𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 • Wish You Were Here

Wish You Were Here

A/N: So... this chapter took a month to get out and I'm really sorry about that. College had just started up again and I got extremely busy with everything and seeing everyone again.

The title of the chapter is the title is the same as the story's title. It's the fourth track/title track on Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" album called "Wish You Were Here." Lyrics from "Wish You Were Here" as well as "Have a Cigar" are also featured in this chapter as well.

Peter stood there for a good minute watching Ororo as she walked away. There was too much to unpack about their conversation. He needed a breather, so he grabbed his Walkman and took a run. He listened to Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here album for the zillionth time in the past two weeks, letting the music wash over him in waves. He ran and ran and ran circles around the old school, creating a dirt road, killing the grass in areas he'd gone over about a million too many times. He hoped that running would clear his head and the thoughts plaguing him would slow down like the rest of the world, finally allowing him to think – that's how it typically worked – but instead his thoughts began to run faster matching Peter's speed as well. They were screaming at him to listen, but Peter couldn't make anything out with all the noise they were making. He couldn't escape them. He couldn't breathe.

It was fair to say Peter's conversation with Ororo left the silver-haired speedster shaken at the very least. The things Ororo said were weighing on him hard and slowing down his stride. He didn't know any of that happened. He knew they got in a fight about Jean, but not like that. He didn't know that Kurt killed, or that Ororo tried to in his name, no less. He didn't know that even though she didn't kill, it wasn't from a lack of trying. He didn't know any of it. He didn't know just how bad it was and he really didn't want to know. It felt like the more he learned the less he wanted to know because what he had learned was so much worse than whatever nightmares his mind had conjured up over the years. But deep down he knew that knowing – gaining closure – was the only way he'd be able to move forward.

Still, he felt like shit and the situation was the complete opposite of Have a Cigar, which was quickly becoming his least favorite song on Floyd's album right now.

Come in here, dear boy, have a cigar

You're gonna go far, you're gonna fly

You're never gonna die

You're gonna make it if you try

They're gonna love you

The lyrics sang about how if you try, everything will turn out alright, but Peter didn't feel that way. Instead, he felt as though the farther he gets, the closer he gets to flying – the more he learns – the more he feels like he's falling and wants to just go back to a life where he was still ignorant. He wants to know what happened so he can heal, but all it seems to do is drive the knife in his back even further because the truth simply just feels too painful.

Usually, it felt like time stopped when he ran; seconds usually felt like hours, but not this time. It didn't matter how many miles he ran, by the time the others had begun arriving, he still hadn't cleared his head at all.

"Peter," Hank said. Peter was already surrounded by such loud thoughts; he didn't notice his friend's presence up until he began making his way over. By the time Peter realized Hank had arrived, Hank was standing right in the middle of the path Peter had spent who knows how long now paving forcing the speedster to slow down to a stop. Peter knew he still looked like shit, but hopefully, Hank would just write it off as simply being tired from running.