Peter wasn't conscious for most of it, being lowered into the bottom of the bathtub and settling there, though he desperately tried to stay for as long as humanely possible. There just wasn't anything he could do in the end, not as death dragged him in all over again, forcing his body to go as limp as it had gone every singe time before.
Coming back this time, however, took far longer than the times before. Replacing pints of blood wasn't an instantaneous process, and Peter remained exactly as he was for seconds on end before the wound knitted itself back together, before his brain slowly started to turn the lights on for the fourth time time that day, grabbing hold of life and pulling Peter up through consciousness all over again.
That wasn't to say that he actually felt all that pleasant this time when he took a soggy but sudden gasp of breath, starting to cough a second later as one of his hands found the edge of the bathtub, fingers slipping desperately against the linoleum -- Peter's attempt at trying to find grounding however he could. Squeezing his eyes shut to avoid the spray of the shower, Peter was right back to heaving for breaths and trying to make his mind work again, though he almost instantly started to curl sideways and burrow his face in against Sylar chest. At this point, Peter hardly cared that it was Sylar, because he was human, and he was alive, and safe in an absurd kind of way, and god, Peter was more than a little bit tired of dying.
Coughing between every breath, Peter's lost never every ounce of shame that he ever had, and he hardly cares that he's practically trying to cuddle with Sylar, while drenched in the bottom of his bath tub. For the next near minute, all he's trying to do is remember what it actually feels like to be something close to alive, even if that means being a drowned puppy at the same time.
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Coming back this time, however, took far longer than the times before. Replacing pints of blood wasn't an instantaneous process, and Peter remained exactly as he was for seconds on end before the wound knitted itself back together, before his brain slowly started to turn the lights on for the fourth time time that day, grabbing hold of life and pulling Peter up through consciousness all over again.
That wasn't to say that he actually felt all that pleasant this time when he took a soggy but sudden gasp of breath, starting to cough a second later as one of his hands found the edge of the bathtub, fingers slipping desperately against the linoleum -- Peter's attempt at trying to find grounding however he could. Squeezing his eyes shut to avoid the spray of the shower, Peter was right back to heaving for breaths and trying to make his mind work again, though he almost instantly started to curl sideways and burrow his face in against Sylar chest. At this point, Peter hardly cared that it was Sylar, because he was human, and he was alive, and safe in an absurd kind of way, and god, Peter was more than a little bit tired of dying.
Coughing between every breath, Peter's lost never every ounce of shame that he ever had, and he hardly cares that he's practically trying to cuddle with Sylar, while drenched in the bottom of his bath tub. For the next near minute, all he's trying to do is remember what it actually feels like to be something close to alive, even if that means being a drowned puppy at the same time.