ＷＩＳＥＧＵＹ

So, I had a decent doctor give me decent meds and I’ve been adjusting to them. I’m still a little flaky and I’ve been having some problems with low mood and stuff. I’m trying to kind of nudge myself from this hole I’m digging my way into. I applied for university, I’ve starting writing a journal and I’ve been speaking to my friends more. I think I’m just, you know, normal depression stuff. Like, I’ll get there. 

| Original Here

“Sure is.”

Peter pulls himself free of his hospital bed, his feet hitting the floor with a dull thud - beneath his skin he can feel only cold. The feeling is somewhat refreshing.

“I saw it - “ he cuts himself short; one finger pointing toward the magazine half-open on his bedside table. He doesn’t know what the reading material is called, Talk! - Gossip! - Real Life! - whatever the name, it’s certainly as dumb as it’s articles. “In there.” 

“Got me thinkin’ y’know-” the Italian shrugs before he makes his way toward the water-cooler, he pours himself a cup, his eyes locked upon the water for far longer than they need to be “that somethin’ like that could change y’life.” 

Something uncontrollable - magic and not that Harry Potter voodoo shit that all the kids were into. Ancient real magic. Did he believe it? Fuck, he sorta did. 

Dino rubs his temples. This talk is starting to annoy him. Worse, it makes his fucking head hurt.

Of course something is wrong. He looks towards Emilio, who accepts the cup of water with shaking hands. He takes a sip, slowly, hands still shaking. There’s bruises on him, he notices, and his shirt… what the hell happened out there?

Should they really risk going back? 

“It doesn’t matter, Petey,” Dino shakes his head. “Right now, we need to survive. That’s our number one priority. Everything else can wait.”

What makes taking the risk worth it? That house… there’s nothing worth going back for there. 

And wasn’t the restaurant always safe enough?

He turns his head. The stairs, leading up to the first floor… he could swear they weren’t there a moment ago, and yet they feel so familiar. He takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes. Something has got to be in the air. 

The windows look like they have changed, too, smaller, with iron ornaments forming bars in front of them, like they used to have in the old country. Uncle Nino had them added after… His mind draws a blank. Dino knows he did something to make his uncle take these measures, but fuck, he just can’t remember what.

But this just feels so much more familiar than their own home. He knows he could walk upstairs and find the small bathroom with the mosaic, second door on the left with his eyes closed.

So it must have been there all along.

“Petey…” he starts, voice low. “I know something is messing with us, with our minds… but we need to keep it together. Joey… whatevers making these people sick it got him, too… I had to…”

He stops. His mouth feels dry.

“… take care of him. We need to get the body outta there.”

And there’s the girl.

“He tried to attack a little girl, I had to do something…”

He looks towards the booth where he and Lily had been sitting. She has hidden under the table. He can see her.

“I’m gonna drag him outta the back,” he says. “Put the food back into the fridge, Petey. We’re staying.”

Peter watches his cousin - Dino wasn’t the leader. Wasn’t Peter next in line? Next in line...next in line for what? 

“Y-yeah-” his voice is quiet, his tone as low as the now hushed colours of the diner. What was once vibrant and warm is now cold and hellish...but their diner had never looked like this before. Their restaurant had always been their place of sanctuary, their home from home. Plating up delicious food for their friends and family had been a warmth they’d indulged in many times around here. Peter’s mother had been especially fond of the desserts that his cousin had made. Hell, even Joey could cook up a helluva pizza. For a second, Peter finds himself staring into the lounge with a lonely look in his eye. It’s a feeling he’s felt before...a feeling he knows all too well. Like...everything is slipping away from him. Including his sanity.

Peter makes his way to the back rooms of the kitchen, the pantry and on his way, he makes sure to snatch a knife. It would help to have it, wouldn’t it? 

