CAPTURED BEAUTY (Peter Steele x Reader)

SIXTEEN: Die With Me

It was like an oil spill. The way your close aunts and uncles coagulated by his open casket, slipping and sliding past one another in sniffling messes. It filled your lungs that way, you'd remember. The tears were stuck and your lungs were always just too short on gasping for the right amount of air. That feeling of helplessness and realization your parent's body was for all to view and you couldn't even look at it.

You didn't want that picture in your mind.

Your mom was the first to speak of his life. The eulogy.

Squished between an aunt and uncle, you watched your mom from the pews as she spoke about him.

"He was adventurous," her voice wavered, nearly hunched over the podium, "It almost felt like I couldn't keep up with him. His love for life has made me love my own, the one we built together. I never understood why he took so many pictures and if you know me, I'd always tease him because he'd simply forget a simple stick of butter."

The joke escapes her. Not many people laugh.

"I now realize it wasn't just about the fear of forgetting," she says slowly, sniffling, "but it was the love of remembering what life had to offer."

You'd watch your mom surround herself with her siblings, family, all while you couldn't pull away from the pews that kept you in place. The thought about being in the same room as your deceased father almost felt surreal. A part of you, hopeful and wishful, believed your dad to rise from his casket like those silly movies the two of you watched. There he would then cup his hands around his mouth to make a familiar call of an owl. To this day, you aren't sure why it was the first thing that came to mind. It was just so much like your father to do such silly things.

To this day, you regret not making your way up there to say your final goodbyes.

---

Rolling clouds of grey blanket Brooklyn with an unforgiving chill that pushed you inside Pete's home. Descending the cold concrete stairs, you're already met with Nettie on the next staircase standing above with a gentle smile.

"Y/n, it's wonderful to see you again. Glad you made it before the storm fully settled in. It's supposed to linger for a while."

"So I've heard," you say as you slip your shoes off by the door and climb up the steps to rid yourself of the chill. Slipping off your coat and hanging it up, you ask, "Have you heard anything from Pete?"

"He called last night. Touring has been a bit tough, from what I've gathered." Nettie explains as she leads you to the cozy living room and settles in the rocking chair across from you. A worry swirls in your stomach. It makes sense that he would call his mom before you, since he was very close with his family.

"Is he okay? I haven't heard anything from him in a good minute."

"He's a homebody, if you couldn't tell already," Nettie says with a sigh and wringing her hands anxiously, "he's okay but it sounds like things will be cut short."

That alone makes your worry rise tenfold. You try to keep the mounting questions at bay as the new information settles in. Nettie looks concerned as her gaze lands on a picture hanging on the wall. It's a cute picture of a young Peter sandwiched between all his older sisters on a wooden porch. His expression screams exhaustion and annoyance, assuming that was not the first picture but the 10th in a row. Even though Nettie worries, she still smiles. "I can't help but still see him that way; young and full of unbridled passion. He's good."

"He is," you agree with a nod, nearly losing yourself in the picture covered walls. "Why will the tour be cut short?" you ask while taking in a steady breath to prepare.