Low Maintenance || Peter

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 763

Tags: @peanut

Notes: Takes place before Al's purchase of Luds, since I wrote it before.

Alfred hummed a little as he walked down the empty halls of Weeds.

He was in a surprisingly good mood, actually. One would've thought that being in a government facility again would set him on edge. And it had—but only for a little while. Quickly, the nervousness had faded and the confidence had set back in.

Maybe it was the kids. Alfred liked kids...at least once they were past their diaper stage. They were the future after all. Technically, Alfred supposed, his generation might be viewed as the future as well (he was only twenty after all), but Alfred dreamed of a future that surpassed him. Surpassed all of them really.

If that future was ever going to become a reality, it started right here. With these kids.

Not to mention, kids (at least of this age) were pretty darn innocent. They weren't going to turn him in, weren't going to rat him out. Maybe. There was always the occasional goody-two-shoes...but Alfred felt fairly confident that he could fool them. He was much more comfortable with kids at the moment. This might have been why he had specifically chosen to pull this con instead of the multitude of others he could've gone for. The security here might be a little stricter than other places, but once Alfred got in, things became much simpler.

The uniform helped. Nobody ever noticed the janitor. Just a guy with a mop.

...Oh and the keys. Alfred had never felt such childish joy over holding keys. It made the entire process so much easier. No suspicious lock picking for him today.

Of course, as with every con, there were things to keep in mind. As with any con, Alfred didn't want to stay too long. Regardless of how invisible he might be, someone was bound to catch on if he overstayed his welcome. And Weeds was a tough place to get out of.

There were also one or two people who might recognize him here. That could be troublesome. Alfred frowned lightly as he wiped up the residue from some kid who apparently didn't know how to use a water fountain. Ah, no worries. He'd burn that bridge when he got to it.

...It was almost frightening how carefree he felt at the moment. Oh, it felt good being on a con. So very good.

But mopping floors and fawning over keys was not what Alfred had come here for. He had come here for information on exactly what the government was feeding these children. So when the kids were let out of class and headed outside to play (it was finally warming up a bit...though not very warm. Alfred craved summer badly), Alfred moved into action. Extra books, if he remembered correctly from school, were usually stored in the cupboards of each classroom. How long was recess here at Weeds? Alfred doubted it was long so he'd have to move fairly quickly. Sneaking into the older kids' section would be tougher, but it was the younger kids where the propaganda began.

Alfred opened the door to a classroom quietly before closing it quietly. Empty, good. He had a rag and spray bottle with him as an excuse in case he needed one, but hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

Now, as for books...Alfred walked over to the teacher's desk and squatted to see if there was anything. Nothing. He headed to the first cabinet and flipped it open. A few toys and games, very basic. Mainly puzzles and legos...Alfred knew he couldn't get away with taking those. Kids were very good at keeping track of where their favorite toys went—or at least of whining about them when they disappeared.

The next one contained coloring books. These, Alfred flipped through. There were half filled in drawings of mutants helping humans, of humans keeping peace and order. Propaganda was laced throughout all of these, with cute little remarks at the bottom of certain images, telling the kids that a mutant must always obey and that if they did, only good could come out of it.

Such bullshit.

Alfred found what he was looking for in the third cabinet. Textbooks. Two columns of fairytales, followed by history books. Jackpot. He took one of each out and set them on the counter.

Technically he could go now, but there was more to be seen in this classroom. So why not stay for a moment? It didn't sound like the kids were heading back from recess yet and Alfred wanted to make this trip worthwhile.

i suppose

by Worldie for Leia

[Deleted]

1384

Tags:Alfred F. Jones

Peter hadn't been talking much recently, still reeling from the fight he couldn't fight and the man with the kind eyes and his brother (his brother!) appearing before him and being dragged away as Peter was dragged away, locked in his own sort of hell without needing the help of the lashing punishment that came from not fighting at all. Peter hadn't been talking much at all, really, though he had tried to talk, tried to talk it out with friends that he thought he could trust and friends he really could, though he was learning more and more that the latter category were those friends that, before that moment, Peter had never really listened to.

It was few and far between to find a proper ear, though, so even as Peter clung closer and closer to any friend who would just sit and try to understand instead of telling Peter that he was imagining things and that he'd suffered a sort of trauma and that they were certain that he'd see his brother again once he graduated with honors like he was on course to do and that the teachers had tried to fight the Mistake. That's what they were trying to call it, too- a Mistake. However, Peter, unlike the other children, could not have been isolated from the fight or from himself or from the knowledge that the announcer had known perfectly well who he was from the moment he was placed into that crowded, lonely place. A few "friends" even had tried to tell him that he should have fought past everything and fought like he was supposed to, brother or not. His brother was wrong for not fighting. One or two "friends" had the nerve to almost, but not quite, say that he'd deserved it.

