Rajun Cajun Swamp Rat

New Blog —- Old Gambit Friends with @strangerthxnfiction

[itsbeentwelveyears]

                            ind. priv. sel. canon divergent remy lebeau               18+ for violence, substance abuse, ambiguous morality,                  general nsfw, & other potentially dark content                                    dead dove ; do not eat                                    a side-blog to @senpaichan ​                                             originally est. 06.2011 ​                                             originally @rajuncajunswamprat

                                    rules & about       starter call | plotting call | meme tag | verses & AUs | headcanon tag | promo

dni if you are homophobic, transphobic, racist, misogynist/misandrist, are an asexual/aromantic exclusionist, have an issue with neurodivergency, if you rp incest, or if you maliciously whitewash. I understand that this is Marvel and in general it has all of these things and that they may appear in-character, but if you're like this out of character then I don’t have the patience for you.

                      essentially, don’t be a dick and don't be foul and we’ll be fine.                        MINORS & PERSONAL BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

                                this blog will be dash-only

[strangerthxnfiction]

@itsbeentwelveyears basically the rooftop thread idk

[itsbeentwelveyears]

"Could give you a glimpse or two I managed to pull from the others who were there. Bit impressive, really." As much as she wanted to keep needling him, he'd diverted her attention for the time being rather effectively. And regardless of her attitude, she was a professional. "I'm not saying the situation is off the table. I just want you to be certain before I commit to a decision. I would need files from your current therapist, medical history, any suggested medications, notes from a psychiatrist if you have one. Generally I wouldn't require quite as much indepth information, but being here, specifically, with how often we face traumatic and dire situations, well...it requires a bit more than a little notebook of handwritten observations. You understand, of course?" - emma

"If he agree to it, ain' mind havin' a look." Because the curiosity was extremely strong if he was being honest, but there was business to handle of his own and quite a few things to talk to Pietro about. Apparently. "Bon. Will get dem documents sent on over t' y'." Remy pulled out his phone and made a couple notes, "Files, medical, suggested meds... ain' no problem."

He locked his phone again and nodded at her. "Y' gonna have what y' need t' make y' decision soon. Anyway..." And without further comment he left to go maybe hear some of those stories. Or get some sleep. Both seemed like a good idea.

[itsbeentwelveyears]

"Oh, don't be so boring. You don't want to hear about how your little boyfriend embarrassed the hell out of an ancient mutant until he unceremoniously got his leg snapped in half at the knee for his trouble? Man decided he wanted to fight god." She did, however, stop and arch a brow at the request. Interesting. "I could be persuaded, I suppose. Though considering I'm Pietro's therapist when he bothers to show up for sessions instead of just finding me when he feels like it, do you think it would be a conflict of interest?" - emma [@strangerthxnfiction]

"Ain' bein' borin' if dis one just waitin' t' hear it from de man hisself." He couldn't deny his curiosity was piqued but he would just ask Pietro about apparently fighting GOD. Of course, who hadn't wanted to fight some kind of God a time or two?

"Well seein' as we gonna be workin' on gettin' him talkin' in t'erapy might have t' deal wit' me anyway." Remy shrugged and waved a hand, "If y' ain' wanna, c'n find someone else. Bein' six hours off'a Doctor Girard's usual schedule ain' great if dere need t' be an emergency session'r soemt'in'." Which hadn't happened much but there had been some hard times seemingly out of nowhere before. And not that she wasn't agreeing to the virtual sessions. It was just that Emma was, unfortunately, an excellent and highly recommended therapist. If one could afford her.

[strangerthxnfiction]

Without much thought to how the action could be interpreted (not that he cared in the moment), Pietro was suddenly on his knees, straddling Remy's waist with a hand firmly against his chest, fingers splayed. It had been years, Pietro knew damn well he was stronger than he looked, even if he was still in recovery. Even if Remy wanted to move, he wasn't getting away easily.

Pietro knew him better than that, though.

