Disclaimer: This is my first Fringe story and I am under no delusions about who owns it. Not me. Very decidedly not me (despite how much I would dearly love to have Peter). This story is just for fun. No profits are being made.

A/N: This story takes place after the season one episode, "The Equation" - the one where Walter has to go under cover in St. Clairs, the mental institution he was a patient in for seventeen years.

Life Is But a Dream

After his outburst about needing more space Walter had become uncharacteristically quiet.

Alarmingly quiet.

Being back at St. Clair's, for even a brief time, seemed to have really done a number on him and despite himself Peter was worried.

And now they were both lying in the dark trying to sleep and while Walter wasn't counting or reciting things like he usually did to fall asleep Peter knew he was still wide awake.

Peter was at a loss. He had a feeling that the last 24 hours in St. Clair's had broken his father in some way that the previous seventeen years had failed to do. And maybe he had issues with his father, maybe Walter hadn't been the dad he should have been, but he was Peter's responsibility now and that was starting to mean something to him. It was important.

Walter had become important. And Walter needed him. Walter needed him in a way that Peter had never been needed in before and right now he felt like a failure.

He should never have let Walter go back for that interview because now he was suffering and Peter didn't know how to make it better. The whole comforting thing was not something the two of them normally did.

Still.

Peter was taken aback then by what sounded like a shaky inhalation of breath in the general direction of his father's bed.

Was Walter... crying?

Peter felt nervous unease clench his stomach.

His mother used to cry sometimes, late at night and when she thought Peter couldn't hear. He always did though and it had always filled him with a feeling of deep helplessness. Parents weren't supposed to cry and, of course, angry kid that he had been, he had always blamed his father for his mother's tears. Now Peter uncomfortably wondered if Walter had spent those nights crying as well.

Another shuddering breath from his father's bed. Quiet though, so quiet, and Peter knew Walter didn't want him to hear. Or didn't want to disturb him. Or something to that effect.

Peter wondered if he should say something. Anything. Wondered if it would help or just make it worse.

Another muffled sob and Peter realized that it wasn't any easier now to be an adult and hear his father cry than it had been as a child hearing his mother cry.

Maybe it never got easier, hearing your parents cry. Parents weren't supposed to be vulnerable and maybe no matter how much of an adult you thought you were there were some things that just took you right back. Some things that made you feel like a child all over again.

Another shaky breath from Walter and Peter's mind was made up.

"Row, row, row your boat..."

He murmured the song softly, remembering how it helped Walter to sleep, and he heard his father still in his bed in the darkness.

"Gently down the stream..."

"Son?"

Walter's voice was tremulous and unsure and Peter fought down a swell of emotion.

"Yeah, Walter. It's me," he murmured, knowing Walter had been unsure, that he needed the reassurance that he wasn't back in the institution hearing Carlos singing. "Try to go to sleep; I'm right here, okay?"

"Okay," Walter whispered.

"Merrily, merrily, merrily..."

Maybe there wasn't a whole lot he could do to ease Walter's suffering but then... maybe this was enough.

"Life is but a dream..."

- End.