February 29th
Words fail
••••••
Edmund swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes as his throat closed up, trying to force out his words, but they failed to come.
He sat there, twiddling with the blanket that was draped over him, he didn't want to say, but he wanted to. He wanted to tell him everything, from beginning to end, all the little details, all the huge moments, everything that happened, the bad and the awful.
He just had to focus.
"Ed?" Peter whispered, unsure whether he was going to talk or not, unsure what had happened when he was with the witch but wanting to know so, so badly, so he could help.
Edmund sat there, trembling slightly, tears eventually making their way down his cheeks, but he didn't move to wipe them away.
He wanted Peter to know.
He needed Peter to know.
He didn't know why, but he just did.
And if he couldn't say anything, he would show him.
Without a single word, Edmund rolled up the sleeves of his dirty brown jumper, fingers and hands shaking uncontrollably.
Peter's eyes filled with tears when he saw the shredded skin around his brother's wrists, rope burns marred into his skin, blood and dirt staining up his arms.
Still Edmund said nothing.
Peter had already seen the scratches and gashes that covered Edmund's legs, so he moved on, lifting his shirt and letting Peter stare at the bruises that littered his torso.
Peter's heart ached as he stared at the blue, yellow, purple and black marks, and he didn't even want to know what had caused them, all he knew was that if he could barely see any normal coloured skin, it certainly wasn't a good thing, no wander Edmund found it so painful climbing into the hammock earlier.
Before Edmund lowered his shirt and jumper however, Peter couldn't help but notice how he could almost see his ribs, thanks to how skinny he was. Days of not eating anything had taken it's toll on Edmund more than Peter would've thought.
Edmund lowered the front of his shirt, twisted around in a way so his back was to Peter, and lifted it up again, trying to keep back a wince when the material was peeled away from the lashes that covered every inch of his skin.
Peter choked on a gasp, staring at the gashes and all of a sudden feeling completely and utterly sick.
Who would do something like this? To a kid.
Edmund just sat there, letting Peter look, because his words had failed him in that moment.
But at some point he would speak.
He would tell Peter what had happened, he would talk about the last few days.
Because he needed him to know.
But for now, he could just look.
And it was enough for Peter that Edmund trusted him with that.
••••••••
Happy leap day 😁 here's the bonus one shot of 2024 😂
