One of the last people who should judge a person on impulses is Peter Petrelli. He has gotten in his fair share of scrapes, and not all of them the other person's fault. This is inclusive but not limited to punching his own brother in the face, but in Peter's opinion--and he loves Nathan more than almost anyone--his brother did deserve it at the time. Anyways, that's not the point here. He was already looking toward the door when the other brunette shuffled in and set his bag and books down, so when it becomes apparent that his current patient has no intention of making eye contact, Peter just sighs.

"Hi," he says, and gestures for the Telmarine to take a seat on whichever clinic bed, already moving to cupboards and counters to fish out bandages, warm water, and everything else that he might need. Having had to listen to Jenkins wail on for what may be properly labeled as Entirely Too Long, he has some idea of what the fight was about, but at the same time he doesn't really trust said Jenkins any farther than the boy is capable of walking without complaining--not far. Rolling his eyes at the very thought as he walks back behind his desk to the standing closet, he opens that too, pulling out what is, as it happens, an extra shirt, standard for the boys here, and, eying Caspian, probably close enough in size. There are several others if it's not, and yes, he keeps spares, because where else do you send people who end up needing extras? The cafeteria? Not so much.

"Hello," says Caspian who has no brothers to speak of so his experience is very limited when it comes to family matters. That is, unfortunately, what sparked this scuffled but let's not get to that until we get to that.

The Telmarine takes a seat as directed, quiet and subdued. Maybe if he behaves well in the clinic Peter will put in a good word for Caspian when it's time to file that administrative report. Yes that's a good excuse for holding his tongue until asked. Even then, he is counting on the nurse not having to use a tongue depressor or something. The sound of the closet draws his gaze upward--no not for that reason, it's no grand wardrobe after all--but he doesn't meet the other brunette's gaze yet either. He only focuses on the shirts, knowing what they're for and the fact that he needs one. He will need a new tie too. What Caspian hopes most of all is that this doesn't reach his family back at home. It's a pity too because his uncle would celebrate such ferocity in the face of adversity.

"How are you feeling? Lightheaded? Anything? Normal?" he asks these systematically, allowing for a distance in order to begin walking closer, so to speak. He is well aware of what Caspian does not address and has no intent to push him for it. It's not his place nor his right, but he works at cleaning the bloodied knuckles with a care distinctive of someone who actually thinks this job matters, and as must be the connection, thinks those who walk through his door matter too.

What one family member or another might say of so-called ferocity is also something Peter won't speak on, even given the chance. He has never met and never will meet Caspian's family and it's not fair to judge people you've never met. He likes to try and be just, even if sometimes his own temper or desire to defend those he does know can get in the way of that. This patient before him has been here multiple times and he likes to think though they aren't quite friends they are more than just two people. What they are, he has no word for, but he has always hoped to convey himself as a trustworthy kind of person, for whatever might need trusting. It's no obligation to trust him, no that's not what he means at all.

Maybe it has more to do with some vaguely childhood-born desire to be turned to, or, on that same token, to remind people that there is someont to turn to at all.

"I feel normal," he answers honestly with a shake of his not quite so ridiculously nicely haired head, "nothing like that or nausea."

Caspian raises his hands to make Peter's work easier. He may be reluctant to talk or to look him in the eye but he won't be rude about it.

"What I really need is to wash my face, that is all," the student adds just as quietly. He does like Peter Petrelli, he won't deny that, but there is something about this fight in particular that still burns him even though it's over and he clearly came out as the victor. Yet the last thing Caspian wants to do is make it seem like he cares not for the nurse's professional skills or his company for that matter. He is right, they aren't just two people, and maybe Caspian does consider him kind of a friend. He is close to the general definition of the word, more than most people. Does that make the Telmarine even more out of his element, to have the resident nurse, a teacher, the teacher's brother, and a few students who don't even attend his school as friends?

Finishing with the preliminary cleaning, he nods at that statement, getting up to turn the water on, well aware Caspian could do it himself, but that's not the point. Testing temperature, he waves at it and goes back to his desk, eying the vibrating phone on the corner of it. A message. Probably from Claire. He'll check it soon.