So Peter stopped talking, stopped talking unless it was to the kind new girl with a loud attitude that was willing to listen or to the surly boy that Peter had been trying to "get through to" for a teachers sake and suddenly found himself understanding, though that was wrong, very wrong, what was Peter even thinking falling in with these people? In other words, Peter had begun to fall in with the wrong crowd, just silently avoiding the eyes of every teacher that looked at him with sappy pity that never quite matched the kindness in Alfred's eyes and the pain and the very real, desperate concern that Peter might have never seen the difference between before.

As a result, Peter was being shuffled in his classroom seats and times. No longer would he greet new faces, though he wanted to, because maybe they'd listen. No longer was he supposed to help "fix" people- now he was being isolated as best as the school could manage from the people who didn't see the whole affair as completely black and completely white. in isolation, the silence and fear and panic and confusion grew worse and his work suddenly took a sharp, sharp downward spiral from the top grades he normally held, because he couldn't be alone, he just couldn't, and they were taking them away too!

In desperation, he rejoined his old "friends", just so that things would feel a little better. They didn't help much. He claimed that he was still 'traumatized' from the 'Mistake' (which he was) but that he understood it now (but he didn't). He continued to not talk much. Every time he tried to speak, the words felt ashen. The entire world was wrong. What he'd learned his whole life seemed suddenly hollow in some way, but it couldn't be- it just couldn't. After all, that was morality, and one had to follow their moral compass. Just, was Peter's broken now? It kept on leading him in circles, telling him that fighting his brother would have been as wrong as the people who forced him to try, but that fighting his brother was the right thing to do just as the people who had always taught him were right.

Peter's safe topic always wound up being beaches, and he'd be shushed and laughed at and told that it was ridiculous to think about visiting some beach in America, so it wasn't safe at all. He didn't dare mention Alfred, for fear that things would somehow get worse.

Today was no different: an oddly silent Peter that had somehow become normal in such a short time clinging to a group of so-called friends who only somewhat humored him and wishing that he could not be alone but not be where he was but definitely not be alone. Unfortunately, he had said something, and his friends were now staring at him and pointing at the teacher and he'd never used to be one of "those kids", and he hadn't said something wrong, had he? He'd only mentioned that he hoped that someday he could go find his brother, wherever he was, and try to really meet him. He hadn't intended to imply that he'd be doing it without a human, but somewhere in his brain the words had gotten mixed up and it sounded like he had intended to run away or something, when really he hadn't, because as broken as he felt he still knew that he'd be alone if he ran away (unless- but even thinking anything else was a crime an immoral so why was he suddenly doing so now?).

The teacher came over, and then it was the same things again- Peter, I know you're better than this, Peter, you never did this before, Peter, it was a horrible Mistake but you shouldn't let it rule you, Peter, Peter, I don't really care and you don't really matter, but keep on nodding anyway while I hug you and you wonder if I ever really cared when you were little and would wake me up when you had a nightmare- No, that was awful and bitter and wrong and he didn't understand it- why was Peter even thinking things like that as he smiled and nodded? If she hadn't cared, she wouldn't have reassured him that he wasn't alone in the cold, right?

And then, like had happened too often, the teacher said his punishment would be to leave the playground and go wait in the classroom (alone) and think about what he'd done (alone) and please try to stop acting out how he had (alone) and he'd start crying and promising he'd be good just please come with him let someone come with him and she'd say no, no, that was his punishment, and he wondered if he'd constantly be left alone until he was so afraid that he forced himself to believe everything again and if they knew what they were doing to him. It wasn't as though he'd told anyone of his crippling fears. He didn't want to be unwanted. He suspected people knew anyway, but maybe they didn't know it was as bad as it was. They couldn't be intentionally sending him to it (or- stop there).

Sobbing, he walked back inside, trying to take as long of a time as possible on his way away from where the people were. Slowly he walked though the halls, slowly speeding up as he realized he wasn't getting any further so maybe he can distract himself with a book in the classroom- that was Peter's idea, anyway. However, he was met with a surprise when he opened the door- the good kind of surprise, which was rare since the worst kind of surprise that everyone called the Mistake but really wasn't.

