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Peter hated crying in public. Tears were an instant source of mockery. So, after Max Jägerman made him regret his whole day, he limped into the nearest alley. Crouched down besides the dumpster, he finally let himself cry. Peter wasn’t dumb about it. He stifled his sobs around his fist. What was the point of hiding if someone could hear him?
Max hadn’t given him a beating this severe in months. His ribs hurt, he’d gotten road burn, and was probably developing a black eye. Ted would come pick him up if he texted. All Peter had to do was get out his phone.
It smelled awful in the alley. Like piss and garbage and rotting food. His new sweater will probably smell the same soon. It’ll have to go in the wash then. And because some god out there hates him, it’ll probably shrink too. Peter sobbed a little harder at the thought. Everything hurt. He just needed to text Ted and go home. His phone stayed in his back pocket.
His chest grew tighter. Peter wanted to throw up. All he had to do was text Ted. Who’d just want to know what happened. And Peter would have to tell him. Admit he got the shit beat out of himself by Max Jägerman. Because he was dumb enough to try and stand up for himself. And then what?
He hiccuped out a sob and shoved his face in his hands. He just had to text Ted.
Footsteps crunched just outside the alley, and Peter froze. Was Stephanie looking for him? Or did Max come back? He curled further around his ribs, to try and shield them.
“Petey?” Only one person still called him that.
“Uncle Wiley?” Peter asked, choking back a sob. His uncle stepped into view, denim clad and frowning. “Well weell weeeeeelll, shit kid.”
He felt small under the piercing green gaze of his uncle’s stare. Like he was five again. Uncle Wiley popped in and out of his life at will, and there was always something so imposing about his presence. Something larger than life. Even kneeling down in a garbage filled back alley didn’t diminish that.
“Upsie wupsie Petey.” His uncle slipped a hand around Peter’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “There’s a good boy.”
He didn’t let go after Peter stood up, and Peter leaned into that warmth. He was cold and tired and had been crying. Uncle Wiley had come at just the right time. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh just in the neighborhood. What brings you to this alley Petey? This isn’t a safe place for itty bitty kiddies.”
He rolled his eyes. As much as they hated each other, both Ted and Uncle Wiley still seemed to think he was twelve years old. He was seventeen. Practically a full adult. “I was just going to meet Stephanie Lauter.” God Stephanie. Was she waiting on him or had she already left. It wasn’t a trap. Maybe it made him an idiot, but he believed in her. She had wanted to meet him.
Uncle Wiley hissed. “The mayor’s baby girl gave my favorite nephew a black eye? If you wanna wanna I can deal with it.” He stalked towards the parking lot, pulling Peter along with him.
“No. It wasn’t her.”
“Theeenn…” He looked away. He couldn’t say this staring in his uncle’s eyes. “Max Jägerman.”
“Oh. That bastard.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard genuine hate in Uncle Wiley’s voice before. “Don’t worry Petey. Little losers like that always peak in high school huh? Won’t even make it to graduation.” It was a cold comfort now, but still a comfort.
The parking lot was mostly empty. Peter guessed he’d cried long enough Pasqualli’s closed. Uncle Wiley pulled them to an old fashioned red car.
“This car is yours? It’s nice.” Before Peter could even fumble at the car door Uncle Wiley was opening it.
“It is isn’t it. It’s a shame though.” His uncle tutted. “It’s part of a matched set, you know. Not as fun having the Firebird with the Station Wagon.”
Peter nodded like he understood anything about car collecting. Uncle Wiley helped him slide into the passenger seat. The car was nice. He just hoped he didn’t stain it. Bloodstains were hard to remove. He closed his eyes. Peter needed today to be over yesterday. His uncle slammed the door shut for him. He listened to him walk around the car to get in the driver’s seat.
“Woah there Petey. Good little boys wear their seatbelts.” His uncle reached over to buckle him in. Peter let him. He didn’t have the energy to do it himself. He let the engine rumbling wash over him. A boy could fall asleep like this.
“Hey now.” His uncle snapped his fingers. “Open those eyes for me.”
Peter opened his eyes and found Uncle Wiley staring at him. He tensed. Eye contact was always, hard, but something about those violently bright green eyes made it worse.
“Hey hey,” his uncle produced a flashlight he flicked on. “Hold still just a scooch. Yeah, there you go. You’re gonna have a killer black eye Petey, but no concussion.”
Oh. He was just checking the dilation of his pupils. That’s smart. Peter should’ve realized. What if he had had a concussion? You weren’t supposed to sleep with one right? Or was that just a myth? God he’d have to research this.
Uncle Wiley started up the car, and pulled out of his parking spot. He drove out of the lot. Peter only wistfully looked back at Pasqualli’s twice. Thrice at the most.
He could only stand the silent car ride for five minutes. “Are you taking me home?”
“Yep! I’ve texted Teddy already.” Uncle Wiley’s fingers clenched the steering wheel for a moment. “I’ve just got a motel room and it’s a real “don’t let the bed bugs bite situation.” My fwendy wends aren’t selling like they used to. Thought I might make sure you never have to deal with student loans but that’s just not how the dice roll huh, Petey?”
“Not in this economy.” He replied distractedly. Hatchetfield was quiet at night. Peaceful. Peter could almost forget the racing of his heart looking out at it.
