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!]

A shower sounded good, but the fact that he was placed with the children annoyed Hitsugaya to no end. He was a centuries old shinigami for heaven's sake. The idea that he'd be sharing space with a number of naked children running around like idiots unnerved him a little. Someone up there had to be laughing at him.

Nonetheless, he needed to shower. Because he'd been at the institute for several days without a chance to bathe, he was beginning to smell, and after last night, he was especially anxious to wash off his body. There was no telling what kind filth had become attached to him in that strange hallway of flesh.

Thankfully, he was the first one there. He could get this over and done with quickly, and get the hell out of here before the brats came in.

[to here]

As soon as she had the chance, Sheena ninja'd herself out of the cafeteria and away from the conversation she'd been semi-forced to have. She probably could have just clammed up and told the boys to go away, but she'd kind of owed at least Endrance some kind of explanation. It wasn't everyday the embodiment of darkness pops up and delivers a mighty bitch slap.

She stayed close to the door, out of immediate sight, as people left the cafeteria. As soon as she saw him, the ninja grabbed Soubi's sleeve and pulled him quickly to a corner away from the general area where there were only a few chairs. When she let go and turned to say something to him, words failed her and she just stared at him, a little lost about how to talk about what she wanted to talk about.

Then again, did she really want to talk to Soubi about Yukari and what had happened? Soubi obviously knew about these kind of things, but he'd tease her about them. Sheena idly played with the small round bell at the end of a string hanging about her neck, a bright red ribbon that was clearly not her usual pale pink ribbon holding her hair back.

"Umm... Hey."

[closed to Soubi with a later thread-crashing youkai]

When the shift changed, HK stayed put. Even after a long night of zombie killing, he had no interest in meatbag fuel, especially after all the discussion of chocolate with that rather strange meatbag. It was just making him crave the stuff even more than he had previously, if that was possible.

Oh, right. He was supposed to be looking for someone who was "VERY LARGE, WITH DARK HAIR." And also seemed to not know what lower-case letters were on the bulletin. As if that would help. He'd seen a likely candidate last shift, but talk of chocolate had distracted him.