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swiftraxFright Night - An Even Sum
1.7k words
Peter & Amy Pre-relationship, implied Peter/Amy/Charley OT3
Rated PG
Post-Canon
After successfully staking Jerry and freeing Amy and Peter, Charley leaves Las Vegas to study vampire lore overseas. Amy and Peter keep each other company while they wait for him to return.
Peter watches the minutes tick by on the airport departures board with a put upon expression. Both of his legs lost all sensation half an hour ago when he elected, stupidly, to sit with them dangling over the back of one of the vacant plastic bench seats. But he's committed to a posture of nonchalant nonconformity, and he is rather enjoying the glare from the middle-aged flight attendant sitting at the desk opposite.
But to be fair, the glare might be more on account of his two young companions and their mouth noises. Don't get him wrong, he's swapped a lot worse than a bit of spit, but they've hardly come up for air since they sat down. He's both tremendously bored of it and impressed at the same time.
Why he had agreed to accompany Charley at the airport, he can't be sure. He was probably drunk when he was asked. But it seemed like the right thing to do now that they'd formed an unshakable bond of brotherhood after both being nearly eaten by vampires. He always was weak for dewy-eyed innocence.
He is partially responsible for Charley shipping himself off to Europe anyway. Charley's eyes have been opened to the supernatural now, and in the same way Peter had been taken in, Charley now wants more. However, he won't be content with books and artefacts and reliving his nightmares on stage night after night.
Not that Peter is content by any stretch of the definition now. There is a cavernous quality to his penthouse that hadn't been there when Ginger was around. While they had descended into a loathe-loathe relationship towards the end, he still notices that she’s gone. She didn't have any family, for which he was grateful when it came time to try and put her affairs in order. Not sure how he would have explained her death to anyone who wasn't there, who didn't see what he saw.
He's not sure the police believe him either. The surveillance footage makes it look like she ripped her own throat out, anatomically improbable though such an action might be. He could tell by the cold stares from the detectives who made him watch it while they interviewed him (he managed to hold back the burn of midori and bile that came up when he watched her die). They are pretty sure he’s guilty, they just can't say how.
But life goes on, and things are mostly back to normal. The hotel has paid the damages for the security breach, and he has agreed to take a brief sabbatical in exchange for a brand new show.
Through all of that, Charley had kept pestering him.
So Peter had scoured through his network of enthusiasts and crackpots until he found someone authentic who can be what Charley needs - a mentor who can teach him more practical things than lore and history. But he will need to go halfway across the planet to meet them. His flight to London leaves soon, and then he'll be on his way to Romania, not to return until he is properly educated. Charley is calling it a gap year, but Peter is of the opinion that a year is an optimistic estimate.
Amy has been largely quiet on the subject, and Peter hasn't really known what to make of her uncomplicated acceptance. The puppy love still rolls off both of them in waves, but Peter knows she is playing her cards close to the vest.
With no idea how long Charley will be gone, she doesn’t seem much like a girl watching her man go off to war. She is being decidedly unruffled and not at all like Peter expected an eighteen year old to be. Why he expected her to go to pieces now, when she hadn't after nearly dying, he doesn't know. At this point he's demonstrably more worried about Charley than she is.
The boarding bell rings and Charley and Amy pull away from each other with a wet smack—Peter mutters an exasperated 'finally' under his breath.
"Well, I guess this is goodbye," Charley says, looking crestfallen as he stands. Peter almost flips himself on his head, but manages to get vertical.
"Oh, seriously, suck it up princess. You'll be back before you know it." Peter aims for caustic, but it comes out more fond.
"I'll miss you," Amy says, stepping back to let Charley shoulder his backpack, and pull out his ticket.
"I'll miss you too—" he turns to Peter, "and I'll miss you too man." Charley opens his arms wide, and curse him if he doesn't find himself stepping forward to meet the embrace.
"C'mere you little shit." Peter gifts him with a loud and obnoxious kiss that is a bit past the borderline of brotherly, and follows it up with a saucy wink. He really does enjoy making Charley blush.
"Urgh," Charley says, dramatically swiping at his face, but his smile is megawatt bright.
"Take care of yourself Charley," Amy squeezes his arm and brushes a matching kiss on his other cheek.
