[ He lets out a breath as the magic falls away from them, propping himself up with another tree as Charlie concentrates. It's odd, slipping back into this easy sense of trust, knowing that Charlie isn't going to try and screw him over.
Dangerous, probably. Careless. There's no telling how this time has changed either of them or whatever used to lie between them, but he slips back into the habit as easily as falling.
The air shimmers, and Peter jerks back when the copy of him appears. It's— him (though maybe not quite as handsome, he might say if his voice hadn't suddenly escaped), and he answers his double's smirks with a blank stare. The copy runs off, adopting his awkward stride, and when it captures the attention of Peter's old teammates, Peter waits a few tense moments before he lets out a sigh of relief.
He waits almost a full minute as the footsteps and voices die away before quietly clearing his throat. Then, with hardly any inflection, ]
[ he doesn't reply right away, his focus is on his illusion, but after a little while, he lets it go. Peter's old crew can keep chasing the wind for all he cares. It should buy them some time at least. ]
[ Peter wastes another second just staring, expression slack and lips slightly parted. Charlie's nonchalant response earns a flat sort of look, before Peter just huffs out an exasperated breath. ]
Nothing, apparently.
[ Other than that being creepy as shit.
He watches the area where Charlie sent off the copy of Peter, wondering how far those bastards will try to follow before they discover the trick or before they just plain give up. A long while, hopefully.
Which is just as well, because Peter is feeling drained, and he sags against the rough back of the tree. ]
Good trick.
[ With the lackluster delivery of someone who just watched a magician produce a coin from behind his ear. ]
[ He just sort of. Blinks at Peter a couple of times. ]
I, uh. Not really? Sorry.
[ Another frown, and he goves Peter a once over. Theyneeded to get him off his feet and resting sooner rather than later, but lingering too close to the village was surely a bad move. ]
[ Because he's reached the same conclusion as Charlie – that being that sticking this close to the village isn't a good idea. He shoves away from the tree, nods toward the forest. ]
We stick around too long, and they'll definitely find us.
[ Peter appreciates the silence – if only so he can better listen for the sound of footsteps, of voices. The old team were effective mercenaries, were damn good at what they did, but they never were particularly good at stealth. Too much spirit in them, Yondu liked to say. Too much energy in need of an outlet.
They tended to be loud.
It’s a good sign, Peter figures, when he doesn’t hear even a whisper, aside from their own footsteps crunching on the forest floor. Gives him leave to just focus on keeping himself upright and moving.
At Charlie’s question, he blinks over at him, almost as though he had forgotten the other guy was there, engrossed as he was in not tripping and falling flat on his face. ]
Figured it was worth a try. [ He carefully shrugs the shoulder of his good side. ] I had an arrow in me and hounds at my heels. I was desperate.
[ After a while, they come across a fallen log, impossibly large and overgrown with moss. Charlie, short as he is, only has to duck a little to get inside and peer around. The sunlight illuminates the space through small cracks in the wood. It seems as good as any place to hide, and he'd rather get Peter off his feet. He motions for Peter to follow him and to sit down. ]
[ Peter peers into the fallen, hollow log with a fair amount of skepticism when Charlie ducks in. And when Charlie gestures for him to follow, unlike the shorter man, Peter has to crouch a little to avoid hitting his head against the makeshift roof. Carefully, he maneuvers himself to take a seat, grunting quietly with the effort.
At Charlie's next direction, his gaze flits up to him, suddenly wary though he keeps most of it from his face. Rather than remove the shirt entirely, he rucks up the hem just enough to give Charlie access to the wound; this time, with more of his wits about him, he manages to keep the edges of the Mark hidden from view. ]
[ Charlie spends a few moments rummaging around in his bag, pulling out a few things- including a surprising amount of dried herbs, wrapped carefully in paper- and setting them aside.
He cases a quick glance at Peter, frowning slightly before turning his gaze back to his bag. ]
I already saw your Mark. You don't have to be shy about it.
[ holy shit Charlie you can't just say shit like that.
Because Peter jerks around at that, letting out a strangled noise when the abrupt movement pulls at the wound, and he curls up when sharp pain lances up his side. ]
You— [ Breathless, craning his head around to peer at Charlie. ] You what?
[ Shit. Shit. He has no fucking idea what to do about this. The last time anyone's seen the damn Mark was when he was a kid, freshly taken from home and incorporated into the old crew's ranks. Yondu had yanked him to one side, tore the scarf from his neck and shoved his head forward to peer at the dark marks licking up his spine.
"Don't show this to no one, boy," Yondu had said – a warped echo of his mother's instructions. "Ain't no one but me gonna be as kind about riffraff like you havin' a Mark like that."
Peter swallows thickly, mind racing and still, somehow, coming up blank. Eventually, he settles on, ]
[ Charlie stops what he's doing, setting his herbs aside and shuffling to crouch in front of Peter. ]
Hey.
