Fic: Tijuana Sleepwalking
Written for: kathrynthegr8 for heroes_exchange
Title: Tijuana Sleepwalking
Pairing: Nathan/Claire, Peter/Claire undertones
Rating: R for non-graphic sex and disturbing themes
Warning: Incest, dub-con, angst a plenty
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money from this.
Summary: All she ever wanted was to be one of the Petrellis; now she wishes she’d stayed a Bennet.
Helping Nathan win the money from the frat rat, helping him into their dirty, worn bed, and tugging the blanket up to his chin made Claire feel important. She had never done something like this with her father; of course, her father never would’ve challenged boys half his age to a drink-off either. But Nathan had, and, for the first time, she had been in the position to actually show him that she was capable of working alongside of him and being useful. Not that she’d ever admit it out loud but she wanted Nathan to be proud of her or, at the very least, want to know more about her.
She had tried to sleep curled up in the chair beside the bed but, even if she couldn’t feel pain, she knew that she was never going to get comfortable enough to sleep. Though she had briefly debated sleeping on the floor, she had ultimately decided against it as she didn’t want the cockroaches crawling on her skin. Quietly and carefully, she slipped into the side of the bed that her biological father was passed out on, and she was asleep in no time.
When she felt the first tugs at her jeans, she thought that she was dreaming again. It wasn’t until she felt an unfamiliar weight settle atop of her and the sticky, hot breath against her throat that she realized someone was trying to get her clothing off. Every terrible Lifetime movie flashing through her mind, her eyes shot open and her mouth was halfway open to scream her father awake when she realized who it was on top of her.
The scream became a confused whisper. “Nathan?”
His eyes were closed and his hands didn’t still as he managed to unfasten the button of her jeans, the zipper sliding down as he shoved them down her legs. She repeated his name, trying to wiggle out beneath him, but he would not budge. Claire lifted her hands to push at his shoulder, hoping to roll him off of her, praying that he would wake up from what she assumed was a dream. It wasn’t until her jeans were gone and he had jerked down her underwear that panic began to set in.
“Nathan, what the fuck?”
He grunted something that she couldn’t quite make out. When she tried to push him again, he moved his face next to hers, his tequila scented breath hitting her nostrils hard as he sighed, “Meredith…”
Two years ago, back when she had been so desperate to know who her biological parents were and then was hugely disappointed to find out that they were self-absorbed assholes, she had been inundated with the feeling that she had only ever been a means to an end for her birth mother and an annoyance to her birth father. In a twisted way, knowing that, in his drunken stupor, Nathan wanted Meredith was the most validating piece of information Claire had ever received about her origins.
However, knowing that he was using her as a proxy for her dead mother…Well, that was just too fucked up for words.
She should scream. She wanted to scream. She wanted to shriek “no” and “stop” and “don’t.”
But she didn’t.
As Nathan pushed his way inside of her, as she bled and healed in mere seconds, Claire simply turned her face away and waited it out. She was not aroused or titillated; she was not horrified or disgusted. While Nathan pumped and sweated, the stench of alcohol coming from his pores, Claire knew that she could stop him if she really wanted to; she was not a victim here. There was no doubt in her mind that if she woke Nathan at this moment, he would not only pull out but would probably throw himself in front of the next passing car. No, the only reason that Claire didn’t shout out or fight off her bio-dad was for one very simple reason.
Her first thought when she had realized it was Nathan atop of her was: You’re not the Petrelli I want.
It was over quickly. Nathan gave a final grunt before collapsing atop her, and, once he was asleep again, Claire carefully rolled him off of her. She then quietly padded towards the bathroom that cleanliness forgot, turned on the shower as hot as it could get, and stepped beneath the spray.
As she sat on the cracked tile, the scalding water turning to ice, Claire wailed, not because of her father but because of her uncle.
Peter hadn’t come for her. He hadn’t tried to save her, he hadn’t tried to keep her from Danko, and he hadn’t swept her off to Mexico. He had left the heroics to Nathan, who knew no more about being a hero than Peter did about being the villain. Peter had let this happen. This was Peter’s fault.
She had trusted him and loved him and believed in him when no one else had done so, and what had her reward been? He had allowed her to be stranded in Tijuana with his brother, who had gotten shit faced and then decided to fuck his daughter. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! It was always supposed to be her and Peter against the world.
Nothing had ever hurt her more than losing faith in Peter Petrelli.
When Nathan awoke the next morning as she was finally exiting the shower, he rubbed at his face and declared, “Oh, God, what was I thinking?”
Claire froze, waiting for an indictment or an apology. Something - anything - that showed he was sorry.
“I guess I can’t drink the way I used to,” the Senator continued with a self-deprecating smile. “I didn’t keep you up, did I?”
It took a moment for his words to sink in through the absolute shock in Claire’s brain. “No, no, you were fine.”
His smile was so easy going and natural that it made Claire wonder if she had imagined everything. “I’m glad. Not my best plan, huh?”
Claire shrugged, aiming for normal. “Well, I took care of it.”
Nathan laughed. “You know, sometimes, you really remind me of Meredith.”
