New Heroes fic (finally!)
Originally intended to be posted before we ever found out what was the cause of Peter's collapse, but alas, RL got in the way. So just pretend.
Title: Watching For Reindeer
Author: MF Luder
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Keywords: Petrellicest, slash, implied character death
Rating: R
Spoilers: Fallout (ep 11)
Disclaimer: They belong to the NBC and Tim Kring.
Archive: My LJ, Biani's Slash Archive, anywhere else, please just let me know so I can visit and pet my baby on occasion.
Summary: Nathan must deal with new revelations surrounding Peter's collapse and powers, but he's not sure he can deal with losing his brother, yet.
Feedback: Mulder_Loves_Scully_Forever@hotmail.com
Author's Notes: This fic is based off of an idea I had involving Heroes and a storyline from The X-Files.
technosage had a post about what might be wrong with Peter and as I was writing my response to her, I realized all the X-File similarities that could be put to use to help explain both the evolution theory of Heroes and why Peter was sick and the cop had that bloody nose. At the same time, I obviously didn't involve a piece of alien spacecraft in this fic, so the XF storyline is a bit bastardized.
Beta Thanks: All good stuff was no doubt made so by
technosage because she’s AMAZING and the rest is just me. Thanks also to
txtequilanights for the read-thru.
Inspiration:...Gay men are every bit as emotionally closeted as their straight counterparts. Instead of just one partner being distant, uncommunicative and emotionally stunted, both are.--Minotaur
Nathan still can't believe Peter went off half-cocked, thinking he could rescue that girl. Well, he can believe. But he's not sure how his brother survived or why he ended up in the Odessa jail.
He's always surprised at what kind of problems his baby brother can get himself involved in. The sheer disregard he has for his brother's life, career. He really doesn't ask for much. But could Peter stop trying to get himself killed or single-handedly bringing down Nathan's political career ala Billy Carter?
“Right now I'd settle for you walking straight,” he continues before noticing his brother was really weaving now. “Peter-!”
He watches helplessly as Peter crashes to the concrete steps and in an instant he’s lifting his brother's head, shaking him, but he won’t wake. He notices some passersby stopping at the outskirts of his vision, but he disregards them as Peter blinks his eyes open.
“Easy, easy, it's alright.” Nathan keeps his voice calm, smooth, trying not to show how upset
//scared//
he is. He holds Peter's head gently.
“It's all my fault. The explosion...”
Nathan's brow scrunches. “What are you talking about?”
“It's me...”
Nathan feels the body in his arms go slack, hears the slight choke as Peter stops breathing.
//Oh, God.//
“Breathe. Come on, Peter, breathe.”
He slaps his brother's jaw.
//So pale, so peaceful. No, Peter.//
“Peter. Peter! Peter!”
He doesn't even notice jail staff and strangers surrounding them. His only focus is on the still body in his arms. Peter isn't moving. Isn't. Moving.
“Sir. Sir!”
He starts at the hand shaking his shoulder.
“You've gotta let us help him. Let go.”
//Never.//
“We need to resuscitate him.”
His grip tightens for one moment then he lets go. Nathan lets Peter slip through his hands, taken by men who are calling out to others in the jail. Someone else seems to be on the phone with 911.
He hears the whine of sirens. Stunned, he stares at his hands, covered in dried blood from Peter' shirt.
“Peter!” he calls out to the night.
Fifteen feet away, Peter is loaded onto a stretcher and taken to the nearest hospital.
~~~
Nathan remembers when Peter was five years old.
Mom had read The Night Before Christmas on Christmas Eve as she always had, but this time, Peter was able to understand it. He'd laughed with delight when Santa landed on the roof, clapped his hands when he flew away calling out to one and all.
Nathan had woken up to Peter climbing in his bed.
“What do you want?”
“Has Santa come yet? I don't want to miss the reindeer.”
“There's no such thing. It's just a story,” Nathan had said with ten-year-old precociousness.
Peter's lip had wobbled. “No Santa? No reindeer?”
Knowing his brother would go running off to Mom and then she'd give Nathan a talking-to, he had sighed.
“Nah. 'Course there is. Want to look for the reindeer?”
Immediately, all wibbles ceased and Peter ran to the window. “Come on! Watch with me!”
Nathan performed the obligatory grumbling of an elder sibling towards his younger, but he went to the window, anyway. Sitting on the window seat, he pulled his squirmy brother into his arms and together, they stared out into the night waiting for Santa's reindeer until Peter fell asleep, sucking on his thumb.
It’s been tradition ever since.
~~~
It's been nine days since Peter collapsed. Peter was in a coma for eight of them, just waking up last night.
Nathan has hated every second of it. The first day he spent glued to his brother's side, getting in the nurses way, unable to let Peter out of vision for longer than a blink. But when it appeared he would be out longer, Nathan hadn’t been able to ignore his other duties. He has a wife. Two kids. A campaign.
He hadn't come back to the hospital until he got word that Peter had woken.
He's been barely holding it together, himself. The guilt. Knowing it was his fault. He hadn't destroyed the painting well enough. Hadn't made sure there were no other copies, images, anything.
Guilt over wanting to be with Peter rather than Heidi. Guilt because he couldn't force himself to take a minute to check on his brother. Can't stand to see his brother pasty and looking vulnerable on a hospitable bed.
Peter's never had more than a common cold.
But here Nathan is, sitting at a small table the staff grabbed for him so he could continue his work while Peter slept. He's on the phone when--
“Nathan?” A small whisper, but Nathan's been listening for so long and so hard, he hears it.
“Look, Joe, I'm going to have to call you back. You know what to do.” He hangs up.
“Nathan, what are you doing here?”
“Saving your ass, of course,” he jokes as he wanders to Peter's side. His brother's lips as he wets them shine pink in contrast to his white face and sweaty brow.
“You always are.” Peter smiles, but he looks tired.
“How you feeling?”
“Sick.”
Nathan puts a wrist on his brother's head, checking for a fever, but instead, he feels cold and clammy. Nothing is beeping though, and Peter's heart rate and breath are strong, so he figures Peter's as okay as he can be at the moment.
“Do they know what's wrong with me yet?”
“I don't think so. They didn't want to run you through the various tests until you woke up. See if you could tell them what you might have done that made you collapse.”
“I came back to life, that's what.”
“Peter.” Nathan can't believe that. Sure, Peter didn't die like the painting, but that just means this Isaac guy doesn't have any magical powers like he claims. Or that destiny can be changed. He’s always been a firm believer in free will and making your own future. He wouldn't be where he is now if not for that. And people don't just rise from the dead.
“I'm serious. I was dead, or close. I would have died. But Claire...”
“The cheerleader?” he asks. He's seen the visitor log from the jail. One Claire Bennett and a Mr. Bennett had visited his brother. Before him.
“Yeah. I saved her. And then she saved me. She's got powers. Healing. I would have died if not for her.”
“Or if not for your own stupidity.”
Peter's face, which had been so earnest, falls. Nathan can't help it. Sure, deep down he’s proud. Proud of his brother's selflessness. He sure as hell isn't that way. Selflessness gets you nowhere in the world. It’s a weakness. But it's always been so attractive on Pete.
But that doesn’t excuse bull-headedness. Or sheer idiocy. He was supposed to have died. It didn't matter if he had somehow healed. He'd gone in knowing he would die. Whatever happened to human kinds natural instinct for survival?
//Isn't that what made you fly out of the car while your wife was left to crash?//
“Nathan?”
“What would I have done if you'd gotten yourself killed? How would that have affected my career?
//Can't not have you, Pete.//
“Did you ever think of that? How having a brother who was a murderer was going to look to the people? Even now, I'm not sure how this is impacting things. I've gone down two points in the polls. I was gaining! Gaining, Peter. And then you go and do this. If this cheerleader can heal herself, don't you think she could have survived this attack, whatever it was?”
“It's not like that. She would have been dead. And the--”
“Yeah, I know. Save the cheerleader, save the world. Got it.” Nathan rubs a hand across his face, suddenly very tired. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get into an argument with you. There anything you need? If not, you should try to get some more rest. They want to start tests tomorrow.”
Peter stares at him, calculatingly, and Nathan wonders when he learned to do that.
“Okay. No, I’m good, thanks.”
Nathan smiles. “Go to sleep.”
Peter closes his eyes and Nathan sighs.
~~~
Nathan's made sure that Peter has his own room. It's one of the upper floors of the hospital, given to them because Nathan can afford it and because the hospital's already backing him for his proposals for the health care industry. Being related to a nurse helps, too.
The money means nothing, he's just glad to give Peter some quiet, allow him the privacy. Especially after he'd woken up the second time screaming about the noise. Nathan hadn't understood what was wrong, but immediately asked for a sequestered room and once Peter was moved, he'd calmed to simple whimpers.
Now Nathan's sitting on a plush chair, holding Peter's hand. His brother looks pained, even in sleep. He lifts the hand to his mouth, lips dragging across Peter's knuckles. He makes sure to not touch the butterfly needle flowing nutrients into his brother's vein because he won't
//can't//
eat.
“What's wrong with me?”
Nathan lifts his head at the rasp of Peter's voice. He sighs, not putting down his brother's hand, and not sure what to say, exactly. Instead of answering, he presses a kiss into Peter's palm.
“Nathan.”
Peter moves his hand, cupping Nathan's cheek and brushing his thumb against the high cheekbones Nathan has courtesy of their father. Still avoiding, Nathan kisses the wrist now exposed to him.
“Nathan. What's wrong?”
//Don't want to let you go.//
Nathan pulls back, moving his own hands up to clasp his brother's. “When they did the brain scan...they found some things.”