A janitor was inside. He wouldn't be alone! Better yet, this janitor's eyes were twinkling some was that was terribly familiar, even though Peter hadn't seen this janitor before, ever! Without even intending to, he had somehow come right up to the man and lightly brushed his uniform, pulling his hand away when he remembered that this was another thing he'd be told off for doing. 

Even so, he said something he probably shouldn't have an didn't really care about, in a little, hoarse voice, sick of crying, "Stay," he said, eyes pleading, "Please... Just until everyone comes inside? I- I won't tell anyone, if that would get you in trouble, Mister, just- stay?"

Notes: ...

made by MISSO on IoF

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 1100

Tags: @peanut

Notes:

Alfred found a large filing cabinet near the teacher's desk that he had somehow overlooked. Inside were progress reports and comments on all of the mutants in the class. Alfred was tempted to look inside them except he didn't have a good excuse for that and the teacher's would surely notice. Perhaps...Alfred flipped through a stack of papers that were stuck at the bottom of the cabinet. Essays. They looked old, perhaps from months ago...no one kept track of those at Weeds, right? Alfred grabbed a few and headed back to the countertop to slide it into a book.

There wasn't much else in the bare classroom, but from the sounds of it, recess was going on strong. Alfred returned to the books. No harm in trying to read some of it here, right? He just needed a basic idea of what propaganda was being shoved down these kids' throats...though it'd be good if he could get specific details...

Alfred opened the shortest history book first, examining the cover. Mutant History 101. It looked so normal, a large textbook with overly large print. It was in poor condition, which helped Alfred's alibi: replacing older textbooks with better ones. The seams were loose and the corners bent back, the pages stained with spilled water and juice. Alfred flipped it open on the countertop, examining its contents.

Mutant History 101: Humanity's Helpers

Alfred wanted to puke.

I. The First Mutant
II. The Perfect Place: Archadia
III. The Gift of Humanity
IV. The Broken Mutant
V. The Perfect Mutant

There were more chapters, but Alfred could figure out the basics. What he was curious about were chapters four and five. The Broken Mutant? And the perfect one?

Alfred flipped to the fourth chapter.

From time to time, mutants forget their place or are born without knowing where they stand. These mutants are broken. Humans try to fix them, try to help them and for some it works, but some mutants are beyond saving. They cannot be fixed.

Alfred could feel his blood boil. Fixed? Fixed? They weren't broken; they were being broken. Broken and then put back together like lego pieces, except people weren't meant to be taken apart that way and it always, always left a scar.

Mutants that are like this end up destroying society. There is a reason why humans are important to—

"Stay."

Alfred jumped a little as a hoarse voice broke through the silence. He should've heard the boy come in, but he had been too engrossed in reading the government's bullshit propaganda on history. He turned around, blinking, until he saw who it was.

Peter.

The boy looked a lot younger than the last time Alfred had seen him, yet at the same time, infinitely older. His eyes were red, probably from crying. There was a pleading look in his eyes. Why was he in here in the first place? Children liked to play (or at least, Alfred had), most children wouldn't want to stay indoors for recess...

"Please... Just until everyone comes inside? I- I won't tell anyone, if that would get you in trouble, Mister, just- stay?"

There was a crack in Peter's voice, so different from the confident, happy child that Alfred had met just a month or two earlier. Right before he had gone to see Matthew, wasn't it? Peter had been naïve and full of hope but as Alfred stared into Peter's green eyes, he could only see how dull they had become.

Was he lonely? Perhaps...but if he was lonely why would he want a stranger to be with him? Why would he run from everyone at recess? Why was he crying? Why...

It occurred to Alfred then that perhaps he should not stay. Peter seemed lost, and alone, and lonely; all emotions that Alfred could relate to. For a second, a guilty, painful second, Alfred's sense of self-preservation told him to leave. There were a few people who might recognize him at Weeds and Peter was one of them.

But that thought was quickly banished. Because Alfred knew that Peter was not the sort of child who would do that. Peter needed someone...and Alfred was not about to let him down.

Besides, he'd been disguised when he'd first met Peter. Children were unusually perceptive about these things, but Alfred would stay here for at least a while.

"Sure thing, kid," Alfred said easily. He closed the history book and smiled at the boy. Peter seemed so small, so meek, as if the boy Alfred had seen only a month or so ago had been a mirage. He was shrunken, he looked shorter, he looked terrified of something he didn't know.

