Alfred is staring at his cellphone again. Peter's been with them long enough to know this without looking. Most times, Alfred is happy and cheerful, and generally seems too thick to even be scared, but Peter knows that whenever Alfred goes quiet, he's staring at his phone. Peter doesn't know what he's looking at, but he gets the distinct feeling that Alfred is waiting for something.

Its a feeling Peter knows well, the same one which made him stay in the dark and empty bunker, starving day by day. Peter also knows its useless to wait. If he was an ordinary person, if he wasnt different, the wait would have been too long, and Peter too, would have become just another skeleton in the dark. Peter twists around in the sleeping bag he shares with Jet, and the tanned man huffs a little in his sleep but doesnt wake.

Peter fixes his eyes curiously on Alfred's face, and he recognises the expression on the normally cheerful face. Peter's seen many of the children make that face, he's seen it on the adults, and many times before when he's looking in the mirror, back before the lights went out and all the people were gone. Alfred notices the staring, and his gaze flips up from the screen to meet Peter's, and instantly Peter sees the mask slip back onto Alfred's face.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

Peter shakes his head.

"Can't fall asleep."

Its true. He's not used to the noises, and everything about the outside scrapes at his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Its too noisy here, trees rustling, animals that Peter doesnt know the name of, but recognises the calls, even the wind seems wrong compared to the empty stillness of before. It's not just that, its a million things. Even the night seems too bright, although Peter's eyes are now adjusted so he can see in the daylight with the help of Alfred's sunglasses. The moon seems brighter and closer than Peter remembers it being, the stars are like thousands of light that prickle at his eyes as he tries to sleep.

Then there's the dreams that Peter has when he does sleep, dreams that sometimes make him wake up thinking he's being pinned down, amd knife slicing into his side, or othertimes fully believing he's still at home, and his mama's head will pop around the door. Sometimes when Peter wakes, he thinks he's in a war, and the idea is so powerful he can still hear the shots ringing and smell the gun powder when he wakes, and sometimes he wakes up alone in the vast expanse of the ocean with nothing around as far as the eye can see.

Peter hates the dizzying feeling as he remembers where he is and who he's with when he wakes from those dream. He hates the weight in his chest or the sudden feeling of relief when he determines reality from the dream. That's why Peter tries so hard not to fall asleep, why he can't fall asleep, and why he's looking at Alfred's tired face so late at night.

Perhaps its because Peter's so tired that he asks the question he won't ever ask in daytime, one he's dying to know the answer to.

"Hey, Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

"Who are you waiting for?"

The question is out, and instantly, Peter regrets it. Its an insensitive question, one that would make the other kids go cold, back when there were other children to ask. Peter's gotten punished more than once or twice for asking the wrong people that question. He finches, waiting for Alfred's tone to turn to stone. It doesn't.

"What?"

There's only a slight confusion in Alfred's tone, and Peter knows this is his chance to back down, to pretend he never said anything. But Peter's already come this far, and there's a grinding deep inside that wants to know, that wants someone to sympathize with. So Peter asks again, babbling a little.

"I mean, you're always looking at the phone, so i was just curious, you don't have to tell me, i just thought-"

He's cut off by Alfred's short chuckle.

"Oh, that. It's my brother, Mattie."

Peter recognizes that name, and takes a moment to remember where from. When he does, he lets out a small breath of a gasp.

"Oh! He's the one you mentioned when you came to the bunker. The one who wouldn't like the skeletons."

This time its Alfred's turn to flinch.

"Yeah." He licks his lips nervously, then confides in Peter.

"We were together, me and him, and Jet and another sibling, but we all got separated while looking for bunkers. He texted me, saying he found something strange and was going to investigate, and that's it. Never heard back." Alfred twists a little in his sleeping bag, and his voice goes quiet, though Peter cant tell if he's trying not to wake Jet, slumbering peacefully in the sleeping bag next to Peter and emanating a soft warmth, or for another, more emotional reason.

"I'm worried about him."

"Oh."

Peter knows what its like to worry about someone, to have someone leave and not know when or if they'll come back. Peter feels like that feeling of constantly waiting is worse than the feeling of finally accepting that no one is ever coming. He doesn't try to comfort Alfred. He doesn't know how. Peter knows the only thing that can ever fix that feeling is the person you're waiting for, and that's something Peter cant bring back, no matter how much he wants it.

Alfred's phone goes dark, and for a bit, there's no noise but Alfred's breathing, and Peter thinks he's fallen asleep. There's something soothing about the noise, and soon Peter finds his own breaths matching Alfred's, slow and even. He's almost asleep when Alfred speaks again.

"Hey, Peter?"

"Hmm?" Peter sluggishly tries to respond.

"The other day, when we first found you, just before you passed out, you called me something."

Peter's tired brain languidly flips through multiple things he may have called Alfred, most of which would have had the caretakers at the bunker washing his mouth out with soap, back when soap was something they had.

"I'm sorry?" He offers tentatively, and Alfred brushes it aside.

"No, its not that. You called me "America". Why?"

Had he done that? Peter cant remember. Honestly Peter doesn't want to think, he wants to sleep, but something in Alfred's voice tell him this is important to him. Alfred and Jet have done so much for him, and Peter wants to pay it back. He fishes in his hazy mind for a reason, ignoring the faint warning in the back of his head that urges him to be careful of what he says. Why should he be careful? Peter's been being careful for too long, he's tired of having his guard up. Peter feels safe.

"I thought you were" he says through a yawn. "America, I mean."

Alfred's whisper is even more urgent as responds, almost demandingly.

"Why?"

Peter's so tired, he cant think, he's not even sure his mouth is moving and obeying him, as he responds but nevertheless he hears his words, thick with sleep, settle on the air between them.

"You look like him."