#peter schibetta

Peter supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised to find Beecher working in the nun’s office, only that his session was about to start and said nun was nowhere to be seen, and now he was sitting awkwardly waiting. He couldn’t stop jostling of his knee with nervous energy. He glanced at Beecher, who was squinting at the screen, typing away, pointedly ignoring him.

Peter swallowed, his palms started to sweat as he thought of broaching the subject, to speak it out loud, remind both of them of the only thing they had in common. He swallowed again, blinking, fighting nausea. Spit it out, you aren’t a bitch.

“Beecher you were raped right?”

Beecher eyebrows raised, mouth open a moment before replying with a simple “Yep.”

Alright well now that it was acknowledged.

“What’d you do to get people to stop thinking of you as a punk?” 

He felt like a child. He was back asking his father how to get the bigger kids to stop tripping him up. That was when Nino had shown him how to throw a left hook. His chest tightened.

Beecher threw it back at him. “Did they stop? I hadn’t noticed.”

Of course Beecher couldn’t understand, he hadn’t come in with pride, he’d earned it. “For someone from my family, an italian man, to get taken like that, it’s just…” 

“Look, you’re trying to re-restablish yourself in everyone’s eyes, I understand. But you have to be careful. Not to do something… foolhardy.”

Foolhardy, he really was a child. For he wanted to do just that, something he knew he had to do, it was that or die of shame. To forever sully the Schibetta name, his Father’s name, as a bitch, a prag, that couldn’t even avenge his father. 

Unless he did something about it.

Sister Peter Marie stepped back into her office, closing the door behind her after saying a word to the guard. Peter glanced at Beecher, who returned the look awkwardly.

“Hey Sister Pete, now that you’re back I’ll get out of your hair.” Beecher started to stand and put away the files he’d been transcribing.

“That won’t be necessary, I have permission for you to stay, if you wouldn’t mind Tobias?” The nun moved behind her desk, smiling warmly at Peter.

“Peter it’s good to see you again.” She took a seat folding her hands on the desk. ”Now I know this is short notice but I wanted to broach the idea with both of you present. I’d like to have joint therapy sessions with the two of you, specifically for your shared history. Of course, if this is something you don’t find helpful we won’t continue, but I think you should both consider giving it a shot. What do you say?” She sat forward glanced back and forth between the two of them.

Peter was speechless. This nun was off her tits. He looked over at Beecher who seemed as shocked as he did.

The sister leaned back into her chair. “Of course take your time to think on it, we have the hour.”

Beecher took a breath, “Okay. I’m fine with it.”

Sister Pete nodded turning her imploring gaze to Peter. “Peter?”

Peter closed his mouth that had been hanging open. “Ah, no. No I don’t want to get into all that shit.” The tightness in his chest sharpened, thinking about discussing the gory details for Beecher to spread around, not what he needed. Not that he truly thought Beecher would, or he wouldn’t have talked to him in the first place, but instincts were hard to kill. “Not with him.”

“I really think this could be a breakthrough for you Peter, I think-”

Beecher cut the nun off, “Why, because I’m a prag too?”

“I’m no prag.” He spit it at Beecher, if anyone was a fucking prag in this room it was the guy who actually liked taking it up the ass.

“Yeah, well, none of them seem to have caught on to that.” 

Peter’s jaw clenched and he turned away at the truth, unable to face it. That it was all for nothing, a pointless exercise, to try to redeem himself. He had so far proven unredeemable, unable to pull himself out of the hell he found himself in. Digging himself deeper all the time. It was one thing to be in prison, but to be the failed son of the Italian mob, and a bitch, was to add insult to injury.

He cursed Simon Adebisi’s ghost, for not just dying easily. He supposes no man worth a shit would. Peter wasn’t even worth enough to kill.

He really looked at Beecher. “You won’t spread this shit around?”

“You have my word.” And word was everything now, he supposed.

“Alright.” He reluctantly met Sister Pete’s gaze, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Why don’t you both share how your recovery has been? Where have you struggled?”

Struggled with seemed too light a word for what he was going through. He stayed silent, pointedly looking at a spot on the nun’s desk waiting for Toby to answer first.

Toby sighed deeply, “Well. I suppose the sessions have helped. I don’t know, I don’t think about it outside of that.”

Liar. He was a liar. Peter knew. How could you not think of it, every moment in the kitchen, every day in Em city, the whole of Oswald was haunted by the violation.

“Peter?”

“That’s bullshit.”

Beecher scoffed, “You don’t know.”

“I do. Because I think of it every day. Every hour.” Sometimes the thought was so intrusive all he could do was bite his cheek and ride it out. The fight or flight coming on too little too late.

Beecher and Sister Pete kept their expressions carefully neutral. They pitied him. Just like Chucky pitied him, only kept him close because of what he was to his father. No one gave a shit otherwise. Whether he lived or died, whether he was attacked again, it didn’t matter to the crew. They had proven that times over.

“My recovery has been shit. I’m tired all the time. Everyone treats me like I’m cursed. How’s that?”

“That’s how it felt. When it started.” Beecher folded his arms, “I didn’t get out of bed for days at first.”

That Peter understood. Even if he had had a choice in the matter, he wouldn’t have gotten up. But he had been confined to the medical unit, bed bound and recovering for weeks, before he was transferred to the psych ward. Fucking Glynn.

He picked at a cuticle, the repetitive motion and pain calming him. He noticed Sister Pete notice, but she quickly flicked her gaze to his face, he ignored her. He nodded towards Beecher, “How’d you deal with the dreams?”

Beecher gave him a look, “You don’t, eventually they change.”

I love this deleted scene...the enormity of the emotion peter schibetta must feel plus it must be so much rage that to truly feel it would be destructive.

bonus peter speaking to beecher about his standing and I just love it. His body language working up the courage to speak. Talking about sa to Beecher, who sees it just as a part of himself that he's accepted in the way that he seems to emotionally compartmentalize everything. His "Yep."