[ 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?
[ He still can’t shake the incredulity that’s come over him, staring fully at Charlie now with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. ]
And we had taken care of that, too, I thought. The impressive acting skills? All the illusions? The red dyes that took nine washes to finally get off my hands and shirt?
Nine Hells, Charlie, I thought you just— I thought you just wanted quiet.
[ It’s been a while, and he can’t quite remember just how readily Peter agreed to Charlie’s idea to split up, but Charlie doesn’t remember him putting up all that much of a fight. Perhaps he’d convinced himself that Peter was ready to part ways, but whatever really happened, he supposes he only has himself to blame for Peter’s misconceptions. ]
I… no. I mean yes, kind of. I wasn’t really… okay, because of a lot of the stuff that had been happening since I left home. I figured it would be better for both of us if we split up, just in case someone recognized me and the whole nasty cycle started over again.
So, yeah. It was a stupid idea, and it was selfish, but at the time I couldn’t bear the idea of something happening to you because of me.
[ Peter shakes his head, before he huffs out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. ]
Shit.
[ He falls forward a little, scrubbing his face with his hands. ]
Hell. I thought you were just— tired of it all. I assumed you were just ready to settle down somewhere without having to worry about someone trying to arrest you. I assumed you just— once the bounty was out of the picture, I assumed you didn’t—
[ —didn’t need me anymore.
Because Peter had been something like his bodyguard, for a while there. The muscle, the street smarts, though admittedly, Charlie’s magic had gotten them out of more than a few binds. And once Charlie didn’t have his family’s knights breathing down his neck, once Charlie finally decided to leave, Peter felt that pang of loss, but outwardly shrugged his shoulders and let Charlie be on his way. He wasn’t going to force the guy’s hand, after all. Peter wasn’t in the habit of making anyone stay where they didn’t want to stay.
Peter lets out a trembling breath, drops one hand to peer up at Charlie. ]
I don't think I could have found the words, even if I'd wanted to.
[ He stops messing with the herbs for a bit, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand.
It had taken him a long time to get himself sorted once he was out of constant danger. Longer still to come to terms with what had happened to drive him from home. Some days, he's not so sure he'll ever really come to terms with it. Time helped. Peace had helped. But the loneliness? He regrets it, his choice to break off and be on his own. ]
I told you how my parents hadn't approved of my lover?
[ It comes out quietly. After all their time together it wasn't a subject they had broached again. Like Peter's Mark, it had remained carefully tucked away. A secret, looming in the shadows between them. ]
He had been the head of my personal guard, and when my parents found out, they had him framed for treason and executed. It happened only days before I ran away, and even months later, I hadn't totally come to terms with it, and what it had done to me.
I wanted to keep you safe, and to do that, it seemed like it would be better if I were out of the picture.
[ Charlie can't help the small twinge in his chest, something that whispers darkly in his ear that maybe if he'd been around, Peter wouldn't have gotten hurt. A guilty conscience he hasn't been able to fully get rid of, damning him if he does, damning him if he doesn't.
Thankfully, Charlie's gotten rather good at ignoring that wispy, dark little voice. He shoves it aside, and the corners of his mouth quirk upward in a small smile ]
Hey, nobody's perfect.
[ But that grin is fleeting, and his expression goes serious once more. ]
I am truly sorry Peter. If I could do it over again, I'd have said something. I'd have stayed.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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I know, but… It’s different, when it’s the guys who are after me chasing you.
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And we had taken care of that, too, I thought. The impressive acting skills? All the illusions? The red dyes that took nine washes to finally get off my hands and shirt?
Nine Hells, Charlie, I thought you just— I thought you just wanted quiet.
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I… no. I mean yes, kind of. I wasn’t really… okay, because of a lot of the stuff that had been happening since I left home. I figured it would be better for both of us if we split up, just in case someone recognized me and the whole nasty cycle started over again.
So, yeah. It was a stupid idea, and it was selfish, but at the time I couldn’t bear the idea of something happening to you because of me.
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Shit.
[ He falls forward a little, scrubbing his face with his hands. ]
Hell. I thought you were just— tired of it all. I assumed you were just ready to settle down somewhere without having to worry about someone trying to arrest you. I assumed you just— once the bounty was out of the picture, I assumed you didn’t—
[ —didn’t need me anymore.
Because Peter had been something like his bodyguard, for a while there. The muscle, the street smarts, though admittedly, Charlie’s magic had gotten them out of more than a few binds. And once Charlie didn’t have his family’s knights breathing down his neck, once Charlie finally decided to leave, Peter felt that pang of loss, but outwardly shrugged his shoulders and let Charlie be on his way. He wasn’t going to force the guy’s hand, after all. Peter wasn’t in the habit of making anyone stay where they didn’t want to stay.
Peter lets out a trembling breath, drops one hand to peer up at Charlie. ]
Why didn’t you just— tell me?
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[ He stops messing with the herbs for a bit, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand.
It had taken him a long time to get himself sorted once he was out of constant danger. Longer still to come to terms with what had happened to drive him from home. Some days, he's not so sure he'll ever really come to terms with it. Time helped. Peace had helped. But the loneliness? He regrets it, his choice to break off and be on his own. ]
I told you how my parents hadn't approved of my lover?
[ It comes out quietly. After all their time together it wasn't a subject they had broached again. Like Peter's Mark, it had remained carefully tucked away. A secret, looming in the shadows between them. ]
He had been the head of my personal guard, and when my parents found out, they had him framed for treason and executed. It happened only days before I ran away, and even months later, I hadn't totally come to terms with it, and what it had done to me.
I wanted to keep you safe, and to do that, it seemed like it would be better if I were out of the picture.
[ He shrugs lamely ]
Stupid, now that I think back on it. I'm sorry.
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It's a long moment before he lets out a breath, some of the tension easing its way out of him. ]
You could've said something, you know. You should've just— told me.
And I would've told you that was all bullshit, and that I can take care of myself.
[ A beat. Then, ]
... Not counting present circumstances.
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Thankfully, Charlie's gotten rather good at ignoring that wispy, dark little voice. He shoves it aside, and the corners of his mouth quirk upward in a small smile ]
Hey, nobody's perfect.
[ But that grin is fleeting, and his expression goes serious once more. ]
I am truly sorry Peter. If I could do it over again, I'd have said something. I'd have stayed.
... I'd like to stay now, if you'd let me.
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Not as though you've got much place to go, seeing as how I dragged you out here.
[ A joke, and a lackluster one at that, but Peter's never done very well with serious. ]
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As penance, I'm going to smear this stuff all over your back and it's gonna sting.
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... Why did I call you again?
[ Without any heat, though he plays at a mild sort of resentment. ]
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