“What kinds of things?”
“You've got increased temporal lobe activity. It's astronomical. They don't know what it means. But it's like...like you're becoming all brain. Not like you weren't always the brains of this family.” He tries to crack a joke, but his brother’s expression doesn’t change.
“What else?”
“Peter--” His voice cracks and Nathan quickly stands up, walking to the huge window that overlooks New York. He stares at the millions of lights for a moment, composing himself.
“They detected a growth.”
“A growth.” Peter's voice is flat.
“In your...in your brain.”
“I have a brain tumor?”
Nathan nods his head, still focused on the city below.
//God, Peter. I can't be without you. You're not allowed to die.//
“Well, it doesn't sound too bad. I guess any cancer is bad but...they can operate, right?”
Nathan tries to get it out, stay calm, express it in clinical words just like the doctor's did to him.
//As though Peter was just a body. Just another typical patient.//
Instead, he chokes on his own tears and he's clutching at the window, leaving finger smudges all over the glass. It's only when he hears Peter trying to get out of bed that he turns around.
“Don't. Don't get out of that bed.”
“But Nat--”
“No,” he says forcefully, making himself get closer. His brother's worried about him when Peter's the one dying. Selfless bastard.
“It's not, is it?” Peter asks when Nathan's back by his side.
Nathan shakes his head, swallowing tears. He's been too shocked this whole time to cry since he found out earlier that day. And now he needs to hold it together. Needs to for Peter. For their mother that doesn't know yet.
//Broken family. Dad dead, mother slightly crazy, wife paralyzed, brother dying of brain tumor. All his fault. Somehow.//
“They, ah.” He takes a breath. “They still don't know what caused it. They're going to run more tests. The doctor's going to come later and talk about options. It's not operable, but he says they might be able to shrink it with chemo. Keep you living longer.”
//As long as possible, please. Never want you to die, Peter. Not before me, dammit.//
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
Peter looks away and asks, “Mom know, yet?”
“No.”
“Good. Don't tell her for as long as you can, okay? This'll break her.”
“Okay,” he says.
“Nathan.” Peter's looking at him again.
“Hmmm?”
“It'll be okay. I promise. I'm not just gonna die.”
Nathan nods numbly.
“Hey, come here.” Peter's voice is breathy, soft. Nathan leans over his brother.
Peter raises his head just enough to plant a small kiss on Nathan's lips, running a hand up and over his cheek, through his hair.
Nathan pulls back, a sad smile on his lips. “Yeah, you'll be okay. I'm going to make sure of it.”
“We'll be okay,” Peter emphasizes.
“I brought you some things. I knew you'd hate the gown, so I conned the staff into letting you wear a white tee and scrubs. And then some cds, and your toothbrush and toothpaste.”
“Thanks,” Peter grins. “My teeth were feeling a bit fuzzy.”
Nathan laughs for the first time all day.
“And hey, thanks for getting me moved. I just...it was so noisy.”
Nathan grows somber. “What was that all about, anyway? I could hardly hear anything.”
“It's not...remember when we were leaving the station? I said the cop could read my mind?”
“Uh-huh,” Nathan responds, still skeptical. He'd obtained a background check on the guy. Nothing special. Had failed his detective test three times and only recently got involved with the FBI on some special case. Certainly nothing that pointed to the guy reading minds.
“That's what's happening to me. I think.”
“You think.”
“When he was interrogating me, I seemed to pick up his power. It was loud in my head, suddenly. A strange dissonance. And then this massive headache. I was feeling exactly what he felt all the time.”
“And you know this how?”
“I just know. And now, it's still happening. At first, when I collapsed, I thought it was because of the lingering headache. But now you tell me I've got cancer--”
“It's just a growth,” Nathan says, unwilling to hear that c-word.
“--and I wonder if that isn't why I can hear people.”
“But don't you only pick up their abilities around these people? After all, you say you can't fly when I'm not around.”
“True. That's why it's weird. But when I woke up, it was like every mind in this place was inside my head, screaming at me with their thoughts. Up here, away from them, I'm able to block them out better. Zero in on them.”
“You really think you can read minds, huh?”
“I know what you're thinking.”
Nathan raises an eyebrow.
“You're thinking that I'm slightly delusional. You're thinking you're scared as shit. You don't want me to die. You're feeling guilty about leaving Heidi at home. You're exhausted with the campaign.”
“Anyone who knew me could guess those things, Peter. And you know me better than most.”
“I do. But what I never knew was you flew once on your own. Not with me. Not in the car with Heidi. Two men were chasing you. In Nevada.”
Nathan starts.
“I'm right, aren't I? Why didn't you tell me?”
“That's not true, I--”
“Don't lie to me!” Peter raises his voice before he reaches up to grab at his head, cradling it in his hands. “Don't lie to me. Not now.”
Nathan rests a hand on his brother's back, sweeping in big circles, soothing him like when they were children.
“Okay, I'm sorry. You're right.” He kisses Peter's temple, leaving his lips there for a moment. “I didn't want to worry you.”
“You mean, you didn't want to indulge my fantasies.” Peter's voice is muffled in his hands.
Nathan grimaces, not needing to reply.
Peter just nods and lifts his head. Nathan wipes away the tear tracks.
“I'm going to go now. I have some things I need to take care of. Mom said she was going to come by later. Should I let the doctors know not to tell her?”
Still nodding, Peter rolls onto his side, eyes shutting slowly.
Leaning down, Nathan brushes Peter's bangs from his forehead, giving him one last kiss.
//Love you.//
~~~
Three days before the election, Nathan's walking from headquarters to his car, off to see Peter again, when he's stopped by a gaggle of reporters.
“Mr. Petrelli!”
“Sir! Can you answer a few questions for us?”
“Mr. Petrelli, the New York people want to know about all the time your spending off the campaign trail!”
Nathan's been ignoring the press the past week after some disturbing news from Peter's doctors. There hasn't been a leak yet, but only because he's putting Linderman's money to good use in bribing people to stay silent. He's just been fortunate that the New York people aren't as cruel as the journalists and actually understand the role of grieving brother. He hasn't wanted to break down though, not with rising numbers and finally gaining the edge over the incumbent.
“Is it true your brother's a manic depressive? I hear he tried to commit suicide again after attacking a nurse!”
Nathan whirls around,
//shocked//
anger darkening his features. “Excuse me?”
“Do you deny it, Mr. Petrelli?”
“Do I deny such ridiculous accusations? Of course I do! My brother is sick. My brother is not crazy, nor depressive. And he certainly would not attack anyone. You will leave my brother alone, do you understand me?”
Nathan turns on his heel, leaving the stunned reporters in his wake. He's fuming
//so fucking pissed//
and seeing red.
“Fix it,” he mutters to his campaign manager as he climbs into his car.
~~~
The day of the election, he's filmed going to the voting booth, wheeling Heidi along with him. He's smiling, flashing the grin his mother always said was the perfect politician's smile. He's out in the streets of New York, stopping people walking down on their way to work to introduce himself, encourage any last minute votes.
That night he's up at the after party waiting for results and when they come in, he's won. Sixty-seven percent of the precincts. A virtual mandate.
He makes his acceptance speech after receiving the concession call from his opponent. Balloons fall, confetti sparkles, he and his kids and Heidi are cheering, grinning from ear to ear. He's flashing the politician's thumbs-up.
But inside, he's breaking because Peter was supposed to be here. Even with everything else, even when the whole flying thing started, Nathan never imagined his brother wouldn't be beside his mother, smiling, clapping for him. He imagined the way his brother would come on stage and give him a huge hug while Nathan ruffled his hair. It would be for show, but it'd have been real, too.
By the time he's able to leave, his face hurts, his voice is raw, and he just wants to see Peter. Despite the hour, he has his driver take him to the hospital and up he goes.
When he walks in, tie undone and shirt unbuttoned, Peter's sitting up and grinning like a fool.
“You did it, big brother.”
“Shouldn't you be asleep?” he ribs, collapsing in the chair beside Peter's bed.
“Knew you'd come. I'm so proud. Just wish I could have been there.”
Peter's eyes are red-rimmed but a beautiful liquid brown and Nathan takes his hand and says earnestly, “I wish you could have, too.” He pauses. “How'd chemo go today?”
Peter looks away before turning back. “Good.”
Peter just started. He hasn't lost all his hair yet, but the beautiful and silky black strands are falling out in tufts. He's gotten skinnier and it's been harder for him to smile.
“Was it really?”
“Yeah. I haven't felt sick today. I was able to vote without puking.”
Nathan smiles. “I'm glad. Wouldn't have wanted it to not count because of a little body fluid.”
“That's gross.” But Peter's face has lit up again. “How's Heidi? She happy?”
“Thrilled,” Nathan drawls. “Ready to decorate my new office. I think she secretly had the curtains measured already.”
“She did,” Peter smirks. “I said go with the red and gold. Brown is too dull for you.”
Nathan lightly punches his brother on the shoulder. “Punk.”
“You love me.”
Nathan's mouth turns up slowly as he blinks flirtatiously. “I do.”
Then he leans in and Peter just opens up, bringing his hands to Nathan's face, then slipping one down to rest on his shoulder. Nathan half-stands, not letting go, as he adjusts to sit on the bed, hands supporting him on either side of Peter.
Peter's lips are soft; he's been applying chapstick non-stop. Inside he tastes like the cinnamon of his toothpaste. It's wet and sexy and slow. Nathan's always been able to get lost in his brother's kisses and today, it's what he needs.