"You too, take care of each other okay?" He clasps them both on the shoulder, then wanders away, disappearing into the queue. Peter is left to puzzle what exactly he means by that.
They both watch him go, pressed against the glass of the viewing deck until the plane trundles out of sight.
"You okay?" Amy asks, and Peter tries to smooth his expression into something less pinched.
"Fine, fine. He'll be fine. We'll be fine! I should be asking you! Are you okay?" He snaps his mouth shut abruptly.
Amy smiles lopsidedly up at him, and loops an arm through his. He lets her steer him away from the window.
"Let's get coffee. You look like you could use it," she says and stays tucked against his side as they walk, as though she's worried he might not manage on his own.
She's probably not wrong.
Amy is supposed to drive herself home, back to her mother and back to a normal life. But by the time they drink their coffee, and bask in a bit of mutual bereftness, it's late into the night.
He can tell she’s angling to get out of the long drive to the suburbs. He doesn't put up a fight when she suggests he'd be irresponsible to let her drive as tired as she is. She graciously accepts his offer to stay in the guest room of the suite.
While he’s sure they are both feeling terribly lonely, neither will come out and say so, so an amicable arrangement is the best they can do.
Charley had said to look after her, so that's what Peter will do, even though he can barely look after himself.
When he takes in the state of the guest room though, it’s a clusterfuck. The whole room is crammed with boxes and crates, and the bed is barely visible through the debris. He hadn’t given it much thought, not having set foot in there since he moved in. But apparently Ginger had been using it to store all the useless shit he ebayed.
Ginger, who will never shout at him again—her loud presence making up for all his silences that he can’t explain. Who gave him shit when he rightfully deserved it, and could handle him when he was volatile and unkind. Who’ll never be there at the end of a great show to share in the adrenaline and the happiness of getting it just right. He feels the dust and stale air in the room start to choke him.
Amy takes one peek inside, then eases his hand from where it’s whiteknuckled around the door knob and pulls the door closed again before anything can topple onto them.
“It’s fine, I’ll crash in the lounge,” she says, face gentle and understanding. He’s probably making a constipated expression which can’t look attractive, but he forces himself to relax. Deep breaths, in and out. He’s fine. Everything is fine.
Which is probably why the next words out of his mouth are so cataclysmically stupid.
“It’s fine, you can stay in the master with me. The bed’s huge. I won’t even notice you’re there.”
“Uh, are you sure?” Her expression is dubious, which he has to concede is a better reaction than he deserves.
“Oh, look, I promise I’m not being dodgy or anything. You’re tired, I’m tired. The bed is there. It beats the hell out of the floor in the lounge, which is not excellent as you bloody well know.”
“Peter, it’s fine, I get it.” Her voice is very trusting. What he could possibly have done to give her the idea that he’s at all trustworthy, he doesn’t know. But he is being honest. He’s not trying anything, and he does actually want her to feel safe after everything that’s happened.
But he can agree, it doesn’t look that way from any reasonable person’s outside perspective.
Ten minutes later she appears at the door of the bedroom, changed into flannel pajama pants and a singlet, long blonde hair tied back into a loose braid. He considers wearing a shirt in deference to her modesty, but he can’t find one that doesn’t smell terrible, so he gives up.
Both he and Ginger preferred to wear a satin dressing gown and not much else - one of the side-effects of being on stage half naked for most of the week is that clothes tended to become an annoyance more than a necessity (especially anything made of wretched leather). But Amy evidently still has some sense of propriety where he is completely lacking.
He wears boxers as a concession, and she doesn’t mention it.
The first night is awkward, both curled up facing away from each other, and an empty void between them. Charley isn’t there and neither is Ginger, but the empty space feels like a physical presence. They each keep to their sides, and by the time morning arrives, sharing space and air and blankets doesn’t feel quite so momentous.
Amy stays, and Peter learns.
She starts at UNLV the following Monday, and Peter pretends not to overhear the conversation with her mother about staying with a friend near campus. He doesn’t protest when she works her way through the junk in the spare room until the space is clear. He ebays her a study desk, and has it installed while she’s out at some orientation event. While they never actually discuss it, he’s glad she’s decided to stay.
