multifandom one shots

It's Alright - Pete & Porsche (kp)

Show - Kinnporsche
A/N - i have read book one of VegasPete, and, w o w, i hate book vegas with my entire being. i finished writing this after episode 9, so we haven't actually had the scenes this is set after, so i'm entirely relying on book knowledge.
update: ep 12 oH my god-
update two: ep 14??? i was *sobbing*
TW - trauma from r*pe, strong language
Word count - 1035
Synopsis - angst
//based off 'it's alright' by mother mother//
After coming home from being held by Vegas, Pete isn't okay, though he tries to comvince people that he is. Porsche knows something is very, very different in his friend, and just wants to help in a way that won't tear more mental scars.

_______

Porsche knew from the second Pete came home that he wasn't the same. He didn't pry for the truth about what really happened, but he knew. He didn't know the details, only what he'd been told by Kinn, who didn't know much either, but Porsche knew that what Pete had been through was worse than death.

Despite being given over a month of paid leave, Pete refused it. He continuously claimed that he was fine and that working would make things seem normal.
Both Pete and Porsche knew things weren't normal, but Porsche didn't want to ask if Pete didn't want to say, and it was clear he didn't. He understood, of course, but he couldn't help feeling useless, desperate to help, but not knowing how to.

PETE

It was a momentary blip. Just a few nights and a few days, but I soon fell far from any hope of rescue. I should have fought harder. I shouldn't have said anything.

I'm not okay.

People didn't have to know. I was just Pete, the same Pete that I had always been. For them I would be okay.
They didn't have to know about the baseball bat I had by my bed in case anything happened. If he happened again. I needed it as a defence to fight off the memories, which were nothing more than just flashes of the pain and the tears and screams and his laugh.

Porsche kept his distance, like he sensed everything that happened. I wanted space but I was also lonely. He, at least, kept me company. Always in my mind and in my dreams. I couldn't sleep.

I felt lost, stuck between going to Porsche, letting everything spill out, but risk him going against him, or just staying quiet, trying to swallow down the memories, forget all of them, but more likely, the pain would continue to build and build and all come tumbling out at some point, leading to... something bad. Worse than it already was. I didn't want that. Fuck.

"Porsche. Are you busy?"
He looked up from the gun he was taking apart on his bed, and smiled. This would be okay. Porsche was good. Porsche wasn't him.
"I..."
Fuck. The words weren't forming.
"It's alright. I'm here. It's okay."
I slowed my breathing, regained composure, and sat on my bed opposite him.
"When... Ve- he took me, I... I was so scared. I didn't think anyone was coming. I thought you didn't care. I didn't know what was worse. That pain, or the pain from him," my voice cracked, and the tears that I'd held in for weeks finally begun.
Porsche slowly stood, "Can I hug you?"
I nodded, desperate to feel an embrace that wasn't his, smell someone that wasn't him. He sat next to me, immediately enveloping my entire figure in his arms.

The contact made me tense.
Shit shit. He was back. The room began to fade into his room. The one where it all happened.
"You don't have to."
The contact dropped. Porsche. It wasn't him. It was Porsche. I was in our room, on my bed.
Porsche looked concerned, but he smiled.
"No, no, I..." a sob choked my throat, "Come back."
Porsche held me again, rubbing my back as sob after sob, tear after tear, flowed through me.
"It's alright, it's okay. Only talk when you're ready."

It was nice to be held by someone who didn't view me as an object, a plaything.
"It... it was like I couldn't see what was really happening, and that was the worst of it. At first, I fought. Then... I played along, but I didn't hate him as much. I was sorry for him. Shit. Everything was so confusing, so messed up. I had to feel around in my mind, grab at anything I knew was real, who I used to be. It didn't work. Because I enjoyed some of it."
I broke down in shame.
"It's alright, it's okay. You're still Pete. What you went through... shit. There's a reason you felt that way, and it isn't your fault. It's Ve- his fault. It'll get better. I really believe that things will improve."
I shrunk further into Porsche's arms, my tears starting to slow.

"It's alright, it's okay," he coaxed. 
I sat up, and wiped my eyes with my arms.
"I don't want to remember, to know that I liked it. I don't think I'll make it, and I don't want to know that I'm not capable of surviving this. I don't want to know that I began to feel sorry for him, and to empathise. I think that I would rather be blind. I don't want to know I'm not capable of coming out alive."
"You're capable. You grow, adapt. Maybe not forget, but certainly move forward."
I nodded, slowing my breathing. I was exhausted, but I still saw images of him when I fell asleep. I couldn't go to sleep.
"I'll look out for you. I promise."
Porsche's voice was quiet, but loud enough to hear, and reassure me. I leaned back into his arms, matching my breathing with his, drifting into the first momentary peaceful and undisturbed sleep I'd had in weeks.

I'm alright, I'm okay. It wasn't my fault. I'm alright. I'm okay. None of it was because of me. There's nothing I could have done.
But maybe there was something.
I'm human, I couldn't have done anything else.
But I made those mistakes. And I'm not okay–

"It's alright, it's okay. You survived and you're here now. You're strong, Pete. Things will get better. I truly believe that."
I hadn't realised I'd been speaking, or that I was awake. Porsche's voice grounded me. His arms still enveloping me provided a barrier to the outside world, to my wandering mind. Protecting me from him. I knew I was safe.

It's alright. It's okay. I'll see better days soon enough.

It's alright.
My eyes were heavy.
It's okay.
I was safe with Porsche.
It's alright.
I'm going to be fine. I'm still me, still Pete. Nothing could my identity away from me. He wouldn't win.
It's okay.

I'm going to be alright and I'm going to be okay.