He's still got to be careful of the various IVs entering the body in his arms, but he manages to slide an arm around to Peter's back, resting it in the middle of Peter's shoulder blades. The kiss goes on for awhile, both desperate for contact that they haven't had since before Peter went off to save the cheerleader. They break apart but come right back together until Nathan feels himself hardening and then he has to pull back because they sure as hell can't have sex in a hospitable bed among the other million variables.
“Oh, God, Nathan. I've missed you. This.”
“Me too.”
//More than you can know.//
Then he thinks.
//Can you hear me?//
Peter nods, keeping his hands on Nathan's face, breath mingling with his brother's.
//This is crazy.//
“Never said it wasn't,” Peter responds, then leans in for another cock-hardening kiss.
“Pete...”
“I know, I know.
“You should sleep. Tomorrow...”
“Yeah. Tomorrow.”
Nathan nods.
“Will you stay?”
“I'll be right here. All night. Now sleep.”
Nathan shifts so that he's half sitting on the bed right beside Peter now. He puts his arms around his shoulders, pulling his younger brother to him so he can rest his head on Nathan's chest. He watches as Peter drifts off slowly, and he rests his head against the cold wall, thinking about
//tomorrow//
the next day.
~~~
The next day, of course, Nathan's schedule is filled with interviews and bureaucratic duties. He's lucky that he doesn't have any technical duties until January, but even so, there are thank you calls and notes and meetings with lobbyists that he would love to get out of, but there's no way.
It doesn't stop him from watching the New York square all day, waiting. Peter said it would happen. He was the bomb. But Peter's bedridden and there's no explosion by seven o'clock that night. Isaac isn't dead and Sylar's still nowhere to be found, but for the moment, he's not opening any more heads.
He heads over to the hospital, apologizing profusely when Heidi rolls her eyes at him, saying his sons haven't seen him for more than ten minutes in weeks, but he can't, just can't.
He arrives at Peter's room, only to stop as he listens to soft voices. He peeks his head in and finds his brother and the professor in excited discussion.
“Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating,” rings out Mohinder's voice with its slight accent. “So it seems that genetics can trump destiny. Even when those genetics were the creation of that destiny. Evolution has always been wondrous, but Peter, yours is the most amazing tale of survival.”
“Except for the part where the mutation dies out.”
“Yes, well. I am sorry. That was rather tactless of me, wasn‘t it?”
Nathan sees as Mohinder bows his head in apology. Peter seems to accept it, laying a friendly hand upon the Indian's shoulder.
Nathan clears his throat and enters the sterile room.
“Nathan!” Peter is happy to see him and he can't help the breath of relief
//why was he worried?//
that escapes him as Peter turns from Mohinder to him.
“Glad to see you made it through, Pete,” he says roughly. He clears his throat again.
“I should go,” Mohinder says, starting to stand. “I'm just trying to understand all these cases and their differences and Peter was kind enough to let me--”
“No problem,” Nathan says, gesturing off-handedly, any concern gone. Peter wants Mohinder here. That’s good enough for him. “Stay and talk.”
Mohinder nods, lips lifting in a half smile and somehow that reassures Nathan. “Alright then. Tell me what you know from your doctors,” he turns back to Peter.
Peter struggles to sit upright, coughing a little. Nathan's immediately by his side, lifting him up, giving him a drink of water and if Peter glares at him, Nathan simply smothers the smirk.
“It started with the dreams. I seemed to know what was going to happen. Not premonition, but a kind of connection with the person in the dream. I kept having the flying dreams. Then I was able to fly with Nathan. But not without him. Over the month of October, I was suddenly able to do what the other people like us could do. I picked up their abilities. Then, that night in the jail, the cop could read my mind. Or he tried to. But our abilities canceled each other out and it hurt like hell.
“Skip to waking up from the coma, and I find out I've got a brain tumor. And I can still read minds. They run more tests. Do several DNA tests.”
He pauses and Nathan gives him the glass again before going to sit in his customary chair. He stares out the window as Peter continues. The wounds are still fresh and Peter talking about it again only rubs them raw.
//You can't die. You're mine. You're not allowed to die. I won't let you.//
“They find out, my DNA is messed up. Not messed up as in missing pieces. But rather, according to them, we all have this extra DNA that isn't used.”
“Junk DNA,” Mohinder inserts and Peter nods.
“Only, in me, it's not junk. It's being used. Turned on, they say. An evolutionary advancement. Or a mutation.”
“And so that's what gives you your powers. It's something in the evolution of activating unused DNA.”
“Which means, all of us-human kind-have this capability. It's not really a mutation. I have a mutation. But Nathan doesn't.”
Mohinder turns to stare at Nathan. Nathan gazes back. They can trust Mohinder, but he doesn't have to give anything up, either.
“You know this for sure?” Mohinder questions.
Nathan nods, letting Peter explain.
“We decided, since I had this weird activation, to check Nathan's. He's got some turned on as well. Different strands. Not as many. We even did our mother's to see if it was a family thing. It's not. Not hereditary, anyway. Obviously, it's a hard thing to prove, since we can't exactly tell the doctors that Nathan can fly and I can read minds among other things. But it seems certain.”
“So it seems...” Mohinder pauses, tapping a finger to his chin. “It could be concluded that your tumor is a result of too fast growth.”
“What do you mean?” Peter asks and even Nathan perks up.
“Just that, your brother, Mr. Petrelli here, you mentioned he has fewer activations. Perhaps, his was the perfect amount of evolution. Evolution has always occurred in steps, stages. Reptiles did not develop limbs in one generation. It took thousands or more years to develop from fins to limbs, to usable legs. Even longer before digits were developed. Each of these are coded for in DNA. Occasionally, though, certain creatures would develop too much. A mutation or just a stage of evolution the world wasn't able to maintain, yet.”
//The world had never been ready for someone like Peter.//
“I imagine, that with your abundance of junk DNA that is activated, the tumor is a consequence thereof. A check, we'll say.”
“Why my brother, though?” Nathan can't take it anymore
//the unfairness of it all//
and he jumps out his seat to begin pacing. “Why not me? Or, that cheerleader. She’s younger than him. Why wouldn't the younger generation have the defect?” His jaw tenses and he has to fight to keep the yelling inside of him.
“Mr. Petrelli. It is not a defect. Nor is it generational. Flukes and advances in biology don't always happen in a simple order. While things like limbs took years to evolve, if one believes the Big Bang Theory, that was one hell of a jump in the cosmos. Evolution does not align with the soul. Even if you believe in a god of some kind, you must admit to scientific reasoning. Such a god created an adaptable universe; it exist without direct manipulation. On occasion, the best of men draw the shortest of straws. It's a game of chance and probability. Not chess.”
“Nathan...” Peter's voice pleads with him, but the concern just frustrates him more.
“I need some air,” he says and heads for the nearest rooftop exit.
When he reaches the rooftop, he's met with the sharp November air. He has always loved New York this time of year. Brisk breezes, the tang of apples though there's no orchard for several miles outside of the metropolis. A promise hangs in the air. Not the same kind that comes with fresh dew and mid-afternoon rain like in the spring, but one of change.
He moves to the edge of the roof, staring down at the twinkling city lights, the comfort of busy lives, and his new responsibility. Without thinking, he lifts himself off the building. Letting himself just float, he widens his arms
//for forgiveness//
in offering. The wind is stronger and colder in the open like this, but though it bites at his skin through the thin button-up, he relishes in its absolution. It's a clear night and this far from the majority of neon lights, he thinks he's able to make out Orion. He spread-eagles in the air, but he's no hunter, no courageous savior.
//Can't even save his own brother.//
The night sky offers him nothing of what he's looking
//hoping//
for except a clear head so he descends. His face breaks into a huge grin for a moment as he thinks about what Peter would say if he knew Nathan, ever practical, was flying and searching the stars for answers. Then his expression falls as he thinks Peter will most likely never fly again. Nathan doesn't want to risk whatever consequence that might have on Peter's body, beaten down by the tumor, or the tumor itself. Selfish as it is, Nathan wants Peter with him as long as possible-even if it's stuck in a hospitable bed.
He heads back inside, a little more at peace with himself.
~~~
By the time Thanksgiving has come and gone, Peter has gotten seemingly better. The tumor isn't shrinking, but it’s not growing and the chemo has stopped affecting him so negatively.
It's not forever, but it's a start.
He's even gotten enough energy to be able to walk around the hospital. He's smiling more, eating again.
But when Nathan asks him to do hospice care, Peter immediately says no.
Nathan rants and rails, about Peter's selfish tendencies, how much this is affecting Nathan's life with Heidi and the kids, how it's affecting Mom. But Peter just smiles a sad little smile and says it's best for them all if he stays at the hospital. Nathan doesn't have to come everyday, Peter isn't a baby.
Eventually, Peter wins and it's not like Nathan stops coming by. That's something he could never do and Peter knows it. Would have known it even if it weren't for the whole mind-reading situation.
And frankly, it's easier to do things like kiss his brother, though maybe not as comfortable, when they‘re not surrounded by people they know. He's just glad he reinforced his mother's plea for no cameras in the room, even making sure his own security detail went over the room. In his mother's case, it's protection of the family name, in his 'official' case it's so the public doesn't have to be reminded of his sick brother who might just take a bigger precedence in his life than them.
They've stopped operating on his brother's head, admitting a type of defeat when they say it can't be treated anymore by procedures. They've moved on to trying to reconcile the active junk DNA with the tumor, presumably in search of an immediate cure. But everyone knows how long it took the human genome to be mapped and the revelation of new branches of DNA...it's not going to be solved before Peter dies.
Nathan's still not willing to give in, though.