[ His tone is gentle, even. ]
First of all, back in the village really wasn't the time or place to bring it up.
Second of all, you know me. You know where I've come from and how I feel about wizards. What do you think I'm going to do, huh? I'm not freaking out on you, I'm not going to turn you over to some family or stick a blade through your gut just because you're Marked. I'm Marked too, remember?
It doesn't change anything. You're still Peter, I still trust you, and you're still my friend.
[ He swallows again around the strange lump in his throat – nervousness. Anxiety. Some weird, cold thing, because even decades since he was a child, he's still afraid of the boogeymen who could come after him. Though growing up, that fear became less about the families who might steal him away, and more about the bastards who saw Marks and went for their blades before anything else.
A stupid, irrational fear, he knows, considering he's well-versed in acts of violence, these days.
He forces himself to take a deep breath – or as deep as his injury allows – and gives Charlie a quick nod. ]
... Right.
[ Shakily, not entirely convinced, but close enough. ]
[ Charlie furrows his brows, canting his head a little as he looks at Peter. ]
No. Why would it? Anyone can be Marked, wizard or not, and it’s not like I hold the same hatred for magic that most people do. Magic is awesome. It’s the wizards that I can’t stand.
[ His expression smooths out into something much gentler when he adds, ]
[ He runs his tongue over his lips, studying Charlie for a long second; his expression remains uncertain, but eventually he nods again. Reluctantly, he tugs the hem of his shirt a little higher, hisses in a breath when the movement pulls at the injury.
[ Given the look on Peter’s face, he’s not entirely sure if this is an act of trust or resignation or something caught between the two, but it’s certainly significant in some way.
He carefully helps Peter tug his shirt off, setting the bloodied fabric aside to deal with later. The bandage comes next, Charlie leaning over to gingerly unwind it from Peter’s middle. He gives the Mark on Peter’s back only a cursory glance- it’s not so different from his own, aside from the placement. ]
You know, this isn’t how I pictured I’d finally be getting you out of your clothes.
[ Peter tenses when Charlie moves toward him, when he finally lays eyes on the Mark curling between his shoulder blades, snaking up the nape of his neck. Some weird, curling thing, the vague shape of which kind of reminded Peter of a flame, whenever he could bring himself to look at it in a mirror.
But whatever Charlie sees, he doesn’t comment on it, and Peter forces himself to breathe out through his lips, arms lifted awkwardly to give Charlie better access to the bandage. When Charlie does speak, the words drag another laugh from Peter. ]
Didn’t realize that was something you’d given any thought to. But I guess spending six months together would make anyone daydream.
[ He sets the bandages aside once he pulls them free of Peter’s bloodied skin. He fishes a cloth from his bag, conjuring a small bit of water to wet it before he sets to wiping the mess away with sure, gentle strokes. ]
I might have thought about it, once or twice.
[ He falls quiet for a beat or two, then, softly, ]
You know, I always sort of regretted parting ways.
[ Gentle as he is, Peter still sucks in a sharp breath when the cloth wanders close to the exposed wound.
He falls quiet, as Charlie continues to work, as Charlie speaks, and he swallows down the first words that rise up his throat:
Me too.
Because Peter always figured he should’ve insisted more, should’ve said he still had a few things left to teach the guy, but that would’ve been a lie. And Charlie dealt with enough lies, enough people trying to direct his life, that he didn’t need Peter trying to drag him into something else he didn’t want to do.
(It’s just stung his pride that the “something else,” in this case, was staying with Peter.)
In those early days, he had missed Charlie’s presence a whole lot. Would find himself wandering through the markets of a town, turning to make some snide remark only to find nothing at his side but empty air. Would find himself picking over some mansion, breaking in through warded windows, wondering if Charlie knew anything about the bastards he was robbing. Would find himself lying next to a campfire, the night dragging on, the silence becoming near oppressive.
It took some adjusting, but eventually Peter reacquainted himself with the solitary lifestyle he had led before Charlie stumbled into his path.
He’s probably quiet for too long before he clears his throat. Offers, ]
I imagine those farm animals don’t offer the same sparkling repartee as I did.
That would be hilarious if I were a farmer, and I’ve already told you I’m not.
[ He spends another few seconds wiping away the rest of the blood. Thanks to the application of Charlie’s healing magic earlier, the wound isn’t bleeding as freely as it had been, but a slow trickle of blood still escapes from the ragged hole in Peter’s back.
Charlie turns away quickly, gathering up his bundles of herbs. Dealing with an open wound is easy enough- he’d done it often, helping the kids in the village tend to their cuts and scrapes, and on one occasion, helping one of their fathers when he got gouged by a wild boar. He gathers up a small pile of leaves and flower petals, things meant to ease pain and promote healing.
