#20x12

Word Count: 2.378 words

Genre: Platonic angst, honestly writing this broke my heart all over again

Trigger warning: death, guns, blood

Summary: (Taking place right after Season 20 Episode 12 - “Dear Ben”) Peter wasn’t ready to forgive his father yet, although some revelations from the infinity rapist case flipped his views upside down. He meets up with a friend who helps him realize that it’s about time he let the grounding weight of guilt and regret off of his shoulders.

A/N: guess who’s back after binge watching a TV series I stumbled upon lol. Honestly I wrote this because my heart aches every time because Peter isn’t dealing with his feelings right, so I decided to give him a platonic friendship that helps him deal and overcome the massive guilt he has:(

Although the sun had disappeared, Central Park remained just as beautiful during daylight, as the burning lamp post and the looming New York buildings illuminated the large natural sanctuary within the city. It wasn’t hard for you to spot Peter’s figure in the night, as he was sat on the bench facing the Gapstow Bridge alone, the yellow lamppost illuminating his slumped body, seemingly staring at the bridge and the buildings behind it with a somber look.

And as you neared, you could already guess what he needed to talk to you about so badly. Peter’s beautiful green orbs were empty, vacant of the sparkle you’ve come to know. The lawyer that sat on the bench wasn’t the strong, confident, and arrogant Peter Stone that was shown during court. This was another side only few who’s known him could see: broken. He let himself feel vulnerable for tonight, wearing his shattered heart for all to see, and there were only two reasons when he would let his guard down like this:

“It’s about your father and Pam, isn’t it?” Peter snapped from his trance, his startled eyes calming down as soon as he saw your small, comforting smile.

“You know, I hate to say it, but Liv’s right.” He started, scooting aside and taking the two coffee cups sat beside him, handing one to you. Muttering a small ‘thanks’, you settled yourself beside him and sipped the warm hot chocolate. Somehow, knowing Peter still put time and effort to buy you your favorite drink caused a small ache in your heart. When your mouth was about to open and say ‘you didn’t have to’, Peter was already one step ahead, raising his pointing fingers indicating you to stop. Perhaps this was Peter’s way of repaying you, you thought.

“Well, Liv’s always right,” You shrugged, causing Peter to roll his eyes, “You gotta be more specific about what she’s right on, Peter.” In that moment, you saw Peter gulp in the cold January air, and the contents of your stomach dropped, scared for what Peter was going to say, judging by the grimace on his face.

“She said it’s about time I forgive my father,” He finally muttered, and the slow signs of Peter’s heart breaking into pieces were evident from the waver of his voice and the rapid eye blinking, “The case about the infinity rapist? That case turned my perception about him upside down. He wasn’t the greatest father figure of all, he wasn’t a saint like what everybody said, (Name). I despised him then, I really do. For neglecting me and Pam when we were kids, for disappearing from the family, and for being a bad father in my eyes.” He bit his lip, eyes in concentration as if to find words to formulate all the anger and regret in his soul. You moved closer to where he sat, gently placing your hand over his arms, and soon his body relaxed from its tense position.

“Turns out, he wasn’t as bad as I made out. That trip to Montana where he sent me and Pam off for three months? He was trying to protect us from the infinity rapist, as that time was the peak of their conversation, as that bastard kept on mentioning us in his letters. That little league game he missed that meant so much to me? The infinity rapist actually struck the night before.” He took a deep breath, and a single tear trickled down his cheek, his composure starting to break.

“My point is: my father was never physically there for us. I was mad, because we were supposed to be family, and family sticks together no matter what. Pam and I only had each other, and all those years growing up without any parent figure really twisted my perception of him. I despised him as I grew up, and even as he died I continued to hate him even more. For leaving without any goodbyes, let alone an apology or an ‘I love you, son.’.”

At this point, Peter’s voice started to crack, he was blinking rapidly to contain his tears from falling even further. You knew, behind the brave face he puts, that Peter can crack even from the smallest mentions about his family. And this case was all about Ben Stone, it hit home for Peter. You wished you could take his pain away, but all you could do was hold him close as he drowned in his own pool of emotions.

“Turns out, he was just never there for us physically. He was there for us in some way, indirectly protecting us from the horrors of his job, trying to make our environment as safe as he can so we could go outside without having to constantly look behind our backs. He wasn’t the best father, but he had good intentions, and I hate myself for thinking so awfully of him. I wished I could have seen past all of this anger earlier, you know? Save myself from all the hate that’s eating me alive, maybe he’d be a little proud of me, and maybe Pam wouldn’t have died if I wasn’t so self-absorbed in this-“

“Peter, don’t blame yourself!” You cut him off, your own voice betraying you as you swallowed the ever-forming invisible lump in your throat, “Pam’s death isn’t your fault, and Ben have always been proud of you.” Peter finally dared to glance at you, but quickly looked down when you’ve seen the tears he fought so hard already streaming down his cheeks. Slowly you moved your hand to cup his cheeks, and he was forced to look at your determined, although watery, eyes, as you wiped away his tears.

“Peter, Ben’s always been proud of you,” The low whisper from your lips reached his ear but he shook his head in disapproval, causing your grip on his cheeks to tighten, “I’ve noticed it when he introduced us back in Chicago: there was this pride swelling in his chest as he introduced his son, fresh from law school, continuing his legacy as a lawyer. And I remember thinking back then, ‘no wonder he’s so proud of Peter.’, as you made a name for yourself in the city and helped the victims get justice.” Peter’s breath stopped when he heard your description, a look of disbelief apparent in his eyes.