"No more secrets. No more lies. No more "better off dealing with it alone" bullshit. Fuck your pride. Fuck my pride. We talk, like fucking adults. And if you fucking bail on me ever again, I'm hunting you down to the ends of the Earth and I will fucking kill you. Are we clear?"

Ah, the most loving of threats.

And he did love him. He'd never stopped, no matter how much he'd wanted to hate him. It was what made this all so much more difficult than it needed to be.

"I can't do it again, Remy. I just can't. I can't fucking handle being left behind again and again and again, I can't fucking do it. I wanted to fucking die, do you understand? I don't feel things like "normal" people. Everything is a catastrophe unless it's a world-ending disaster, I cannot handle you leaving again. And right now, at this very second, you are so incredibly lucky that I'm not pissed enough to put your ass through the roof into the basement."

Then, impulse took over. He wasn't about to give him a moment to speak. Not yet, anyway. Instead his hand moved to grip Remy by the jaw, holding him still and leaning down to press a crushing kiss against his lips. Not ideal for a reunion, especially with his leg screaming in pain, but he was simply punctuating his point.

He'd make up for it later, if he felt like it.

[itsbeentwelveyears]

The sudden change in position was not actually as surprising as it might have been with anyone else. There was a sort of familiar vertigo that came along with Pietro moving them around on the faint slant of the roof. An aching familiarity in the firm hand on his chest and the weight that pressed him against the rough shingles.

Almost on instinct he moved his hands up to help support the speedster, especially since his leg had been bothering him. "Easy..." Remy managed to murmur but then fell silent in the face of The Rules.

Everything was reasonable. He agreed on every point. They weren't barely adults they were in their thirties and they needed to be able to act like actual mature adults despite the strength and volatility of some of the emotional states he knew they would both be working through. Especially when he was again confronted with the facts of what his departure had done. The hurt he had caused.

Remy was about to say something, to agree or to reassure or to apologise again, but was promptly cut off. The hand on his jaw was hard enough to bruise and so was the kiss that followed. It was harsh and inelegant and full of all kinds of emotions and none of that stopped him from leaning up just as much as he was allowed to kiss Pietro right back.

When the kiss broke at last Remy waited for a few long moments to see if he was allowed to talk but when there were no further threats he reached up to cup Pietro's cheek. "Ain' got no complaints. Ain' got no objections. Real glad y' ain' puttin' dis body t'rough de roof all de way t' de basement." He finished off with a little smile, "Gonna try real hard t' make sure it ain' gonna come t' dat."

[itsbeentwelveyears]

"So, tell me, thief, what is it that Pietro has actually told you about the past....nearly thirteen years? Nothing but nonstop chaos with the X-Men, lots of stories, I'm sure he has some doozies..." - emma, being nosey.

"Good mo'nin' t' y' as well," he said without any idea of the actual time. But they both knew Emma was just being nosy.

"We ain' talked much about what all's been missed yet. We workin' on gettin' t' de talkin' point'a all'a dis." But he wouldn't be himself if he could just leave things alone so he shrugged, "Why, y' wanna start talkin' ahead an' see if y' cain' make dis one feel worse 'bout t'ings den he a'ready does? Speakin'a dat, y' takin' on clients right now?"

[strangerthxnfiction]

Pietro was quiet, probably too quiet for the speedster in a normal moment, but he was weighing his responses carefully. Was he genuinely willing to put himself in a position to be hurt again? After twelve years of feeling broken and abandoned, was he really going to allow this man back into his life? Was he really considering this? Wasn't it too soon?

He knew he wouldn't even be thinking about it at all if Remy had just kept his distance, even at the mansion. He could have managed, somehow.

All this closeness had done was make the ache worse.

There were so many things to discuss, and he absolutely had questions regarding Remy's time away, his reasonings, why he even decided to bother coming back at all...but that wasn't where Pietro's brain was. There was a far more complicated subject on his mind, one that had been plaguing his thoughts for over a decade and he was certain had been driving the telepaths in the mansion fucking insane.

