baby, it's cold outside [COMPLETE]
WHO: Peter Petrelli, Adam Monroe, Lauren Reed, plus other Petrelli house residents if they wish to stop by ~briefly~.
WHAT:The Resident Emo Kid returns, and wants to sleep for a century.
WHERE: His apartment.
WHEN: Late evening.
Didn't know what time it was. Didn't fucking care. All he knew was that it was almost pitch black by the time they returned to the city, and everyone was in a bad shape. They had collided with their old group at the gates, and after learning that Luki was dead - that they did not find the captives - that everyone was injured to all Hell, and probably had a bounty on their heads...Peter would rather be in New York. Would rather be walking through Central Park or through Little Italy or in his own apartment, stretched out on his couch, flipping through channels, eating tortilla chips. Not here. Not here where he was playing hero and everything failed.
Should he have gone? Should he have not? Peter didn't know anymore. His brain was still processing everything - an expedition that felt like it went on for a month.
He refused help from the others, didn't even stop by the clinic first to drop some stuff off or check his journal for anymore updates. Blindly, he stumbled through the streets of the housing district until he happened upon the bright red door, standing out against the darkness. Peter opened it, entering the little hall, opening his door, finally to...an empty home.
Maybe. He didn't know. Peter was half-asleep at this point, dragging his body to his bedroom like a zombie, and just collapsing on the rumpled sheets and pillows.
This was home. This was not home.
He was still bleeding.
WHAT:The Resident Emo Kid returns, and wants to sleep for a century.
WHERE: His apartment.
WHEN: Late evening.
Didn't know what time it was. Didn't fucking care. All he knew was that it was almost pitch black by the time they returned to the city, and everyone was in a bad shape. They had collided with their old group at the gates, and after learning that Luki was dead - that they did not find the captives - that everyone was injured to all Hell, and probably had a bounty on their heads...Peter would rather be in New York. Would rather be walking through Central Park or through Little Italy or in his own apartment, stretched out on his couch, flipping through channels, eating tortilla chips. Not here. Not here where he was playing hero and everything failed.
Should he have gone? Should he have not? Peter didn't know anymore. His brain was still processing everything - an expedition that felt like it went on for a month.
He refused help from the others, didn't even stop by the clinic first to drop some stuff off or check his journal for anymore updates. Blindly, he stumbled through the streets of the housing district until he happened upon the bright red door, standing out against the darkness. Peter opened it, entering the little hall, opening his door, finally to...an empty home.
Maybe. He didn't know. Peter was half-asleep at this point, dragging his body to his bedroom like a zombie, and just collapsing on the rumpled sheets and pillows.
This was home. This was not home.
He was still bleeding.