[ There's a new level of horror seeping into him now. Peter's staring at the kid (he's probably not actually a kid, but he seems quite young, maybe around Charlie's age or even younger, and his mind can't help thinking about how young she really was (just a lamb, defenseless). There's an odd ache in his ribcage, a lump in his throat, as he looks at Will: the way he's curling into himself like he wants to disappear.
'Hurt people. Kill people.'
Peter's not questioning or doubting what Will tells him despite how shocking it is. Something is wrong in the world, there's---there's inexplainable, dangerous things going on, and Peter's clearly not the only one who's seen the effects of that. It's not relief, not at all. But it's something, some connection, some.... ounce of familiarity to be found in the simple fact that someone else.... knows about this kind of thing (whatever exactly "this kind of thing" is). He hasn't felt connected to anyone in a long, long time, and it's horrific, what they're able to connect over, but it's also like taking a breath of air after being trapped underwater for too long.
Peter slowly draws closer to Will, rather than moving away. ]
I'm.... I'm sorry.
[ It isn't encouraging words; there's no "it's okay", because it isn't. He isn't trying to put on a brave face for him either; Peter's trembling and he looks just as ill. It's simply raw empathy, thick brows knitting together, eyes glossing over with a film of tears that don't fall, just rest there in his eyes. He hasn't reached out for anyone in a long time -- he can't even remember when, he's almost forgotten how? -- but his hand moves to the younger's, fingertips hesitating just a moment before he gives it a soft squeeze. ]
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'Hurt people.
Kill people.'
Peter's not questioning or doubting what Will tells him despite how shocking it is. Something is wrong in the world, there's---there's inexplainable, dangerous things going on, and Peter's clearly not the only one who's seen the effects of that. It's not relief, not at all. But it's something, some connection, some.... ounce of familiarity to be found in the simple fact that someone else.... knows about this kind of thing (whatever exactly "this kind of thing" is). He hasn't felt connected to anyone in a long, long time, and it's horrific, what they're able to connect over, but it's also like taking a breath of air after being trapped underwater for too long.
Peter slowly draws closer to Will, rather than moving away. ]
I'm.... I'm sorry.
[ It isn't encouraging words; there's no "it's okay", because it isn't. He isn't trying to put on a brave face for him either; Peter's trembling and he looks just as ill. It's simply raw empathy, thick brows knitting together, eyes glossing over with a film of tears that don't fall, just rest there in his eyes. He hasn't reached out for anyone in a long time -- he can't even remember when, he's almost forgotten how? -- but his hand moves to the younger's, fingertips hesitating just a moment before he gives it a soft squeeze. ]