1.7k words
Peter & Amy Pre-relationship, implied Peter/Amy/Charley OT3
Rated PG
Post-Canon
After successfully staking Jerry and freeing Amy and Peter, Charley leaves Las Vegas to study vampire lore overseas. Amy and Peter keep each other company while they wait for him to return.
Peter watches the minutes tick by on the airport departures board with a put upon expression. Both of his legs lost all sensation half an hour ago when he elected, stupidly, to sit with them dangling over the back of one of the vacant plastic bench seats. But he's committed to a posture of nonchalant nonconformity, and he is rather enjoying the glare from the middle-aged flight attendant sitting at the desk opposite.
But to be fair, the glare might be more on account of his two young companions and their mouth noises. Don't get him wrong, he's swapped a lot worse than a bit of spit, but they've hardly come up for air since they sat down. He's both tremendously bored of it and impressed at the same time.
Why he had agreed to accompany Charley at the airport, he can't be sure. He was probably drunk when he was asked. But it seemed like the right thing to do now that they'd formed an unshakable bond of brotherhood after both being nearly eaten by vampires. He always was weak for dewy-eyed innocence.
He is partially responsible for Charley shipping himself off to Europe anyway. Charley's eyes have been opened to the supernatural now, and in the same way Peter had been taken in, Charley now wants more. However, he won't be content with books and artefacts and reliving his nightmares on stage night after night.
Not that Peter is content by any stretch of the definition now. There is a cavernous quality to his penthouse that hadn't been there when Ginger was around. While they had descended into a loathe-loathe relationship towards the end, he still notices that she’s gone. She didn't have any family, for which he was grateful when it came time to try and put her affairs in order. Not sure how he would have explained her death to anyone who wasn't there, who didn't see what he saw.
He's not sure the police believe him either. The surveillance footage makes it look like she ripped her own throat out, anatomically improbable though such an action might be. He could tell by the cold stares from the detectives who made him watch it while they interviewed him (he managed to hold back the burn of midori and bile that came up when he watched her die). They are pretty sure he’s guilty, they just can't say how.
But life goes on, and things are mostly back to normal. The hotel has paid the damages for the security breach, and he has agreed to take a brief sabbatical in exchange for a brand new show.
Through all of that, Charley had kept pestering him.
So Peter had scoured through his network of enthusiasts and crackpots until he found someone authentic who can be what Charley needs - a mentor who can teach him more practical things than lore and history. But he will need to go halfway across the planet to meet them. His flight to London leaves soon, and then he'll be on his way to Romania, not to return until he is properly educated. Charley is calling it a gap year, but Peter is of the opinion that a year is an optimistic estimate.
Amy has been largely quiet on the subject, and Peter hasn't really known what to make of her uncomplicated acceptance. The puppy love still rolls off both of them in waves, but Peter knows she is playing her cards close to the vest.
With no idea how long Charley will be gone, she doesn’t seem much like a girl watching her man go off to war. She is being decidedly unruffled and not at all like Peter expected an eighteen year old to be. Why he expected her to go to pieces now, when she hadn't after nearly dying, he doesn't know. At this point he's demonstrably more worried about Charley than she is.
The boarding bell rings and Charley and Amy pull away from each other with a wet smack—Peter mutters an exasperated 'finally' under his breath.
"Well, I guess this is goodbye," Charley says, looking crestfallen as he stands. Peter almost flips himself on his head, but manages to get vertical.
"Oh, seriously, suck it up princess. You'll be back before you know it." Peter aims for caustic, but it comes out more fond.
"I'll miss you," Amy says, stepping back to let Charley shoulder his backpack, and pull out his ticket.
"I'll miss you too—" he turns to Peter, "and I'll miss you too man." Charley opens his arms wide, and curse him if he doesn't find himself stepping forward to meet the embrace.
"C'mere you little shit." Peter gifts him with a loud and obnoxious kiss that is a bit past the borderline of brotherly, and follows it up with a saucy wink. He really does enjoy making Charley blush.
"Urgh," Charley says, dramatically swiping at his face, but his smile is megawatt bright.
"Take care of yourself Charley," Amy squeezes his arm and brushes a matching kiss on his other cheek.
