#I'm like obsessed with writing around Pete via Way & Kenta interacting

[oldsargasso]

ficlet: under cover of the same night

four day weekend starts tomorrow!! and I can start it early today as soon as I process these payrolls so while I wait for the info to come in, I am thinking about a particular Way & Kenta-centric idea that woke me up in the middle of the night last night and made me scramble for notes.

like. what if Kenta's alpha power was bringing people back from the dead? but he has to take a life first.

There's nothing in-between dying and coming back. Way gets shot. He says his goodbyes, lets his life slip away, willing himself to embrace the cold and unknown. Way blinks his eyes open to the harsh artificial lighting that graces the room he finds himself in. He's blinded; his eyes water and he blinks rapidly. The air is ice-cold. The metal underneath him stings at his exposed skin. His jacket's vanished along with his shoes and socks, but at least his shirt mostly remains. It's stiff and thick with dried blood. The whole room stinks of bleach.

There's someone breathing by his side. Way's eyes finally obey his mind, and he turns his focus to the figure.

"Finally," Kenta sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks bored, as much as any expression can be read on his face. "You took forever to come back."

An apology isn't really in Way's modus operandi, especially not to Tony's little lapdog (and especially not to someone with such history with Pete---it's not like Pete is Way's exactly, but he's certainly not for Kenta.) Instead he keeps his mouth shut and pushes himself up to sitting. Kenta unfolds his arms and hovers his hands but doesn't quite reach out to help. There's a deep pain in Way's shoulder when he moves; when he raises his hand to it, he finds nothing but smooth unscarred skin.

"Didn't I get shot?"

Kenta nods. "Yes."

Memory flickers back on in the back of Way's mind. He feels a little light-headed, unmoored in the steel and white expanse of the hospital morgue. "And I---Didn't I die?"

Another nod from Kenta. Like a puppet on a string. "Yes. I..." He sighs deeply, like this conversation with Way is so very tiring for him. A spark of irritation begins to warm Way's body. "I brought you back."

"Why?" Way is incredulous and unable to mask it. Of all people? There's no love lost or won between the two of them.

"I don't get a choice," Kenta says. "I take a life, I have to give a life."

How did you find that out? burns on the tip of Way's tongue, but he holds it back. Sometimes it's better not to know. "No other options laying around, I take it," Way says instead. The bitterness in his tone is for himself, but of course Kenta takes it as his own.

"I wouldn't have had to kill our father if you all had just---" Kenta cuts himself off, taking a deep unsteady breath. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Can you stand? We need to go."

Way can stand, as it turns out, but only with judicious assistance from Kenta. They shuffle their way to the exit. Way's feet are bare; the heels of Kenta's shoes click on the shiny clean linoleum.

The car parked outside in the loading zone isn't one Way's familiar with. White, compact, nondescript. Kenta eases him down into the passenger seat and slides behind the wheel. He turns the car on and the radio comes to life as well, too quiet to make out anything but the general idea of music.

"Where do you want to go?" Kenta asks, hands neat and tidy at ten and two once he's pulled onto the street.

"What," Way says more than asks, "you don't have this all planned out?"

He watches with sick amusement as Kenta's knuckles go white around the steering wheel. "No little hidey-hole all stocked up and ready to go?"

"If you don't have anywhere to go---" Kenta says in a carefully calm tone.

"Pete's," Way cuts him off sharply. "I want---Let's go see Pete."

Kenta doesn't ask for directions. They don't speak again as they navigate the night-time traffic. Way wants to know what time it is. He wants to know everything that happened from when he clocked out, how long it's been exactly, how everyone is doing, if they're all okay. Somehow, asking Kenta any of it feels like admitting defeat. So Way sits in silence and shivers a little in his short sleeves and ignores the growing ache of hunger in favour of watching the way Kenta drives out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't anticipate other drivers enough, has to hit the brakes harder than he should at times, but he's defensive when he needs to be and aggressive enough to make the lights when he should, so. Serviceable, at best.

----

and then ??? how long HAS it been. how is everyone? what is Pete's reaction? is he happy enough to have them both there that he can ignore the way they snipe at each other? (how long until he has to call in reinforcements)

#pit babe #my fic #I'm like obsessed with writing around Pete via Way & Kenta interacting #you could say Pete is like a mystery. perhaps. you could say... #he's an enigma. #anyway I will be spending the long weekend WRITING #and maybe one day getting high and playing the sims because that's one of the joys of being an adult