Literally anything else could wait, his brain was waking up again and this was more important, urgent, his anxiety was spiking, his heartrate had him feeling like his ribcage was about to split open, impatient--

This could potentially be horrible.

"...Evangeline is in Logan's garage, the one at the back of the property. The "emergency exit". He's been keeping her tuned up and taking her out for a ride once in a while. Everything else from the townhouse is in storage. I couldn't let anything go." And quieter, like it hurt. "I couldn't let you go. There hasn't been anyone else, couldn't be anyone else, and trust me a few have made some fucking feeble attempts--"

Likely that was not something that was ever going to change. Pietro raised his head a little, glaring daggers at the man he'd, technically, never actually broken up with in the first place.

"...so if you're really wanting this again, we're laying down ground rules before we go any further. And they are non-negotiable. Me sem klaro? I'm not giving you a fucking out."

[itsbeentwelveyears]

The quiet was welcome in a way that might have surprised the people who used to know him. He was a natural yapper but in his time away he'd learned to live with silence and stillness even and especially when it felt like sandpaper on raw nerve. So he waited quietly and let the blanket of anticipation settle over them hard. It reminded him of the cats he sometimes found on the streets of Paris. The ones where he just needed to wait silently until they came to him, the trust fragile as a pane of ice.

And then Pietro started talking again. And he listened. And he hoped.

"When I left, left all de most impo'tant t'ings behind." Remy said while his heart rattled around inside his chest. He could feel the hurt he'd caused and knew they were going to have a hell of a road ahead trying to even start to repair it. But he'd put in the hard work before on himself and he cared about Pietro far more than he'd ever cared about himself.

"Ain' been wit' no one else. Tried a date'r two but dey wasn' y' an' just stopped." He squeezed both hands again and worried his lower lip with his teeth, anxiety leaking through. "Been missin' y' every day, cher. Whatever ground rules y' got. Ain' want no out."

There was a damn foolish urge to interrupt the conversation and try to kiss Pietro like it was some kind of movie. If it had been twelve years ago? He probably would have done something like that. But he knew better and if things worked out they would finally have the time he'd lost them.

"What y' need from dis one, Pietro? Just name it."

[have-you-been-here]

Kindlifresserbrunnen (Child-eater fountain), Bern, Switzerland

Have you been here?

I have been here

I have not been here

Voting ended onJul 30

[teardownheaven]

No claws. No fangs. Victor actually seems disappointed by that, but not for long. Even if they aren't exactly the same, the eyes and lack of fear are enough. They'd be treated the same way by the people around them, and while Victor certainly won't tolerate that for himself ever again he's not going to leave Remy to suffer it either. The other boy is stuck with him, although the way he speaks is almost incomprehensibly strange sounding; he can understand most of it, but some of the words are combined in ways he's never heard before-- lunettes de soleil? What is that even supposed to be?

The other boy's name itches at his memory, though, as if it should be familiar somehow. A feeling like remembering that he's forgotten something but still can't put a finger on what. “...'m Victor.” Half-remembered manners and graces make him bounce their clasped hands awkwardly, exactly twice.

Remy mentioned food, though, and Victor is already sniffing at the air for anything that smells even half-way edible in the alley. Not a great idea on his part-- it smells overwhelmingly of rot and garbage even through his blocked nose, turning his empty stomach enough that he tastes something sour in the back of his throat.

Or maybe that's just his own hunger. He's been starved long enough to know what that feels like once the pain stops, and he can't remember the last time he'd eaten-- the last time he'd been fed; it would make sense if it's not the foulness making him feel ill but the desperation.

The idea alone is enough to spike his anxiety, get him fidgeting and looking around, entire upper body bobbing and swaying as he looks for any sign of something-- anything edible within easy reach. He thinks he can hear rats scurrying around in a big metal bin, and quickly he's leaning toward it like he's on the end of a chain with his ears literally twitching as he orients on the unseen target. Victor nearly jumps for the top lip of it, making it as far as crouching to gather himself before the pressure of his own grip on Remy's hand holds him back.