And so Peter's got a little hair back that Peter calls a buzz cut and Nathan mocks as fuzz. He looks different, but less emaciated than election day and as beautiful as ever. His brother's always had a light that shines through, and it's something Nathan's never understood
//been envious of//
but it's what makes his brother special to not just him, but everyone else.
It's also what unhinges him. Makes him starve for a brother's kiss. Because for so long that light depended on him more than it ever did their parents. They've always been close, more like twins than brothers five years apart. That light is what keeps him going even as he watches Peter die in a hospital room, cold and sterile, decorated only with a few dozen cards and some flower bouquets from Simone.
//Why was she still around?//
It keeps him going because if it hasn't gone out, there's no way Nathan can be upset. Peter's still with him. It scares him sometimes, this
//codependency//
need for his brother. It's been the one thing in his life he's never understood. And yet, that may be why it is the most important thing to him.
So for now, he sits on the edge of the bed, Peter's slim arms around his neck and lets himself lean into his brother, as though Nathan were dying rather than the other way around.
His brother's skin is smooth from constant applications of lotion and baby oil the hospital supplies. His lips are tender, pink, and swollen from too many kisses to count and his breath as it ghosts over Nathan's cheek is warm and smells of spice. Cinnamon dances on his tongue-Peter's been addicted to that flavor of toothpaste and mouthwash since they first developed it. Used to chew on cinnamon gum as a kid, too.
Nathan's always been more of a mint and coffee man.
Underneath all the spice and clean scents, though, there's still a tinge of antiseptic, of the bitter flavor of someone who's been in the hospital for almost two months. It never bothers Nathan in the moment, but once he arrives home he has to brush his teeth twice and shower using his cologne-scented body wash. It's not Peter he wants to wash off. Just the knowledge of what's to come. Nathan never feels right anymore, though. The hospital scent follows him like a shadow, wherever he goes.
But Nathan keeps kissing and petting, hoping his thoughts are too hidden under the good and God, yes he's trying to show because it is good and does make him think yes, and he doesn't want Peter to stop or feel guilty for what he can't help.
They haven't done anything but kiss since Peter was admitted, but tonight's going to be different. There's a neediness about Peter that Nathan hasn't felt for some time. He doesn't want to think about the whys
//dying, God, so close//
and instead just takes it for what it seems to be: passion and desire.
He lets Peter's hands slip into his shirt, feeling up muscles kept toned from five am workouts
//not the Bill Clinton type//
and a good diet. His own large hands sneak under thin white cotton to feel the soft skin that just covers his brother's vertebra
//too thin still//
and soon he's pressing Peter back against the pillows, mouthing along his jaw. He smiles when he hears Peter's little gasps and intakes of breath; Peter's always been quiet.
//Is it just with him or with everyone?//
He pushes the blankets down so they sit at Peter's knees. Peter's thighs tense up in anticipation and he sighs as Nathan lets a hand stray inside the convenient gap in the scrubs his brother's wearing to release the burgeoning erection.
It's been forever since Nathan's gotten to see his brother like this and he takes a moment to soak it in. His brother's fingers are clenched; one hand in Nathan's hair, the other in the thick mattress. Brown eyes are nearly black, his mouth hangs open, whole expression dazed. Nathan's gaze is hungry as it travels from head to cock and his hand gripping it firmly.
Peter whines a little in the back of his throat and Nathan leans in to whisper, “I'll get you there,” before nibbling at the earlobe in front of him.
He starts with feather-light tugs, full-length, slow. Thighs spread for him and he traces circles along the inside of the left leg. They kiss, tongues colliding as he gathers up precome to slick his way.
Hips thrust towards his hand as his strokes get faster, smoother. Hands come together to slide up and under his shirt again, following up until they can tweak nipples and it's Nathan's turn to let out a sound, a low moan that is swallowed as Peter leans in for another heart-stopping
//not funny//
kiss. Peter's whimpers get stronger as Nathan jacks faster and he knows his brother's on the edge.
He's pressing a wet kiss to Peter's pulse and flicking his thumb at the nerves beneath the head when he feels that tell-tale tension. He has a split second decision to make concerning where to stare and ends up watching Peter's face.
His brother is always stunning when he comes. There's no exaggerated porn face, no screams or loud yells distorting his face. His mouth just opens, head tilting back against the pillows. His eyebrows raise, eyes flutter closed and he takes in a huge gulp of air that expels slowly as he winds down. The tendons in Peter's neck flex with each rope of come that spurts out.
Nathan catches it all in his hand, because although the nurses might expect a man of Peter's age to jack off, he doesn't want questions and knows Peter would die of embarrassment if anyone made a joke of it.
Peter's breath is still a little ragged as Nathan starts to stand.
“What're you doing?” he whispers, hand in Nathan's shirt bunching tighter.
“Going to clean up. Leave you here to enjoy your afterglow,” Nathan smirks.
“What about you?” Peter opens an eye.
“Never mind me. I'm fine.” He tries not to shift. His body is disagreeing, but Nathan can't help but think it's a little pathetic.
“Whatever,” Peter rolls his eyes, clearly not believing it, but feeling too good to argue.
Nathan escapes to the bathroom off Peter's room, shutting the door. He washes his hands before he sits against the wall.
Of course he'd like Peter to get him off. God, he misses those hands like nothing else. But getting a hand job from a hospital patient? That seems worse than the fact that it would be his brother performing the act. And all he can think about is the fact that, short of a miracle, he's never going to have Peter under him again. Never get to feel the heat and comfort his brother offers as he welcomes him into his body.
His brother is lying in a crappy bed, dying, and all he can think of is that he'll never be able to fuck him again. What kind of sick pervert was he?
//The kind that fucks their brother.//
He's praying Peter isn't listening to his thoughts, that he's too caught up in his post-orgasm state, because right now, even Nathan doesn't want to be in Nathan's head.
He splashes cold water on his face before walking back out, thinking boring thoughts like the minimum wage to control himself.
“It's late. I have to get back home. Early day tomorrow.”
Peter nods as he grabs his older brother's hand, pulling him down for a kiss, soft and sweet. Nathan ducks his head as Peter strokes his jaw and says, “It'll be alright. We're okay.”
No, they're not. Peter's dying and he's horny as fuck but has enough willpower to not abuse Peter like that.
//Nothing will ever be all right.//
Instead of voicing his thoughts, he just smiles gruffly and kisses Peter's forehead before leaving.
~~~
A nosebleed starts the time clock as though it hadn't been started the day Peter first collapsed.
Nathan leaves work when he gets the call saying Peter's nose won't stop bleeding, hasn't for three hours, and they're going to cauterize. They tell him once he gets there that his brother's taken a turn for the worse and they give him a month, tops.
So, a week later, it's no surprise to find the Petrellis all dressed up and gathered in Peter's hospital room for Christmas Eve instead of hosting a big party as usual. Nathan had had many invites, including one from the Governor that he'd had to turn down. He'd also had to put up with his mother's temper tantrum for doing so, but there was no way he was leaving Peter alone on this night, not when it might be his last Christmas.
He was just lucky the Governor hadn't seen it as an affront considering his own daughter had been diagnosed with leukemia three years back. Not everyone had taken Nathan's polite decline so well. Politics as usual.
Peter is bald again and refusing to wear the wig their mother gave him, even when the cameras show up to film ten minutes of the get-together and interview Nathan about how his brother's illness will affect his stance on medical research.
//Bastards.//
Nathan's proud of his younger brother for not wearing it. Looks like a bad toupee, anyway.
If Peter knows every gift that night, it doesn't surprise Nathan. The family jokes about ESP and brain tumors without knowing just how close they are to the truth. The two brothers can't help the all-knowing glances that passes between them, and when Heidi mockingly mutters about sibling connections, they both just kiss her cheeks causing her to flush and giggle.
Nathan ushers them all out around midnight, his youngest son falling sleep already. Kissing Heidi on the mouth, he says he'd like to stay a bit longer, but he'll still get home before daylight.
She grins and he's stunned by her beauty and how striking she is.
He whispers, “I love you,” and helps her safely into the car, quelling the nervous feelings he always gets now around Heidi and cars.
He waits for a bit downstairs, not yet ready to go back up. He stares out the window as fat snowflakes fall, perfect Christmas snow just in time for Christmas Day. Kid's everywhere in the city will be ecstatic when they wake in the morning not just to Santa's gifts but to a winter wonderland as well.
Finally he ascends the elevator to Peter's room, slowly walking down the hallway. He reaches the door to see Peter's gotten out of the bed and is leaning against the wall as he stares out the window.
Nathan watches quietly, knowing Peter knows he's there, but neither willing to break the peaceful silence.
After a while, he steps into the room towards his brother. He steps up to enfold Peter into his embrace. He's careful. Peter has bed sores on his backside now, too many days of lying in the same position, never moving for anything but a test. He presses a kiss behind Peter's ear, drinking in every bit of his brother that still remains beneath the hospital smells.
“I'm sorry,” Peter whispers.
“What for?”
“Leaving you. Not being enough.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. It's not your fault. You can't help what you were born as. I only wish Mohinder, someone, had been able to help.”
//I should have.//
“You couldn't have,” Peter responds to his thought.
Nathan doesn't say anything because of all the things he's saved his brother from he can't save him from the one that really matters and that hurts more than anything. He's not sure he'll ever be whole again.
“You will be.”
Peter snuggles back in his arms, tilts his head up once for a less than chaste kiss, but not a needy one.
“Love you, Nathan.” It's said in a voice that's not as strong as it once was, but it's still sexy to Nathan's ears. Comfortable and brotherly.
They turn to stare out the window, watching the fluffy, wet snowflakes fall in a myriad of twinkling lights
“So. What are you doing?” Nathan starts, laying his chin on Peter's shoulder, still careful not to rest too much weight on him.
