Title: When You Wake: Prologue
Author: Naisumi
Rating: PG (for this part)
Pairings: Lance/Pietro, Pietro/Lance
Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~
Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least?
Warnings: Um...angst. Like, MAJOR angst, slash...and I think that's all.
Notes: Okayyy...you guys get to read the fic that I was _going_ to write instead of Pietrance ^-^;; Please tell me if this is okay...Shindo seems to think it's good, so uh...right. Thanks Shindo!!!! *wavewavewave* And thanks to Michiko, too! ^__^ She's a really great betareader and caught some pretty embarrassing mistakes o.o
Enjoy and PLEASE give me C&C!!
"blah." People speak
blah. Mental speak
-- uh...scene switch
--
Silence...A never-ending tomb that echoes persistently of memories long forgotten. Silence...the same silence that tugs at thoughts, stray musings, and twists them to a demented paranoia that raps insistently at consciousness. Silence...
--
Pietro looked up, smiling slightly into the sunlight. The warmth was exuberating as the sunrays played on the paleness of his skin and radiated a soft touch of serenity into his very soul. For the time being, he basked in the moment, feeling settled and oddly not disturbed by how time seemed to slow down. He usually liked the fast lane a lot better.
"Hey, you're actually up?"
"Shut up," The boy returned good-naturedly, eyes still trained on the windowpane, the cracked glass muting the soft daylight outside. Todd shrugged and turned to the rusted toaster, shoving two pop tarts down into the gaping slots.
"It's surprising," the impish youth said, "'cause you don't even have to get up early, yo. So what gives?" He peered suspiciously at the silver-haired teen beside him.
Pietro glanced witheringly at him before returning his attention to the sun-drenched outside, "It's nothing. I just felt like getting up...that so hard to comprehend?"
A shrug was his answer before silence once more seeped into the kitchen. The soft clang of the pop tarts springing up sliced through the air like a heated knife. Todd clambered over to them, grabbing one before snatching his hand away; "Damn! It's still hot--" He glowered at it before getting a plate from one of the cupboards, gingerly seizing both pop tarts and slapping them down, walking over to the dining table.
"I'm skipping," Pietro said abruptly, and his companion turned to him, looking bewildered.
"What?"
"I'm skipping," He repeated, a strangely beatific expression on his countenance.
"Hey, no way...I'm not gonna catch the heat if _you_'re the one skipping!" Todd shook his head, his shaggy hair sweeping along his hunched shoulders as he crouched, nibbling at his breakfast. "If you wanna skip, then _you_ tell Lance, 'kay?"
Pietro shrugged, no emotions flickering in his eyes, his voice vague.
"It doesn't matter anymore."
--
He walked to school that day. He never walked to school. Lance pulled up beside the silver-haired boy, noting his calm gait, his smooth expression, his empty eyes.
"Pietro?"
The slender boy turned, steel-blue gaze flickering with a brief internal light, "Hey."
Lance smiled, leaning his chin on the one arm that lay on the top of the side door. "Hope on in. If you're not going to get to school ridiculously early, you might as well ride with the rest of us."
So he did. He sat, willowy figure slumped slightly, pixie-like face turned towards the sunlight-frosted window. Vaguely, Pietro heard Todd call a distant "yo" before turning the volume of his CD player up higher. It had been a birthday present, he recalled. He remembered no other birthday presents. Not for him.
The dark-haired boy beside Pietro was glancing at him. He could see out of the corner of his eye...could see the worried glint reflected in the mahogany eyes, spirited out of hiding by the gleaming sunrays. The worry was almost customary nowadays, for the pale youth had seen it often writ on his comrade's countenance, so usually impassive.
Masks, Pietro thought, a glimmer of amusement slipping through his mind before souring, a strand of bitter irony in its place,
They think that is all we are...evil, antagonistic, rebellious. How I'd like to show them...tell them _all_ what really goes on.
Pietro turned his azure eyes to the blurred landscape outside. He pondered this--pondered the brilliant hues of nature, running together like watercolor. The panorama remained smeared...blurred, as if the jeep that he--they--were in was topping the speed limit, edging closer and closer to match the pace of surging light. Blurred because of too many thoughts, too many emotions. Blurred because of the nonsensical parody that life had become. Blurred because of crystallized sadness, filming his gaze, like sepia-tinted lenses, snapping over the back of his mind.
There was a trembling moment, taut with barely suppressed panic; No...Nono, I can't cry...I can't cry now!! Not in front of them...boys don't cry. Boysdon'tcryboysdon'tcry-- Pietro tensed, closing his too-bright eyes against the suddenly oppressive luster of the gleaming sun. Concentrate...on touch, He told himself, schooled himself. On sensation.
The quietness of the morning was permeated by the rumbling growl of the jeep's engine. Every so often, Pietro would catch a strain of Todd's music, and accompanied with that, was the soft absent humming of the chocolate-haired boy beside him. His voice is nice, the speedster thought, deep...almost warm. Warmth...Pietro fingered the sun-warmed seat covering, rubbing the ridged texture between thumb and forefinger. The artificial leather was almost soft, a little worn around the edges; almost velvety. It reminded him of the supple silkiness of a cat's fur, and was from then on immersed in the memory of a neighbor's kitten. He had been five.
