HE HAD BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS.

No, not dreams - hallucinations, spells, visions, whatever the right word was to describe his strange problem. He would randomly get blurs of faces and sentences passed to him through thoughts, almost as if it was whispered through a pool of water, and they would leave him paralysed, more often than not in a public place or while he was just going about his day. He couldn't figure out exactly what it was, but they were getting stronger and became less like dreams and more like memories.

While they were never the same, each 'dream' had the same face featured; no distinctive features through the blurry ripples, but she had a sweet, low voice and was always trying to get him to do something. What that was changed every time; sometimes she looked as if she was running from something and he was to follow, and others it was for him to turn around and face whatever foul being she stared at behind him, while others she held out a small package for him to grasp onto. However, the minute he turned or tried to reach out to her, it all vanished and he was left frozen while anyone passing bye stared in a mixture of fear and worry - and sometimes disgust. They thought he was a crazy person.

Hell, he mused, maybe he was going insane - after all, seeing things was a side effect, and he wasn't exactly sure of the theory of being psychic. Still, though he worried about his sanity, he couldn't accept it - they all seemed too real; like it was something that he had done - he had been there, he felt it inside deep down. Peter was pretty sure he hadn't lost his mind, not yet at least.

However, now, as he sat with a small box in his hands, he felt - nay, knew - that he hadn't been the one losing his mind. While he had never been given a clear glimpse of what exactly the mysterious girl had been holding, he could tell it was something that at least resembled that, and felt like he had somehow seen it before, even though it couldn't be true. Peter wasn't sure if he was ready to open it and reveal what secrets the girl had been wanting him to have, but he also knew if he didn't, he would regret it more than anything else in his life - he needed answers and he needed the strange nightmares to stop as soon as possible. If this box could somehow cure that, he was willing to take the risks.

The box had been taped neatly at each side, but he slipped through it with ease, ripping it apart like he was suddenly that little boy on Christmas day, eager to unwrap his new presents. However, it was with a much grimmer light that he opened the box; while he had no idea of the contents, he knew that it wasn't as light-hearted as he could wish.

Peter stared in shock at the contents once he ripped through, unsure what to do or think or even feel. A hand reached forward almost reluctantly and gripped the object on the top; it was a small, worn photograph of two kids clasped in a kiss, locked into a bittersweet embrace like they were the only two people in the world. It wasn't hard for him to remember just who was in the picture, but the real problem lied with the moment; he couldn't remember kissing Emily Newman, not like that and certainly not there. He was sure he would have remembered something like that, but any thought of it escaped his mind; all he had was black holes with no information to feed his thirst.

Eager and now slightly angry at the new information, the boy tore through the box, pulling out photographs of him and Emily frozen in memories he didn't recall and with strange objects he couldn't bring himself to recognise. He only paused when all the loose contents had been thrown out and were scattered around him and he sat with a nearly empty box, holding nothing but a stack of thin, yellowing envelopes at the bottom.

His hands shook slightly as he reached for the first one, and he silently berated himself for being so cowardly and afraid of a simple letter; however, it didn't stop the worry building in his stomach and the lump in his throat from growing even larger by the second.

A gasp caught in his throat as he stared in astonishment at the words; or, moreover, the writing, as it had been one he had not seen in a long while. The curvy, slightly lopsided hand-penned letters of Emily herself stared up at him and almost taunted him, reminding him of days long past. He had not thought he would see it ever again, but now that he did, he wasn't sure what to do or think. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to read the contents anymore.

Still, he reminded himself, it would help and he needed to know the truth. If this letter - and the six others of its kind - could explain it all, he was willing to devote his time to that. Even if it hurt like hell while doing it.

The boy cleared his throat and drifted his gaze to the top of the page, clearing a hoarse throat and beginning to read the fateful words that would hopefully explain something about this all.

'Dear Peter, this letter may come at a bit of a shock. I am not sure when you are reading this, but when you are, well, I am most likely dead.'

||

Everything he had known, everything he had thought he had known - it was all wrong.

Peter wasn't one for tears; he hadn't truly cried in years, and he hadn't felt much need to share his pain in that way. However, he couldn't stop the tears that chased one another down shallow cheeks, for the words of each letter had shattered everything he had known and thought of and built up a new, horrific reality that had been the life of a girl he thought had abandoned him.

The boy let out a long, shuddering breath and stared down at the last sentence of the last letter, 'I hope that you can and have lived your best life because that is the only thing I want anymore, Peter. To know you are happy makes me happy and helps make the idea of death one that doesn't hurt my heart too much.' It was followed by the same rushed signature as the others, a simple first name; Freya. It was a name he hadn't heard in a long time, but one that brought back all the memories the 'new' him hadn't even thought existed.

I'm so sorry, he silently wept, choking out the thoughts to no one but his own mind, pulling apart each thought and berating himself for not knowing. He supposed that was the idea of it all, to make sure he lived a 'normal' life and didn't think about the girl who had made that all possible, but that was the mindset following him; he was only filled with a deep remorse for the soft hate that echoed whenever he had thought of 'Emily'. All those years he had believed she was the villain, but she was the forgotten hero, left in the shadows while he soaked up the credit that didn't belong to him at all.

"I'm so sorry." His words echoed off the otherwise quiet walls, bouncing back and taunting him right after. "I'm so sorry, Freya - I'm so sorry."

She, of course, could not and would never hear his cries.

Shoutout to the small cluster of people who wondered what Peter would think if he found out after so many years - here's to you, you're most welcome. This isn't really an alternate ending, more just connecting to the actual ending and thus acting as an alternate epilogue, hence the name...never mind, not that important haha. Anywho, thank you for reading, here marks the end of the alternates but of course, there are two more chapters! One for Inga and then the Christmas one-shot - connecting to the second alternate ending - which'll be an adorable shitshow, so stay tuned? I guess?

Thank you for reading, and hell, thank you for 200k reads!? That's crazy to me, holy hell thank you!! Not gonna paste the entire trash rant posted on my message board here raving about you guys but thank you darlings, you're all amazing and I want [and hope] to one day hug each and every one of you. I dislike human contact but it's the least I could do for you beautiful people.