Phaedra asked that Dean not let Peter into the room where she was resting during the day should she wake up. If she knew that Dean had left before she awoke, he'd be in for some kind of hell.
But once the sky was a purple-pink desert sunset (and she knew it would be, even with the windows boarded up), she was awake and alive again. There was still a little bit of light in the sky... one of the benefits of having survived so long was that her body belonged more and more to her and was less and less of a slave to the sun. She could hear the house moving and creaking, and she could hear the steady heartbeat of a human in the house.
Phaedra got to her feet and got some clothing on. The pants she'd woken up in this world in and a camisole-like top that kept sliding off of one of her shoulders were still not quite right to her, but they'd have to do. She didn't put shoes on. Her feet were bare, her hair was in her face, and something about the absence of black fabric and leather everywhere made her seem a lot more fragile.
And a lot smaller.
She heard the wood groaning in the hallway and opened the door just in time to see Peter standing there. He looked a lot more rested, a lot less exhausted and a lot more calm. Well, since he'd slept for almost 48 hours, all of those things were really to be expected.
Phaedra didn't say anything. Partially, she'd hoped it was Dean or Mary walking around out there. Instead, she gave him a small smile, a pale hand pushing all of her hair back out of her face. She didn't bother closing the door behind her, just stood in the doorway. If she'd seen him change, he could see the way she had to hide from light.