His eyes scan the kitchen for a fridge - one that hasn’t been wrecked by the earthquake from before. Why does it all look so different...? Why does it all look so goddamn familiar? The steel surfaces, the metallic pipes running down the walls and grimy-grey of the trays on the side. This isn’t their restaurant...this is something else entirely. This is hell. 

A sweat dampens his forehead as he steps closer to the reflective surface of the counter. With a sharp noise, he’s dropped the knife to the floor and his now free hand finds itself steadying him against the surface. Why does he feel so sick and weak?

“Dino-” he mumbles “Emilio-” where are they? 

They’re gone. Everybody’s gone.

One knee drops to the floor and his body follows; he feels so goddamn powerless...until he manages to scoop the knife back up from the floor. With the weapon in his hand, he feels a little stronger. A little better. For a second, he closes his eyes tight. Focusing on what was rather than what is. He sees his father, his mother - Dino. He sees a spotless kitchen, filled on each counter with spices, fruits, vegetables and other ingredients. The equipment is proper and well-looked-after, none of it has even a shred of rust atop it. His ideal world, his past is far gone from his reality - he opens his eyes to an unchanged kitchen. Still as macabre and ugly as it was before and in the not-so-distant shadows, he can see a lumbering, large figure contorting and disfiguring itself out from the wall. It’s skin is entirely black, it’s eyes red with blood - a smile of razors peers from beneath it’s gaze. 

ŷ̶͇͚-̷̢̪̼̲͕͉͈̳͋́̒̀̓̃͆͋̈́͘y̴̢̨̡̰̻͇̭͚̝̟̒̓̋̉͌-̶̘̱̎͗̑ý̷̡̳̤̥̥͉̬̇͝o̵̡̨̪͍͖̜̱̪̱̽ù̴̹̻̥̳̦̠̲̣̆̀̎̍͆̃̚͜ ̷̧̜͕̞̊̐̌͌̍̊͒̈́̈́ư̷͎͎̰̺̜̌̇̆̀̓́̐̌̚s̶̡͈͖̳͇̰̲̰̦̰̆̌̈͛ẹ̴͂̎̒̇̆̽̇d̵̢̤̟̮̅́̐́̆͌͝ ̷̥̰̱̞̝̋̒̏͋̆̏t̶̢̟̭͗͊͛̈͐̑̐̽͝o̷̡̱̰̿̂͠ ̵̣̩͚̪̺͘͝b̴̞́͛͊̕̕ę̵̧͚̤̭̞̲̳͗͒̾̂̑͒̃͆͘ ̴̛̘͚͈͉͙̘́͆͂̂͂̑͜͝s̶̪̦̮̟̰͓̝̑̉͆ͅ-̴̞̠͙̥̯͕̆ͅs̶͚̻͖̺̗͌̀̐͒͊̐͝ơ̶̡͓͈͕̻̩̮̭̅͛́̀̕ ̵̯͂̽̈̌̓̂͋̇̅̆n̴̡̩̲̔͊̈͂̑͛͗̕̕͠ė̷̥̫̰͖̘̣̮͒͋a̴̡̨̫̳͔͋̓́͠͝t̷͖̪̗̯̩̹̠̹̏̔̓͊ ̷̰́ą̴͍̼̰͉͎̦͙̃́͊n̶̡͉̲̜̼̪̝͓͛̈́̈́͜ͅḑ̴̨̲̟̤̳͕͂͌͘͝ ̴̡̹̻̖͖̌̀̿͌͠c̴̨̱̟̜̥͓͚̠͍̄̌͂̿͂̌̑̇ͅ-̴̢͖̙̋̔͐̀̓̾͊͗͝͠ͅĉ̵̢̘̭̗̰͉͆̉̕͜-̷̢̥͝͝č̵̛͍̤̠̩̭̤̫̀̍̾̈́̀̽̄͝l̷̡͍̦̰̾́͘e̵͓̠͌̓a̴̢̗̞͔̱̒̓͠ṋ̴̢̰̖͓̩̦̳̩̊͛̍

Peter falls back onto his back, his feet scrambling to get away from the monster. 

