybe it'll help if you say what's wrong."
"No." Peter's voice cracked, and he wiped his nose with his sleeve. Harsh and aggressive, the way his dream felt. The way he felt. "It won't help. I know it won't."
"Well, how do you know unless you try? Come on, man, lay it on me."
"I don't want to. You'll…you'll hate me. You'll think I'm even more stupid than you already do."
Mike's jaw fell open. "That's…I don't—"
"Yes, you do, Mike." Peter sounded miserable, but matter-of-fact. He knew better, and he knew that none of the guys thought he was smart. He knew he wasn't smart, but it didn't feel nice for everyone to remind him of it all the time.
"Well…" Mike had the good sense to at least feel guilty. He didn't want Peter to think that Mike thought less of him just for being a little dense sometimes. "I'm sorry. But even besides that, I don't think there's anything that could make me hate you at all. You're my friend, Peter."
Peter was quiet, playing with the hem of his shirt. He wanted to go back to bed, to hide away from the world and rot there, where nobody could ever hurt him again. Mike laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Peter — despite knowing Mike would never, ever, hurt him — flinched.
Peter began to sob, even harder than when he first woke up, and reached for Mike. Mike pulled him into a fierce hug without a second thought.
"Let it out, buddy. Whatever it is, just let it out."
Peter tried, but all he could do was choke and cough and cry. Mike patted his back, dislodging a bit of phlegm that made it that much harder for Peter to breathe. Peter gasped, leaning forward and trying not to vomit. He spit, feeling violent and hard-hearted and so, so broken. Mike stared, biting his lip.
"Let's get you some water, Peter." Mike's voice was soft, probably the softest Peter had ever heard it. Peter nodded and reached for Mike wordlessly. Mike helped him stand and wrapped an arm around him to keep him upright. "Should probably get you some Aspirin, too."
Peter sniffed as Mike helped him to the table, putting a glass and three tablets in front of him. "I know two doesn't always cut it."
Peter couldn't believe that Mike remembered that. Mike was attentive to all of them, but he didn't always remember the little things. That he could remember that Peter needed more medicine than most people for it to kick in made Peter's heart ache in a way he couldn't explain.
Mike wasn't doing much better. He hated seeing Peter so upset, out of sorts and refusing to speak. It wasn't usual for him to cry like this without saying what was bothering him, which told Mike it had to be really bad.
Peter finally broke the silence. "I wanna lay down again, but…Mike, can I sleep in your bed, please? I can't…I had a really bad dream and if I have to sleep in my bed again I think I'll have it again and I—"
"Sure, buddy. Anything you need." And just like that, Mike was helping him up the stairs, guiding him with a firm hand and a soft push that told Peter he wasn't going anywhere, that he was there for him. And sure enough, Mike laid down beside him, wrapping Peter in his arms.
It wasn't any different than a thunderstorm, Mike told himself. Peter needed someone to hold him during those, so why wouldn't he need that for whatever this was? Peter fell asleep quickly, exhausted from all the crying and stress.
Mike laid there, staring at the door and keeping watch, hoping that his presence was enough to keep whatever dreams were haunting Peter at bay. It wasn't, he could tell, because about an hour into his nap, Peter started to shift around and cry out.
Mike didn't like the sound of it. Peter was acting like he was being hurt, like someone was committing a terrible crime against him. Mike shook him awake.
Peter sat up, gasping and clutching his chest. He looked at Mike, eyes wide, and collapsed into tears once more.
Mike was prepared for that. He held him, stroking Peter's hair and wiping tears away from his cheeks and muttering things that he hoped were soothing. It took Peter almost twenty minutes to stop crying. He clutched at Mike's shirt and closed his eyes, breathless.
"Peter, what's goin' on?" Mike whispered. "It's…I wanna help, but I don't know how I can if you won't tell me."
Peter whimpered and held out his pinky. "Do you promise you won't hate me?"
Mike's heart sank. The idea that Peter thought Mike was even capable of that put a sour taste in his mouth. He supposed he hadn't done enough to reassure Peter earlier that he could never hate him. Mike linked their pinkies together and clasped Peter's hand in his own. "I promise I won't hate you, Peter."
Peter shielded his face. He couldn't look at Mike, couldn't handle Mike looking at him. He didn't know how to voice the shame and fear and deep sorrow he was burdened with. He knew he couldn't do it if he could see Mike's expression.
"I'm scared to go home. My…my parents have a friend that I used to spend a lot of time with."
Mike raised an eyebrow, but he didn't interrupt. Peter was shaking, and Mike knew he was about to say something terrible.
"I don't think I'm a virgin. I…I thought I was, but…I think he…I know he…had," Peter gulped before continuing, "s-e-x with me."
Time stopped. Mike felt like he was going to throw up.
"What?" His voice was barely audible, laced with shock and horror. Peter was still hiding away, trying to shrink into himself. Mike's grip tightened. "Peter, why do you think that?"
Peter shook his head. He couldn't say more. He didn't have the words, the knowledge, he didn't know how to say it without sounding like he wanted it. He knew that he didn't.
"Peter…Peter, this is serious. You…how old were you?"