"That kid is just stuck up, you know," he says without looking. "Full of himself, full of his family," he shrugs and sighs. "I probably would hit him too if I had to be in constant proximity." If nothing else, it's a modest motion of parallel understanding. He hasn't been in the exact same situation, well, and he doesn't even know the entire situation anyway, but that doesn't mean he can't draw conclusions from what he's been given, and he tries to be observant, because people don't always say things with words, even if they should.

Even if they could.

Those words actually get Caspian to laugh. It's a short and quick laugh but a laugh nonetheless. Neither is it the self-deprecating kind either.

At the gesture he shuffles off his seat then makes his way over to the water, hands and a paper towel wet to rinse away the blood. He dabs slowly to not aggravate his wounds while making himself look a semblance of presentable. This is hard to gauge because if there is a mirror nearby Caspian tries to avoid looking at it. He already knows his hair could stand a combing or two. He doesn't need a mirror to tell him that. He doesn't need a mirror to remind him of this foolishness. The band aids and scabs will do that well enough.

Remembering what Peter said, he speaks up once more.

"I think he has not lost a fight before," says the usually mild-mannered student and for now he is mild-mannered because he's speaking to someone close to being a friend and not someone who refuses to understand the situation. ... Not that there's much to understand once tempers snapped. And by the way he is confident that the word is absolutely lost. "He would lose many if we all could hit someone for abusing the privilege to be," Caspian adds, perhaps a little bitterly for himself.

"Yeah, well if we could do that then I think I'd be a lot busier than I want to be," he admits, facing Caspian but not motioning for him to sit again just yet. He'll do that on his own, Peter knows, and there is no hurry what with the cleaning done and no bell to answer to this late in the day.

A pause passes however before he addresses technicalities.

"It'll be easier for me to write something up in your defense if you tell me what happened." Taking a breath, he runs a hand through his hair, glancing down at the pictures on his desk before looking back to the mess of a person in front of him. "Just what happened," he repeats, which is his way of saying that detailed whys and hows aren't things he needs, not really. Most people ignore them, and Peter can overlook them if it makes Caspian more comfortable. In the meanwhile he slides the extra shirt off of its hanger and hands it over pointedly. It can sometimes do a person a world of good to at least feel mildly cleaned up, even if they're still in the same conflict they were one dirtied shirt ago.

"But I thought you like doing what you do," Caspian quips with a somewhat lighter tone than before because while it's another approach at the classic redirect he does mean it in a joking manner. He shuts the water off after making sure the rest of the sink's been rinsed of that copper shade before he sits on the clinic bed again.

"My defense," asks the brunette, finally bringing his eyes up to Peter Petrelli's. Right, his defense, good word. What he really hopes is that a note saying he was well behaved and respectable would be amended to the report, not reasons for flying fists in the first place. "Well..." he starts, very unhelpfully so. At the same time he starts undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt to switch out this messy unsalvageable one for the clean shirt. Actually he could save it were he to put the effort into washing and bleaching it several times over, but why do that when he can just buy yet another stiff oxford cut affair. Anyway he does trade this one for that one.

"You know I do not have many friends at this school. I made some at the other ones and I like a few teachers here," and there is you but I do not know what I should politely call you, besides Peter. "Everyone knows what they say about certain people..." which he doesn't explain himself. Although the nurse is still sort of new to this place he ought to have heard by now The Things They Say.

To be fair, Peter knows already what kind of person Caspian is. It's just not very hard to tell when a being is that honest, or, as some would call it, transparent. Then again, Peter is relatively transparent himself, so maybe that's why he recognizes it, and not just because that's what it is. Without asking, because this is his job, he places a hand under chin to keep him closer to stillness as he dabs at the combination bruise and cut on Caspian's face. The cloth is just damp with warm water, but little else is needed in this case, the face not being so awkward a location as knuckles and hands in general to treat. Where hands and fingers bend all of the time, a face can be as impassive as ever, and even Caspian surely knows how to keep a straight face from time to time.

"I do like my job. I don't like all of the people I meet though. That'd just be weird," he says conversationally, and adds, "Not that I wouldn't take that if it was an option." Laughing lightly, as if there is an inside joke here (and maybe there is) he frowns only for a second as it idles out.