“What's-- uuuh... Sunglasses?” Victor asks instead of jumping, head cocked and rubbing at his nose as he looks up at the other boy. “Is it... Does it make light?”

[itsbeentwelveyears]

"Real good t' meet y' Victor." He smiled brightly, happy for a new friend. Looking up and down the alley Remy worked on figuring out the best way to go. He saw a little corner store and that would be easy enough to get in and get out with at least some snacks, and a kiosk not far down the block with a display of sunglasses. There were also plenty of people around whose pockets were just begging to be picked. They hand plenty of options he just needed to actually do something.

The question about sunglasses made him laugh. "Nah dey ain' make light dey keep de light outta y' eyes. An' dey dark so people cain' see..." He trailed off and gestured to his eyes. "People get real upset when dey c'n see de eyes."

Even though he smiled when he said it, that didn't stop the sadness from hitting him square in the chest. Hell, his eyes were part of why he was so good at picking pockets. If some of the other kids got caught and put in the system they might have the chance of being adopted and finding a home but no one would want the demon child. That was just a fact. Much less two kids. So he'd have to be careful.

"C'mon. Let's go get dem glasses an' den we c'n get us some food."

Remy peered out of the mouth of the alley and checked the street traffic. This definitely wasn't New Orleans but it was busy enough that two little boys might be able to go completely unnoticed. Or at least mostly ignored, which was good for business. Once there were enough people -- all occupied with their own business and ignoring one another -- he tugged Victor's hand.

"Okay, we gonna go dis way. When we get t' dat stand over dere wait a mo' an' den pretend t' trip int' de side. If y' knock down some'a dem magazines dat man probably gonna yell at us but I c'n get us de sunglasses an' den we c'n go get us some food." The hunger was a great motivator and he flashed a smile that was the fledgling precursor to a signature cocky grin.

"Let's go!"

[strangerthxnfiction]

God, his stomach was turning flips. They weren't stupid teenagers anymore, so why was he feeling so awkward and anxious and fluttery over a kiss to the knuckles?

Why was he nervous?

"You never really talked to me about it." The statement was blunt, but it was true. Pietro wasn't stupid, he had found some of Remy's stashes of booze from time to time. It was just that after living with Alvers and Duke for so long it hadn't really occurred to him that it could be a genuine problem for him back then. He pieced things together over time, especially once Remy had vanished, and it had only made him angrier.

Remy had been the only person he had left that had given a shit about him, but he wasn't worth talking to about his problems to maybe help him work through them? In hindsight, Pietro absolutely had not been in the physical or mental state to help anyone, much less himself. It didn't stop him from feeling really really hurt, though.

They had needed each other, more than anything more than ever, and all Pietro had felt was abandoned and useless.

That feeling had lingered.

Fuck.

Turning onto his side on the fucking roof was a horrible idea, especially onto his right side, adding pressure to his leg. It didn't stop him, though. Still gripping Remy's hand with his right, Pietro hid his face against the man's shoulder, his left hand moving up to Remy's chest...and giving him a rather firm SMACK, with a half-hearted balled-up fist.

"...everything was wrong without you." He felt so small in the moment. It was infuriating. "Everything. You could have at least fucking called me. An email. A text. SOMETHING. The only reason I knew you weren't fucking dead is because of Xavier, and he either couldn't or wouldn't tell me where you were. I needed you...and as pissed off as I am...I still do. Te śaj te haćares miri dilema, da?"

[itsbeentwelveyears]

"Y' right." The agreement was soft and sad and he was wholly unprepared for the way Pietro turned into him. Their hands still held together, the hard smack to his chest, was the closest he'd been to the man in over a decade. He turned his head and let strands of white hair tickle his face but resisted the urge to curl all the way around Pietro... if only because they were still on the roof and this was not the safest or most comfortable.