His uncle snorted. “Ha! Good one Petey. Why don’t you get some rest though hmmm? Go right down to drowsy town? No concussion means no worries”
Peter was tired. But it wasn't physical exhaustion. He was tired of Max. Of getting the shit beat out of him.
Instead he decided to distract himself. “You staying for a while?”
He got a shrug and one of Uncle Wiley’s weird metaphors. “I’ll have to see what springs from the toy box first. But who who who who knows? Hmmm?”
“The toy business didn’t go well?” That wasn’t too rude, right?
“Not like I hoped. Like I said, I hoped that you’d never have student debt. But but but that didn’t work out as planned.” He shook his head. “Our big Black Friday blow out went out with a whimper not a bang. Guess my youth outreach didn’t go well.”
Peter wasn’t sure how to respond. “That uhhh, sucks.”
Uncle Wiley chuckled, and turned the car down a street. They were getting closer to Ted’s place. “Indeed it does, as the kids say, suck. But hey, that’s the toy business!” He picked up a green apple from the cup holder and gestured emphatically with it. Then he bit into it.
Peter felt he’d misstepped somewhere.. He shifted in his seat. Had he been rude? It was nice to know his uncle wanted him to have a college fund. But should he have even asked? Or should he have responded more? Is he supposed to say something now?
“Nah nah nah nah nah Petey,” fingers snapped in front of his face. “Don’t go skipping into lala land on me again.”
Peter dug his hands into the car seat armrests, and breathed in. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He held it. One. Two. Three. Then he breathed out. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. He did it again. And again.
“There you go Petey.” He thumped him comfortingly on the shoulder. “Life’s just a lil lil lil bit to short to waste like that hmm? Gotta rise to the occasion.”
He just nodded, still counting his breaths. Peter stayed silent for the rest of the car ride, too busy fighting his panic. They pulled down a familiar road, and stopped in front of a familiar house. Uncle Wiley tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he parked.
He managed to slide out, slam his door shut, and open Peter’s door before Peter unbuckled his seat belt.
“Careful there now.” Uncle Wiley offered his arm, and Peter took it as he stumbled out on the pavement. He was still so tired. It was time for today to be over.
Peter let go of his arm as he stood. He never liked looking weak. Even with Uncle Wiley. Made him feel too vulnerable. They walked up the sidewalk and he felt relieved to step onto the steps.
Then Peter tripped over his feet walking up the front steps. He braced his arms for the fall. Uncle Wiley just managed to snag his sweater instead. He was pulled up to the porch.
“Careful now Petey. I don’t think you wanna go out impaled on floor boards.”
Pete rolled his eyes. “Hahaha.”
“Dead serious. Now, where where where did your brother get off to?”
“Today, Charlotte.” Ted smirked as he swung the front door open.
Uncle Wiley clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Where, not whom Teddy.” Ted was immune to disapproval.
“My bad, Wilbur.”
“Your bad indeed Teddy.”
Pete glanced between his uncle and brother. In the dim porch light they were almost twins, distinguishable only by the bright green of Uncle Wiley’s eyes. Twins who hated each other. They looked moments away from murder. There was always tension between them. Neither would explain. Pete felt like a rubber band pulled taunt between them. He couldn’t deal with that right now.
“I’m going to bed.” He tried to push past them into the house.
It just took the light spilling out of the doorway to distract Ted. “What the fuck happened to your face Pete?”
He winced as Ted cupped his chin and stared at his eye. His brother paused, and began to worry over him.
Uncle Wiley rolled his eyes. “I already checked him over Theodore.” “And?” Ted turned back to their uncle, glaring.
Pete took the opportunity to shoulder past his brother, who was too slow to catch him this time. Shouldn’t have let Uncle Wiley distract him.
“Peter!” He ignored Ted. “At least take off your binder! You know that could fuck up your ribs!”
“Theodore is right Petey!” Great now Uncle Wiley was agreeing with him. The last time that happened was when they made sure Ted had custody over Peter. No use letting a father more concerned with his missing wife than his kids have it.
Pete did listen though. Once he reached the privacy of his room, he stripped his sweater and binder off in one go. He dropped them to the floor tangled together. After he replaced his clothes with pajamas, Pete curled up on the bed and waited.
It wouldn’t take long. There were no screams typical of interactions between his uncle and brother.
Ted knocked on his door maybe five minutes later. “Pete. Talk to me. What asshole fucked you up?”
Pete pulled his covers over his head. It didn’t deter his brother.
“I mean it dipshit.what the fuck happened? Why did uncle perv bring you home bruised?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Ted sat down on the bed. “Come on Petey, help a brother out. Give me a name, something!”
Pete didn’t respond. What could Ted do anyways? Eventually his brother got the message.
“Fine,” he patted Pete’s shoulder. “You can tell me when you’re ready. Now if you excuse me, I got some sexting to do. Can’t let Charlotte think I’m only her booty call after all.”
Ah. Charlotte must’ve refused to leave her husband again. Looks like both Spankoffski brothers got their hearts broken tonight. Pete slid the pillow back under his head. He was too tired to do anything but sleep.
That night, Pete dreamt a vision of five figures giggling over him. Green, pink, blue, purple, and yellow. There was something familiar about the green and yellow ones. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew them. It made the laughter worse somehow. Like he was the only one not in on the joke.
The next morning, he didn’t remember dreaming at all.