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Noah was sick.
Peter had fallen asleep in his office, which was pretty usual behaviour for him. He never really slept fitfully anyway, and so he spent hours pouring over manuscripts and patient files until he dozed off, face down in his busy work.
It was Thomas who had called him to tell him Noah was coming into the hospital and that he hadn't been able to breathe. The phone had woken Peter up from a dream about talking puppies; something that chilled him to the bone. It was a welcome respite until Peter actually heard the news.
And then he was up. His body was still tired, and slightly sluggish. He hurried out of his office and when he reached the top of the stairs, he tripped.
Peter's office was situated at the top of the building at the end of a very ornate, old staircase. It was long and made of wood, and as Peter tumbled down it, his neck smashed against the iron railings several times, breaking it quite completely. By the time he came to a stop, rather unfortunately in front of a terrified Patrick, he was dead.
Patrick had just been on his way to the cafeteria and even though weird things often happened in this hospital, it wasn't every day that dead bodies came flying out of stairways. Patrick screamed and fell backwards, scrambling away from Peter's battered corpse.
Katia, attending to her nurses' duties as always by trying to convince Nicholas to come out of his room, was startled by the scream and she came running.
"He's dead!" Patrick cried out, pointing at Peter.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Katia hissed, annoyed. "Of course he is." Patrick blinked at her, because she seemed rather unworried about the death of her boss while he was on the floor trying not to vomit at the sight of it.
"Here we go," Katia said, strolling over to Peter to move his arms and legs back into their correct positions.
"Should...you be doing that?" Patrick squeaked.
"He won't wake up if I don't," Katia said with a shrug. Then she took Peter's head and twisted it around the right way. Patrick heard a crunch and then his eyes widened in horror as Peter's lungs filled themselves and he expelled a breath.
Peter opened his eyes at the bright shock of pain, but it faded as soon as it had come. His bones knit themselves back together, as they did every time he was wounded fatally and as they always would. He groaned, because bruises didn't fade and his tumble down the stairs had offered plenty of those. "Augh. Katia, thanks." Then Peter turned his head to see Patrick staring at him in terror.
"Ah. Patrick. I should probably explain this to you."
"You're a zombie," Patrick squeaked.
Peter laughed. "Well that's certainly the most refreshing theory I've heard, but no. I'm not a zombie. I'll explain everything, but my nephew is sick and my brother will be here, panicking himself into a heart attack."
Patrick just nodded and as Peter picked himself up painfully, he whispered to Katia, "take good care of him?"
"Sure thing, boss. And hey. Take the elevator?"
Peter chuckled all the way down the hall. It was laugh or cry. He chose laugh.
Peter had fallen asleep in his office, which was pretty usual behaviour for him. He never really slept fitfully anyway, and so he spent hours pouring over manuscripts and patient files until he dozed off, face down in his busy work.
It was Thomas who had called him to tell him Noah was coming into the hospital and that he hadn't been able to breathe. The phone had woken Peter up from a dream about talking puppies; something that chilled him to the bone. It was a welcome respite until Peter actually heard the news.
And then he was up. His body was still tired, and slightly sluggish. He hurried out of his office and when he reached the top of the stairs, he tripped.
Peter's office was situated at the top of the building at the end of a very ornate, old staircase. It was long and made of wood, and as Peter tumbled down it, his neck smashed against the iron railings several times, breaking it quite completely. By the time he came to a stop, rather unfortunately in front of a terrified Patrick, he was dead.
Patrick had just been on his way to the cafeteria and even though weird things often happened in this hospital, it wasn't every day that dead bodies came flying out of stairways. Patrick screamed and fell backwards, scrambling away from Peter's battered corpse.
Katia, attending to her nurses' duties as always by trying to convince Nicholas to come out of his room, was startled by the scream and she came running.
"He's dead!" Patrick cried out, pointing at Peter.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Katia hissed, annoyed. "Of course he is." Patrick blinked at her, because she seemed rather unworried about the death of her boss while he was on the floor trying not to vomit at the sight of it.
"Here we go," Katia said, strolling over to Peter to move his arms and legs back into their correct positions.
"Should...you be doing that?" Patrick squeaked.
"He won't wake up if I don't," Katia said with a shrug. Then she took Peter's head and twisted it around the right way. Patrick heard a crunch and then his eyes widened in horror as Peter's lungs filled themselves and he expelled a breath.
Peter opened his eyes at the bright shock of pain, but it faded as soon as it had come. His bones knit themselves back together, as they did every time he was wounded fatally and as they always would. He groaned, because bruises didn't fade and his tumble down the stairs had offered plenty of those. "Augh. Katia, thanks." Then Peter turned his head to see Patrick staring at him in terror.
"Ah. Patrick. I should probably explain this to you."
"You're a zombie," Patrick squeaked.
Peter laughed. "Well that's certainly the most refreshing theory I've heard, but no. I'm not a zombie. I'll explain everything, but my nephew is sick and my brother will be here, panicking himself into a heart attack."
Patrick just nodded and as Peter picked himself up painfully, he whispered to Katia, "take good care of him?"
"Sure thing, boss. And hey. Take the elevator?"
Peter chuckled all the way down the hall. It was laugh or cry. He chose laugh.
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