It wasn't hiding, though that was what it felt like in a way. Given the circumstances, Sam figured he deserved a goddamned break from. People. Which was selfish as hell since he'd wanted to check up on Dean and Ruby after last night, but he just. Couldn't.
The thing that sucked was that his room wasn't the best getaway, either. Peter's bed was right there, only it was made and there was nothing about it that looked slept in. Like he'd never existed at all. That was the real bitch of it. The more he sat and stared at the empty space, the more he realized he didn't know jack shit about Peter at all. They'd just never had the chance to really talk and he'd always figured he could do it later. Peter had fallen into that category where later was possible. He'd just. Been around for so long. Ever since Sam had gotten here. Before Sam had gotten here, in fact. First freaking person he'd ever met and the only person who knew anything about Sam. Hell, Sam had told Peter before he'd told Dean.
Christ. Christ. He knew why he didn't want to go wandering through the crowd of patients. (Since they were patients again now. Apparently. Frankly, he couldn't give less of a damn about what was going on there. In the end, it was all the same bullshit, just wrapped up in different packaging.) Kibitoshin had been there last night and he didn't want to risk running into him for. Sympathy. Or whatever. Not in the mood. It wasn't until the end of the day that he knew he couldn't go any longer without making sure Dean knew he was fine and that he knew Dean was fine, too.
So. Here he was. In the Sun Room. He stood at the board for awhile. Should he put up a message? Peter had been here a long time and he ran the paramedics thing. People knew him and he knew Peter wouldn't have wanted them to be left wondering. He scratched out several messages before he thought, screw it. This was crap. No matter how he looked at it, he was reducing his friend to a fucking name on a scrap of paper and with the freaking censoring happening on the board again, yeah. Forget it. He didn't feel like digging up euphemisms for what happened for the sake of not having his note torn down.
He bit his lip and turned around, and that was when he spotted the other Peter. Who, last he'd seen, had been kind of a mess. Right. God, okay, he wasn't the only one with. Crap going on.
(Couldn't help thinking that also didn't give him any less of a right to take twenty-four hours out to deal without feeling guilty about it. For God's sake.)
Sam went over to the kid, anyway. Now that he'd seen him, he couldn't possibly let it go without checking up on him. He wasn't. He wasn't that. He cared. It was just getting harder and harder to care about people he'd talked to for ten minutes over a bowl of pink oatmeal when one of the few (only) people he trusted who wasn't his brother or Ruby was gone and Dean was still on the fast track to downstairs and now Ruby was on a goddamn timer, too.
But the kid wasn't a stranger. And Sam genuinely wanted to know how he was doing. So he stepped over, though he didn't sit down yet. Just in case. Peter didn't look too hot.
Smacked a cat, huh. Sam raised an eyebrow at that, furrowed his brows a little, and mostly came up with the image of Peter batting aside a furry white kitten that went yowling into the ether. Probably not the picture the kid meant to incur. (Look, he already genuinely had some trouble thinking of Peter having enough super strength to kill someone. Just. In terms of size.
Obviously, he was never gonna say this to Peter's face.)
Sam was all ready to hear what was up, since Peter looked pretty upbeat for once under the circumstances and he could sure as hell use some good news, even if it wasn't his own, but apparently, he was more crap at hiding the shit night he'd had than he'd thought.
For a moment, he considered sweeping Peter's concern under the carpet. He was just a kid, Christ, he didn't need to hear about Sam's issues. But Peter had kinda spilled his heart out the last time they'd met and Sam hadn't exactly held back as much as he should've. But Sam had left his childhood in tatters around the age of ten, so he was well aware that being a teenager didn't make Peter much of a kid when stuff like this was happening. Especially not after what Peter had told him.
You know, just once, he'd like it to not be too freaking late to protect someone.
Sam sat down next to him. It helped that Peter knew, well. Peter. Just 'cause then it felt less like dumping his problems on someone and more like breaking the news. "You remember my roommate? The, uh, your Peter One, you met him a couple weeks back? He's..." Torn to pieces. Ultimate fucking chewtoy. "Not here anymore."
The thing that sucked was that his room wasn't the best getaway, either. Peter's bed was right there, only it was made and there was nothing about it that looked slept in. Like he'd never existed at all. That was the real bitch of it. The more he sat and stared at the empty space, the more he realized he didn't know jack shit about Peter at all. They'd just never had the chance to really talk and he'd always figured he could do it later. Peter had fallen into that category where later was possible. He'd just. Been around for so long. Ever since Sam had gotten here. Before Sam had gotten here, in fact. First freaking person he'd ever met and the only person who knew anything about Sam. Hell, Sam had told Peter before he'd told Dean.
Christ. Christ. He knew why he didn't want to go wandering through the crowd of patients. (Since they were patients again now. Apparently. Frankly, he couldn't give less of a damn about what was going on there. In the end, it was all the same bullshit, just wrapped up in different packaging.) Kibitoshin had been there last night and he didn't want to risk running into him for. Sympathy. Or whatever. Not in the mood. It wasn't until the end of the day that he knew he couldn't go any longer without making sure Dean knew he was fine and that he knew Dean was fine, too.
So. Here he was. In the Sun Room. He stood at the board for awhile. Should he put up a message? Peter had been here a long time and he ran the paramedics thing. People knew him and he knew Peter wouldn't have wanted them to be left wondering. He scratched out several messages before he thought, screw it. This was crap. No matter how he looked at it, he was reducing his friend to a fucking name on a scrap of paper and with the freaking censoring happening on the board again, yeah. Forget it. He didn't feel like digging up euphemisms for what happened for the sake of not having his note torn down.
He bit his lip and turned around, and that was when he spotted the other Peter. Who, last he'd seen, had been kind of a mess. Right. God, okay, he wasn't the only one with. Crap going on.
(Couldn't help thinking that also didn't give him any less of a right to take twenty-four hours out to deal without feeling guilty about it. For God's sake.)
Sam went over to the kid, anyway. Now that he'd seen him, he couldn't possibly let it go without checking up on him. He wasn't. He wasn't that. He cared. It was just getting harder and harder to care about people he'd talked to for ten minutes over a bowl of pink oatmeal when one of the few (only) people he trusted who wasn't his brother or Ruby was gone and Dean was still on the fast track to downstairs and now Ruby was on a goddamn timer, too.
But the kid wasn't a stranger. And Sam genuinely wanted to know how he was doing. So he stepped over, though he didn't sit down yet. Just in case. Peter didn't look too hot.
"Bad night?"
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Obviously, he was never gonna say this to Peter's face.)
Sam was all ready to hear what was up, since Peter looked pretty upbeat for once under the circumstances and he could sure as hell use some good news, even if it wasn't his own, but apparently, he was more crap at hiding the shit night he'd had than he'd thought.
For a moment, he considered sweeping Peter's concern under the carpet. He was just a kid, Christ, he didn't need to hear about Sam's issues. But Peter had kinda spilled his heart out the last time they'd met and Sam hadn't exactly held back as much as he should've. But Sam had left his childhood in tatters around the age of ten, so he was well aware that being a teenager didn't make Peter much of a kid when stuff like this was happening. Especially not after what Peter had told him.
You know, just once, he'd like it to not be too freaking late to protect someone.
Sam sat down next to him. It helped that Peter knew, well. Peter. Just 'cause then it felt less like dumping his problems on someone and more like breaking the news. "You remember my roommate? The, uh, your Peter One, you met him a couple weeks back? He's..." Torn to pieces. Ultimate fucking chewtoy. "Not here anymore."
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