[ it had been a few days. a few long days, since geralt had come back with sam's unconscious body in tow and it had, admittedly, been no time for questions. no time to ask about what happened, really and while geralt provided some sort of vagaries, enough to placate peter's incessant panic, it had left too many unanswered questions.
when things had finally settled enough — after sam had time to heal, and after peter had slept for what felt like days after his participation in the free cities' intervention efforts, headache finally letting up, that was when peter found himself drifting back through sam's apartment, seeking him out, to check in.
geralt hadn't shared much else after that; only that he was injured in his dream and that sam healed him. only that they went looking for something out there in the desert.
not for the first time, peter had been struck with a suffocating sort of feeling — one the waking nightmares from days before had been quick to twist, to sharpen out despite his best efforts to shake them. powerlessness. he had to help, he wanted to, he had a responsibility to. can't help but think, in the way that a restless mind tends to spiral, that if he'd been there, if he knew how to help more, then maybe things would have gone differently.
its a self-centered thought, but maybe people like them — given great power — are cursed by this inevitability. by the what-ifs of their involvement.
he isn't sure what exactly his intention is, other than to make sure sam is okay. sam, who has so many people here that care for him. sam, who cares, who always leaves him meals that he remembers to eat at 2:30 am. sam, who peter wishes would rely on him just a little bit more, because he doesn't need to take care of everyone alone.
pot, meet kettle.
peter's knuckles rasp on a surface he passed by. ] Sam? Hey, it's Peter! Do you have a second?
backdated, coming to reverse uno your ass
when things had finally settled enough — after sam had time to heal, and after peter had slept for what felt like days after his participation in the free cities' intervention efforts, headache finally letting up, that was when peter found himself drifting back through sam's apartment, seeking him out, to check in.
geralt hadn't shared much else after that; only that he was injured in his dream and that sam healed him. only that they went looking for something out there in the desert.
not for the first time, peter had been struck with a suffocating sort of feeling — one the waking nightmares from days before had been quick to twist, to sharpen out despite his best efforts to shake them. powerlessness. he had to help, he wanted to, he had a responsibility to. can't help but think, in the way that a restless mind tends to spiral, that if he'd been there, if he knew how to help more, then maybe things would have gone differently.
its a self-centered thought, but maybe people like them — given great power — are cursed by this inevitability. by the what-ifs of their involvement.
he isn't sure what exactly his intention is, other than to make sure sam is okay. sam, who has so many people here that care for him. sam, who cares, who always leaves him meals that he remembers to eat at 2:30 am. sam, who peter wishes would rely on him just a little bit more, because he doesn't need to take care of everyone alone.
pot, meet kettle.
peter's knuckles rasp on a surface he passed by. ] Sam? Hey, it's Peter! Do you have a second?