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The first thing Peter sees when he wakes is Rumi kneeling over him. And for a second, with the power of Rumi’s magic dulling the pain, he is sure that he’s died and Rumi is the angel welcoming him to heaven.
Except, no - he’s seen angels (one of them at least) and Rumi is much kinder and prettier than them. The soft smile on his face as he swipes a thumb back and forth over Peter’s cheek. The way he seems to be almost glowing in the dim light of the stained glass windows.
Even though they’ve been fighting he looks perfect - not a strand of hair out of place.
It only lasts for a second.
Then the lightning strikes again and all the pain comes rushing back and there’s not even any time to focus on that because Rumi’s collapsing onto him. The perfect visage falls away as the wounds from the fight appear across his skin. The worst of it being the searing wound on his back from the strike that downed him.
At least, from what Peter can see as he clutches onto Rumi’s body and struggles to sit up.
Peter is almost too tired and too used to panic to really register it. The rush of it pushing through his body, making his hands tremble and his heart pound in his throat. The swirling in his stomach that makes him distantly surprised he hasn’t thrown up more than blood yet.
He pushes past it all without a thought to gently shake Rumi awake. The battle still raging on fades as he becomes focused solely on the person in front of him. On Rumi.
Rumi who lies there deathly still. Looking a thousand percent worse than Peter has ever seen them because Peter has never seen them look anything other than perfect. (Still, there’s a beauty to him even like this.)
And he can’t do anything. Not without Exandroth. No matter what Rumi says, he’s just a guy. Just a vessel for something infinitely more powerful.
He shakes Rumi anyway. His mind too scrambled to call out to Exandroth - doesn’t exactly trust that Exandroth would even stop to heal Rumi.
And after what feels like an eternity, Rumi’s eyes flicker open. The smile is back on his face and the wounds disappear in an instant - too quick to be healing magic.
It’s something Peter will have to slot into the back of his mind. To think over later and stress about the millions of different ways he could possibly bring it up (and the millions of ways he could get killed for doing so). But that all depends on whether he can even remember it after the chaos stops.
Although he doesn’t think he’ll be forgetting what Rumi’s almost-lifeless body looks like anytime soon.
Rumi gets to their feet, exhaustion in their body and tone as they lean on Peter. He’s sure he looks the same as Rumi, albeit more battered and bruised. A lot more shaky and panicked. He thinks he’s crying a little, actually.
But they stand together. And the battle ends not long after.
Peter is almost constantly surprised by Rumi’s affections and compliments. It’s worse whenever Thanatos joins in, as Rumi is so fond of reminding him that Thanatos doesn’t just compliment anyone. Because he knows what he is - has had hundreds of people confirm it for him throughout his life. And apart from his old adventuring party, and now Rumi and Thanatos, not many people have thought highly of him.
So the surprise is always there because he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the compliments - the affections, the defending from others - to disappear. For the lack of all that to slowly turn into insults as they realise he’s not as great as they thought he was. (That he doesn’t even reach average.)
For Rumi’s soft, easy smile to turn strained like everyone else’s when they look at him.
It hasn’t happened yet.
There’s a voice in his head telling him it never will.
That Rumi and Thanatos are the two most amazing people he knows. And that if he trusts them, more than anything, on the subject of killing the gods then surely he can trust them on his own worth.
It’s hard to disagree with that voice when Rumi looks at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky back when the sky still existed. When Thanatos keeps every rock Peter gives him safe in a pouch - handles them all with gentle care despite the crushing strength of his grip.
When both of them hype him up while he practices magic, cheering with him when he gets it to work.
So it’s hard to disagree. But Peter finds himself confused more often than not as that singular truth clashes against the truth he’s known his whole life.
And the day after the night that everything happens, Peter is perhaps the most confused he’s ever been.
He wakes up with Rumi’s arms tightly around him, which is the first thing that clues him into the fact that it wasn’t a dream. The second is that when Rumi wakes, he smiles softer than Peter has ever seen and leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead.
They scramble away from each other when they hear Thanatos waking, although Peter’s sure Thanatos will easily be able to put two and two together. He can, in fact, feel the burning weight of his gaze - as well as Rumi’s lingering glances - but neither say anything so he doesn’t either.