As Nathan entered the bathroom, Claire murmured, “I know.”
Title: Tijuana Sleepwalking
Pairing: Nathan/Claire, Peter/Claire undertones
Rating: R for non-graphic sex and disturbing themes
Warning: Incest, dub-con, angst a plenty
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money from this.
Summary: All she ever wanted was to be one of the Petrellis; now she wishes she’d stayed a Bennet.
Helping Nathan win the money from the frat rat, helping him into their dirty, worn bed, and tugging the blanket up to his chin made Claire feel important. She had never done something like this with her father; of course, her father never would’ve challenged boys half his age to a drink-off either. But Nathan had, and, for the first time, she had been in the position to actually show him that she was capable of working alongside of him and being useful. Not that she’d ever admit it out loud but she wanted Nathan to be proud of her or, at the very least, want to know more about her.
She had tried to sleep curled up in the chair beside the bed but, even if she couldn’t feel pain, she knew that she was never going to get comfortable enough to sleep. Though she had briefly debated sleeping on the floor, she had ultimately decided against it as she didn’t want the cockroaches crawling on her skin. Quietly and carefully, she slipped into the side of the bed that her biological father was passed out on, and she was asleep in no time.
When she felt the first tugs at her jeans, she thought that she was dreaming again. It wasn’t until she felt an unfamiliar weight settle atop of her and the sticky, hot breath against her throat that she realized someone was trying to get her clothing off. Every terrible Lifetime movie flashing through her mind, her eyes shot open and her mouth was halfway open to scream her father awake when she realized who it was on top of her.
The scream became a confused whisper. “Nathan?”
His eyes were closed and his hands didn’t still as he managed to unfasten the button of her jeans, the zipper sliding down as he shoved them down her legs. She repeated his name, trying to wiggle out beneath him, but he would not budge. Claire lifted her hands to push at his shoulder, hoping to roll him off of her, praying that he would wake up from what she assumed was a dream. It wasn’t until her jeans were gone and he had jerked down her underwear that panic began to set in.
“Nathan, what the fuck?”
He grunted something that she couldn’t quite make out. When she tried to push him again, he moved his face next to hers, his tequila scented breath hitting her nostrils hard as he sighed, “Meredith…”
Two years ago, back when she had been so desperate to know who her biological parents were and then was hugely disappointed to find out that they were self-absorbed assholes, she had been inundated with the feeling that she had only ever been a means to an end for her birth mother and an annoyance to her birth father. In a twisted way, knowing that, in his drunken stupor, Nathan wanted Meredith was the most validating piece of information Claire had ever received about her origins.
However, knowing that he was using her as a proxy for her dead mother…Well, that was just too fucked up for words.
She should scream. She wanted to scream. She wanted to shriek “no” and “stop” and “don’t.”
But she didn’t.
As Nathan pushed his way inside of her, as she bled and healed in mere seconds, Claire simply turned her face away and waited it out. She was not aroused or titillated; she was not horrified or disgusted. While Nathan pumped and sweated, the stench of alcohol coming from his pores, Claire knew that she could stop him if she really wanted to; she was not a victim here. There was no doubt in her mind that if she woke Nathan at this moment, he would not only pull out but would probably throw himself in front of the next passing car. No, the only reason that Claire didn’t shout out or fight off her bio-dad was for one very simple reason.
Her first thought when she had realized it was Nathan atop of her was: You’re not the Petrelli I want.
It was over quickly. Nathan gave a final grunt before collapsing atop her, and, once he was asleep again, Claire carefully rolled him off of her. She then quietly padded towards the bathroom that cleanliness forgot, turned on the shower as hot as it could get, and stepped beneath the spray.
As she sat on the cracked tile, the scalding water turning to ice, Claire wailed, not because of her father but because of her uncle.
Peter hadn’t come for her. He hadn’t tried to save her, he hadn’t tried to keep her from Danko, and he hadn’t swept her off to Mexico. He had left the heroics to Nathan, who knew no more about being a hero than Peter did about being the villain. Peter had let this happen. This was Peter’s fault.
She had trusted him and loved him and believed in him when no one else had done so, and what had her reward been? He had allowed her to be stranded in Tijuana with his brother, who had gotten shit faced and then decided to fuck his daughter. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! It was always supposed to be her and Peter against the world.
Nothing had ever hurt her more than losing faith in Peter Petrelli.
When Nathan awoke the next morning as she was finally exiting the shower, he rubbed at his face and declared, “Oh, God, what was I thinking?”
Claire froze, waiting for an indictment or an apology. Something - anything - that showed he was sorry.
“I guess I can’t drink the way I used to,” the Senator continued with a self-deprecating smile. “I didn’t keep you up, did I?”
It took a moment for his words to sink in through the absolute shock in Claire’s brain. “No, no, you were fine.”
His smile was so easy going and natural that it made Claire wonder if she had imagined everything. “I’m glad. Not my best plan, huh?”
Claire shrugged, aiming for normal. “Well, I took care of it.”
Nathan laughed. “You know, sometimes, you really remind me of Meredith.”
As Nathan entered the bathroom, Claire murmured, “I know.”