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</div></div><br/>With one lid pulled back, Weasel could see how worried Peter truly was over her playing possum.<i>Weasel</i>. Whatever it was that had her holding breath and sagging motionlessly against the binds while Peter opened her eyes against their will. Was she that convincing? She would have to ask them later.<br/><br/>At the same time, considering he didn't even know her yet, Weasel was surprised to see the emotion covering Peter's face when he thought he killed her. Horror. Guilt. Remorse.<i>Agony</i>. The boy was far too sweet for the ideas she had to escape him and his father, and seeing him pained like that only confirmed what Weasel knew all along.<i>Peter was literally the only person in the world who cared about her</i>. And that was sacred. She instantly wanted to forgive him and he didn't even do anything.<i>Well..</i>.<br/><br/>Peter did just cut, slap, strangle, and was probably about to rape her while his assumed-sister watched—<i>but</i>none of that mattered anymore. His genuine concern over her death made Weasel feel guilty for making<i>him </i>feel guilty, and the feedback was infinite. See, Weasel was just as good of a person inside as Peter was, but it was never good to be good anymore, you know? Being good doesn't always keep you safe or more importantly—<i>alive</i>. Sometimes, no,<b>often</b>, you have to be<i><b>bad</b> </i>to survive. However, laughing with Peter that day reminded Weasel that sometimes... Being<i>good</i>helped you survive, too.<br/><br/>She was willing to give it a try for Peter. For him and only him. When he started laughing, she did too, and it was made her wonder if they really could be friends given their situation. Can anyone be friends with someone whose dad gave you to them like this?<br/><br/>Bleeding from her face whenever she smiled, shackled to the bed, and not wearing any pants—Weasel felt like she could. Somehow. At least if she overlooked a few things. And while the girl couldn't remember much else, she did somehow remember this was definitely<i>not </i>what friends did together. It was hard to believe a lot of things anymore, though. Maybe this was the closest humans got now. Hurting one another and then laughing together.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(171, 219, 227)"><b>"I'm sorry. I haven't been myself since..."</b></span>Weasel doesn't know how to tell Peter that she hadn't been herself since his dad fucked her up. Even if she did, that would have ruined the moment. Not to mention all of their progress to have him now sitting on the bed next to her. He could have touched her thigh like he was thinking about.<i>His eyes said so.</i>She would let him if he let her collapse in his lap for the next five years. Deal?<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(171, 219, 227)"><b>"I forgot everything. That's when your dad found me. I guess I should say thank you because I can't even remember how I got here or what happened. I mean... Where is everybody? Where are all the buildings? The people?"</b></span>The blonde recalls a very different world than Peter and Tinker. Listing off bewildering monuments like the Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty and the Pentagon. She remembers them but they won't. They couldn't.<i> So how does she?</i>Weasel becomes frustrated with herself, legs falling to the side to touch Peter's as she leans against him for comfort.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(171, 219, 227)"><b>"Like I said, I can't even remember my name, so you can call me whatever you want. Actually, I used to have a lot of nicknames!"</b></span>Weasel begins recalling them to them to Tinker and Peter, counting them off on her hand<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(171, 219, 227)">. <b>"Blondie because, well, you know. Mona Lisa because," </b></span>She smiles like the Mona Lisa at them, assuming they know what that even means. She continues as if compelled to keep going.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(171, 219, 227)"><b>"Wen because my mom's name was Wendy and I was named after her—"</b></span>Weasel stops herself immediately. The other two must have known why, too. She swallows it back first, and then says it out loud.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(171, 219, 227)"><b>"—my name is <i>Wendy</i>."</b></span>