|Peter Petrelli (no_savior) wrote in parabolical,|
@ 2008-04-12 22:02:00
|Entry tags:||claire bennet, claire bennet (future), elisabeth braddock, peter petrelli (future)|
Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks
Who: Peter Petrelli (future), Claire Bennet (future), Claire Bennet, Elizabeth Braddock
What: Saving Peter
When: Sunday evening
Where: Middle of the street where he and Willow had fought.
For too many days and hours to count, there was only pain. Pain when he woke, pain when he slept, pain in the small places in between. It didn't take a genius to conclude that his body had been crushed; Peter had been well aware during the breaking. It hadn't been the most terrible in his life, but it had been a close thing.
The worst part of the ordeal, really, was the loss of his healing ability. The woman's magic had disrupted his ability to regenerate. Peter had been able to regenerate from any wound since the age of twenty-six. The sudden inability to do so was alarming and frightening.
At the same time, it was invigorating. He hadn't been killed, even with the slowed healing rate.
Not permanently, at least.
Asphyxiation was one of his least favorite methods of death. Usually, for this very reason. It was painful, disorienting, and one was usually stuck in the very same position that one had died in. Very inconvenient when there was no air to be had. After the initial loss of air, it took approximately six and a quarter minutes to succumb to death again, if fresh oxygen had not been introduced. After the initial two hours it had taken for his body to consume all the fresh air in his blacktop-and-concrete tomb, there were still five days between Peter and his freedom.
Counted off in six-and-a-quarter-minute segments. From death to life and back again.
Blessedly, he had been unconscious for a bulk of it. Just how long, he did not and never wanted to know. Once he was awake enough to know he was almost fully healed, Peter had begun his escape plan. One arm was phased out, through the rock, to reach for the surface. His luck still held, it seemed. His fingertips broke through the surface of the pavement when he reached. Quickly, he had moved his hand back to the original position, so that it couldn't be phased off when he came to again. Just in time. The hallucinations had begun when his arm was back in place.
During the next cycle of consciousness, Peter had gathered his strength, borrowed from Niki, and begun his laborous task of chipping into the stone, punching his way to freedom. It took two more cycles, but once he'd dedicatd his all to the effort, he made quick work of it.
Once his hole was complete, and fresh air seeped through, Peter had taken gulp after gulp of sweet, fresh oxygen. Water trickled into his Peter-sized cavern, but at the moment, he didn't care about that. Air was more important. His lungs ached from the sensation, head spinning, and his telepathic thought was weak and unfocused, capable of being heard by anyone sensitive to that sort of thing.
Claire... I need your help, Claire.
He was already starting to hallucinate again. It would be some time before he would heal completely; parts of him were too twisted by rock to heal properly; but it was a start. Peter shut his eyes, and sank back into the darkness for now.
[not quite home yet, but headed there tomorrow. Ought to be home in about 38 hours. Claire-mun(s), as well as any psychics/telepaths, feel free to reply. Mobile internet is a wonderful thing, so I can make limited replies. Until then, love from Honolulu!