ļ̶̺̣̠̒́i̶̡̠̣͈͔̯̠͓͍̽̓̕ͅt̸̨͙͙̓̉̏̊̔̄̊̋ṭ̷̹̺̤͇̮̭͙̳͛͛̂̿̄͆͆ͅĺ̷͓̦̘̩̯̘͊e̴̬̰̬̗̥̜͐̈́̈͋̚͜ ̷̛̠̎̓͑̈́͝͝ṋ̵̻̖̰̮̭̈́͊̔̊̉̊̎͒i̷̯̦̮̥̠̼͚͚̝͊̉͘n̸͇̮̬̈͐͂͛͠ȏ̸̡̞̹̼̖̩͋͗̀

It’s voice is a cackle, a thick liquid comes pouring from it’s lips as it speaks. When the curdled juices reach the floor, they attach themselves to it - creating a growing pool of yellowed white slime. Peter can only watch in horror as the hulking giant pulls itself free of the shadows in pursuit of him. The terror to grasp his heart so tightly is powerful enough to leave him winded and short of breath. Standing up is difficult, stepping away from the monster even more-so. He feels his shoes full with the thick watery substance. Somehow, it weighs him down enough to make his movement near impossible. 

“God-fucking-damnit!” His screams fall on deaf ears.

When the substance stops oozing from the hole in the monster’s face, a pair of sapphire eyes prop open from inside of it instead - this time, it speaks in his own voice. 

s̶̨̧̛̤̲͇̲̬̝̘͐̊̈́̈́̓͋̑͑ͅõ̸̹̘̱͙̩͆̆̂̓̏̓͛̈́m̵̯̹͍̆̋e̴̦̖̅b̸͈͙̆̔̋̎̆̊͋͛o̸͖̣̪̲͖͎̭̺̍͊̏͆̀̆͒̓͛̽͜͜d̵̤̳̺̝̊̽͗ͅy̶͇͕͒͐̐̈̑̕'̷̢̗͉̣͚͐̚s̷̛̬̙͕̓̈́͑̎͒͌́̌͝ ̷̹̫͝g̸̨̝̲̙̰͎̻͙̥͉̀̄̈́̊̀̚͘ọ̴̡͗̆͛͗̏̉͋̈̄͝n̷̦̝͓̭̍́̐̂̓̃͝n̵̦͍̯̯͎̻̂̆̈́̅͂ͅͅͅä̷̩̫̤̝̫̩̜́͐̑̅̔̚͠͠ ̵̧̺̻̼̄́̅̌̐͝͝ṯ̵̭̘̦̣͕̖̓̂̿̅̊ȩ̴͍̰͇̥͇̠̟̌̌͐̿̔̆͝ą̸̺̙͖̹̪̾ç̵͎͕̉h̷̢̼͇͉̲̟͖̪̠͒̈̂͘͜ ̵̡͈̩̱̪̉̽̎͐̉͂̆̄̚y̷͈̏͑̓̎̌̒͝͠͝o̷̢̬̾̀̒̉̎̔ͅų̷͔̠̥̈̈́̈́̔̇̈́͆̽͒ͅ ̷͉͚̞͛̿̾̎s̸̨͇̟͔̖̲̼̰͍͋̅̑̈͋̕o̶͓̤͇͒̀͌ṃ̷͖̞̩̹̻͌̇̋͑̌͛̂ẻ̵̖̯̖͚͔̮̑͠ ̴͕͔̟̐̉͘m̵̡̨̱̖̬͍̖̝̅̔̎͌̑̊͂̈́a̷͚̲̟̱͈͓͍̯̩̞̿̒͂͝ṋ̷̢̦͍̫̳͈̽̂́̃̈́̏͋̃͒͋n̷͔͒̋̀̓͒̿͊̿͠ě̴̢̛̱̳̩͓̠͉̯͕͉́̈͒͂͛r̸͍͕͆̆̿͋̔́̆̚̚s̶̘͔͖̼͉̲̬̖͇̐̉̽̆̈́̽͐͌͝͠

Peter grasps the knife at this side tighter, but why can’t he fucking move?! The floor is flooding with a mixture of discoloured fluid - a thick white nectar oozes atop the kitchen counter and quickly begins to flood the floor. A leg stretches out from the shadow and another, then another - there are more legs than Peter can count and each one begins stomping toward him. 

