Chapter Text
Pete had always been good in a crisis. It was a necessary skill when you grew up the way he did. He never knew what type of situation he might come home to at the end of the school day.
He got good at keeping calm, even when he was being assaulted. He had learned if he didn’t react, his father would give up faster, growing bored. He would turn his attention back to his drink to let Pete scramble out of his sight. When Pete finally killed the man, at age 12, he learned to deal with a different type of crisis: moving in with his grandparents.
There were small gangs that would harass his grandparents over money that his father still owed them, and Pete would have to keep calm and pick up the pieces. By 13, he was already winning fights against other boys to help pay down the debt. The interest continued to balloon, though, despite Pete’s best efforts.
When he was 16, Korn Theerapanyakul had come to expand his rapidly growing territory. He caught Pete in a fight and stayed to watch. When Pete emerged the victor, his lip bleeding onto his chin and a black eye blooming, Korn had offered him a position. Pete had studied the man. He had an air about him that reeked of money and power.
Pete didn’t really like the attention, but he knew he would likely be dead in a year if he didn’t take the opportunity being given, so he agreed. Korn wiped the debts, and Pete packed a small bag.
There, Pete rose through the ranks quickly, since he was quick on his feet and kept his mouth shut. He let everyone, especially the other guards, underestimate him. He was picked to look after Tankhun, since Khun had taken a liking to him. Kinn had also liked working with him, so Pete filled his days between paperwork and silly games, teaching lessons to men who owed debts like he had and slumber parties. It passed the time.
And Pete never flinched whenever there was a crisis. When Khun began screaming, whether from a borderline manic episode or from a vicious nightmare, Pete was always there, calmly putting him back together. When Chan lined the guards up to yell at them because one of them broke a stupid rule, Pete didn’t even blink.
Now, Pete was blinking slowly at his fiance, who was throwing a colossal tantrum, again.
He sighed, watching as Vegas noticeably only broke his things, not Pete’s, though Pete didn’t have many knickknacks to speak of. They had been forced to attend another meeting where Korn just rubbed it in their face that Porsche was in charge of the Minor Clan, yet again.
Vegas said he didn’t want the role anymore, but Pete knew it didn’t make it hurt less when his Uncle spoke over him, just to humiliate him in front of the family. Pete’s body had clenched, Vegas’s hand on his thigh the only thing keeping him from launching himself over the table and throttling the old man with his bare hands.
Vegas reached for a sharp edge, and Pete sprang into action, the ghostly scent of chlorine filling his nose. He would let Vegas have his tantrums, but he refused to watch Vegas bleed again.
“No,” Pete whispered as he wrapped himself around Vegas’s back, and Vegas stilled instantly, his chest heaving as he dropped the thick shard.
“Pete,” Vegas croaked, the apology evident in the tone of his voice.
“I know, sweetheart,” Pete murmured into his hair. “I know.”
Vegas covered his face, shaking with sobs as Pete followed him to the floor, pulling Vegas half into his lap so he could bury his face in Pete’s neck.
Later, after Pete had gotten Vegas into the shower so he could clean up the mess, Pete joined him under the spray. Vegas had stopped crying, but his face was splotchy and red.
“I didn’t want to hurt myself,” Vegas insisted, and Pete wished sometimes that Vegas couldn’t read him so well. “Honest. I was just…”
“Upset?”
“Yeah.”
“I would be, too, but I wish you would stop breaking things. It’s dangerous, and you know it upsets Macau.”
Macau had come in to help Pete clean a little, giving him a knowing look. Pete had given the boy a hug, promising as always that he would never leave them. He would look after Vegas, no matter what. Looking somewhat better, Macau had slipped off to go out with his friends.
Vegas looked guilty, which hadn’t been Pete’s intention.
“How about this?” Pete said, giving Vegas a warm smile. “The next time you want to break something, I want you to scream instead. Scream as loud as you want, for as long as you want. Then, if that’s still not good, then I’ll take you to a rage room and you can break anything you want.”
Vegas sighed, tipping forward to give Pete a kiss before wrapping around him, squeezing Pete so tightly that he worried Vegas would tug at his wounds. They were mostly healed, but Pete always worried about him.
“I love you,” Vegas sighed.
“I love you, too.”
Pete always had been good in a crisis.