Instead, he has the previous night running through his mind. Waking up to Rumi whispering in his ear, Rumi crouched beside him telling him about the charisma god following them.
Rumi’s immediate rebuttal of “I’m in love with you, Peter,” after Peter called them besties.
Peter’s own confession, prompted by the charisma god under the zone of truth.
The way Rumi looked at him, even while he was challenging Rumi’s plans. The softness in his voice as he declared that after everything is over, all he wants is for Peter to be by his side.
And then of course everything after that. But that makes his face feel uncomfortably warm so he pushes it to the back of his mind for now.
When they start walking, Rumi takes his hand. A gentle movement with no hesitation. And Peter feels a little bad because his palms immediately start sweating and that realisation only makes them sweat more. But Rumi doesn’t pull away. Just squeezes his hand and sends him a secretive smile.
When they go to sleep, Rumi offers to take first watch. He sits right next to where Peter sets up his bed, murmuring a quick goodnight and running his hand gently down Peter’s arm before settling to lean back on his palms.
And as Peter drifts off, he can feel whenever Rumi looks at him. It’s not unusual - Rumi always glances at him during his watch - but it does feel different now. Heavier in a good way.
He wakes to Rumi kneeling over him. The light from the stained glass chapel windows forming a halo around him. Refracting through his horns, making them appear like they’re glowing. Iridescent and beautiful.
He looks like what Peter would describe as an angel before he knew what angels looked like.
Rumi’s hand is on his cheek, swiping a thumb back and forth gently. A soft smile on his face.
Peter’s seen this before.
He knows what happens next.
Even still, he can’t open his mouth to warn Rumi as the lightning strikes start up around them.
Rumi’s body falls. Heavy and limp on top of him. Dark, angry wounds appearing all over his skin. The worst of it, that Peter can see, is the burn on his back from the lightning strikes.
Peter clutches onto Rumi and struggles to sit up. The sounds from the battle are dull and distorted as the lightning continues to crackle around them. He tries to shake Rumi awake like he did before but his skin is growing cold and the blood is rapidly pooling underneath his body. It coats Peter’s lap, his hands, as he shakes Rumi with growing desperation.
Tears mix with the sweat, and dirt, and blood on his face. Drip down his chin and onto Rumi’s lifeless cheeks. His mouth slack, his eyes empty.
And Peter tries to call out to Exandroth but for the first time in however many months, he feels that presence achingly gone.
And, still holding Rumi’s body tightly, he lifts his head and instead tries to get Thanatos’ attention.
Just in time to see one of Thanatos’ former brothers strike true - his shield cleaving into Thanatos’ chest. Wiring and oil bursts free as the other brother - the one Peter knows Exandroth banished - slices Thanatos’ head clean off.
The lightning continues to strike around him. Miraculously, cursedly, missing him every time. But he can feel in his stomach that the ground is rushing up to meet them and just as it hits-
-he jolts awake, sitting straight up.
Rumi’s arms slip from around his chest to around his waist, and Peter can feel Thanatos’ gaze upon him. Can feel when Rumi’s joins it. And it should be comforting. It should. Proof of their survival. That it was all just a horrible nightmare.
But instead his stomach twists with shame - his heart rate refusing to slow, his hands refusing to still. An uncomfortable heat present on his cheeks.
He untangles himself from Rumi and their sheets and heads to the forest. His mind too cloudy still to pick a direction, focused instead on the single thought of getting away. Out of sight.
Out from underneath the heavy weight of eyes that are surely looking at him with pity. Because people are always looking at him with pity and resentment, and he’s used to it, really, but it’s just too much right now, and-
-As Rumi’s hand seals around his shoulder, he should’ve known it wouldn’t have been easy. That Rumi would’ve followed him.
“Peter?” Rumi’s voice is soft, concern as obvious as anything.
He goes still. Rumi takes the opportunity to walk around him, stopping in front. His hand a steady pressure on Peter’s shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Is everything okay?”
“Sure.” And then he processes what the question is actually asking and he tries again. “I mean, you know, it’s, like, it’s bad. But it’s fine.”
Rumi reaches out slowly with their free hand and presses it against Peter’s cheek, the tips of their fingers curling into his hair. They swipes their thumb underneath one of Peter’s eyes.
The skin feels wet, for some reason.