“Fuck!” 

He tries to free himself of the now sticky-grasp of the floor beneath him - it’s as if he’s stuck in a swamp of white mess. Strands of fluid flicker up from the pool beneath him, taking shots at his skin. Their touch burns him. The monster growls, it’s arm rising from the blackness with intent to attack. But it’s arm looks as abnormal as the rest of it - it’s large and pulsating...almost phallic.

“Wh-what the fuck-” 

The arm swings and then stiffens at the sight of the struggling Schibetta. He feels his eyes widen and his jaw drop as the tip of the arm and what should be the hand, expands to unveil a small hole. It’s entire skin shakes as it’s flesh retreats from the tip, revealing a reddish-swollen mess of meat beneath it. More of the white ooze dribbles from it’s widening hole. Peter’s stomach turns, the smell is overpowering. Blood, sweat, cum - the air smells defiled. The entire room is defiled. 

Emerging behind that weapon, more faces. Teeth. Hundreds of teeth - and eyes. Eyes of many colours, eyes full of glee, of hate. Eyes that Peter recognises. Eyes that belong to monsters. 

“Get the fuck away from me-” he can only breath the words, his screams silenced by the squelching noises of the creature in front of him. 

The monster’s legs easily glide through the muck - it has no problem reaching him quickly. It’s limb extends and grinds itself against his face, leaving a residue on his cheek that makes him close to vomiting. 

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me-! Fuck off-!” 

He can feel hands on his body, fingers intruding upon his flesh - touching him in places that he doesn’t want to be touched. His eyes begin to sting as he wrestles with the creature. Chaos absorbs his senses but then...silence. 

Peter shuts his eyes tightly and as he’s about to scream and cry with all of the fear that his bones can muster...he hear’s one word...in a terribly familiar voice. 

“Don’t.” 

Don’t? Don’t what? Don’t cry? 

Okay then. 

The Italian’s eyes are now dry as they slowly open - he’s greeted with the sight of a colourful, but ruined, kitchen. His head drops low, checking that he’s not still feet-deep in ooze. He isn’t. His feet are planted firmly on the ground. He’s still carrying a small pile of food, he checks if his face is wet...luckily, it isn’t. 

“Speak for yourself,” Dino mutters. “I’m only here because I have to.”

“And nobody would have shed a tear had you never made it,” Rosalie smiles. 

“Not everyone can be as popular as you, Rosie. I’m sure our football team would inconsolable if you weren’t there to-”

“Dino,” his uncle cuts him off. “Manners,” he says, the warning clear in his voice. 

Dino frowns. Why does he have to sit so close to the bitch anyway? Why does he even have to be here?

“Rosalie,” Mr. Trupiano says. “We talked about this.” 

She snorts. 

Dino rolls his eyes. That woman is unbearable. He gets up. “I need to take a piss. Where’s the bathroom?”

__________________________________

“I’m sorry for my nephew’s behavior,” Mr. Schibetta sighs as Dino leaves the room. “He’s at a difficult age,” He pauses. “Very difficult.”

Mr. Trupiano laughs. “You know what they say, boys will be boys and all… Some longer than others, I guess.”

Gintare leans back. The air seems tense but honestly… what does she care? Rosalie is eyeing Dino’s cousin while sipping on a glass of wine, her expression unreadable. Her mother looks like someone just pissed on her plate and Mrs. Schibetta… man, does she look like shit. Cancer and all, what a bummer.