He was, still, but that didn’t stop the nightmares.
Vegas, standing beside the pool with his gun under his chin. An animalistic growl tearing from his throat as he screamed, “I got nothing left, Pete!”
Pete was on his knees, his hands raised in supplication as he begged Vegas to stay, to stay with him. He would fix it, if Vegas would just give him the chance. He would be anything Vegas wanted. Anything he needed. If only he would-
A shot rang out and a scream lodged itself in Pete’s throat as he was helpless to do anything but watch Vegas fall, lifeless, to the ground.
Pete was already crying, disoriented as he bolted upright. The dregs of the nightmare weren’t fading fast enough, and Pete choked out a sob as he thrashed in the bed, desperate for a sign that it wasn’t true, that Vegas was alive.
The bed was empty, and Pete hiccuped as he tried to clear his vision.
“Pete?” Vegas called, the light from the bathroom illuminating his familiar shape. “What-”
Pete scrambled to the edge of the bed, his legs tangling in the sheets and almost tripping him. Vegas rushed to him just as quickly, though, catching him before he could fall.
The words were trapped in Pete’s throat, everything was trapped and he couldn’t breath, he would never breathe again.
“Pete,” Vegas said more solidly, cupping Pete’s face as he let out another anguished wail. He knew it was only a nightmare, but it had come too close to coming true once. Clearly, Pete still felt, deep down, that it could happen again. “Pete, you’re scaring me.”
That had Pete sucking in a deep breath. He didn’t want to scare Vegas. Closing his eyes, Pete hummed as he pressed himself into Vegas’s chest, as close as he could, until he could very clearly hear his thumping heartbeat.
Vegas was alive. He was okay.
“Sorry,” Pete finally sighed. Vegas had been petting Pete’s hair, his other palm splayed over Pete’s spine to hold him together.
“Did you have a nightmare?”
Pete nodded, swallowing the words threatening to bubble up.
I dreamed you died.
I could see it so clearly, you taking yourself away from me.
When Pete had calmed himself down enough, Vegas helped him back to his spot, crawling in right beside him so that Pete could hold him close.
Vegas was quiet, staring up at the ceiling as Pete stretched over his chest.
Pete thought he might have gone to sleep, but then Vegas spoke.
“I won’t break things anymore. I- It might take me some time. I might mess up. But I’ll try not to fly off the handle so much.”
“Vegas-”
“No, Pete. I shouldn’t have. I mean, it’s just what he wants. It’s like- If I don’t stop letting him get to me, then I might as well be haunted by him. And I don’t want that. I don’t want to be that person. Not anymore.”
Pete blinked, turning just a little to better breathe in Vegas’s scent.
“I don’t need to be that person anymore,” Vegas continued, his voice so quiet. “I’m not a loser. I’m not useless. I’m… I’m fucking loved now. You love me. You do, don’t you?”
This time, Pete grabbed Vegas’s face, pulling him close so he could growl, “I love you more than anything, Vegas. And I’ll never stop loving you. He’s not allowed to haunt you, but if anything happens to me, you can bet that I will. I’ll roam the ends of the earth, rather than be parted from you.”
Vegas’s eyes were wide, so impossibly dark in the dim light spilling in from the bathroom. Swallowing thickly, Vegas nodded. “I believe you. And the same goes for me. I’ll haunt you, Pete.”
But Pete didn’t want Vegas to haunt him. He wanted him alive, and happy. Or at least, alive and not so bruised on his soul.
“Stay with me,” Pete whispered, stroking Vegas’s cheek. “Just stay with me.”
“I will. Always. And I’m sorry, Pete. I’m sorry you always have to clean up my messes. I’ll try better to stop making them.”
Pete was always good in a crisis, but had to admit that he much preferred to not be in one. He wanted nothing more than to keep Vegas and Macau safe and content for the rest of their days.
They curled up, sharing breath as they kissed, to prove they were still alive.
True to his word, Vegas stopped breaking things. It took him a while, but he got there eventually. He even stopped feeling the urge to break things so often. Pete knew he couldn’t fix Vegas, no more than Vegas could fix all of his cracks, but they could be there, ready with a broom and a dust pan. They would make sure at least the other didn’t cut themselves on the sharp edges anymore. They had one another, and there was nothing more that Pete could have wanted.