“Watching for reindeer.”
Title: Watching For Reindeer
Author: MF Luder
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Keywords: Petrellicest, slash, implied character death
Rating: R
Spoilers: Fallout (ep 11)
Disclaimer: They belong to the NBC and Tim Kring.
Archive: My LJ, Biani's Slash Archive, anywhere else, please just let me know so I can visit and pet my baby on occasion.
Summary: Nathan must deal with new revelations surrounding Peter's collapse and powers, but he's not sure he can deal with losing his brother, yet.
Feedback: Mulder_Loves_Scully_Forever@hotmail.com
Author's Notes: This fic is based off of an idea I had involving Heroes and a storyline from The X-Files.
technosage had a post about what might be wrong with Peter and as I was writing my response to her, I realized all the X-File similarities that could be put to use to help explain both the evolution theory of Heroes and why Peter was sick and the cop had that bloody nose. At the same time, I obviously didn't involve a piece of alien spacecraft in this fic, so the XF storyline is a bit bastardized.
Beta Thanks: All good stuff was no doubt made so by
technosage because she’s AMAZING and the rest is just me. Thanks also to
txtequilanights for the read-thru.
Inspiration:...Gay men are every bit as emotionally closeted as their straight counterparts. Instead of just one partner being distant, uncommunicative and emotionally stunted, both are.--Minotaur
Nathan still can't believe Peter went off half-cocked, thinking he could rescue that girl. Well, he can believe. But he's not sure how his brother survived or why he ended up in the Odessa jail.
He's always surprised at what kind of problems his baby brother can get himself involved in. The sheer disregard he has for his brother's life, career. He really doesn't ask for much. But could Peter stop trying to get himself killed or single-handedly bringing down Nathan's political career ala Billy Carter?
“Right now I'd settle for you walking straight,” he continues before noticing his brother was really weaving now. “Peter-!”
He watches helplessly as Peter crashes to the concrete steps and in an instant he’s lifting his brother's head, shaking him, but he won’t wake. He notices some passersby stopping at the outskirts of his vision, but he disregards them as Peter blinks his eyes open.
“Easy, easy, it's alright.” Nathan keeps his voice calm, smooth, trying not to show how upset
//scared//
he is. He holds Peter's head gently.
“It's all my fault. The explosion...”
Nathan's brow scrunches. “What are you talking about?”
“It's me...”
Nathan feels the body in his arms go slack, hears the slight choke as Peter stops breathing.
//Oh, God.//
“Breathe. Come on, Peter, breathe.”
He slaps his brother's jaw.
//So pale, so peaceful. No, Peter.//
“Peter. Peter! Peter!”
He doesn't even notice jail staff and strangers surrounding them. His only focus is on the still body in his arms. Peter isn't moving. Isn't. Moving.
“Sir. Sir!”
He starts at the hand shaking his shoulder.
“You've gotta let us help him. Let go.”
//Never.//
“We need to resuscitate him.”
His grip tightens for one moment then he lets go. Nathan lets Peter slip through his hands, taken by men who are calling out to others in the jail. Someone else seems to be on the phone with 911.
He hears the whine of sirens. Stunned, he stares at his hands, covered in dried blood from Peter' shirt.
“Peter!” he calls out to the night.
Fifteen feet away, Peter is loaded onto a stretcher and taken to the nearest hospital.
~~~
Nathan remembers when Peter was five years old.
Mom had read The Night Before Christmas on Christmas Eve as she always had, but this time, Peter was able to understand it. He'd laughed with delight when Santa landed on the roof, clapped his hands when he flew away calling out to one and all.
Nathan had woken up to Peter climbing in his bed.
“What do you want?”
“Has Santa come yet? I don't want to miss the reindeer.”
“There's no such thing. It's just a story,” Nathan had said with ten-year-old precociousness.
Peter's lip had wobbled. “No Santa? No reindeer?”
Knowing his brother would go running off to Mom and then she'd give Nathan a talking-to, he had sighed.
“Nah. 'Course there is. Want to look for the reindeer?”
Immediately, all wibbles ceased and Peter ran to the window. “Come on! Watch with me!”
Nathan performed the obligatory grumbling of an elder sibling towards his younger, but he went to the window, anyway. Sitting on the window seat, he pulled his squirmy brother into his arms and together, they stared out into the night waiting for Santa's reindeer until Peter fell asleep, sucking on his thumb.
It’s been tradition ever since.
~~~
It's been nine days since Peter collapsed. Peter was in a coma for eight of them, just waking up last night.
Nathan has hated every second of it. The first day he spent glued to his brother's side, getting in the nurses way, unable to let Peter out of vision for longer than a blink. But when it appeared he would be out longer, Nathan hadn’t been able to ignore his other duties. He has a wife. Two kids. A campaign.
He hadn't come back to the hospital until he got word that Peter had woken.
He's been barely holding it together, himself. The guilt. Knowing it was his fault. He hadn't destroyed the painting well enough. Hadn't made sure there were no other copies, images, anything.
Guilt over wanting to be with Peter rather than Heidi. Guilt because he couldn't force himself to take a minute to check on his brother. Can't stand to see his brother pasty and looking vulnerable on a hospitable bed.
Peter's never had more than a common cold.
But here Nathan is, sitting at a small table the staff grabbed for him so he could continue his work while Peter slept. He's on the phone when--
“Nathan?” A small whisper, but Nathan's been listening for so long and so hard, he hears it.
“Look, Joe, I'm going to have to call you back. You know what to do.” He hangs up.
“Nathan, what are you doing here?”
“Saving your ass, of course,” he jokes as he wanders to Peter's side. His brother's lips as he wets them shine pink in contrast to his white face and sweaty brow.
“You always are.” Peter smiles, but he looks tired.
“How you feeling?”
“Sick.”
Nathan puts a wrist on his brother's head, checking for a fever, but instead, he feels cold and clammy. Nothing is beeping though, and Peter's heart rate and breath are strong, so he figures Peter's as okay as he can be at the moment.
“Do they know what's wrong with me yet?”
“I don't think so. They didn't want to run you through the various tests until you woke up. See if you could tell them what you might have done that made you collapse.”
“I came back to life, that's what.”
“Peter.” Nathan can't believe that. Sure, Peter didn't die like the painting, but that just means this Isaac guy doesn't have any magical powers like he claims. Or that destiny can be changed. He’s always been a firm believer in free will and making your own future. He wouldn't be where he is now if not for that. And people don't just rise from the dead.
“I'm serious. I was dead, or close. I would have died. But Claire...”
“The cheerleader?” he asks. He's seen the visitor log from the jail. One Claire Bennett and a Mr. Bennett had visited his brother. Before him.
“Yeah. I saved her. And then she saved me. She's got powers. Healing. I would have died if not for her.”
“Or if not for your own stupidity.”
Peter's face, which had been so earnest, falls. Nathan can't help it. Sure, deep down he’s proud. Proud of his brother's selflessness. He sure as hell isn't that way. Selflessness gets you nowhere in the world. It’s a weakness. But it's always been so attractive on Pete.
But that doesn’t excuse bull-headedness. Or sheer idiocy. He was supposed to have died. It didn't matter if he had somehow healed. He'd gone in knowing he would die. Whatever happened to human kinds natural instinct for survival?
//Isn't that what made you fly out of the car while your wife was left to crash?//
“Nathan?”
“What would I have done if you'd gotten yourself killed? How would that have affected my career?
//Can't not have you, Pete.//
“Did you ever think of that? How having a brother who was a murderer was going to look to the people? Even now, I'm not sure how this is impacting things. I've gone down two points in the polls. I was gaining! Gaining, Peter. And then you go and do this. If this cheerleader can heal herself, don't you think she could have survived this attack, whatever it was?”
“It's not like that. She would have been dead. And the--”
“Yeah, I know. Save the cheerleader, save the world. Got it.” Nathan rubs a hand across his face, suddenly very tired. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get into an argument with you. There anything you need? If not, you should try to get some more rest. They want to start tests tomorrow.”
Peter stares at him, calculatingly, and Nathan wonders when he learned to do that.
“Okay. No, I’m good, thanks.”
Nathan smiles. “Go to sleep.”
Peter closes his eyes and Nathan sighs.
~~~
Nathan's made sure that Peter has his own room. It's one of the upper floors of the hospital, given to them because Nathan can afford it and because the hospital's already backing him for his proposals for the health care industry. Being related to a nurse helps, too.
The money means nothing, he's just glad to give Peter some quiet, allow him the privacy. Especially after he'd woken up the second time screaming about the noise. Nathan hadn't understood what was wrong, but immediately asked for a sequestered room and once Peter was moved, he'd calmed to simple whimpers.
Now Nathan's sitting on a plush chair, holding Peter's hand. His brother looks pained, even in sleep. He lifts the hand to his mouth, lips dragging across Peter's knuckles. He makes sure to not touch the butterfly needle flowing nutrients into his brother's vein because he won't
//can't//
eat.
“What's wrong with me?”
Nathan lifts his head at the rasp of Peter's voice. He sighs, not putting down his brother's hand, and not sure what to say, exactly. Instead of answering, he presses a kiss into Peter's palm.
“Nathan.”
Peter moves his hand, cupping Nathan's cheek and brushing his thumb against the high cheekbones Nathan has courtesy of their father. Still avoiding, Nathan kisses the wrist now exposed to him.
“Nathan. What's wrong?”
//Don't want to let you go.//
Nathan pulls back, moving his own hands up to clasp his brother's. “When they did the brain scan...they found some things.”
“What kinds of things?”
