Who: Nathan and Peter Petrelli
When: Friday Night
Where: Home next to the jail
Summary: The first week in F3 is almost over
Rating: R/NC-17 likely?
Warnings: REALLY inappropriate behavior for older brothers to conduct on their little brothers.
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Don't stop until it's over )
Nathan forces a laugh, but it's really not that funny. They've got two out of three: Sylar, who so far actually seems to be keeping up his end of the deal, and the eventual arrival of those things that Peter drew and saw in his dreams.
It's difficult to imagine what's to come, however, considering Peter planned for everything. While Nathan was off carousing irresponsibly, Peter basically furnished a house for them. He collected cots, blankets, food and water. A working television too, which should be impossible in frontier country. Not that there's much to watch, no different from New York City's cable service to be honest.
Nathan turns to Peter and slings an arm around his shoulder. "I should have given you a hand with all of this, Pete. Thanks for looking out for me. For us. Not everyone's got that here."
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He's never had blueberry soda before. And he's sure he'd be getting cavities if that was possible.
Truthfully, Nathan worries him. For the past few nights, he's been keeping to himself, his own cot, but then again, that's because he's been drunk off of his ass. And Peter isn't sure when saying no is going to stop working.
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"Jesus, look at the caffeine content in this! And it's pure sugar. Ma would have a fit," Nathan says. He takes a sip of it and shivers at the taste. He's never been a fan of sugary, carbonated drinks that turn one's mouth an unnatural color.
He passes it right back and gets himself some water instead. He's going to lay off the alcohol for a while; he drank himself stupid for two days straight, and sobriety is a welcome change. He could definitely use some more sleep.
Nathan ducks into the back room where Peter's set up a makeshift bedroom, and strips off his boots and his shirt, getting under the covers before the chill of the desert night takes hold.
"Don't be surprised if you find me in your bed in the middle of the night, Pete. It's fucking freezing," he mumbles into his pillow.
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Space ships?!
Peter might have been more worried about Nathan suddenly suggesting that he'd turn up in his bed if he isn't currently on his knees in front of the plasma screen, hands pressed to the wall. "Big Bob's Ship Yard. Nathan, Jesus, look at this! They repair space ships! THERE ARE SPACE SHIPS!"
This? This is awesome.
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He wraps the blanket around himself and goes back into the 'living room', where Peter is caressing the TV screen like it's his damn girlfriend or something. He tries not to laugh, but it proves impossible.
"Sure you're not just watching the frontier's version of the Sci-Fi Channel?"
No, Peter's right. It's indeed an advertisement for spaceship parts and repair. Now that's weird. Peter will be begging him to go out and find a spaceship bright and early tomorrow morning. Great.
"Hey. Peter. Pete."
Nathan resorts to shoving his freezing cold hands down the back of Peter's shirt to get his attention.
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He glances thoughtfully at the screen over his shoulder, tucking his shirt into his jeans, and points back to the bedroom.
"You. Bed. Sleep. Tomorrow we're going to look for space ships." Well, you were right, Nathan!
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Either Peter doesn't think before he speaks, or Nathan is fundamentally unable to ignore the fact that in another time and place, he and his brother were lovers. He's tried, and it's just not working.
They were both to blame. Nathan had convinced himself of that ever since it began, because it took the edge off the guilt. But it isn't guilt that plagues him now. Rather it's a longing to have what he once had, even if he was never entitled to it in the first place.
"Come on, share with me. I'm cold," he says, patting the place on the cot beside him, not caring if his motives are written plainly on his face for Peter to see. He could never really hide anything from his brother the empath anyway.
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There are fires dotting the landscape outside, everyone enjoying a bit of outdoor warmth where the smoke won't get trapped and choke them. Peter tears his eyes from the window again and carries over a few more blankets.
"You'll warm up in no time."
Avoidance, thy name is Petrelli. Even Peter's not immune to it.
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"Peter, please," he says, holding out his arm, running his hand down Peter's side. "I don't want another damn blanket."