"....and you lost me on that last part, but if you have a reason for it, don't worry about it. I'll still put a good word in for you."

Whatever sparked this fight, it's not likely that it's anything unseemly about Caspian himself, and Peter knows that without pressing for further information. Face cleaned as much as it's going to be, he moves back, setting cloth aside, picking out some thin gauze rather than a basic band-aid, applied over that bruise and nearly broken skin with some mild antiseptic and medical tape--tiny pieces, almost imperceptible without getting close. On the hanger with the shirt--now gone obviously--there was also a tie and he takes that off too now, leaning forward to set it next to Caspian rather than hand it to him.

Then he leans back again, hands absently resting on his knees, just looking at the other brunette without examining him. It's not an investigation.

But you'll have to forgive him some concern for one of his niece's closest friends.

Always with the transparency. That's probably why it was so easy for the Jenkins boy to get Caspian to throw the first punch. He will not deny it, that he swung first. After the words they exchanged who wouldn't? Okay so maybe a fair amount of people would, grown ups for example, Petrelli himself even if he already stated he'd probably hit the kid too, and Pevensie he thinks. What would that Englishman do, he wonders... Caspian pushes these thoughts out of his head because they don't belong there right now, not here with the school nurse. Embarrassing, that. So he does still himself for Peter to better treat his face. One cannot deny that Caspian X was a good looking young man, now it will take at least a week for him to return to that level of magnificence. Ahem, right.

"I just mean that the other boys don't consider what they say about people, or they don't care which is worse. Even if someone can't hear it... well it isn't right. What they say isn't right. I know half the time they are doing it only to upset me but you can allow only so much to pass," the Telmarine explains. It still isn't much of an explanation at all but it is something, without getting into the details, without telling Peter word for word what they said about his teacher--she is their teacher too--and his friends, and his mother.

"Thank you," he adds quietly again before taking the strip of silk to tie it under his fresh collar. He manipulates the cloth in a way one would call slowly and meticulously, buying time while the other man seems to just look at him. What is he looking for, Caspian wonders, answers? Not the kind of answer one expects when one suspects another of hiding them, no Peter Petrelli isn't like that. But what can Caspian say?

"I think," he bites the tip of his tongue absently, thinking over his words. "I think that it's not worth thinking about too much about," he says after a while, not having been asked what he thinks, but throwing it out there anyway. It's sort of a vague opinion in its own right, really. Very, even. His quiet staring ends when he gets up to put bandages remaining back where they belong, to rinse out cloth, to empty a shallow bowl of warm water, and to hang the hanger back up in the closet, which he leaves open.

"I'd ask you what he said, but I get the feeling you're specifically avoiding it so, I'll just say that if you ever do feel like giving details, I can keep my mouth shut." It's as direct but non-obligatory as he can possibly be, still wanting to offer this person a venue for venting rather than another fist fight or whatever, because as deserving as that Jenkins was of this, Peter's point would be that Caspian isn't. Both boys come from families of power and wealth. He knows that, but it's not that Caspian is going to be suspended that worries him. School is hard enough when you do have friends. Making more enemies in a friendless space is the last thing he needs.

And counselors are sometimes in need of more help than that which they are able to offer. A friend is better to offer to listen, because they can sometimes keep themselves from offering advice and just listen. Sometimes that's all one really needs, what one needs more than advice that may or may not be helpful at all.

But there's that question again. Friends? Well, maybe this offer is just a step closer in that direction, if nothing more than that.

Although he hasn't asked what Peter thinks, Caspian hardly minds hearing it. For someone he thought was a student, the nurse continues to surprise him with his calm manner in handling students, no matter how sullen or spoiled, and always offering a listening ear without pushing that ear in your face, and still lending some insight into things maybe he has been through before. All things considered, the school must be happy to have Peter Petrelli as their nurse/part-time counselor without the credentials for it... or does he have counseling credentials? Does he really even need them?

Does he need them any more than Caspian needs to avoid telling him what that boy said?

After a moment filled with silence and brown eyes staring at the floor again he finally offers something. "He talked about my mother," Caspian admits, "after bringing up Claire and Ms. Pevensie, he brought up my mother." In most cases this is a classic example of boys turning vicious the second one insults his mum, but for Caspian's case it is a little different isn't it? It's no secret that his family back home consists of an uncle and an aunt. Nothing more.