This might be the lamest date she has ever had with Dino. God, what she does for that guy… 

She looks at the clock. Either Dino has gotten lost in that big-ass house or he’s not taking a piss. She gets up. That leaves three possibilities. Number one, diarrhea. Number two, he’s waiting for her to come after him so they can fuck. Number three, that asshole is trying to get out of this dinner and is ready to just leave her here. All three make going after him a preferable option to staying with these lameasses. 

“I think I’m going to see if Dino is alright.” 

Mrs. Trupiano raises her eyebrows, as if she wants an extra explanation. Fuck that.

_______________________________________

Dino sits down. And he thought the giant tank in the bathroom was impressive… This tank is huge, like he imagined the Aquarium to have that his class took a trip to in third grade. Fucking teachers refused to take him with them and Maria? Just laughed her ass off.

This is less than a living room - doesn’t even have a tv - than a giant tank with some sofas next to it to watch it. Looks like out of a movie, the light illuminating the corals and plants and the small and big colourful fish dancing around them.

Someone seems to have one expensive hobby here. He dimly wonders if they have a sharktank in the cellar where they dispose off their enemies. He shudders. Or a crocodile pond in the garden.

These people are so loaded. Between his backdoor clinic and her witch business… so why do they want to join their family anyway? He got lost on his way to the guest bathroom and lost again on his way back! This house is almost as big as his grandfather’s mansion, for fucks sake!

Of course. Grandpa. Maybe the old fuck wants this union as much as greedy Trupiano. Both assholes who can never have enough money.

This is so unfair, why does the old fuck have so much power over them? Why does his cousin have to pay with his life for it?

And why does Petey go along with it? He really that desperate for pussy?

For his father’s approval?

He slips off the couch, next to the tank. A small, orange fish with white and black stripes swims up to him.

In a way, they are a lot like these fish, his cousin and Dino. Their freedom restricted by the walls their family sets up and they only see it when they bump into one.

Like now. He sighs. He was pissed at his cousin for how he talked to his girl, pissed how he goes along with everything, pissed at having to deal with Rosalie, that bitch… He forgot about Aunt Angie. Fuck, he embarrassed her, too.

He rests his forehead on the cool glass. Him and his stupid decisions.

“Wow, someone really likes fish…”

Gintare? He turns his head. There she is, her eyes following a school of colourful, small fish.

“That’s the third one I’ve come across so far.”

“He has got one in the bathroom, too.” Dino supplies. “I thought about pissing in there but then again, it’s not really the guppies’ fault they’re owned by a bunch of jerks.

Gintare snorts as she sits down next to him. Her hair tickles his nose when she rests her head against him.

For a few moments they watch the fish in silence.

"Kinda romantic, isn’t it?” she whispers. He nods. This is nice.

“You look beautiful in that light.” He kisses her ear, soft and light. Her hair smells good. Fruity.

“So…” She giggles and slips her hand down his pants. “You wanna fuck?”

How could he say ‘no’ to that?

Peter can’t stop a frown from spawning in response to his cousin’s comments regarding his - what was he calling her now - his girlfriend? Yeah! His girlfriend! Who did that fucking guy think he was? If Peter was a little taller, a little stronger...maybe even a little braver, he’d have shot Dino down right there and then but instead, the teen sits in his own anger. 

His eyebrows narrow and the gaze beneath them finds itself locked onto his glass of red wine - his father says something, her father says something and Dino’s gone before Peter can even comfort Rosalie with a compliment. Hell, she doesn’t look like she gives a shit at all. She swirls her glass before taking a long sip, the corners of her lips curling as the wine reddens them.

He catches her eyes with his own and the smile beneath her glass extends. There’s something both enticing and intimidating about the lady before him. Like a black widow, the attraction is toxic - though he’s far too young to understand entirely why that is. For him, it’s a girl. A beautiful girl with a powerful family, his father’s approval and something special. What was there to be unsure of?