Peter didn't respond. He held up his fingers. Mike really was going to be sick.
"God." Mike choked, covering his mouth. "Peter, that's not sex. That's not, you were a kid, man."
"I had a dream and I could feel it all over again and it was like he was there in my bed, holding me down and making me be quiet and— Mike, I'm scared."
Mike closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath through pursed lips. He felt nauseous. He felt like he could cry. The thought of anyone going through that, much less his friends, much less Peter — his sweet Peter who was the kindest and most sensitive of them all, the very same boy Mike had been in love with since they met — it made Mike angry. It made him hate the world. Most of all, it broke his heart.
"I'll keep you safe, buddy, you know I will. Is…he's gonna be at the wedding, huh?"
"Yes."
Mike clicked his tongue. He reached for Peter, pulling him into an awkward hug. Peter rested his head against Mike's shoulder, staring at nothing. Mike began to run his fingers through Peter's hair.
"I feel so angry and…and dirty, like I'll never get clean again. And the worst part is that I think I always knew that it was bad."
"You're not dirty, Peter. You're not. I mean that, man. It's not…you were just a kid."
"He tricked me into it. He said it was like a game. That it…that it would be fun." Peter sniffed and closed his eyes, nestling into Mike's shirt. "He lied. It wasn't fun at all."
"No, I'm sure it wasn't." Mike's voice cracked, and he tried to cover it with a cough. "You know, I…I don't…I've never dealt with something like this before, so if I'm not bein' helpful, just shut me up. But Peter, regardless of anything…what he did…none of it reflects on you. Like you just said, he lied and—" Mike took a deep breath and shook his head. His hands were shaking as he stroked Peter's hair. "He hurt you. That's that. I don't think…you said earlier that I would think you were stupid for it, but Peter, you gotta understand that even if he didn't trick you, you still wouldn't have been able to…that's grown-up stuff, man. You and I both know that."
Peter hiccuped and pulled back. Mike let him, his fingers frozen in mid-air. Peter was crying, but he was quiet. Pensive. He nodded. "Thanks, Mike."
"Yeah, of course. I…no matter what, I'm in your corner." Mike nodded and smiled, reaching for Peter's hand. "He comes near you at that wedding, I'll punch his lights out. I won't let him hurt you again."
Peter laughed, but it sounded hollow. "I'm probably a little old for him now."
Mike covered his mouth. It wasn't funny. It was terrible, really, but Peter was smirking in that weird way he did sometimes when he knew something was mean but thought it was funny anyway, and before he knew it, Mike was ducking his head and trying to cover a laugh.
"That's messed up, man. That's," Mike gasped, "that's so messed up."
Peter giggled a little before trailing off, glaring harshly at the mattress. He picked at the skin around his fingers. "I hate him. I…Mike, I really hate him. The kind that poisons you."
Mike sobered up, nodding and leaning back against his pillow. "If there's any reason to hate someone, it's what he did."
"But I feel—" Peter sighed. He tried again. "I feel guilty for hating him. Because I think deep down, I knew something was wrong and I let it happen anyway."
"Peter, listen to me. I'm serious, okay? It doesn't matter what you thought about it then or now, it's just plain wrong. And you didn't do anything wrong on your end. You trusted him, and he was supposed to keep you safe, and he didn't. And I'm real sorry for that, Peter, but it doesn't…there was nothing you could have done differently. Okay?"
Mike hoped that he was making sense. He couldn't stand the thought of Peter finding blame within himself, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap Peter in his arms and keep him safe there forever. He didn't want Peter to go to the wedding anymore.
Peter's face did a funny thing, and then he was sobbing again, clutching Mike like a child seeking reassurance from his mother. Mike rubbed circles on his back, swallowing tightly and trying his best to soothe. "It's okay, buddy. I know it hurts, and it's hard, but it'll be alright. You got me and the guys to get you through."
"I can't tell them," Peter cried. "I can't, I can't, they'll think I'm such a baby."
"Hey, no," Mike cooed. "Man, they won't. I know they won't. But you don't gotta tell them anything you don't want to, anyway. I just mean that we're all your friends and we all love you and we'll be here for you no matter what."
Peter took a deep breath, letting Mike's body soap and laundry detergent invade his senses. It was a soothing combination, something that reminded him that Mike wasn't going anywhere. He was so tired.
"Will you…nevermind."
Mike hugged him tighter. "What do you need, Peter?"
Peter hid his face away in Mike's shoulder, tired and angry and crushed. He had nothing to lose. "Will you hold me and…and kiss my forehead? I just…I don't—"
"Yeah, man. Anything you need." Mike's heart was pounding. He'd held Peter too many times to count, when the weather was nasty and Peter needed someone to distract him from the booming thunder, but this was different. This was so much heavier than anything Mike had ever dealt with, and he knew he needed to tread carefully. He laid them down, brushing Peter's hair behind his ear and smiling tightly. Peter was beautiful, despite the tears and the blotchy cheeks and the puffy eyes and the runny nose. He was the most beautiful boy Mike had ever seen, and he'd do anything for him.
Mike kissed Peter's forehead, reminding himself not to linger.