He’s half convinced Rumi’s finger is bleeding. That this version of him Peter’s seeing is just an illusion covering countless injuries. That Rumi’s one second away from collapsing against him, lifeless again.
“You’re crying.” Rumi murmurs.
Oh.
“That- that makes sense. That- yeah, that makes sense.”
Rumi’s hand slides down Peter’s shoulder to clutch at his still trembling one. And he steps in closer. Bends down slightly so they’re face to face, as he says,
“Did you have a nightmare?”
That warmth flares in his face again and he nods. Shame curling in his stomach as he's bitterly reminded that he's not as strong or cool as Thanatos and Rumi.
“I see.” Rumi presses a kiss to his forehead and then steps back slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I mean, I guess.” Peter barely notices as Rumi starts to lead him back to the camp. “It was just me watching you and Thanatos dying back at the chapel when we fought the god of faith and not being able to do anything to stop it. So you know, pretty bad, but I’ve seen, like, more horrifying things sometimes - which are probably from Exandroth, thinking about it.”
Rumi tugs him down to their pile of sheets on the floor and presses close to him. Their hands still tightly intertwined between them.
Briefly, he feels Thanatos glance at them.
“That sounds quite upsetting, Peter.”
“Yeah.” He shrinks in on himself, voice more fragile than he’d like. “It was.”
“You know, I have nightmares, too, sometimes.” Rumi’s voice is casual, but he squeezes Peter’s hand tightly. “Of you dying - being taken away from me. Us failing our mission - our destiny. It’s hard for me to know sometimes what ones are just dreams and what ones are visions sent to warn me.”
“Like the one of Exandroth taking over me?”
“Yes, exactly, Peter.” Rumi sends him a warm smile. “I let my fear for your safety rule me - I didn’t even consider it could be a nightmare. These things get to all of us. Except maybe our friend over there,” he tilts his head in Thanatos’ direction, “I’m not sure that he dreams. But the point is, there’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
“I wasn’t-“ but the words die in mouth as he meets Rumi’s eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
“And you’re very capable, Peter. You healed me by yourself back at the chapel-“
“I- me? Healing? I don’t know about that -“
“-and I have faith that you could do so again if need be.”
“Um, okay. If you say so, Rumi.”
“I do.”
Rumi leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek. Peter feels his face grow warm again, but this time it’s more pleasant. The jump of his heart isn’t accompanied by a churning feeling in his stomach.
But he quickly remembers Rumi’s wounds flashing in and out of existence. And he bites his tongue, mentally steeling himself to bring it up.
“It’s- it’s just that…”
“Yes, Peter?”
“Well, back at the chapel - when you went down - you looked… bad . And then you woke up and you looked fine again. And- and I guess I’m worried that I won’t know when to try and help you until it’s too late. Like…” he hesitantly looks over Rumi, “are you okay right now?”
Rumi laughs softly. “Yes, Peter, I’m fine now.”
“That’s good.”
“What I do is merely to throw off the enemy. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“I mean, it’s- it’s fine, it doesn’t really matter-“
“Of course it matters.” Rumi presses in impossibly closer and brings his free hand up to rest on Peter’s cheek. “I would never want to upset you, Peter.”
“Oh, um, that’s nice.”
Mentally, he curses himself for not being any good with his words.
“How about we come up with a code? So I can let you know when I need help.”
“That sounds nice.”
“In the morning, though.” Rumi looks over at Thanatos. “How much of your watch is left?”
“Half.” There’s a pause and Peter feels Thanatos’ eyes on him again. “And Peter, I will not be downed so easily. Not until the last of the gods are dead.”
He thinks a couple of weeks ago, he might’ve taken this as a threat. That Thanatos was angry at him and his mind for coming up with visions of him being weak. But he’s starting to pick up the nuances to Thanatos’ tone and he thinks this might be reassurance.
“Thanks, Thanatos.”
Thanatos nods his head and looks out into the forest again.
“Well, Peter, we have a couple more hours before your watch.” Rumi tugs him until he’s lying down and starts adjusting the blankets around them. “Let’s make the most of it, hm?”
“Okay.”
He lets Rumi pull him into their chest, comforted by the heartbeat next to his ear.
“Pleasant dreams, Peter.”