I want you.
Their collars have gone dark. Peter can stop time, or read his brother's thoughts like an open book. If they wanted to right now, the Petrelli brothers could fly through the night like shooting stars across that black desert sky.
Peter can feel every single emotion Nathan feels right now, and that's what he's counting on.
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Oh, he can feel what Nathan feels. It scares him enough to make him flee to the living room. The couch will work.
He's starting to wish that he had Sylar stay too.
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He takes a few deep breaths to try and calm himself before going after Peter, but it doesn't help. He's forced to put his shirt back on and leave it untucked before he does, because he's embarrassingly hard already at just the thought of what he's trying to convince his brother to do.
"He wasn't anything like me, was he." It's not a question, but a statement. What had an alternate version of Nathan done to Peter in order to receive nothing but flat-out rejection?
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He just lays there for a moment, hand across his abdomen. He bites at the inside of his lip to will it not to droop before he sighs.
"I don't think I'd say that," he says. "Actually, you're exactly like him." Always pushing him into something. Never taking no for an answer.
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Nathan reaches out toward him again, longing to touch him, really touch him. As if he really believes that's all it would take for Peter to understand something that completely disregards what it means to be someone's brother, someone's family.
Instead he brushes some of that longish dark hair away from Peter's face, and runs the backs of his fingers down Peter's cheek. Even Nathan's stubborn tenacity has its limits. It's finally sunken in.
"Then it's you that's different. And no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I want to, that's something I can never change."
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Well. All right. Maybe not. Homosexuality is still pretty bad. But homosexuality with one's brother--
Peter's got to understand. He sits up, partially to get away from Nathan and partially to allow his brother to sit beside him.
"I told you I'm... How'd it even start?"
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"How did it start? I... I don't even know." Well, technically that's the truth. As far as he can tell, he and Peter both had a hand in it. One day his little brother was a happy, normal kid, but that all changed by the time Nathan went away to the Navy, and then to law school. He came back to find Peter a sullen, angry teenager who cried on his and Heidi's wedding night, and later that evening, Nathan finally realized why.
The signs were always there. The hugs that lingered, the touches that lasted a bit too long. Each of them daring the other to take it that much further.
"Too many glasses of wine and too much of a connection for us to deny it anymore, that's what happened," Nathan finally answers, "You -- well, he -- was eighteen. It happened once, and I was so ashamed of myself that I ignored him for a week. Not that it mattered. It kept happening. I don't know what else you want me to say, Pete."
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He stretches his toes in his double layer of socks and looks down at his hands.
He gets the full story, more than what is verbally offered to him thanks to Matt Parkman and his telepathy. Peter listens to it all. All of the details.
"I did cry. All night." Nathan's wedding had been the worst night of his life. "I couldn't understand why you'd love someone more than me. I was...what? Fifteen? I never saw you except in all of those ridiculously posed family photos that littered prime locations in the house. And we looked happy in all of them. You looked like you loved me. You'd come home and take me to games and go to my swim meets and run with me to school in the morning so I could get on track--"
Peter feels too much. That's the problem. He remembers how he felt and it's coming back now.
"And then you met her and it stopped. I love Heidi. She's been like an older sister to me since I was a kid, but she still took you away and your boys are gorgeous, real good kids, Nathan, but the only time I saw you since they were born was when you wanted a God damned baby sitter and I'd head over early to talk to you while Heidi tried on the hundreds of necklaces and earrings you bought--"
Maybe's he's raving now. He gets up, shaking his head.
"Or go to your campaign office. And no matter what, the time you make for me's always been such a burden." It's why he can't understand the incest. Nathan's loved him, lingering touches and all, but Peter's never thought that Nathan's liked him. "You do it because I'm family and mom reminds you to come by once in awhile to see me because I'm that second son, the one people forget that the Petrellis have except when you're with me."
And wow. That's a lot more resentment than Peter himself realizes he has.
"So I don't buy it, Nathan. That story. You just use me."
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