“You've got increased temporal lobe activity. It's astronomical. They don't know what it means. But it's like...like you're becoming all brain. Not like you weren't always the brains of this family.” He tries to crack a joke, but his brother’s expression doesn’t change.
“What else?”
“Peter--” His voice cracks and Nathan quickly stands up, walking to the huge window that overlooks New York. He stares at the millions of lights for a moment, composing himself.
“They detected a growth.”
“A growth.” Peter's voice is flat.
“In your...in your brain.”
“I have a brain tumor?”
Nathan nods his head, still focused on the city below.
//God, Peter. I can't be without you. You're not allowed to die.//
“Well, it doesn't sound too bad. I guess any cancer is bad but...they can operate, right?”
Nathan tries to get it out, stay calm, express it in clinical words just like the doctor's did to him.
//As though Peter was just a body. Just another typical patient.//
Instead, he chokes on his own tears and he's clutching at the window, leaving finger smudges all over the glass. It's only when he hears Peter trying to get out of bed that he turns around.
“Don't. Don't get out of that bed.”
“But Nat--”
“No,” he says forcefully, making himself get closer. His brother's worried about him when Peter's the one dying. Selfless bastard.
“It's not, is it?” Peter asks when Nathan's back by his side.
Nathan shakes his head, swallowing tears. He's been too shocked this whole time to cry since he found out earlier that day. And now he needs to hold it together. Needs to for Peter. For their mother that doesn't know yet.
//Broken family. Dad dead, mother slightly crazy, wife paralyzed, brother dying of brain tumor. All his fault. Somehow.//
“They, ah.” He takes a breath. “They still don't know what caused it. They're going to run more tests. The doctor's going to come later and talk about options. It's not operable, but he says they might be able to shrink it with chemo. Keep you living longer.”
//As long as possible, please. Never want you to die, Peter. Not before me, dammit.//
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
Peter looks away and asks, “Mom know, yet?”
“No.”
“Good. Don't tell her for as long as you can, okay? This'll break her.”
“Okay,” he says.
“Nathan.” Peter's looking at him again.
“Hmmm?”
“It'll be okay. I promise. I'm not just gonna die.”
Nathan nods numbly.
“Hey, come here.” Peter's voice is breathy, soft. Nathan leans over his brother.
Peter raises his head just enough to plant a small kiss on Nathan's lips, running a hand up and over his cheek, through his hair.
Nathan pulls back, a sad smile on his lips. “Yeah, you'll be okay. I'm going to make sure of it.”
“We'll be okay,” Peter emphasizes.
“I brought you some things. I knew you'd hate the gown, so I conned the staff into letting you wear a white tee and scrubs. And then some cds, and your toothbrush and toothpaste.”
“Thanks,” Peter grins. “My teeth were feeling a bit fuzzy.”
Nathan laughs for the first time all day.
“And hey, thanks for getting me moved. I just...it was so noisy.”
Nathan grows somber. “What was that all about, anyway? I could hardly hear anything.”
“It's not...remember when we were leaving the station? I said the cop could read my mind?”
“Uh-huh,” Nathan responds, still skeptical. He'd obtained a background check on the guy. Nothing special. Had failed his detective test three times and only recently got involved with the FBI on some special case. Certainly nothing that pointed to the guy reading minds.
“That's what's happening to me. I think.”
“You think.”
“When he was interrogating me, I seemed to pick up his power. It was loud in my head, suddenly. A strange dissonance. And then this massive headache. I was feeling exactly what he felt all the time.”
“And you know this how?”
“I just know. And now, it's still happening. At first, when I collapsed, I thought it was because of the lingering headache. But now you tell me I've got cancer--”
“It's just a growth,” Nathan says, unwilling to hear that c-word.
“--and I wonder if that isn't why I can hear people.”
“But don't you only pick up their abilities around these people? After all, you say you can't fly when I'm not around.”
“True. That's why it's weird. But when I woke up, it was like every mind in this place was inside my head, screaming at me with their thoughts. Up here, away from them, I'm able to block them out better. Zero in on them.”
“You really think you can read minds, huh?”
“I know what you're thinking.”
Nathan raises an eyebrow.
“You're thinking that I'm slightly delusional. You're thinking you're scared as shit. You don't want me to die. You're feeling guilty about leaving Heidi at home. You're exhausted with the campaign.”
“Anyone who knew me could guess those things, Peter. And you know me better than most.”
“I do. But what I never knew was you flew once on your own. Not with me. Not in the car with Heidi. Two men were chasing you. In Nevada.”
Nathan starts.
“I'm right, aren't I? Why didn't you tell me?”
“That's not true, I--”
“Don't lie to me!” Peter raises his voice before he reaches up to grab at his head, cradling it in his hands. “Don't lie to me. Not now.”
Nathan rests a hand on his brother's back, sweeping in big circles, soothing him like when they were children.
“Okay, I'm sorry. You're right.” He kisses Peter's temple, leaving his lips there for a moment. “I didn't want to worry you.”
“You mean, you didn't want to indulge my fantasies.” Peter's voice is muffled in his hands.
Nathan grimaces, not needing to reply.
Peter just nods and lifts his head. Nathan wipes away the tear tracks.
“I'm going to go now. I have some things I need to take care of. Mom said she was going to come by later. Should I let the doctors know not to tell her?”
Still nodding, Peter rolls onto his side, eyes shutting slowly.
Leaning down, Nathan brushes Peter's bangs from his forehead, giving him one last kiss.
//Love you.//
~~~
Three days before the election, Nathan's walking from headquarters to his car, off to see Peter again, when he's stopped by a gaggle of reporters.
“Mr. Petrelli!”
“Sir! Can you answer a few questions for us?”
“Mr. Petrelli, the New York people want to know about all the time your spending off the campaign trail!”
Nathan's been ignoring the press the past week after some disturbing news from Peter's doctors. There hasn't been a leak yet, but only because he's putting Linderman's money to good use in bribing people to stay silent. He's just been fortunate that the New York people aren't as cruel as the journalists and actually understand the role of grieving brother. He hasn't wanted to break down though, not with rising numbers and finally gaining the edge over the incumbent.
“Is it true your brother's a manic depressive? I hear he tried to commit suicide again after attacking a nurse!”
Nathan whirls around,
//shocked//
anger darkening his features. “Excuse me?”
“Do you deny it, Mr. Petrelli?”
“Do I deny such ridiculous accusations? Of course I do! My brother is sick. My brother is not crazy, nor depressive. And he certainly would not attack anyone. You will leave my brother alone, do you understand me?”
Nathan turns on his heel, leaving the stunned reporters in his wake. He's fuming
//so fucking pissed//
and seeing red.
“Fix it,” he mutters to his campaign manager as he climbs into his car.
~~~
The day of the election, he's filmed going to the voting booth, wheeling Heidi along with him. He's smiling, flashing the grin his mother always said was the perfect politician's smile. He's out in the streets of New York, stopping people walking down on their way to work to introduce himself, encourage any last minute votes.
That night he's up at the after party waiting for results and when they come in, he's won. Sixty-seven percent of the precincts. A virtual mandate.
He makes his acceptance speech after receiving the concession call from his opponent. Balloons fall, confetti sparkles, he and his kids and Heidi are cheering, grinning from ear to ear. He's flashing the politician's thumbs-up.
But inside, he's breaking because Peter was supposed to be here. Even with everything else, even when the whole flying thing started, Nathan never imagined his brother wouldn't be beside his mother, smiling, clapping for him. He imagined the way his brother would come on stage and give him a huge hug while Nathan ruffled his hair. It would be for show, but it'd have been real, too.
By the time he's able to leave, his face hurts, his voice is raw, and he just wants to see Peter. Despite the hour, he has his driver take him to the hospital and up he goes.
When he walks in, tie undone and shirt unbuttoned, Peter's sitting up and grinning like a fool.
“You did it, big brother.”
“Shouldn't you be asleep?” he ribs, collapsing in the chair beside Peter's bed.
“Knew you'd come. I'm so proud. Just wish I could have been there.”
Peter's eyes are red-rimmed but a beautiful liquid brown and Nathan takes his hand and says earnestly, “I wish you could have, too.” He pauses. “How'd chemo go today?”
Peter looks away before turning back. “Good.”
Peter just started. He hasn't lost all his hair yet, but the beautiful and silky black strands are falling out in tufts. He's gotten skinnier and it's been harder for him to smile.
“Was it really?”
“Yeah. I haven't felt sick today. I was able to vote without puking.”
Nathan smiles. “I'm glad. Wouldn't have wanted it to not count because of a little body fluid.”
“That's gross.” But Peter's face has lit up again. “How's Heidi? She happy?”
“Thrilled,” Nathan drawls. “Ready to decorate my new office. I think she secretly had the curtains measured already.”
“She did,” Peter smirks. “I said go with the red and gold. Brown is too dull for you.”
Nathan lightly punches his brother on the shoulder. “Punk.”
“You love me.”
Nathan's mouth turns up slowly as he blinks flirtatiously. “I do.”
Then he leans in and Peter just opens up, bringing his hands to Nathan's face, then slipping one down to rest on his shoulder. Nathan half-stands, not letting go, as he adjusts to sit on the bed, hands supporting him on either side of Peter.
Peter's lips are soft; he's been applying chapstick non-stop. Inside he tastes like the cinnamon of his toothpaste. It's wet and sexy and slow. Nathan's always been able to get lost in his brother's kisses and today, it's what he needs.
He's still got to be careful of the various IVs entering the body in his arms, but he manages to slide an arm around to Peter's back, resting it in the middle of Peter's shoulder blades. The kiss goes on for awhile, both desperate for contact that they haven't had since before Peter went off to save the cheerleader. They break apart but come right back together until Nathan feels himself hardening and then he has to pull back because they sure as hell can't have sex in a hospitable bed among the other million variables.