"You too, take care of each other okay?" He clasps them both on the shoulder, then wanders away, disappearing into the queue. Peter is left to puzzle what exactly he means by that.
They both watch him go, pressed against the glass of the viewing deck until the plane trundles out of sight.
"You okay?" Amy asks, and Peter tries to smooth his expression into something less pinched.
"Fine, fine. He'll be fine. We'll be fine! I should be asking you! Are you okay?" He snaps his mouth shut abruptly.
Amy smiles lopsidedly up at him, and loops an arm through his. He lets her steer him away from the window.
"Let's get coffee. You look like you could use it," she says and stays tucked against his side as they walk, as though she's worried he might not manage on his own.
She's probably not wrong.
Amy is supposed to drive herself home, back to her mother and back to a normal life. But by the time they drink their coffee, and bask in a bit of mutual bereftness, it's late into the night.
He can tell she’s angling to get out of the long drive to the suburbs. He doesn't put up a fight when she suggests he'd be irresponsible to let her drive as tired as she is. She graciously accepts his offer to stay in the guest room of the suite.
While he’s sure they are both feeling terribly lonely, neither will come out and say so, so an amicable arrangement is the best they can do.
Charley had said to look after her, so that's what Peter will do, even though he can barely look after himself.
When he takes in the state of the guest room though, it’s a clusterfuck. The whole room is crammed with boxes and crates, and the bed is barely visible through the debris. He hadn’t given it much thought, not having set foot in there since he moved in. But apparently Ginger had been using it to store all the useless shit he ebayed.
Ginger, who will never shout at him again—her loud presence making up for all his silences that he can’t explain. Who gave him shit when he rightfully deserved it, and could handle him when he was volatile and unkind. Who’ll never be there at the end of a great show to share in the adrenaline and the happiness of getting it just right. He feels the dust and stale air in the room start to choke him.
Amy takes one peek inside, then eases his hand from where it’s whiteknuckled around the door knob and pulls the door closed again before anything can topple onto them.
“It’s fine, I’ll crash in the lounge,” she says, face gentle and understanding. He’s probably making a constipated expression which can’t look attractive, but he forces himself to relax. Deep breaths, in and out. He’s fine. Everything is fine.
Which is probably why the next words out of his mouth are so cataclysmically stupid.
“It’s fine, you can stay in the master with me. The bed’s huge. I won’t even notice you’re there.”
“Uh, are you sure?” Her expression is dubious, which he has to concede is a better reaction than he deserves.
“Oh, look, I promise I’m not being dodgy or anything. You’re tired, I’m tired. The bed is there. It beats the hell out of the floor in the lounge, which is not excellent as you bloody well know.”
“Peter, it’s fine, I get it.” Her voice is very trusting. What he could possibly have done to give her the idea that he’s at all trustworthy, he doesn’t know. But he is being honest. He’s not trying anything, and he does actually want her to feel safe after everything that’s happened.
But he can agree, it doesn’t look that way from any reasonable person’s outside perspective.
Ten minutes later she appears at the door of the bedroom, changed into flannel pajama pants and a singlet, long blonde hair tied back into a loose braid. He considers wearing a shirt in deference to her modesty, but he can’t find one that doesn’t smell terrible, so he gives up.
Both he and Ginger preferred to wear a satin dressing gown and not much else - one of the side-effects of being on stage half naked for most of the week is that clothes tended to become an annoyance more than a necessity (especially anything made of wretched leather). But Amy evidently still has some sense of propriety where he is completely lacking.
He wears boxers as a concession, and she doesn’t mention it.
The first night is awkward, both curled up facing away from each other, and an empty void between them. Charley isn’t there and neither is Ginger, but the empty space feels like a physical presence. They each keep to their sides, and by the time morning arrives, sharing space and air and blankets doesn’t feel quite so momentous.
Amy stays, and Peter learns.
She starts at UNLV the following Monday, and Peter pretends not to overhear the conversation with her mother about staying with a friend near campus. He doesn’t protest when she works her way through the junk in the spare room until the space is clear. He ebays her a study desk, and has it installed while she’s out at some orientation event. While they never actually discuss it, he’s glad she’s decided to stay.
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