[from here]

"You're just like Kakashi," Obito finished as they turned the corner, and it was clear from the venom in his tone that he did not mean it as a compliment.

Peter woke up suddenly, his body twisting in the bed and then forcing him to catch his breath in pain. Pain, which was coming from his middle because of the thing that had scratched him last night, and after that...

After that, Zach had jumped in front of him like some kind of martyr, like the exact opposite of everything Sylar stood for, to take the next hit for him. It got pretty fuzzy after that, so night must have ended right around then.

The man let out a pained grunt as he straightened himself up in bed. For some reason, he got the feeling that he'd slept in. There was no way for him to really tell without a window in the room, but he just knew. The fact that Sam's bed looked long since vacated was another clue.

Sam, but was he Sam again? Had the brainwashing worn off, as he and Roland had hoped, or was he going to have to go through this nightmare for even longer? He didn't know how long he could handle "Zach" and "Harrison" before he started going batty himself.

Pulling himself out of bed, Peter lifted his shirt and saw that he was tightly bandaged. The scratch most likely wasn't nearly as bad as the bite that "Zach" had received, but it still smarted. He let his shirt fall and then had to deal with a nurse chiding him for sleeping through the morning announcements. Not that Peter really cared at the moment. He was too busy thinking about last night and the fact that in a way, he now owed something to Sylar. Except it hadn't been Sylar. That was something he was sure of now.

Lost in his thoughts, Peter reached the Sun Room right as the rest of the patient populace was trickling in from breakfast. Sighing to himself, he headed over to the bulletin board and then saw a note written in familiar yet unpleasant handwriting. Holding his pen in a vice grip, Peter scribbled out a reply and then stalked over to an armchair and fell into it with a huff.

While Sylar was maddeningly frustrating, there was one good thing about the fact that he was himself again. It meant that Nathan was too.

[For Spock!]

As daylight came upon Landel's Institute, it was through an uncharacteristically grey sky, leaving the building without the usual sunny, blinding brightness that came in through the windows of many of its larger rooms. The flourescent lights, however, were still in full effect, as was the Head Doctor's cheery voice as he began speaking over the intercom.

"Good morning, everyone, and I hope you slept well! Today should be a very rewarding day for those of you who are assigned to their weekly therapy sessions – and, of course, I'm sure the rest of you can also be very productive on your own! You might see some new faces during therapy, but not to worry – each one of them has been certified personally by myself.

"In any case, that won't happen until second shift, right? Hmmhmm, right. For now, what you should worry about – or rather, look forward to – is a delightful breakfast of piping hot Belgian waffles topped with your choice of syrup, butter, powdered sugar, whipped cream, or assorted fresh fruits. On the side are sausage patties, scrambled eggs, and tater tots; our salad bar is, of course, always open, and our usual assortment of drinks is readily available.

"I hope you enjoy the meal and, though it seems that forecasts today predict rain, we're lucky that today will be strictly indoors, hmm? Yes, yes... Well, I'll speak to you all later!"

The intercom clicked off.