...but then Dino doesn’t like her. He never has and probably never will and the fact of the matter is that Peter has always looked to his cousin for life’s questions. Although Dino may not be a poster boy for reason - his opinion matters more than he thinks, especially for the impressionable teen neath his shadow. 

Peter sinks into his seat, pulling his eyes from her and instead toward the waiters arriving with plates upon plates of food.

“Like whatcha see?” Rosalie smirks at her dish, her eyebrow cocking as she notices Peter looking wide-eyed around the room. Both sets of parents shoot them a glance before he shuffles out of his seat.

“I - I should go tell Dino that the foods here-” he half-laughs, his skin crawling as he gently pushes himself free of the waiters and plates incoming. He can feel his father’s eyes piercing from the table; without even looking, he can tell that the man’s disappointed. It’d hurt if he wasn’t so used to it. 

Free of the dining room, he has a moment to catch his breath before exploring the halls for his cousin. 

“Where the fuck-” he whispers beneath his breath; for all he knows, Dino’s fucking left already.

Peter makes his way up the stairs, he could have sworn that he’d heard his cousin going that way...or at least, heels, going that way. Gintare probably and like a tramp on chips, she’d follow Dino where-ever he went. Strangely enough, the teen feels himself green with envy - why wasn’t Rosalie acting like that? Would she eventually? He has to wonder...just as he does the halls of her house. 

One room he does recognise almost immediately is her bedroom. Yeesh. The room he’d lost his virginity in - his envy quickly turns to pride as he basks in his sin. What a night. 

With a smile creeping across his lips, he edges the door to the bedroom slightly ajar before creeping in. It’s as pristine as he remembers, as stylish and rich - as expensive as he knows. The teen ganders around the room, his eyes barely looking for something other than a figure...that is until he spots a book. A small notebook atop her dresser, laden with red lace and a ink across it that reads ‘For My Eyes Only’. Curiosity entices him to look inside, flicking to a random page of the book with a guilty but interested action. 

‘He’s a fucking asshole. Dino’s a real shit-stirrer. But I can’t lie if Peter had his body and his face, maybe I’d like him a little more...”

the writing continues but Peter chooses not to. He slams the book shut, his lips letting out an audible gasp. What the fuck, Rosalie? Peter steps back from the dresser as he hears footsteps from the down the hall. With a few ‘shits’ and a few ‘fucks’, he leaves the room with relative ease and stealth. Luckily, the hallway is still empty...

What the fuck did she mean by that?! Thoughts race through his mind as he treks down the hallways. No...no...calm, maybe that entry was from a while back. Before we got to know each other - before we fucked...but then...what if it wasn’t? 

The teen holds his rage with a balled fist, his mind distracted until he hears giggling and a noise from one of the rooms in the hallway.

“Yeah,” he says and sits down on the bottom bunk. He’s not sure if that wouldn’t be the best case scenario.

He looks outside, waiting for the black head with the stupid hat to pop up, but nothing.

There’s just Alvarez coming back, looking like a lost puppy as the latinos ignore him. Except El Cid, who seems to gives him the evil eye.

Emilio is nowhere to be seen.

Maybe they should try allying with Alvarez. Not like he’ll refuse in his situation… at least someone to watch their back a little… but then again, fuck that asshole. If he had accepted Petey’s deal neither of them would be in the situation they’re in.

And if El Cid finds out… Dino shudders. That would be bad.

But maybe he can be useful against El Cid. Distract him. Especially from Emilio.

“Alvarez is back,” he says. 

“Yeah-” Peter’s response is abrasive, an abrupt spit toward his cousin. A nothingness stemming from a place of damaged pride. Who gave a fuck about Alvarez? Despite the parallels between himself and that sorry sack of shit (parallels that Petey almost certainly wouldn’t admit) - he could feel little sympathy for somebody who had already turned his back on him once before. Perhaps it was the Italian in him? Maybe the Mafia in him that made for an unforgiving man. A stubborn guy. A selfish boy. 