"I ain' said not'in' dat I should'a. De most we talked was dat dis one weren' supposed t' drink wit'out y' dere an'... well, guessin' y' found de bottles. Know dat weren't happenin'. Kept breakin' dat promise. It weren' somet'in' dat dis one had a whole lotta control over at de time. Were tryin' but it weren' workin'. Needed help but... how could I ask fo' help when we had actual life an' death t'ings t' worry 'bout? Sure ain' felt like dat were possible..."

Remy hoped Pietro hadn't found all the bottles. There were so many bottles. In their room, in their things, in the library, in the kitchen, in the boat house... He hoped that Logan had found at least a few. He hoped none of the younger kids found them. His hiding places were decent enough in his own memory but those memories were soaked in bourbon and couldn't really be trusted.

"Should'a found a way t' call." He murmured softly and brought his other hand up to rest over the one on his chest now. "Dere was dis part'a me dat were afraid if I called y'd ask me t' come back. An' it would just get worse. Left y' de means t' make a fresh start an' hoped--" he stopped, cleared his throat, and pushed on, "--hoped dat y'd leave wit'out dis one here. Hoped dat dere wouldn't be no ties here no mo' an' dat y'd sell de Dalí an' maybe Evangeline an' get away. Maybe y' even show up in Paris."

In the hindsight of a decade of sobriety, it wasn't a good plan. Not without discussing it, not without so many details they hadn't gone over. For his mental state at the time, though? It might have been the best he was capable of.

"Never tried t' hide from y'. Ain' knew dat he wouldn' tell y' where dis one were. Ain' even been usin' no pseudonyms'r not'in'. Just been Remy LeBeau. In Paris. Goin' t' school an' payin' taxes an' workin' a real job an' missin' y' every single day." Remy squeezed both hands and felt slightly guilty at the first fluttering of happiness that came from having Pietro in his arms again. Like a missing piece. "Ain' goin' nowhere wit'out y' dis time, cher. Not unless y' send me away. Might be late, but I'm here fo' y' in any way y' gonna let me."

"Il n'est jamais trop tard pour bien faire, hein?"

[strangerthxnfiction]

"Patrol is usually uneventful. On a good day, anyway. Most I'll come across is stupid teenagers doing stupid things out on the edge of thw property or in the woods, tell 'em off, make 'em come back to the mansion." He shrugged, letting himself lean against Remy a little, his chin resting on the man's shoulder. "It's tedious and boring, but it gives me a chance to have a run, keep the strength up in my leg, keep me from going completely bonkers here..."

He hated it there, but it was fairly consistent. It was just boring, and boring equaled bad. Heaving a sigh, he pulled out his own phone to fidget with if nothing else.

"...you don't have to stop if you don't want to. Xavier says I need to take slow moments. Calls it "exposure therapy" or some shit." This was, of course, said in the most nasally, irritating mock British accent he could muster through his own accent. "...could talk to me about it though. Tell me why one method is better than the other and why, or why one way might be more practical." Reluctantly, and quietly, he added, "I like listening to you talk."

[itsbeentwelveyears]

Remy, who was by then aware of how Pietro’s leg continued to give him grief despite everything. One would think with all the tech they had available they could come up with something to help handle some of the chronic pain. At the same time, it wasn’t like they hadn’t done a fuckload of physical therapy and tried their best.

Maybe he should look into that.

But at the moment he had Pietro there and wanting to hear him talk, something he excelled at. “Well, dis new technique scans paintin’s an’ den matches de exact colours y’ need t’ fill in an’ in de right spots. So den dey get printed out on dis laminate dat go over top an’ just fit dat int’ de frame. Ain’ gotta touch de actual paintin’r risk doin’ any damage an’ it c’n be done real fast. De example de man who developed it showed would’a taken nine’r so months if he ain’ workin’ on dat full time.”