“And not only that, Peter, you’ve grown to be a kind young man, with a huge heart that’s ready to help anyone in need. Any parent would be happy to see their son not only grow successful, but turn into an amazing, kindhearted human as well. And I’m sure Ben’s proud of that too, despite not having him around to do normal family stuff, you defied the odds and turned out as an amazing kid!” Peter slowly pulled himself away from your grasp, but choosing to hold your hand against his instead. Even after your long explanation, Peter still felt that it didn’t sit right with him. That Ben Stone couldn’t possibly be proud of his let-down, full of hatred son.

“He must’ve hated me now for hating him, and for taking away Pam’s life. I was supposed to protect her, and now she’s dead because I insisted on taking that case to court and was so confident that they wouldn’t be able to lay their hands on her. It’s only logical that he hates me now.” Peter said, denying the pep talk you gave him earlier. Taking a deep sigh, you broke away from his contact to take a gulp from the long forgotten hot chocolate, now cold from the long exposure of the cold air. Maybe it was finally time to reveal a little secret of yourself that you’ve kept hidden for so long, so that Peter would finally understand, you thought.

“Peter, I’m going to tell you something that only my family knows, and just listen to me until I finish because this will help clear things up for you,” You took a deep breath and braced yourself, and this raised the alarm within Peter’s still functioning mind, “I’ve been in your position before, Peter. I killed my own father because I didn’t dare to call 911 for help.” In that moment Peter’s heart stopped, as he sobered up from his sadness to stare at you in shock.

“What? What do you mean?” He inquired further, searching your face to see if you were joking. But he didn’t found any, instead Peter found bitterness and longing inside your eyes.

“It happened when I was five, while my sister was only three. It was just us and dad, he came home early since it’s the day the paycheck comes in. And he was about to pay the debts he had from loaning so much money that night, I remembered this relieved expression in his eyes when he was about to step into the night. But he didn’t even make it out of our house: a burglar came in, a gun on his right hand ready to shoot him and his left hand beckoning my father to give him the money.”

“I knew something bad happened when I heard screaming, the guy yelling ‘hand me the money’ over and over again. I hid in our parent’s wardrobe with my sister, and I could’ve reached for the telephone on the nightstand to call for help, but I knew that the loud noise from the telephone would cause a ruckus and the burglar will get to us. So I stayed silent, biting my lips while I covered my sister’s ears, hoping she doesn’t hear the horrors that went on. And then the gunshot rang, and soon the sound of footsteps retreated. I called 911 then, when I could’ve called the police before if I was brave enough and willing to take the risk. When I finally came out of the room to check on him, his chest didn’t hold any breath, there was blood slowly oozing out of his chest. My mom came home to a bloody living room and police surrounding our apartment, when I could’ve prevented it all from happening.”  

Peter stayed silent, a fresh wave of guilt now washing over him. He was about to speak up, say his condolences and say that it wasn’t your fault, you were just a kid after all, but you beat him to it, raising your hand and stopping him for even saying a word.

“I kept on letting that guilt eat me up Peter, for years and years. It wasn’t until my mother was at her death bed that she convinced me that it wasn’t my fault, that I was protecting my sister, that I had good intentions. In my father’s eyes, she said what I did was the right choice, that he would rest easy knowing I was there protecting my sister, and we made it out of that incident alive.” You were so caught up retelling the painful part of your past that you didn’t realize you were crying when Peter’s calloused thumb collided with your cheeks in the gentlest manner. This time he had a small, pained smile, and deep down you’ve realized that maybe he’s starting to understanding things now.

“My point is Peter, you had your best intention when you chose to defend the victim then, and your choice helped to take down a notorious cartel on both sides of the border and free the victims held there, give them a new purposeful life! Yes, Pam may have died in the process, but you didn’t mean for that to happen, Peter. And now’s the time to not only forgive Ben, but to forgive yourself as well. My father wouldn’t let me suffer through this guilt all my life, and I’m sure Ben and Pam wouldn’t want to you go through that as well, Peter.”

To those passing by the park, the both of you looked out of place. Wet cheeks sparkling in the dim light, the heavy tears that finally rolled down your cheeks reflecting the gleam. Hair tousled from the wind and the constant Holding onto each other’s hand in a tight grip, both of you seemed to be communicating through telepathy, although the both of you wore a similar, pained expression. Yet in that moment, even bystanders could see that you’ve both reached a point of understanding, that you’ve bonded through the same, aching past.

“So Peter, it’s not your fault,” You started again, although your voice was muffled as you tried to contain the whimpers threatening to break free, “Don’t put yourself in this position, Peter, it sucks feeling guilty and having it eat you alive for years. Ben, Pam, and I are so proud of how far you’ve come, but blaming yourself will do no one any good. So I’m going to say it to you every day so that you’d understand: it’s not your fault. It was never your fault, Peter.” He finally let all of his composure disappear, as he crashed into your shoulder and cried, letting all the anguish and regret he carried for a year to slowly disseminate through heavy tears and chocked sobs.

And you held Peter in the cold, distant night of New York, paying the people walking about no mind as you caressed his brown locks with delicate care, letting Peter pull you close in a tight embrace as he cried his heart out, while whispering over and over to him that it wasn’t his fault, that he was so loved, and that his family is proud of him.

And as Peter pulled away from your hold, eyes bloodshot and puffy, nose red with snot running down, he felt lighter, like the weight he was carrying was slowly lifted off. And as you chuckled at his ruined face and dabbed his wet cheeks with tissue, Peter leaned into your touch, smiling along with your soft, angelic giggles. And for the first time, Peter Stone knew he was going to be okay, that he can finally see that his father never resented him for his misdirected hate, that his sister forgave him for what happened, and that they were proud of him because Peter always had good intentions in mind.