Alfred wondered if he had a hand in the radical change in Peter. Probably. Alfred wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. But even so, even so...it shouldn't have broken Peter in this way. So something else must've happened. The arena fight? Alfred swallowed. That might've done it, though Peter looked no worse for wear which was more than what Alfred had expected out of such a fight.

Alfred felt guilty. Had he unknowingly shattered Peter's vision of the world? Perhaps it would've been better...no. It was not better for these kids to live with blinds drawn across their eyes, believing that the world was good the way it was because it wasn't. Alfred felt protective, but the truth was simple. Everyone had to grow up. Unfair, perhaps, that some grew up so quickly, but it was how things worked around here.

Freedom was the right to tell people what they did not want to hear. Freedom was accepting the harsher sides of reality. Freedom was the harder way out. That was the price of freedom. It was a price that Alfred was willing to pay.

Seeing Peter like this made Alfred doubt, but it also reminded him that change never came easily.

"Why are you crying?" Alfred asked. He didn't know if Peter would object to affection, but he reached over and ruffled the boy's golden hair anyways. "Did someone upset you or something?"

Perhaps, Alfred realized a little belatedly, Peter's state of being had nothing to do with what they had talked about when Alfred had seen him last. It had simply been Alfred's first thought, given the somewhat groundbreaking ideas he had presented Peter with. Perhaps this was no more than a kid's squabble, perhaps Peter had forgotten everything Alfred had said to him.

"What's your name?" Alfred asked gently, though he already knew the answer. "Are you okay?"

i suppose

by Worldie for Leia

[Deleted]

866

Tags:Alfred F. Jones

Whatever instinct had told Peter to trust this man, told Peter that he recognized him and that the man wouldn't hurt him, felt extremely vindicated when the first question the janitor-he-didn't-but-did-recognize was "Why are you crying?" instead of the multitude of other things it could have been. Peter hadn't thought he was really sobbing that much anymore, though, so he brushed a hand against his cheek to wipe away whatever was giving that impression, though that simple motion wasn't going to get rid of the red eyes and hoarse throat and little voice and the wetness that had suddenly reappeared upon hearing that question in that voice of its own accord. He didn't really want to answer it. Honestly, even if they didn't understand, everyone knew, and he assumed this janitor was one of them.

Then again, maybe not, because the janitor's next words were to ask if he was okay and to ask him what was wrong, and though the answers were obvious, Peter felt like the janitor was being genuine. Almost. It was as though the janitor was genuinely lying, because Peter looked the janitor in the face and tried to calculate where, exactly, he must have known the man from, because he'd have never forgotten someone with kind eyes such as those. Or at least, he shouldn't have. Recently, it had hit him that the colors he'd always associated body language with weren't working quite right and that everything was a suspicious shade of gray, even the things he trusted, so maybe he wouldn't have remembered at all. Maybe his mind would have painted them just as gray as everything else.

(He'd get out of it eventually, though. He had too! Just... maybe not... all that soon...)

"I'm Peter Kirkland. I'm thirteen." he finally answered. That was the whole of his identity after all, was it not? Except there was more, too! He was the good kid and the fish guy and the one who had up until the cold months of winter this year had always just followed the moral compass he'd been given and done what he thought was right. He still had to do that! He could still do that, too, just, people had to stop blurring the lines so much, throwing him into places like that thing they all called the Mistake and expecting him to figure out whether he was being pointed towards or away the person he'd looked for so long.

He took a deep breath. He centered himself. No need to get worked up and start crying again in earnest. He needed to be an optimist! Someone was here! With that, he started talking again. "Ah, thank you, Mister, for staying, I mean. I think-" (here he looks up at the clock) "I think we have ten, fifteen more minutes before everyone comes in? I'll warn you, and, uh, I'll say it's my fault... with how things have been going lately, they'd probably believe me..." He sighed. Had it only been a few weeks ago that they would have been shocked at his deviance, appalled that their good student would do such a thing?

He looked up at the janitor and tried to smile a little. He could smile! The man looked really nice, he really did, and if he smiled it would all be okay, wouldn't it? There was someone else here, and that, as always, etched away at the loneliness- though, truth be told, Peter was beginning to understand that loneliness wasn't something that only meant 'to be alone'- it meant to be alone in experiences as well. But that was still silly, right?

(If I'm sitting next to so many people, know so many people, why am I so alone now?)

He shook his head a little and wiped his cheek. "I got sent inside," he explained, "'cause... 'cause I accidentally said something I wasn't supposed to. But- but how was I supposed to know? I've been trying really super hard to be good! I really have! It's just, I keep on saying things and things keep on hurting. I don't mean..." Frustrated, he pulls on his hat. "It's just... a lot of things... aren't making sense right now... But I have..."