“Oh, God, Nathan. I've missed you. This.”
“Me too.”
//More than you can know.//
Then he thinks.
//Can you hear me?//
Peter nods, keeping his hands on Nathan's face, breath mingling with his brother's.
//This is crazy.//
“Never said it wasn't,” Peter responds, then leans in for another cock-hardening kiss.
“Pete...”
“I know, I know.
“You should sleep. Tomorrow...”
“Yeah. Tomorrow.”
Nathan nods.
“Will you stay?”
“I'll be right here. All night. Now sleep.”
Nathan shifts so that he's half sitting on the bed right beside Peter now. He puts his arms around his shoulders, pulling his younger brother to him so he can rest his head on Nathan's chest. He watches as Peter drifts off slowly, and he rests his head against the cold wall, thinking about
//tomorrow//
the next day.
~~~
The next day, of course, Nathan's schedule is filled with interviews and bureaucratic duties. He's lucky that he doesn't have any technical duties until January, but even so, there are thank you calls and notes and meetings with lobbyists that he would love to get out of, but there's no way.
It doesn't stop him from watching the New York square all day, waiting. Peter said it would happen. He was the bomb. But Peter's bedridden and there's no explosion by seven o'clock that night. Isaac isn't dead and Sylar's still nowhere to be found, but for the moment, he's not opening any more heads.
He heads over to the hospital, apologizing profusely when Heidi rolls her eyes at him, saying his sons haven't seen him for more than ten minutes in weeks, but he can't, just can't.
He arrives at Peter's room, only to stop as he listens to soft voices. He peeks his head in and finds his brother and the professor in excited discussion.
“Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating,” rings out Mohinder's voice with its slight accent. “So it seems that genetics can trump destiny. Even when those genetics were the creation of that destiny. Evolution has always been wondrous, but Peter, yours is the most amazing tale of survival.”
“Except for the part where the mutation dies out.”
“Yes, well. I am sorry. That was rather tactless of me, wasn‘t it?”
Nathan sees as Mohinder bows his head in apology. Peter seems to accept it, laying a friendly hand upon the Indian's shoulder.
Nathan clears his throat and enters the sterile room.
“Nathan!” Peter is happy to see him and he can't help the breath of relief
//why was he worried?//
that escapes him as Peter turns from Mohinder to him.
“Glad to see you made it through, Pete,” he says roughly. He clears his throat again.
“I should go,” Mohinder says, starting to stand. “I'm just trying to understand all these cases and their differences and Peter was kind enough to let me--”
“No problem,” Nathan says, gesturing off-handedly, any concern gone. Peter wants Mohinder here. That’s good enough for him. “Stay and talk.”
Mohinder nods, lips lifting in a half smile and somehow that reassures Nathan. “Alright then. Tell me what you know from your doctors,” he turns back to Peter.
Peter struggles to sit upright, coughing a little. Nathan's immediately by his side, lifting him up, giving him a drink of water and if Peter glares at him, Nathan simply smothers the smirk.
“It started with the dreams. I seemed to know what was going to happen. Not premonition, but a kind of connection with the person in the dream. I kept having the flying dreams. Then I was able to fly with Nathan. But not without him. Over the month of October, I was suddenly able to do what the other people like us could do. I picked up their abilities. Then, that night in the jail, the cop could read my mind. Or he tried to. But our abilities canceled each other out and it hurt like hell.
“Skip to waking up from the coma, and I find out I've got a brain tumor. And I can still read minds. They run more tests. Do several DNA tests.”
He pauses and Nathan gives him the glass again before going to sit in his customary chair. He stares out the window as Peter continues. The wounds are still fresh and Peter talking about it again only rubs them raw.
//You can't die. You're mine. You're not allowed to die. I won't let you.//
“They find out, my DNA is messed up. Not messed up as in missing pieces. But rather, according to them, we all have this extra DNA that isn't used.”
“Junk DNA,” Mohinder inserts and Peter nods.
“Only, in me, it's not junk. It's being used. Turned on, they say. An evolutionary advancement. Or a mutation.”
“And so that's what gives you your powers. It's something in the evolution of activating unused DNA.”
“Which means, all of us-human kind-have this capability. It's not really a mutation. I have a mutation. But Nathan doesn't.”
Mohinder turns to stare at Nathan. Nathan gazes back. They can trust Mohinder, but he doesn't have to give anything up, either.
“You know this for sure?” Mohinder questions.
Nathan nods, letting Peter explain.
“We decided, since I had this weird activation, to check Nathan's. He's got some turned on as well. Different strands. Not as many. We even did our mother's to see if it was a family thing. It's not. Not hereditary, anyway. Obviously, it's a hard thing to prove, since we can't exactly tell the doctors that Nathan can fly and I can read minds among other things. But it seems certain.”
“So it seems...” Mohinder pauses, tapping a finger to his chin. “It could be concluded that your tumor is a result of too fast growth.”
“What do you mean?” Peter asks and even Nathan perks up.
“Just that, your brother, Mr. Petrelli here, you mentioned he has fewer activations. Perhaps, his was the perfect amount of evolution. Evolution has always occurred in steps, stages. Reptiles did not develop limbs in one generation. It took thousands or more years to develop from fins to limbs, to usable legs. Even longer before digits were developed. Each of these are coded for in DNA. Occasionally, though, certain creatures would develop too much. A mutation or just a stage of evolution the world wasn't able to maintain, yet.”
//The world had never been ready for someone like Peter.//
“I imagine, that with your abundance of junk DNA that is activated, the tumor is a consequence thereof. A check, we'll say.”
“Why my brother, though?” Nathan can't take it anymore
//the unfairness of it all//
and he jumps out his seat to begin pacing. “Why not me? Or, that cheerleader. She’s younger than him. Why wouldn't the younger generation have the defect?” His jaw tenses and he has to fight to keep the yelling inside of him.
“Mr. Petrelli. It is not a defect. Nor is it generational. Flukes and advances in biology don't always happen in a simple order. While things like limbs took years to evolve, if one believes the Big Bang Theory, that was one hell of a jump in the cosmos. Evolution does not align with the soul. Even if you believe in a god of some kind, you must admit to scientific reasoning. Such a god created an adaptable universe; it exist without direct manipulation. On occasion, the best of men draw the shortest of straws. It's a game of chance and probability. Not chess.”
“Nathan...” Peter's voice pleads with him, but the concern just frustrates him more.
“I need some air,” he says and heads for the nearest rooftop exit.
When he reaches the rooftop, he's met with the sharp November air. He has always loved New York this time of year. Brisk breezes, the tang of apples though there's no orchard for several miles outside of the metropolis. A promise hangs in the air. Not the same kind that comes with fresh dew and mid-afternoon rain like in the spring, but one of change.
He moves to the edge of the roof, staring down at the twinkling city lights, the comfort of busy lives, and his new responsibility. Without thinking, he lifts himself off the building. Letting himself just float, he widens his arms
//for forgiveness//
in offering. The wind is stronger and colder in the open like this, but though it bites at his skin through the thin button-up, he relishes in its absolution. It's a clear night and this far from the majority of neon lights, he thinks he's able to make out Orion. He spread-eagles in the air, but he's no hunter, no courageous savior.
//Can't even save his own brother.//
The night sky offers him nothing of what he's looking
//hoping//
for except a clear head so he descends. His face breaks into a huge grin for a moment as he thinks about what Peter would say if he knew Nathan, ever practical, was flying and searching the stars for answers. Then his expression falls as he thinks Peter will most likely never fly again. Nathan doesn't want to risk whatever consequence that might have on Peter's body, beaten down by the tumor, or the tumor itself. Selfish as it is, Nathan wants Peter with him as long as possible-even if it's stuck in a hospitable bed.
He heads back inside, a little more at peace with himself.
~~~
By the time Thanksgiving has come and gone, Peter has gotten seemingly better. The tumor isn't shrinking, but it’s not growing and the chemo has stopped affecting him so negatively.
It's not forever, but it's a start.
He's even gotten enough energy to be able to walk around the hospital. He's smiling more, eating again.
But when Nathan asks him to do hospice care, Peter immediately says no.
Nathan rants and rails, about Peter's selfish tendencies, how much this is affecting Nathan's life with Heidi and the kids, how it's affecting Mom. But Peter just smiles a sad little smile and says it's best for them all if he stays at the hospital. Nathan doesn't have to come everyday, Peter isn't a baby.
Eventually, Peter wins and it's not like Nathan stops coming by. That's something he could never do and Peter knows it. Would have known it even if it weren't for the whole mind-reading situation.
And frankly, it's easier to do things like kiss his brother, though maybe not as comfortable, when they‘re not surrounded by people they know. He's just glad he reinforced his mother's plea for no cameras in the room, even making sure his own security detail went over the room. In his mother's case, it's protection of the family name, in his 'official' case it's so the public doesn't have to be reminded of his sick brother who might just take a bigger precedence in his life than them.
They've stopped operating on his brother's head, admitting a type of defeat when they say it can't be treated anymore by procedures. They've moved on to trying to reconcile the active junk DNA with the tumor, presumably in search of an immediate cure. But everyone knows how long it took the human genome to be mapped and the revelation of new branches of DNA...it's not going to be solved before Peter dies.
Nathan's still not willing to give in, though.
And so Peter's got a little hair back that Peter calls a buzz cut and Nathan mocks as fuzz. He looks different, but less emaciated than election day and as beautiful as ever. His brother's always had a light that shines through, and it's something Nathan's never understood
//been envious of//
but it's what makes his brother special to not just him, but everyone else.
