writing wrongs 5/?
Title: Writing Wrongs
Author: windywisp
Genre/Pairing: Torksmith atm
Rating: PG-13 atm
Warnings: AU, some language, a little bit of violence, nothing too bad..yet(hahhaho)
Disclaimer: ye it totally happened(no)
Summary: Peter decides to take a trip to the wild west, and gets loads more than what he bargained for.Author's Note: hghfgf idk what to even say about this one omg hfhfh hh
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Are you awake, Mike?"
"Of course I'm awake," Mike snapped. "I've been awake the entire time you were sleeping."
"Oh," Peter said quietly. Don't look, don't look, he thought. He gave up and looked over at Peter and his sappy sad eyes and his lips slightly turned down in a frown and just about melted. He almost apologized when the blonde turned away to shake Sara awake. He frowned, falling back into his bad mood. He'd decided to be in a particularly bad mood with Peter - it was probably(definitely) a childish and dumb thing to start doing to the innocent yankee but he couldn't really help himself. He felt like he'd been betrayed somehow. In any case, he hadn't gotten any sleep - he was right next to Peter and all he could do was wait till he was asleep so he could stare at Peter's face. He'd felt like he was a kid again, looking through the fence at the bulls on the ranch, with his mother telling him,"Now Mikey, look, and don't touch."
But this was much different. This wasn't some dumb childhood curiosity about a farm animal. This was Peter. And he wanted to touch. Badly.
"Sara? Wake up!" Peter said, shaking Mike out of his thoughts. Sara sat up, yawning, her hair mussed into her face. "What time is it?"
"Time to get up," Mike answered, crawling out from under the tent. "I'll go wake up the horses and the other two."
Peter watched him stomp off, eyes wide. "I don't like him too much," Sara grumbled, struggling out of her twisted blankets. "He isn't always like this," Peter said, turning to her. "I don't know what's gotten into him." "In any case, he's very handsome," Sara said, finally getting free of her blankets. "Handsome?" Peter replied, staring at her. "Well yes, of course. Tall, dark, and handsome." She said, taking a small mirror out of her bag and staring at her face. "Oh, ugh. I look awful."
"I think you look very nice," Peter said.
Sara giggled. "Oh you," she said. "Now off you go! I have to get dressed." Peter stumbled out in compliance and stood outside the tent. Tall, dark, and handsome, Peter thought. Yeah he was tall. And that dark hair looked so fucking soft. And his lips were to die for-
"Good mornin', Pete!" Micky called, shaking Peter out of his stupor. Peter just looked at him, thoughts storming, and Micky cocked his head. "You alright? You're looking a little red!"
"I'm okay-" Peter started to say, but was distracted by Mike coming over the hill with the horses. "Who's looking a little red?"
"Peter," Davy replied.
"I'm fine," Peter stammered.
Mike eyed him for a moment. "You sure?"
Peter nodded very fast.
The Texan looked up. "Where's the little princess?" "Here," Sara yelled, stumbling out of the tent in a rumpled dress and running directly into Peter's arms. "Oh! I'm sorry-"
Micky and Davy snickered, winking at Peter, while Mike bit his lip and tugged on the horses hard. "C'mon, stop messin' around. They might be gone by the time we get to town."
"I really am sorry, Peter-"
"It's okay-"
"I'm ridiculously clumsy-"
"It's okay-"
"Come on!" Micky yelled from afar. "Before Mike kills us all!"
Peter shrugged helplessly and brought her along. She was pretty, pretty, pretty, just as pretty as she'd been when Peter had first seen her, but something kept on prodding him from the behind, a realization of something he honestly wasn't actually realizing.
Oh well, he thought. I'll get it in the end.
-
"So. Here we are."
"Looks pretty desolate to me," Davy mentioned. "Darius wouldn't go here unless he had to. He likes to think he's important." "Yeah," Mike said. "I checked in last night with the receptionist at the inn they're all at, and she said they were all fucked and tired. Prolly still asleep."
The walk through the town was silent. There was nothing going on this early in the day, no kids playing in the streets, no stores open, no nothing. Peter could feel his heart beat, and it made him uneasy.
They walked into the Cranberry Inn, door creaking quietly. Mike tipped his hat at the receptionist and she smiled. "Hello, Mike."
"Hey, Roxy," he answered. "They still up there?" he whispered.
She nodded. "Watch the second step, it creaks."
He whispered a 'thanks', and beckoned the rest of them along. "Not you, Sara," he said as she stepped forward. "Whatever for?"
Mike wanted to snap if you got shot, then who will pay us? but he sucked in a breath and whispered, "Just...keep a lookout." Sara huffed and turned away.
"Okay," Mike said, with his foot on the first step "Everyone got your guns ready?" Davy and Peter looked at each other nervously.
"Oh, yeah, you too have never done this before. Just be careful, and don't going shooting nilly-willy or you'll kill one of your own by accident. Just focus. Everything will be fine. It's not like you've never shot a gun before."
Davy nodded, but Peter just stared at Mike.