He drops them into a small mortar from his bag, taking the pestle in hand to begin grinding them together. ]
I just, I dunno. I figured it would be better if we split up. You put up with me for so long, and I couldn’t keep putting you in danger, but when it was all said and done, I missed you.
[ Peter fidgets a little where he sits, feeling oddly vulnerable with his Mark on display; he was always so damn careful with it, always keeping it carefully hidden with scarves and high collars, never letting anyone at his back if he absolutely had to have his shirt off for whatever reason.
Now, he feels slightly hunted, and he rolls his shoulders, as if he could feel the Mark like a physical weight on his skin.
He listens to the grind of stone on stone as Charlie works, allowing himself a quick wince at the idea of that substance being brushed along his wound. He nearly misses when Charlie continues on, absorbed as he is in thinking about how much that’s going to hurt, but when the words sink in, he blinks, taken aback. ]
... Wait.
[ Peter shifts to turn more fully toward Charlie. ]
You. Were worried about putting me in danger. Even though you knew exactly what I did for a living.
[ His voice has gone flat with disbelief. ]
... You do realize you literally just found me with an arrow in my back, right?
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Dangerous, probably. Careless. There's no telling how this time has changed either of them or whatever used to lie between them, but he slips back into the habit as easily as falling.
The air shimmers, and Peter jerks back when the copy of him appears. It's— him (though maybe not quite as handsome, he might say if his voice hadn't suddenly escaped), and he answers his double's smirks with a blank stare. The copy runs off, adopting his awkward stride, and when it captures the attention of Peter's old teammates, Peter waits a few tense moments before he lets out a sigh of relief.
He waits almost a full minute as the footsteps and voices die away before quietly clearing his throat. Then, with hardly any inflection, ]
What the fuck, Charlie.
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What the fuck, what?
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Nothing, apparently.
[ Other than that being creepy as shit.
He watches the area where Charlie sent off the copy of Peter, wondering how far those bastards will try to follow before they discover the trick or before they just plain give up. A long while, hopefully.
Which is just as well, because Peter is feeling drained, and he sags against the rough back of the tree. ]
Good trick.
[ With the lackluster delivery of someone who just watched a magician produce a coin from behind his ear. ]
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What? Was it not a goof likeness?
[ he thought it was pretty good. ]
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Shit. [ More breathed out than said. He shakes his head at Charlie, though there's a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. ]
Ever occur to you that making copies of folks might be creepy?
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I, uh. Not really? Sorry.
[ Another frown, and he goves Peter a once over. Theyneeded to get him off his feet and resting sooner rather than later, but lingering too close to the village was surely a bad move. ]
You good to go or do we need to hunker down here?
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[ Because he's reached the same conclusion as Charlie – that being that sticking this close to the village isn't a good idea. He shoves away from the tree, nods toward the forest. ]
We stick around too long, and they'll definitely find us.
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They walk in silence for a few, and Charlie keeps his ears open for the sounds of pursuit. When none reach him, he finally ventures, ]
So if you didn't think the whistle would work, why did you use it in the first place?
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They tended to be loud.
It’s a good sign, Peter figures, when he doesn’t hear even a whisper, aside from their own footsteps crunching on the forest floor. Gives him leave to just focus on keeping himself upright and moving.
At Charlie’s question, he blinks over at him, almost as though he had forgotten the other guy was there, engrossed as he was in not tripping and falling flat on his face. ]
Figured it was worth a try. [ He carefully shrugs the shoulder of his good side. ] I had an arrow in me and hounds at my heels. I was desperate.
[ A pause, and he adds lightly, ]
You know how it is.
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[ After a while, they come across a fallen log, impossibly large and overgrown with moss. Charlie, short as he is, only has to duck a little to get inside and peer around. The sunlight illuminates the space through small cracks in the wood. It seems as good as any place to hide, and he'd rather get Peter off his feet. He motions for Peter to follow him and to sit down. ]
Get your shirt off. I need to clean that wound.
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At Charlie's next direction, his gaze flits up to him, suddenly wary though he keeps most of it from his face. Rather than remove the shirt entirely, he rucks up the hem just enough to give Charlie access to the wound; this time, with more of his wits about him, he manages to keep the edges of the Mark hidden from view. ]
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He cases a quick glance at Peter, frowning slightly before turning his gaze back to his bag. ]
I already saw your Mark. You don't have to be shy about it.
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Because Peter jerks around at that, letting out a strangled noise when the abrupt movement pulls at the wound, and he curls up when sharp pain lances up his side. ]
You— [ Breathless, craning his head around to peer at Charlie. ] You what?
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I saw your Mark earlier, when I put the bandage on.
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[ Shit. Shit. He has no fucking idea what to do about this. The last time anyone's seen the damn Mark was when he was a kid, freshly taken from home and incorporated into the old crew's ranks. Yondu had yanked him to one side, tore the scarf from his neck and shoved his head forward to peer at the dark marks licking up his spine.
