The hot sand crunched under Pete's shoes (which were slowly breaking apart), and the sun battered down on him. The heat made the horizon look wobbly and unclear. The trek was long and his energy was low.

They had dropped him off miles from the diner with nothing but a pat on the back and a finger pointing in the general direction of his destination.

His friends.

His mission.

He went over his talk with Korse in his head on the never ending walk.

Get information: weaknesses, weaponry, safe-house locations, allies. Report back. Don't get caught. Go home. Easy.

All he had to do was keep telling himself that the home he was going back to wouldn't be taken over like how it was here. And that what he was doing didn't make him a horrible person.

He had been pulled through the machine when he was unconscious. It was the first and only success they had. There was no possible way they could keep it open long enough for a complete invasion.

Pete stumbled. How long had he been walking? And how much longer?

Closing his eyes for a moment, he continued walking.

~~~

Pete awoke to the sounds of hushed chatter and the feel of cold metal pressed against his cheek. Groaning, he lifted his head and, almost instantly, the talking halted.

"Pete."

He froze at the familiar voice. Exhaustion prevented him from hiding the smile tugging at his lips, but gave him none of the energy he needed to leap up and embrace Kobra like he wanted.

"Oh, Pete." Thankfully, Kobra did all the work for him, and Pete was quickly enveloped in his strong arms. A warm feeling surged through Pete as he let himself sink into Kobra's chest. He wasn't sure of whom the heartbeat he heard belonged to; him or Kobra.

"Kobra." Pete's voice broke.

The hug didn't last even close to long enough.

Before Pete could comprehend the shift in positions, Kobra's hands were hovering all over Pete's face, arms, and chest, searching worriedly for injury. When Kobra's hand graced against certain spots on his cheek or abdomen or shoulder, Pete winced. Kobra imitated the action every time.

Unable to look Pete in the eye, Kobra opened and closed his mouth again and again, trying to find the right words, before finally settling on a pained, quiet, heart-wrenching "I'm sorry" that made Pete's heart drop from his chest. "Are you okay? What happened? Wh—"

"Kid." Ghoul's voice was quiet, careful. "Give him a minute. He just woke up. Probably doesn't even know what's happening."

"Right, right. Sorry." Kobra stepped away and Pete's breath caught.

"Do you need something? I mean, obviously food and... physical help; but other than that...?"

Ghoul looked exactly as Pete had remembered him: kind and worried. He bore a new bruise on his jaw and his hair looked freshly cut, but he was still him.

"Don't baby him, he'll be fine. Each of us has been through worse and survived. Hell, we even came out stronger. He'll be fine." Jet was also still the same as Pete remembered. He would have laughed if he could. "You've got battle scars now."

And a third person: "Welcome to the club."

Pete couldn't stop his jaw from dropping. Party Poison was not as Pete remembered from the last time he saw the fiery leader. For starters, he was upright.

Reading Pete's thoughts and speaking before he could, Poison said, "yeah, I'm alive. We're all very happy about it. Get over it."

Pete closed his mouth.

"So how'd you escape?" Jet jumped in, to which everyone else responded with protests of how it was too soon to be asking that and how they should just let him rest and whatnot.

"It's alright," he silenced them while he tried to recall what Korse had told him to say. "They caught and tortured me. Of course, I didn't say anything, so don't worry about that. Besides, it's not like I really knew anything anyways. But that's beside the point. After they decided that I was basically worthless, they tossed me in some cell and left me for dead. So, I pretended to be dead so they'd take me to the doctor or the morgue, and when I was eventually left alone, I bolted the doors shut and ran. Stole a car and drove as far as I could. Until I ran out of gas, that is."

When nobody said anything, Pete looked up at their disbelieving faces. He cursed. Did he say something wrong?

"Just like that?" Jet wondered aloud after too long a moment of silence.

He nodded. "Just like that."

And, as they stood there considering Pete's story in a semi-circle around him, Pete clutched the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white.

Kobra was the first to move, extending his arm to — carefully, always carefully — pull Pete off the table and to his feet. "Come on. Let's get you some rest." But Poison stopped them before they could walk off.

Pete cowered under his harsh gaze. Would he suspect Pete was lying? What then? What would Pete do? What could he do? Even pale, clutching his side, and in a plain white shirt and lounge pants, Poison commanded respect with every atom in his body.

"I'm glad you're back."

Pete let his shoulders relax. "Thanks. Me too."

With a pat on the back from Poison to Kobra, the pair continued across the main room to their sleeping quarters while Kobra told Pete of how they'd found him delirious and falling in and out of consciousness just miles from the diner.

Pete's room was exactly as he had left it. The little bed with scratches on the headboard Kobra had crafted for him a few weeks into his time there stood unmoved in the center of the room, a table to its right, with nothing but an empty glass atop the faded wood. The small window illuminated the yellow-stained mattress and chair on the opposite side of the bed. He remembered when he moved it and found an empty notebook hidden in the cobwebs behind where it once sat. That book now resided inside his pillow case, filled with scribbles of thoughts and events he deemed important enough to be written down.

"Whenever you decide to eat or whatever... well, you know your way around." Kobra leaned against the doorframe, a concerned expression painted on his face. "And I'm right next door if you need anything."

Pete nodded. "Okay."

But Kobra still didn't move. Pete wasn't quite sure if he wanted him to or not.

However, deciding it would be best for him to be alone for a moment and perhaps get some sleep on a comfortable (well, as comfortable as it could be) bed, he told Kobra, with a smile he hoped was reassuring, that he'd be fine. After he made Pete promise to get him for anything — anything at all— Kobra hesitantly retreated into his own room.

Now, alone, after the soft click of two doors shutting, Pete pressed his hot forehead to the metal door and felt a cold tear slide down his cheek.

——
1,119 words
March 4, 2020
——