Memories, 1/1
He remembered Peter’s birth. Nathan had been twelve, quickly approaching manhood yet still young enough to be awed by the tiny, bald bundle introduced to him as his new little brother.
He’d held him in his arms stiffly, terribly afraid of dropping something so fragile. Surely, not all babies were so slight. Something so small couldn’t possibly grow to be as tall or strong as Nathan. His baby frame was so delicate…
And yet…
“He’s perfect,” he’d whispered gently into soft, sweet-smelling baby hair.
His mother had smiled tiredly, lovingly, and responded. “I know.”
---
He remembered the first time Peter had craved his attention. He had been in his “Terrible Twos”, demanding attention from all, and whining when it was not received. The only time in life, Nathan would reflect years later, that Peter had been selfish.
In keeping with this need to be recognized and acknowledged, little Peter had unceremoniously dumped himself onto Nathan’s lap as the elder finished homework, smearing his sticky baby fingers across a nearly finished biology report.
“Ma,” Nathan had whined, trying and failing to push the insistent toddler off his lap. Peter had giggled and pushed back, playing a game that Nathan had no time nor desire to play. “Ma, tell Pete to get off.”
“Peter, leave your brother alone,” Angela Petrelli had scolded. “He’s working on a very big assignment. Let’s leave him be so we can go read a story.”
“No,” the toddler had pouted with all the drama of an Academy Award-winning actor, grabbing Nathan’s shirt firmly with his grubby little fist, as if it could prevent his mother from removing him from his brother’s lap. “Want Nafan read.”
And Peter had looked at him with those big, beautiful brown eyes, overflowing with love and admiration for his older brother, and in that instant, his heart had melted.
---
He remembered the first time he’d realized. Home for the holidays and eager to celebrate his respite, Nathan had drank just a few glasses too many and had, at the end of the night, stumbled up the stairs to wish his brother a good night’s sleep.
Peter, mostly sober except for the few sips of Merlot Nathan had slipped him, had been sitting on his bedspread, shirtless as he listened to a new CD. Peter had smiled his silly, quirky smile at his arrival and turned the music off, absent-mindedly scratching his smooth stomach.
“Yeah?” His question had been so nonchalant, so simple, that Nathan, who had been unconsciously staring at his brother’s physique, could not quite remember why he had come up to his room in the first place.
“Uh…” he’d stuttered, blinking back the soothing, sleepy effects of the alcohol. “G’night.”
And Peter had chuckled, rising to give him a brotherly hug, as they had done for many years. Peter’s skin had been warm against his hands, and smooth, too…so smooth. He had never noticed it before, never noticed how firm and well-defined Peter’s muscles were underneath his soft, pale skin.
And he’d never noticed before how velvety Peter’s face was compared to Nathan’s own stubbly, rough skin, or how close their faces truly were as they embraced, close enough to feel Peter’s warm, moist breath on his neck, close enough to see the slightly chapped texture of hiss lips, close enough to crush their lips together and -
His pajamas had become suddenly and uncomfortably tight as blood rushed and adrenaline coursed. He had frozen, praying that Peter hadn’t noticed, wouldn’t notice, but the teenager’s - for he was a teenager and this was wrong on so many levels - eyes had been alight with wonder and excitement, and very quickly, he had felt Peter’s own erection pressing torturously against his own.
A moan had escaped his lips and suddenly, desperately, he’d pushed Peter off to seek refuge in his room where his hand could make quick work of a drunken mistake.
---
He remembered their first kiss - their first real kiss. Not the chaste, platonic pecks they’d administered regularly through the years, but a true kiss, filled with emotion and desire for one another.
It was a kiss that had started just like any other: quickly on the forehead in brotherly love, then an embrace, then…another, softer kiss, lips lingering just a little too long this time.
Then Peter’s lips against his, warm and moist and pliable, sloppily devouring the taste of Nathan’s mouth as teenage hormones raged. But Nathan hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t stopped when there were a million reasons he should’ve, because, despite every single one of those million reasons, it had felt right.
It had felt natural.
It had felt good.
---
He remembered their first night together. It had been five months after the kiss, Peter’s eighteenth birthday; Nathan’s special gift to him.
Peter had been ferocious, all hands and cock as he had devoured Nathan, biting, scratching, clawing - so different from the Peter everyone saw - the quiet idealist.
But Nathan had no quarrels with the role reversal, had no problem letting him take charge while Nathan savored the feeling of Peter’s passion, his flavor, his body, his smell, the sensation of fingernails digging into malleable flesh…
In the end, however, it had been Nathan leading them down an undoable path, entering Peter slowly for the first time, with the thrill of what they were doing coursing through his veins like a drug, pushing him over the edge after a few thrusts, Peter’s toned torso shuddering as he, too, came.
---
He remembered the words that had changed his life forever: “I think I can fly.”
Peter had been so earnest, so eager and yet so confused, only looking for his brother’s approval - only looking for Nathan to tell him he wasn’t a freak.
But Nathan had been too busy concentrating on his campaign, too concerned with what the media would do with Peter’s announcement and what it would mean for Nathan’s election.
Nathan had been foolish, yes, and far too self-absorbed to see the truth, but Peter had always been a dreamer, had always had his head up in the clouds, soaring high above reality, so why would he have ever assumed that Peter’s dreams were reality?
But they had been, and they had called on a dreamer like Peter to use his empathy and humanity to save the world.
But that person was the Peter of his memories, the Peter whom had loved him unconditionally, even when Nathan hadn’t deserved that love, and had forgiven him for even the most grievous of sins.
That Peter was gone; he’d died when he’d gained his final, fatal power: Sylar’s.
Now he was a monster, feeding the hunger with innocent lives, so overpowered by his need, so blinded by his addiction that he had even taken his own mother’s life.