"Don't tell me you've never shot a gun before."
Peter blushed and looked at his shoes.
He sighed. "Just stay close to me, alright?" Gladly, Peter thought, and then frowned and started to think about that thought, but Mike was already stepping over the second stair and beckoning them on.
Peter's heart was pounding louder than ever, if not because of fear, then because of anticipation, and if not because of anticipation it was because of how good Mike smelled right then. Of jerky and brown sugar and sweat and-
"Here we are."
Mike stopped at the top of the stairs and sidled down the wall of the hallway with Micky on his heels. Peter glanced at Davy and they did the same, sliding along the wall. "012," Mike whispered, running across the hallway and standing next to the door. Micky went on the other side of it.
"Here anything?" Micky whispered.
"No."
"Jesus," Davy whispered.
"I'm gonna throw up," Peter whimpered.
"Now!"
Mike turned and kicked in the door, and walked in, firing shots. Peter felt his stomach flipflop, his feet frozen to the floor.
"Peter!" Mike yelled over his shoulder.
Peter gulped and scurried over to his side.
Inside the room, the beds were rumpled, the criminals having jumped out of them as soon as they heard the shots. Of course, some had gotten tangled and were lying on the floor, struggling to get up. Micky jumped on one of the slower ones and knifed him hard in the back, dragging him back to the ground. Davy was currently hiding behind a bed, shooting in a general direction on occasion. Another man crept up behind him. Micky turned and threw his knife straight into the man's stomach.
Peter's eyes widened and he tried to look away.
To see Darius pick up a gun and point it at Mike.
He stared up at the Texan who was standing in front of him, who was concentrating on the man Micky had left.
"MIKE!" he screamed, pushing him down.
"Peter, what the-"
Mike hit the floor, his head knocking hard against the wood, hearing the loud gunshot, the whizzing, and the blood pounding in his head. His vision blurred and he blacked out a little, hearing some people shouting and the sound of glass breaking.
"....Mike?"
He scrunched his eyebrows together, feeling a weight on his chest, and remembering what had just happened. He felt sticky around the chest, and pushed upward. "Jesus, Pete, you're heav-"
He glanced at his chest and saw that it was sticky with blood.
"Peter."
Peter just stared at him, eyes wide. His hand was over his chest, already bleeding everywhere, red on his fingers, on his shirt, on his pants.
"PETER!"
He scrambled out from under him, laying him down. Micky and Davy were climbing over the passed out and desolate cronies littering the floor over to them. " Oh my God, Davy, Micky-" "He jumped out the window, Mike, he - oh God." Micky started.
Peter struggled for breath, staring at Mike. "I'm sorry." "What've you got to be sorry for Peter, you shouldn't be sorry ever, this is all my fault, all my fault-" Peter shook his head, and then cringed, coughing.
"Mike, move," Davy said.
Mike just stared at him.
"C'mon, I know what I'm doing!"
Mike sidled over, shaking.
"It's just a scrape, but it's deep," Davy muttered. "Blankets, get me a blanket. The thick kind." Mike grabbed one of a bed and handed it to him. "Blood," Peter murmured, coughing. "A lot of it, huh?" Davy pressed the blanket to the wound, making Pete hiss. "Sorry, I forgot to say it was going to hurt. We just need to stop the bleeding. Micky, can you go down for some help?" Micky nodded and ran out of the room like his life depended on it. Well, Peter's life definitely does, Mike thought, heart pounding.
Peter's eyes were closed now, his face getting increasingly paler. "If the bleeding doesn't stop soon, I'll have to work with pressure points and maybe raise up his arms a bit." "Davy," Mike muttered. "How do you know all this?" "I lied to this girl I was dating that I was a doctor, so I took a couple classes. Didn't work out between us, but I never really forgot any of that doctor stuff. Ah, the bleeding's stopped. Are you all right, Peter?"
"....."
"Peter?"
"Fuck," Mike muttered, his heart going a million miles an hour.
"Davy, doctor's here! He wants to know what you did..."
Davy stood up, but Mike kneeled by Peter. "Peter...Peter..."
He opened his eyes, a little ghost of a smile appearing on his face.
"Mike."
Mike felt his stomach flipflop and he felt like he was going to throw up and he kissed Peter.
It was a little, tiny kiss, and Mike couldn't think of anything but how soft Peter's lips were and how strange and sad he tasted and the blood that was in his mouth and the tears that were starting to fall out of Mike's eyes.
Peter's eyes were closed when he pulled away, but they opened as he stared down at him. His eyes were droopy and woozy from loss of blood, but he managed to focus on Mike's face and murmur ,"That was nice," before finally blacking out.
"Excuse me, is this the patient?" an unfamiliar voice cut into his Mike's thoughts. It was the doctor.
"Um yes," Mike answered, standing and trying not to blush.
"Oh. Hm," he said, examining Peter, bloodsoaked and pale and unconcious.
"Well?"
"This could be either be very easy, or very bad."
Mike stared at him. "Fuck, we'll do anything."
"Anything to keep Peter safe."