At mention of Claire, Peter makes a face that strands itself somewhere between bemused and wry. It's not that he doesn't care what they say about her, no, quite the opposite, but every time he hears that someone here or anywhere said something about his niece, or hears it firsthand, it's telling that Peter's first reaction is to roll his eyes. Would he stand up for her? Without even being asked. Does he feel the need to? Not really. He's seen her right hook.

And her left.

Susan Pevensie is another matter, and Caspian's mother even more so, however, and as soon as he's recovered from the image recalled of Claire punching one person or three, he blinks, rubbing at his temples absently, gathering thoughts.

"I'm sorry," he finally half says and half mumbles, shaking his head, glancing back at the door, which is closed. It feels lame to him, an apology where others should apologize, but it's no less genuine for it. If he could control what people thought or said, he often concludes he wouldn't, because it's wrong, but then things like this happen, and he has to question if the world and its sentient beings don't need that higher power, that authoritative hand that turns one's gaze in the best direction for it. Higher minded philosophies will debate this forever, even in worlds where such a thing as mind control are possible, but this is not that place, and he is not the person he might be in said place.

"Small consolation, but I heard, on his way out," he offers not advice, but a sliver of what might constitute as Good News. "...that he probably won't be back for a couple of weeks." Obviously his injuries weren't that severe and the nurse's face says as much--quite transparent--but that's not the point. The point is that the Jenkins boy is a lying, whining, horrible thing with too much time on his hands, and he'll be spending it elsewhere for a brief grace period. No one really likes him anyway, some dry humor there, but it's the truth. People listen to people with money and a loud voice but it doesn't mean they like that person. Often, it's far from that.

Caspian on the other hand is quite likable, but that's just one other thing that makes other boys want to cut him off and bring him down. Or that's what Peter supposes. As people fear what they don't understand, they envy what they want to be, and when they aren't that, they try to pretend no one else is.

It's sad that it comes to speaking of family so harshly, of family passed, which he can relate to on a minor level, but he won't say as much. His love for his father has long been something in question and he wouldn't begin to try to parallel the two, even if he could. That wouldn't be fair to either of them, really.

Eyes going back to the Telmarine, the youngest Petrelli thinks that it's not just a tragedy--no dramatics here, it's just an actual relevant point of purchase for the word's usage--for the son, but for the parents. A mother and father should be so lucky to have a son as good as this one.

All this, he knows, and he isn't nearly as close as a few key others, but one doesn't always have to be Best Friend or Near To It, in order to perceive these things. It's just the truth after all, no flattery. What need of flattery anyway? None. He doubts something like that has ever been necessary. When a person is good, a person is good, and while black and white isn't exactly his preferred way of looking at things, sometimes they really are just that simple.

"You don't have to apologize," he shakes his head, knowing that won't stop Peter from apologizing anyway. The nurse is simply that kind of person and it would be equally rude to forbid him from saying what he wants. Plus, in the hierarchy of things, Peter is still his superior no matter how much he looks like a student instead of a staff member.

Where mind control and retroactively shaping things are concerned... sometimes Caspian wonders if he would be better off not remembering these things. Maybe he wouldn't get into fights so much if he couldn't recall how lovely she was when she sang or how much he adored finding flowers for her. Maybe he wouldn't call his uncle's ways into question at all if he didn't have the memory of his father smiling pleasantly when they would ride around the palace grounds. When was the last time his uncle smiled? If he could forget all these things, things that form what he believes and who he is as a person, he would not have such a difficult time at this school. On the other hand, it could very well be that these things are what help him to survive in their ranks. There are other students who do not escape without permanent damage. Caspian cannot claim to know, he has never been introduced to the concept of mindful tampering. Right?

"That is good news. There may be a rumor that he is bed ridden or too afraid to come back at all," says the Telmarine who smiles just slightly for his own joke.

"I do mean it, Peter," not Nurse Petrelli, not Mr. Petrelli, not Mr. P either. The last one is just ridiculous. "Thank you," Caspian says again, nodding. It means a lot to him to have someone willing to listen but he supposes his transparency has already expressed that.