"Do you think we could get a cat?"
If Lance was startled by how random his comment had been, the older boy didn't show it.
"Why do you want to get a cat?" Idly, he tapped his fingers to some beat only heard by his ears. Pietro watched the material of the driving wheel dent slightly, then smooth as Lance's fingers played over it. His hands were nice; long-fingered, not too angular and knobby--almost elegant.
"My neighbor used to have a cat."
Pietro stared at his hands, folded limply in his lap. Abruptly, he felt stupid--childish for bringing up such a petty subject. Just as suddenly, he wanted to stop, to change the topic.
"Cats are nice," Lance nodded easily, his gaze flickered from the road to him briefly.
"It was an A-Abyssinian," for once, Pietro seemed to stumble over his words, as if his tongue was not sure it wished to speak. He mentally chided himself before the same haze of numbness swathed his mind again. "I really liked it."
"Oh, really?" The ambiguous response was enthusiastic enough to convince the slender teen to continue and mild enough to project curiosity. The words tumbled out, his tongue freed from its hesitance.
"I used to feed it, because they wouldn't. It liked tuna...and salmon, too. I think it liked me...really liked me, I mean. It used to meow, and purr a lot. The fur was so soft...plush, almost. It was so soft that you could barely feel it; you'd feel this cool velvet-like feeling under your fingers, but that was all." Pietro paused, feeling his cheeks warm, and returned his gaze to outside the window, watching the gray smudge that was the road.
The silence draped itself about the car once more, the faint hum that was the engine fading into the background. Todd bobbed his head to the rhythm of the music, absorbed in the tales of understanding and comforted pain that his headphones sang; listening avidly to the tender words of tiny voices within the smooth disc, within the chords of the enveloping music.
"What happened to it?" The traffic light flashed rusty yellow, then red.
Pietro watched the light, a stillness seeming to spread to his limbs from the core of his mind, the single eye of the storm that hung suspended in the midst of his chaotic thoughts. He didn't want to move, didn't have the energy to talk. I'm tired, the coolness of the windowpane felt refreshing against his forehead.
The light swayed as a particularly strong gust of wind swept by, and Lance revved the engine as it flashed green.
Cerulean eyes watched the brilliant viridian as it passed overhead in a neon blur, and whispered into the emptiness,
"They killed it."
tbc
Author: Naisumi
Rating: PG (for this part)
Pairings: Lance/Pietro, Pietro/Lance
Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~
Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least?
Warnings: Um...angst. Like, MAJOR angst, slash...and I think that's all.
Notes: Okayyy...you guys get to read the fic that I was _going_ to write instead of Pietrance ^-^;; Please tell me if this is okay...Shindo seems to think it's good, so uh...right. Thanks Shindo!!!! *wavewavewave* And thanks to Michiko, too! ^__^ She's a really great betareader and caught some pretty embarrassing mistakes o.o
Enjoy and PLEASE give me C&C!!
"blah." People speak
blah. Mental speak
-- uh...scene switch
--
Silence...A never-ending tomb that echoes persistently of memories long forgotten. Silence...the same silence that tugs at thoughts, stray musings, and twists them to a demented paranoia that raps insistently at consciousness. Silence...
--
Pietro looked up, smiling slightly into the sunlight. The warmth was exuberating as the sunrays played on the paleness of his skin and radiated a soft touch of serenity into his very soul. For the time being, he basked in the moment, feeling settled and oddly not disturbed by how time seemed to slow down. He usually liked the fast lane a lot better.
"Hey, you're actually up?"
"Shut up," The boy returned good-naturedly, eyes still trained on the windowpane, the cracked glass muting the soft daylight outside. Todd shrugged and turned to the rusted toaster, shoving two pop tarts down into the gaping slots.
"It's surprising," the impish youth said, "'cause you don't even have to get up early, yo. So what gives?" He peered suspiciously at the silver-haired teen beside him.
Pietro glanced witheringly at him before returning his attention to the sun-drenched outside, "It's nothing. I just felt like getting up...that so hard to comprehend?"
A shrug was his answer before silence once more seeped into the kitchen. The soft clang of the pop tarts springing up sliced through the air like a heated knife. Todd clambered over to them, grabbing one before snatching his hand away; "Damn! It's still hot--" He glowered at it before getting a plate from one of the cupboards, gingerly seizing both pop tarts and slapping them down, walking over to the dining table.
"I'm skipping," Pietro said abruptly, and his companion turned to him, looking bewildered.
"What?"
"I'm skipping," He repeated, a strangely beatific expression on his countenance.
"Hey, no way...I'm not gonna catch the heat if _you_'re the one skipping!" Todd shook his head, his shaggy hair sweeping along his hunched shoulders as he crouched, nibbling at his breakfast. "If you wanna skip, then _you_ tell Lance, 'kay?"