It's also what unhinges him. Makes him starve for a brother's kiss. Because for so long that light depended on him more than it ever did their parents. They've always been close, more like twins than brothers five years apart. That light is what keeps him going even as he watches Peter die in a hospital room, cold and sterile, decorated only with a few dozen cards and some flower bouquets from Simone.
//Why was she still around?//
It keeps him going because if it hasn't gone out, there's no way Nathan can be upset. Peter's still with him. It scares him sometimes, this
//codependency//
need for his brother. It's been the one thing in his life he's never understood. And yet, that may be why it is the most important thing to him.
So for now, he sits on the edge of the bed, Peter's slim arms around his neck and lets himself lean into his brother, as though Nathan were dying rather than the other way around.
His brother's skin is smooth from constant applications of lotion and baby oil the hospital supplies. His lips are tender, pink, and swollen from too many kisses to count and his breath as it ghosts over Nathan's cheek is warm and smells of spice. Cinnamon dances on his tongue-Peter's been addicted to that flavor of toothpaste and mouthwash since they first developed it. Used to chew on cinnamon gum as a kid, too.
Nathan's always been more of a mint and coffee man.
Underneath all the spice and clean scents, though, there's still a tinge of antiseptic, of the bitter flavor of someone who's been in the hospital for almost two months. It never bothers Nathan in the moment, but once he arrives home he has to brush his teeth twice and shower using his cologne-scented body wash. It's not Peter he wants to wash off. Just the knowledge of what's to come. Nathan never feels right anymore, though. The hospital scent follows him like a shadow, wherever he goes.
But Nathan keeps kissing and petting, hoping his thoughts are too hidden under the good and God, yes he's trying to show because it is good and does make him think yes, and he doesn't want Peter to stop or feel guilty for what he can't help.
They haven't done anything but kiss since Peter was admitted, but tonight's going to be different. There's a neediness about Peter that Nathan hasn't felt for some time. He doesn't want to think about the whys
//dying, God, so close//
and instead just takes it for what it seems to be: passion and desire.
He lets Peter's hands slip into his shirt, feeling up muscles kept toned from five am workouts
//not the Bill Clinton type//
and a good diet. His own large hands sneak under thin white cotton to feel the soft skin that just covers his brother's vertebra
//too thin still//
and soon he's pressing Peter back against the pillows, mouthing along his jaw. He smiles when he hears Peter's little gasps and intakes of breath; Peter's always been quiet.
//Is it just with him or with everyone?//
He pushes the blankets down so they sit at Peter's knees. Peter's thighs tense up in anticipation and he sighs as Nathan lets a hand stray inside the convenient gap in the scrubs his brother's wearing to release the burgeoning erection.
It's been forever since Nathan's gotten to see his brother like this and he takes a moment to soak it in. His brother's fingers are clenched; one hand in Nathan's hair, the other in the thick mattress. Brown eyes are nearly black, his mouth hangs open, whole expression dazed. Nathan's gaze is hungry as it travels from head to cock and his hand gripping it firmly.
Peter whines a little in the back of his throat and Nathan leans in to whisper, “I'll get you there,” before nibbling at the earlobe in front of him.
He starts with feather-light tugs, full-length, slow. Thighs spread for him and he traces circles along the inside of the left leg. They kiss, tongues colliding as he gathers up precome to slick his way.
Hips thrust towards his hand as his strokes get faster, smoother. Hands come together to slide up and under his shirt again, following up until they can tweak nipples and it's Nathan's turn to let out a sound, a low moan that is swallowed as Peter leans in for another heart-stopping
//not funny//
kiss. Peter's whimpers get stronger as Nathan jacks faster and he knows his brother's on the edge.
He's pressing a wet kiss to Peter's pulse and flicking his thumb at the nerves beneath the head when he feels that tell-tale tension. He has a split second decision to make concerning where to stare and ends up watching Peter's face.
His brother is always stunning when he comes. There's no exaggerated porn face, no screams or loud yells distorting his face. His mouth just opens, head tilting back against the pillows. His eyebrows raise, eyes flutter closed and he takes in a huge gulp of air that expels slowly as he winds down. The tendons in Peter's neck flex with each rope of come that spurts out.
Nathan catches it all in his hand, because although the nurses might expect a man of Peter's age to jack off, he doesn't want questions and knows Peter would die of embarrassment if anyone made a joke of it.
Peter's breath is still a little ragged as Nathan starts to stand.
“What're you doing?” he whispers, hand in Nathan's shirt bunching tighter.
“Going to clean up. Leave you here to enjoy your afterglow,” Nathan smirks.
“What about you?” Peter opens an eye.
“Never mind me. I'm fine.” He tries not to shift. His body is disagreeing, but Nathan can't help but think it's a little pathetic.
“Whatever,” Peter rolls his eyes, clearly not believing it, but feeling too good to argue.
Nathan escapes to the bathroom off Peter's room, shutting the door. He washes his hands before he sits against the wall.
Of course he'd like Peter to get him off. God, he misses those hands like nothing else. But getting a hand job from a hospital patient? That seems worse than the fact that it would be his brother performing the act. And all he can think about is the fact that, short of a miracle, he's never going to have Peter under him again. Never get to feel the heat and comfort his brother offers as he welcomes him into his body.
His brother is lying in a crappy bed, dying, and all he can think of is that he'll never be able to fuck him again. What kind of sick pervert was he?
//The kind that fucks their brother.//
He's praying Peter isn't listening to his thoughts, that he's too caught up in his post-orgasm state, because right now, even Nathan doesn't want to be in Nathan's head.
He splashes cold water on his face before walking back out, thinking boring thoughts like the minimum wage to control himself.
“It's late. I have to get back home. Early day tomorrow.”
Peter nods as he grabs his older brother's hand, pulling him down for a kiss, soft and sweet. Nathan ducks his head as Peter strokes his jaw and says, “It'll be alright. We're okay.”
No, they're not. Peter's dying and he's horny as fuck but has enough willpower to not abuse Peter like that.
//Nothing will ever be all right.//
Instead of voicing his thoughts, he just smiles gruffly and kisses Peter's forehead before leaving.
~~~
A nosebleed starts the time clock as though it hadn't been started the day Peter first collapsed.
Nathan leaves work when he gets the call saying Peter's nose won't stop bleeding, hasn't for three hours, and they're going to cauterize. They tell him once he gets there that his brother's taken a turn for the worse and they give him a month, tops.
So, a week later, it's no surprise to find the Petrellis all dressed up and gathered in Peter's hospital room for Christmas Eve instead of hosting a big party as usual. Nathan had had many invites, including one from the Governor that he'd had to turn down. He'd also had to put up with his mother's temper tantrum for doing so, but there was no way he was leaving Peter alone on this night, not when it might be his last Christmas.
He was just lucky the Governor hadn't seen it as an affront considering his own daughter had been diagnosed with leukemia three years back. Not everyone had taken Nathan's polite decline so well. Politics as usual.
Peter is bald again and refusing to wear the wig their mother gave him, even when the cameras show up to film ten minutes of the get-together and interview Nathan about how his brother's illness will affect his stance on medical research.
//Bastards.//
Nathan's proud of his younger brother for not wearing it. Looks like a bad toupee, anyway.
If Peter knows every gift that night, it doesn't surprise Nathan. The family jokes about ESP and brain tumors without knowing just how close they are to the truth. The two brothers can't help the all-knowing glances that passes between them, and when Heidi mockingly mutters about sibling connections, they both just kiss her cheeks causing her to flush and giggle.
Nathan ushers them all out around midnight, his youngest son falling sleep already. Kissing Heidi on the mouth, he says he'd like to stay a bit longer, but he'll still get home before daylight.
She grins and he's stunned by her beauty and how striking she is.
He whispers, “I love you,” and helps her safely into the car, quelling the nervous feelings he always gets now around Heidi and cars.
He waits for a bit downstairs, not yet ready to go back up. He stares out the window as fat snowflakes fall, perfect Christmas snow just in time for Christmas Day. Kid's everywhere in the city will be ecstatic when they wake in the morning not just to Santa's gifts but to a winter wonderland as well.
Finally he ascends the elevator to Peter's room, slowly walking down the hallway. He reaches the door to see Peter's gotten out of the bed and is leaning against the wall as he stares out the window.
Nathan watches quietly, knowing Peter knows he's there, but neither willing to break the peaceful silence.
After a while, he steps into the room towards his brother. He steps up to enfold Peter into his embrace. He's careful. Peter has bed sores on his backside now, too many days of lying in the same position, never moving for anything but a test. He presses a kiss behind Peter's ear, drinking in every bit of his brother that still remains beneath the hospital smells.
“I'm sorry,” Peter whispers.
“What for?”
“Leaving you. Not being enough.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. It's not your fault. You can't help what you were born as. I only wish Mohinder, someone, had been able to help.”
//I should have.//
“You couldn't have,” Peter responds to his thought.
Nathan doesn't say anything because of all the things he's saved his brother from he can't save him from the one that really matters and that hurts more than anything. He's not sure he'll ever be whole again.
“You will be.”
Peter snuggles back in his arms, tilts his head up once for a less than chaste kiss, but not a needy one.
“Love you, Nathan.” It's said in a voice that's not as strong as it once was, but it's still sexy to Nathan's ears. Comfortable and brotherly.
They turn to stare out the window, watching the fluffy, wet snowflakes fall in a myriad of twinkling lights
“So. What are you doing?” Nathan starts, laying his chin on Peter's shoulder, still careful not to rest too much weight on him.
“Watching for reindeer.”