He fails to entice a conversation in regards to Miguel; as far as Peter’s concerned, he doesn’t want shit to do with the Latino. Hell, maybe El Cid’s rage against him would take some of the heat off of Emilio. 

“He’s a target for them now -” he nods towards El Cid’s glare (was that an expression or just the guy’s face? He couldn’t be entirely sure - but the man always looked pissed). “Might take some o’the heat off of us...”

he hesitates. Since when did everybody become their enemy? Perhaps when he’d failed as both a leader to the Italians and as a son to his father. Peter quickly shakes the thought from his mind. He watches the other inmates pass time for a moment before taking a breath. 

“Wanna go-” he nods outside, there’s no chance in hell he’ll go alone but fuck, he’s going to make it look like this is a buddy thing - a ‘friendly’ outing. Two guys just going out for a quick look around Em City. “Watch TV? We can see what’s happenin’ out there-”

his heart jumps at the thought, he can feel his fear hungrily devouring his own insides. What if Adebisi is alive and kicking? What if they get down those steps only to be greeted by his ugly mug? Peter knows that the brute would look down on him with eyes more ravenous that his own fear could ever be. He shivers at the thought. 

Boppers, I’m alive - who wants som fucc?

He follows the other as fast as he can - he sees the two sick as Peter dives past them, how they follow him, yet he risks it and speeds up to rush past them, too. One of them manages to grab the jacket Emilio is still carrying - for a moment Emilio pulls back but then he just lets it go and focuses on keeping up with Dino’s cousin. 

The restaurant. Almost there.

He doesn’t have the courage to slow his step for the sake of silence - not after they almost got him - instead he pushes against the door and prays to God it will open - 

it does. 

He pulls Peter with him as he stumbles into the restaurant, short of breath, wrapping is arms around himself. The door, he remembers, and throws himself against it, slamming it shut. 

Not a second too late. He can hear them outside, screaming, can feel them push against the door, almost pushing him off. 

“The fuck are you doing here?!” 

Dino! He looks over to his friend - he’s alright - thank God - but the next push almost opened the door. Dino acts fast - he wastes no time and pushes himself against the door, too. He fiddles with the keys for a moment before he manages to lock the door. 

Emilio allows his knees to finally give in. 

“What…” Dino bends down next to him, his voice is softer now, his face too. “You okay?”

Emilio nods. Dino pulls him up with him. They are safe… for now. 

“The fuck happened?!” He looks over to Petey. “I told you to stay at home!”

He’s not entirely caught his breath when Dino already begins to yell at him - Peter struggles to speak as the air fights against his words. He holds a finger up to Dino, sliding down the door as he catches his breath. 

“Stay in the house-” his speech arrives as an exasperated moan “no fuckin’ way-” 

a few more pants for air and he’s found himself behind the counter, scooping up a cup and quickly filling it with water. How in the hell the water was still running is beyond him, perhaps the earthquake hadn’t hit the pipes? Whatever, lucky. After a few more swigs, he fills another and hands it over to Emilio. The guy looks like shit. 

“Those things weren’t gonna stay outside for long and I wanna know what th’fuck is goin’ on in this town-” his breath is shaky, almost as much as his hands. “Dino - this place -” 

Peter’s eyes dart from his cousin to Emilio; concern brazen across his expression. 

“It’s fuckin’ with us -” for a moment, Peter stops entirely. His face becoming deadly serious as he stares directly back at his cousin. “You can’t deny it, Dino-” he clenches his fists. Why does he feel such animosity toward him? Such feelings of...betrayal? 

“This place is tryin’ t’torture us. It knows somethin’ about us that we don’t.”

He feels both terrified and proud of his own theory - as if his knowledge is both a blessing a curse. What had his father said once...that it was how you used knowledge...that was what truly mattered? Something like that. When had he even had that conversation with his pops? Why such cryptic advice? 

His teeth grit together, as if he’s chewing on a thought before he points at Sanchez.