Pietro shrugged, no emotions flickering in his eyes, his voice vague.
"It doesn't matter anymore."
--
He walked to school that day. He never walked to school. Lance pulled up beside the silver-haired boy, noting his calm gait, his smooth expression, his empty eyes.
"Pietro?"
The slender boy turned, steel-blue gaze flickering with a brief internal light, "Hey."
Lance smiled, leaning his chin on the one arm that lay on the top of the side door. "Hope on in. If you're not going to get to school ridiculously early, you might as well ride with the rest of us."
So he did. He sat, willowy figure slumped slightly, pixie-like face turned towards the sunlight-frosted window. Vaguely, Pietro heard Todd call a distant "yo" before turning the volume of his CD player up higher. It had been a birthday present, he recalled. He remembered no other birthday presents. Not for him.
The dark-haired boy beside Pietro was glancing at him. He could see out of the corner of his eye...could see the worried glint reflected in the mahogany eyes, spirited out of hiding by the gleaming sunrays. The worry was almost customary nowadays, for the pale youth had seen it often writ on his comrade's countenance, so usually impassive.
Masks, Pietro thought, a glimmer of amusement slipping through his mind before souring, a strand of bitter irony in its place,
They think that is all we are...evil, antagonistic, rebellious. How I'd like to show them...tell them _all_ what really goes on.
Pietro turned his azure eyes to the blurred landscape outside. He pondered this--pondered the brilliant hues of nature, running together like watercolor. The panorama remained smeared...blurred, as if the jeep that he--they--were in was topping the speed limit, edging closer and closer to match the pace of surging light. Blurred because of too many thoughts, too many emotions. Blurred because of the nonsensical parody that life had become. Blurred because of crystallized sadness, filming his gaze, like sepia-tinted lenses, snapping over the back of his mind.
There was a trembling moment, taut with barely suppressed panic; No...Nono, I can't cry...I can't cry now!! Not in front of them...boys don't cry. Boysdon'tcryboysdon'tcry-- Pietro tensed, closing his too-bright eyes against the suddenly oppressive luster of the gleaming sun. Concentrate...on touch, He told himself, schooled himself. On sensation.
The quietness of the morning was permeated by the rumbling growl of the jeep's engine. Every so often, Pietro would catch a strain of Todd's music, and accompanied with that, was the soft absent humming of the chocolate-haired boy beside him. His voice is nice, the speedster thought, deep...almost warm. Warmth...Pietro fingered the sun-warmed seat covering, rubbing the ridged texture between thumb and forefinger. The artificial leather was almost soft, a little worn around the edges; almost velvety. It reminded him of the supple silkiness of a cat's fur, and was from then on immersed in the memory of a neighbor's kitten. He had been five.
"Do you think we could get a cat?"
If Lance was startled by how random his comment had been, the older boy didn't show it.
"Why do you want to get a cat?" Idly, he tapped his fingers to some beat only heard by his ears. Pietro watched the material of the driving wheel dent slightly, then smooth as Lance's fingers played over it. His hands were nice; long-fingered, not too angular and knobby--almost elegant.
"My neighbor used to have a cat."
Pietro stared at his hands, folded limply in his lap. Abruptly, he felt stupid--childish for bringing up such a petty subject. Just as suddenly, he wanted to stop, to change the topic.
"Cats are nice," Lance nodded easily, his gaze flickered from the road to him briefly.
"It was an A-Abyssinian," for once, Pietro seemed to stumble over his words, as if his tongue was not sure it wished to speak. He mentally chided himself before the same haze of numbness swathed his mind again. "I really liked it."
"Oh, really?" The ambiguous response was enthusiastic enough to convince the slender teen to continue and mild enough to project curiosity. The words tumbled out, his tongue freed from its hesitance.
"I used to feed it, because they wouldn't. It liked tuna...and salmon, too. I think it liked me...really liked me, I mean. It used to meow, and purr a lot. The fur was so soft...plush, almost. It was so soft that you could barely feel it; you'd feel this cool velvet-like feeling under your fingers, but that was all." Pietro paused, feeling his cheeks warm, and returned his gaze to outside the window, watching the gray smudge that was the road.
The silence draped itself about the car once more, the faint hum that was the engine fading into the background. Todd bobbed his head to the rhythm of the music, absorbed in the tales of understanding and comforted pain that his headphones sang; listening avidly to the tender words of tiny voices within the smooth disc, within the chords of the enveloping music.
"What happened to it?" The traffic light flashed rusty yellow, then red.
Pietro watched the light, a stillness seeming to spread to his limbs from the core of his mind, the single eye of the storm that hung suspended in the midst of his chaotic thoughts. He didn't want to move, didn't have the energy to talk. I'm tired, the coolness of the windowpane felt refreshing against his forehead.
The light swayed as a particularly strong gust of wind swept by, and Lance revved the engine as it flashed green.
Cerulean eyes watched the brilliant viridian as it passed overhead in a neon blur, and whispered into the emptiness,
"They killed it."
tbc