Remy pulled up his photo gallery and found a collection of his most recent restoration work. “See here… now dis end up bein’ mo’ like dat… ship’a T’eseus. Addin’ t’ de original usin’ paints dat match de best we c’n. Dis mean dat mistakes c’n get made but mainly it just a real long process an’ ain’ a lotta people got de trainin’ fo’ it.”

He showed Pietro the whole process from cleaning the piece to adding back areas that had flaked off and swiped quickly past the picture one of the curators had taken of him with the piece, all tight lipped smile and sunglasses indoors to show the finished piece in full gallery lighting.

“De way he doin’ it mo’ like a combination conservation an’ restoration. Preservin’ de original piece while allowin’ it t’ be seen in full. Got some merit, ain’ gonna lie. But it nice t’ do de restorin’.” There was more and sure Pietro had told him he liked hearing him talk but it was also a big part of the time they'd spent apart and he lapsed into slightly embarrassed silence with a little smile, "C'n go on a while, ain' not'in' new dere."

[strangerthxnfiction]

"...so is this information for future business ventures or purely recreational?" It was a light tease, but it could also be interpreted as a genuine question; both of them had dabbled in theft and "property retrieval", after all. Restoring antiques of any sort for a higher price margin wasn't exactly a stretch.

"...I just finished up patrol rounds, and I was bored. What else am I supposed to do but bother you?"

[itsbeentwelveyears]

"Both? Kinda..." Remy looked back at the phone and shrugged, "Do a lotta readin' on restoration techniques but mostly stick wit' de traditional met'ods. Y' know, hand restorin' take longer but it's... peaceful." He shook his head and gestured with the phone again.

"Even if I ain' interested, gotta read up on it 'cause dere gonna be people askin' me since I'm younger'n a lotta de others in de field. A lotta art restorers been in de game a long time. Some'a dem ain' even good wit' smart phones." He sighed the sigh of a person who while not necessarily young themselves has nevertheless been put into the role of "The one who can fix the printer" on too many occasions.

"How were de rounds? C'n put dis away if y' wanna find somet'in' mo' fun t' do."

[strangerthxnfiction]

"You certainly kept things interesting. Which is a compliment I don't give to...well, anyone." And it was true. There weren't many people that could be unpredictable enough to keep him on his toes, even in small ways, not to mention doing so without pissing him off on a regular basis. Remy could be challenging even on a good day, and that wasn't a bad thing.

But he absolutely wasn't going to tell him that.

"What are you even doing?"

[itsbeentwelveyears]

"Well as long as y' interested, ain' mind pissin' y' off just a little." The compliment was received and met with a far more confident grin before he turned back to what he was doing.

"Now dis, dis ain' not'in' interestin'. Someone developed dis new technique fo' restorin' art usin' laminate masks over de pieces instead'a restorin' by hand. People talkin' 'bout it." Remy gestured with his phone some and turned it towards Pietro despite being pretty sure it was only of interest to him, "What y' up t' other'n checkin' in over here?"

[strangerthxnfiction]

"Didn't mean it like that," he said, much more softly. "I mean quiet like...no chaos. No explosions. No screaming. No arguing. No giant fucking mutant-hunting robots stomping the kitchen flat...that kind of thing. Just...normal quiet."

He was grateful for the diversion in the conversation. In spite of the constant reminder he had to deal with, it did him even less favors dwelling on Trask specifically. It only led to far darker thoughts that he'd promised Xavier a long time ago that he wouldn't entertain.

The slightest brush of Remy's fingers against his own had left him tensing, his chest tight. A different sort of ache...an old one.

Fingers entwined with the other man's, just lightly, briefly, a ghost of a touch but it was there. Even that tiny reciprocation hurt. Like reaching for a fresh mug of scalding hot coffee and bypassing the handle completely, the sting fading but still present. Fingertips teasing at licks of a candle flame.

Fuck it.