Peter paused a moment, not sure why he was saying all of this. He didn't really understand why, but he almost sort of maybe trusted this janitor, and he almost sort of entirely wanted somebody who would listen to him for a moment because everyone kept on listening and having it fall out their other side completely twisted and they'd pat him on the head and tell him he'd understand soon but he didn't! So he kept going.

He was probably going to get in trouble, but he was already in some sort of never-ending trouble now so he supposed it was okay.

"I just don't want to be alone," he explains in a whisper, as though he's afraid to even speak the words ('Peter, you have to start getting better. You'll be all alone if you don't.') "So- so I thought, if you were sitting here, I wouldn't be all alone and that would make me feel a little better?"

Notes: Sorry this took... almost three months? *sighs*

made by MISSO on IoF

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 753

Tags: @peanut

Notes: I managed it.

Part of Alfred was still fearful that Peter would recognize him. Children could be observant...but then again would Peter really remember the man who had once stopped to talk to him when he'd been on display for the whole world to see? There must have been hundreds, maybe thousands of people who had walked past those cages that day. And some time had passed and Alfred had been disguised. He didn't remember if he'd told Peter his name or not...but as long as he didn't say his name to Peter this time around, he'd be safe.

Peter was trying hard to be brave, wiping away at any remaining wetness on his cheeks. His eyes were so red...

Peter took a shaky breath. He seemed calmer now, but Alfred got the feeling he was just putting on a brave face. He didn't push it. It was sometimes kinder not to.

A thank you and a barrage of promises burst from Peter's mouth as he promised, promised to warn Alfred when someone came in, that he was worried Alfred would get in trouble for talking to him. Alfred let him speak. He wanted to say something...but there didn't seem to be much he could say.

A low sigh came from Peter, then a smile. A little forced, a little strained, but it was a smile. Alfred wondered what had happened. It hadn't been this hard for Peter to smile when he'd first met him...

"Let's sit," Alfred suggested as he pulled out two chairs. They were much too short for him, his knees coming fairly high up as he sat down, but Alfred did so anyways. He patted the chair next to him with a smile. "Nicer to talk like this. And don't worry. If someone comes in I'll just go back to tidying things up and getting out of everyone's way."

Peter wiped at a chair as he tumbled into an explanation. "I got sent inside, 'cause... 'cause I accidentally said something I wasn't supposed to. But- but how was I supposed to know? I've been trying really super hard to be good! I really have!"

Trying...trying really hard...but Peter had questions. Of course he had questions, of course. Alfred stared at Peter as the boy pulled on his hat in frustration, trying to understand why he had so many questions. He didn't look bruised or scarred...but he'd been in the showcase and there'd been fights...had something else happened? Surely talking to Alfred could not have resulted in this self-destruction all by itself... A wave of guilt swept over Alfred as he watched the boy struggling.

"I just don't want to be alone." The confession came out at a whisper.

I don't want to be alone. No one wanted to be alone, not really. At the very least, no one wanted to be lonely. Lonely. Alfred thought of dirty streets and duct taped shoes and empty apartments and fake badges. Alone and lonely...who wanted that? Who could possibly ever want that?

"So- so I thought, if you were sitting here, I wouldn't be all alone and that would make me feel a little better?"

"Of course. No one wants to be alone. I can be your friend." Alfred gave Peter a wide smile, ignoring the tear stains and the slightly red eyes. "I think you're a good kid, Peter. I really do. You're intelligent and you're curious and really...there's nothing wrong with that. Or you. Things don't always make sense. But I mean, if you didn't ask questions, then they would never ;make sense. Never at all. Like if you don't ask why the Earth is round or why it snows, you'll never know! Questions are good."

Alfred hesitated for a second. Peter looked so fragile right now...Alfred...Alfred couldn't let him get into more trouble. "Sometimes people don't like questions though," Alfred said. "Because sometimes people don't know the answer to those questions and then they feel kinda"—shitty—"stupid. And then people get angry, because no one likes feeling stupid. I definitely don't."

He gazed over at Peter. "Does that make any sense?" he asked. "I hope it does...I mean, you have to think and be curious and find your own answers sometimes. I mean, people had to figure things out to write them in textbooks, right? Sometimes people don't want you to find those answers. But you do it carefully so you don't upset anyone. Which," Alfred admitted, "is hard."

by Worldie for Leia