For the villain had replaced the hero, and now nobody could stop him.
Not even Nathan.
He’d held him in his arms stiffly, terribly afraid of dropping something so fragile. Surely, not all babies were so slight. Something so small couldn’t possibly grow to be as tall or strong as Nathan. His baby frame was so delicate…
And yet…
“He’s perfect,” he’d whispered gently into soft, sweet-smelling baby hair.
His mother had smiled tiredly, lovingly, and responded. “I know.”
---
He remembered the first time Peter had craved his attention. He had been in his “Terrible Twos”, demanding attention from all, and whining when it was not received. The only time in life, Nathan would reflect years later, that Peter had been selfish.
In keeping with this need to be recognized and acknowledged, little Peter had unceremoniously dumped himself onto Nathan’s lap as the elder finished homework, smearing his sticky baby fingers across a nearly finished biology report.
“Ma,” Nathan had whined, trying and failing to push the insistent toddler off his lap. Peter had giggled and pushed back, playing a game that Nathan had no time nor desire to play. “Ma, tell Pete to get off.”
“Peter, leave your brother alone,” Angela Petrelli had scolded. “He’s working on a very big assignment. Let’s leave him be so we can go read a story.”
“No,” the toddler had pouted with all the drama of an Academy Award-winning actor, grabbing Nathan’s shirt firmly with his grubby little fist, as if it could prevent his mother from removing him from his brother’s lap. “Want Nafan read.”
And Peter had looked at him with those big, beautiful brown eyes, overflowing with love and admiration for his older brother, and in that instant, his heart had melted.
---
He remembered the first time he’d realized. Home for the holidays and eager to celebrate his respite, Nathan had drank just a few glasses too many and had, at the end of the night, stumbled up the stairs to wish his brother a good night’s sleep.
Peter, mostly sober except for the few sips of Merlot Nathan had slipped him, had been sitting on his bedspread, shirtless as he listened to a new CD. Peter had smiled his silly, quirky smile at his arrival and turned the music off, absent-mindedly scratching his smooth stomach.
“Yeah?” His question had been so nonchalant, so simple, that Nathan, who had been unconsciously staring at his brother’s physique, could not quite remember why he had come up to his room in the first place.
“Uh…” he’d stuttered, blinking back the soothing, sleepy effects of the alcohol. “G’night.”
And Peter had chuckled, rising to give him a brotherly hug, as they had done for many years. Peter’s skin had been warm against his hands, and smooth, too…so smooth. He had never noticed it before, never noticed how firm and well-defined Peter’s muscles were underneath his soft, pale skin.
And he’d never noticed before how velvety Peter’s face was compared to Nathan’s own stubbly, rough skin, or how close their faces truly were as they embraced, close enough to feel Peter’s warm, moist breath on his neck, close enough to see the slightly chapped texture of hiss lips, close enough to crush their lips together and -
His pajamas had become suddenly and uncomfortably tight as blood rushed and adrenaline coursed. He had frozen, praying that Peter hadn’t noticed, wouldn’t notice, but the teenager’s - for he was a teenager and this was wrong on so many levels - eyes had been alight with wonder and excitement, and very quickly, he had felt Peter’s own erection pressing torturously against his own.
A moan had escaped his lips and suddenly, desperately, he’d pushed Peter off to seek refuge in his room where his hand could make quick work of a drunken mistake.
---
He remembered their first kiss - their first real kiss. Not the chaste, platonic pecks they’d administered regularly through the years, but a true kiss, filled with emotion and desire for one another.
It was a kiss that had started just like any other: quickly on the forehead in brotherly love, then an embrace, then…another, softer kiss, lips lingering just a little too long this time.
Then Peter’s lips against his, warm and moist and pliable, sloppily devouring the taste of Nathan’s mouth as teenage hormones raged. But Nathan hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t stopped when there were a million reasons he should’ve, because, despite every single one of those million reasons, it had felt right.
It had felt natural.
It had felt good.
---
He remembered their first night together. It had been five months after the kiss, Peter’s eighteenth birthday; Nathan’s special gift to him.
Peter had been ferocious, all hands and cock as he had devoured Nathan, biting, scratching, clawing - so different from the Peter everyone saw - the quiet idealist.
But Nathan had no quarrels with the role reversal, had no problem letting him take charge while Nathan savored the feeling of Peter’s passion, his flavor, his body, his smell, the sensation of fingernails digging into malleable flesh…
In the end, however, it had been Nathan leading them down an undoable path, entering Peter slowly for the first time, with the thrill of what they were doing coursing through his veins like a drug, pushing him over the edge after a few thrusts, Peter’s toned torso shuddering as he, too, came.
---
He remembered the words that had changed his life forever: “I think I can fly.”
Peter had been so earnest, so eager and yet so confused, only looking for his brother’s approval - only looking for Nathan to tell him he wasn’t a freak.
But Nathan had been too busy concentrating on his campaign, too concerned with what the media would do with Peter’s announcement and what it would mean for Nathan’s election.
Nathan had been foolish, yes, and far too self-absorbed to see the truth, but Peter had always been a dreamer, had always had his head up in the clouds, soaring high above reality, so why would he have ever assumed that Peter’s dreams were reality?
But they had been, and they had called on a dreamer like Peter to use his empathy and humanity to save the world.
But that person was the Peter of his memories, the Peter whom had loved him unconditionally, even when Nathan hadn’t deserved that love, and had forgiven him for even the most grievous of sins.
That Peter was gone; he’d died when he’d gained his final, fatal power: Sylar’s.
Now he was a monster, feeding the hunger with innocent lives, so overpowered by his need, so blinded by his addiction that he had even taken his own mother’s life.
For the villain had replaced the hero, and now nobody could stop him.
Not even Nathan.