Pietro was never known as the patient one, was he? Sure, patience had been learned to some degree due to trauma, both physical and mental. But he had limits.

Fingers stiffly and awkwardly laced with Remy's, gripping his hand in a tight, anxious clench like he was afraid he'd just disappear all over again. He felt stupid. This was a horrible idea, the anxiety and tremoring had his entire arm feeling like it was dipped in boiling water.

"...right," he managed, throat tight and voice strained. "Like my pride would ever let you carry me around...big dumbass."

[itsbeentwelveyears]

The anxious, crushing pressure on his hand was more than welcome, it hit a part of him that craved the contact even if it came with that hint of pain. He let the statement sit in the air between them for a few long moments before he lifted their hands to press a kiss against Pietro's knuckles. Slow, probably achingly slow for someone who experienced things so fast, but still far too fast.

"Well if y' ever misplace dat pride, dis one c'n give y' a lift wherever... even t'ough y' used t' carry me around mo' often'n not." Remy smiled, their hands safely lowered between them, though the hold was no less tight. He let the silence fall again and then added, "Heavier now. Put on mo' weight while I weren' smokin' an' drinkin' an' savin' de world."

Not that the Danger Room and his current training schedule weren't bringing all the definition back to his stomach and arms and he had to admit he was looking better in the mirror though he'd never looked bad. The smile faltered a moment and he squeezed softly.

"Really ain' drinkin' no mo'. Not like dat. It'll a'ways be somet'in' dat dis one struggle wit' but been goin' t' t'erapy an' meetin's an' puttin' in dat work. Real sorry dat I couldn't get dat t'gether when we was... hell when we was kids. We was barely mo'n kids..." Another soft squeeze followed and he turned fully to face Pietro.

"Real glad t' be here wit' y' right now."

He didn't say I love you, because it felt like that might be a breaking point. Even if every inch of him practically shouted it. Like it always would for him.

[strangerthxnfiction]

"Yeeeeah, I think I'll pass. I've had my fair share of medically-induced comas." He looked down at his right leg, twitching his foot a little and wincing. "It didn't heal right after Trask. Bones fused before they could be set properly. McCoy and MacTaggert had to keep me pumped full of drugs while they re-broke my femur multiple times, and my kneecap. Plus having to repeatedly pull muscle apart to dig out bullets and shrapnel. Most of the time it's fine, but some days it feels like it's on fire and being stabbed with needles coated in acid. Got so bad early on they had to stop me from trying to cut it off. So that's fun~"

He could feel Remy's eyes on him. Not accusatory or anything negative, that he could tell, but it did prick at his anxiety a touch. Paranoia. It didn't last long though. As much as he'd been trying to resist, there was something about Remy that always felt safe. Felt like home.

He was still angry. There would probably always be a part of him that was.

But fuck...he'd missed him.

Pietro grunted a little, shifting until he was able to lie down again, this time beside Remy. Did he inch himself a bit closer, shoulder resting up against Remy's as well? Maybe.

"...it's always been pretty out here. When it's quiet, anyway."

[itsbeentwelveyears]

"Don' go t'inkin' dat I ain' remember Trask." Remy remembered Trask all too well. Some bad nights his nightmares brought him back to their little town house, to the waiting, to the not knowing while Pietro was already captured. In the nightmare, he was too drunk to go on the rescue mission. In the nightmare, he was too late.

He felt Pietro's shoulder brush his own and he felt his fingers flex involuntarily. The anger was palpable but it felt... settled. Less active and more a fact of being. That didn't make it better and it fed the lump of guilt in his stomach but it was something.

"Dat y' way'a sayin' y'd like me to shut up?" He asked with a grin, another attempt to lighten the mood. "It ain' come natural but y' know dat. We was bot' yappers back in de day... ain' dat much changed since den in some ways."

The Cajun turned back, one arm pillowed under his head while his fingers flexed again and reached for Pietro's, not holding but seeking, pressing. He wanted so much to find a way to mend the rift he'd caused.

