For prezstandsalone
They were going to have to move. That was the first coherent thought that crossed his mind--they were going to have to move. He'd been trying to avoid it; all of the moving around was so taxing, and they both hated it. It had been nice to settle down for at least a little while, and New York.. it was familiar. Nathan needed that. Now they were going to have to move again.
He could only fly so far with his broken wing, and Peter ended up taking a cab home. It was natural to want to go home instead of a hospital, where he actually needed to go. He wanted his own bed, and his brother... if he just got home and curled up, the pain would go away, and he'd be fine. He wasn't really thinking straight anyway.
Peter made it as far as the base of the stairs before he collapsed. His legs just wouldn't carry him any further. It wasn't the first time he'd been beat up, or chased, or even shot down out of the sky. All of the danger that they were in as fugitives with special abilities was the same sort of thing he used to do for a job. He knew about pain. But it didn't make laying in a collecting pool of his own blood at the bottom of their stairs any easier.
Peter Petrelli was powerful, but he wasn't immune to bullets, or metal batons. He'd gotten away, even fried a few of them in the process, but not after they had tried to beat him into submission on the ground after knocking him out of the air with a bullet in the shoulder. His wings were broken. Peter closed his eyes--he'd had a dream about this. Nathan... come get me.
He could only fly so far with his broken wing, and Peter ended up taking a cab home. It was natural to want to go home instead of a hospital, where he actually needed to go. He wanted his own bed, and his brother... if he just got home and curled up, the pain would go away, and he'd be fine. He wasn't really thinking straight anyway.
Peter made it as far as the base of the stairs before he collapsed. His legs just wouldn't carry him any further. It wasn't the first time he'd been beat up, or chased, or even shot down out of the sky. All of the danger that they were in as fugitives with special abilities was the same sort of thing he used to do for a job. He knew about pain. But it didn't make laying in a collecting pool of his own blood at the bottom of their stairs any easier.
Peter Petrelli was powerful, but he wasn't immune to bullets, or metal batons. He'd gotten away, even fried a few of them in the process, but not after they had tried to beat him into submission on the ground after knocking him out of the air with a bullet in the shoulder. His wings were broken. Peter closed his eyes--he'd had a dream about this. Nathan... come get me.