"Don't show this to no one, boy," Yondu had said – a warped echo of his mother's instructions. "Ain't no one but me gonna be as kind about riffraff like you havin' a Mark like that."
Peter swallows thickly, mind racing and still, somehow, coming up blank. Eventually, he settles on, ]
It's not what you think.
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Hey.
[ His tone is gentle, even. ]
First of all, back in the village really wasn't the time or place to bring it up.
Second of all, you know me. You know where I've come from and how I feel about wizards. What do you think I'm going to do, huh? I'm not freaking out on you, I'm not going to turn you over to some family or stick a blade through your gut just because you're Marked. I'm Marked too, remember?
It doesn't change anything. You're still Peter, I still trust you, and you're still my friend.
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A stupid, irrational fear, he knows, considering he's well-versed in acts of violence, these days.
He forces himself to take a deep breath – or as deep as his injury allows – and gives Charlie a quick nod. ]
... Right.
[ Shakily, not entirely convinced, but close enough. ]
It— seriously doesn't bother you?
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No. Why would it? Anyone can be Marked, wizard or not, and it’s not like I hold the same hatred for magic that most people do. Magic is awesome. It’s the wizards that I can’t stand.
[ His expression smooths out into something much gentler when he adds, ]
You’ve got nothing to fear from me. I swear.
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Tightly, ]
Give me a hand with this.
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He carefully helps Peter tug his shirt off, setting the bloodied fabric aside to deal with later. The bandage comes next, Charlie leaning over to gingerly unwind it from Peter’s middle. He gives the Mark on Peter’s back only a cursory glance- it’s not so different from his own, aside from the placement. ]
You know, this isn’t how I pictured I’d finally be getting you out of your clothes.
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But whatever Charlie sees, he doesn’t comment on it, and Peter forces himself to breathe out through his lips, arms lifted awkwardly to give Charlie better access to the bandage. When Charlie does speak, the words drag another laugh from Peter. ]
Didn’t realize that was something you’d given any thought to. But I guess spending six months together would make anyone daydream.
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I might have thought about it, once or twice.
[ He falls quiet for a beat or two, then, softly, ]
You know, I always sort of regretted parting ways.
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He falls quiet, as Charlie continues to work, as Charlie speaks, and he swallows down the first words that rise up his throat:
Me too.
Because Peter always figured he should’ve insisted more, should’ve said he still had a few things left to teach the guy, but that would’ve been a lie. And Charlie dealt with enough lies, enough people trying to direct his life, that he didn’t need Peter trying to drag him into something else he didn’t want to do.
(It’s just stung his pride that the “something else,” in this case, was staying with Peter.)
In those early days, he had missed Charlie’s presence a whole lot. Would find himself wandering through the markets of a town, turning to make some snide remark only to find nothing at his side but empty air. Would find himself picking over some mansion, breaking in through warded windows, wondering if Charlie knew anything about the bastards he was robbing. Would find himself lying next to a campfire, the night dragging on, the silence becoming near oppressive.
It took some adjusting, but eventually Peter reacquainted himself with the solitary lifestyle he had led before Charlie stumbled into his path.
He’s probably quiet for too long before he clears his throat. Offers, ]
I imagine those farm animals don’t offer the same sparkling repartee as I did.
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That would be hilarious if I were a farmer, and I’ve already told you I’m not.
[ He spends another few seconds wiping away the rest of the blood. Thanks to the application of Charlie’s healing magic earlier, the wound isn’t bleeding as freely as it had been, but a slow trickle of blood still escapes from the ragged hole in Peter’s back.
Charlie turns away quickly, gathering up his bundles of herbs. Dealing with an open wound is easy enough- he’d done it often, helping the kids in the village tend to their cuts and scrapes, and on one occasion, helping one of their fathers when he got gouged by a wild boar. He gathers up a small pile of leaves and flower petals, things meant to ease pain and promote healing.
He drops them into a small mortar from his bag, taking the pestle in hand to begin grinding them together. ]
I just, I dunno. I figured it would be better if we split up. You put up with me for so long, and I couldn’t keep putting you in danger, but when it was all said and done, I missed you.
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Now, he feels slightly hunted, and he rolls his shoulders, as if he could feel the Mark like a physical weight on his skin.
He listens to the grind of stone on stone as Charlie works, allowing himself a quick wince at the idea of that substance being brushed along his wound. He nearly misses when Charlie continues on, absorbed as he is in thinking about how much that’s going to hurt, but when the words sink in, he blinks, taken aback. ]
... Wait.
[ Peter shifts to turn more fully toward Charlie. ]
You. Were worried about putting me in danger. Even though you knew exactly what I did for a living.
[ His voice has gone flat with disbelief. ]
... You do realize you literally just found me with an arrow in my back, right?
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