He considered asking where Lucifer had sent him, but the truth was that as long as it wasn't here Sam didn't really care. He leaned back against the wall, collecting himself. Superhuman senses sucked sometimes - the stench of blood and sweat and fear in here was overpowering.

"Peachy," he muttered sourly, but after a moment he shook his head. "Sorry. Thank you. For comin'. If you hadn't shown up when you did..."

Well. Sam swallowed and opened his eyes, wiped his arm across his forehead, smearing the trickle of blood from Sylar's interrupted incision. "I thought for sure that was it. It almost was. I owe you."