God, he still loved Pietro so much it hurt.

"Well if dat leg still givin' y' trouble, say de word an' dis one'll carry y' right on down. T' y' room, t' de kitchen... wherever y' wanna go." Pietro had to be hungry soon. He was always hungry. It was a safe bet and might mean a few more precious minutes with him.

[strangerthxnfiction]

"No...not much helps anymore. Just gotta power through it and deal with how infuriating it is being forced to slow down until it passes. It's just usually easier when I don't have a shitload of teenagers or Summers pestering me or McCoy dragging me to medical to pump me full of whatever painkilling concoction he's cooked up that'll just metabolize before it has a chance to even do anything..."

He stopped rambling, just for a moment, to watch Remy get a bit more comfortable. This...somehow felt the tiniest bit more normal. Just a bit.

"You don't have to sit all the way over there. Not exactly gonna toss you off the roof. Don't have the energy for that."

That was a joke, but his delivery was so deadpan and tired...most would have trouble telling the difference.

"...wouldn't mind if you kept me company a while."

[itsbeentwelveyears]

"Well as long as y' ain' t'ink y' gonna be t'rowin' dis Cajun off de roof, maybe he c'n get a little closer." Remy's smile was soft but hopeful as he made his way closer, remembering all the times -- good and bad -- that they'd spent the nights out on the roof. It felt like a lifetime ago.

It was a lifetime ago.

"Drugs still work t' good on me." He confessed after a moment, "Would trade y' but y'd hate dat. Would just be all laid up an' knocked de fuck out fo'... a while." It was why he just had to power through when pain hit, a very different reason but a very similar result. And there were old pains, old injuries, even though he'd healed remarkably well from some that should have twisted his body permanently. Especially because he hadn't even had medical help at the time.

Remy lay back on the roof and looked up at the stars. He took a soft breath and shook his head. "View out here still real nice. Cain' believe de stars're still dis clear out here."

After a few more moments he turned to look at Pietro, studying him like he'd be tested on it later. Because over a decade later he was still just as beautiful as the day he'd left. Different, sure, but fuck he'd missed seeing him every day.

[strangerthxnfiction]

....it would be Remy that would find him first, in a school with some of the most powerful telepaths in the world. He couldn't even bring himself to be mad about it.

Part of it had to be his own fault, though. He'd forgotten which room Remy had been staying in. It was a weird thought, that he'd forgotten something like that. Without constantly invading his space the way he had when they were younger, it hadn't felt like something important enough to commit to memory.

Come to think of it, that felt weird, too.

Sitting up, he groaned a bit, just...aching. There were nights where it didn't matter what the weather was like, a pain he could only describe as "arthritis" would shoot down his leg; getting shot in it several times, not to mention a busted kneecap that didn't quite heal properly, it left him with chronic pain that would flare from time to time, usually at the most inconvenient moments.

In this case it was inconvenient because it mean he couldn't leave quickly if things got uncomfortable.

"...old injuries acting up," he mumbled, staring at Remy's back from further up the slope of the roof. "You know the one. Mn...I woke you up? Sorry."

[itsbeentwelveyears]

"Know de one." He agreed and since it seemed like he wasn't about to be thrown off the roof followed that up by hoisting himself up to sit on the edge.

"Don' worry none. Ain' been sleepin'." In truth he was having trouble adjusting to the schedule even with things like the Danger Room and the gym and all the sheer amount of people wearing him out. Even though he was on extended leave or something similar colleagues kept messaging him and he did have online classes he was technically supposed to be taking and writing essays for if he ever wanted to finish the final degree even if he would probably never have anyone call him Doctor. That would be more than obnoxious.

So, no, he wasn't sleeping. Which was why he heard the noise and came to investigate. "Y' need anyt'in' fo' dat leg? Could go get y' somet'in' if y'all got anyt'in' dat work." Remy smiled softly and shrugged, "Some'a dem pains ain' never go away, hein?"