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indecisionyou have our ruins and records, by mumblemutter (cm+A.)
pg-13ish, peter/nathan, I am Become Death Verse, and spoilers for up to there | ao3 link
pretty much what it says on the tin. peter in the obligatory IABD verse fic, being uh, peterish. and also there's petrellicest. and micah. not really an AU.
1.
Nathan's standing orders are to bring Peter in alive. It's not an order that's feasible in any way, Peter knows that and Nathan knows that, but that's what they are, nonetheless. Claire tried, once or twice, with René, but Peter hit her over the head the first time and shot her the second, and now she just wants him dead, to hell with what her father wants. Peter doesn't think about who Claire used to be nowadays, just who she is, right now. A Petrelli whose only true loyalty lies with a man long dead, a man whose death she still lays at Peter's feet.
"If I could," she said once, when she'd gotten him cornered in an alleyway, "I would kill you and bring you back, over and over again, just so you knew what dying felt like. Just so you'd wonder: is this going to be the last." Her hair was still blond back then, if severely tied up in the long braid she so favored, and he still, back then, tried to talk to her first before attempting to escape, but René was catching up and he could almost feel his powers start to ebb.
"I'm sorry, Claire," he said, and he teleported out on her lip curling up.
Claire never got over Noah, but Peter never held that against her. It was just how they were.
2.
Micah calls him from a payphone in downtown New York. Peter knows it's him, because as he ignores it and keeps walking, the next phone rings. And then the next, and the next. There are cameras everywhere, and Micah sees everything, and eventually a man in a suit, briefcase in one hand, lands smoothly in front of him and holds a cellphone out. "I, uh, I think this is for you," he says, and he sounds confused.
Peter grabs the cell, "Thanks," and pushes him out of the way. The man gives a startled shout of protest, but he doesn't chase after Peter as he strides away. Peter never expects them to. "What do you want, kid," Peter says, because it annoys Micah whenever someone calls him kid.
"You're the one looking for me, remember? How can I help you, Peter?" Always so polite, this boy.
"There's a factory in Michigan. High level security. I need in."
Back in the early days, back before he wasn't Public Enemy Number One and he could still walk in, relatively easy, to the White House, more often than not, Nathan wasn't there. Or he was there, only he was busy. "Your brother's the President," Tracy told him once, her eyes obscured by huge sunglasses and her thoughts mainly filled with boredom and impatience towards him. "Surely you can't still expect him to drop everything because you need him." Tracy was nothing like Heidi, who had always been fond of him, if slightly resentful of Peter's importance in Nathan's life. She didn't have any patience for their drama, especially not Peter's.
He bit back a spiteful inclination to go, had him first, you know, just to see if her face would crack, if she'd even care, or pity him like Noah did, and said instead, "Just tell him I was here. Again." If he concentrated hard enough he could hear Nathan's thoughts, focused and decisive. Making plans that would change the world. For a second he contemplated just shoving himself into Nathan's mind, until Nathan came around to find him, but it was a fleeting thought and he pushed it, and Nathan, out of his head.
"Next time, call first," Tracy said to his retreating back.
Peter stopped and turned around, reached one finger out to touch a vase sitting on the nearby mantlepiece. Watched as it turned to ice and shattered. "Thanks," he said to her. "For that," and she flinched.
3.
Peter's never been able to fully absorb all of Micah's ability. Never been able to fully understand and talk to machines the way Micah does. He doesn't much care, both about the power or what the extent of Micah's abilities are, so long as Micah remains firmly on his side. "Try not to kill anyone tonight," Micah's saying now. He's brought Monica along with him, she scowls at Peter, telegraphing a dislike that Peter doesn't need to mindread to understand. That's okay though, he doesn't need them to like him, just do what he says.
Peter shrugs. "Things go down. People die." He ignores Micah's frown to ask instead, "We ready?"
"Ready enough. I think they have a new Technopath. He's trying to block me from overriding the security locks."
"Is he as good as you are?"
"No," Micah says simply, and that's that.
In the end, five dead is collateral damage he can live with, but Micah's furious. He waits until Peter teleports the three of them safely out of there, and then he turns on him. "I'll teach you how to use my ability if that's what you want. I don't care anymore. You can be the one-man army that will save the world, all on your own. I'm out."
Monica's still glaring at him, and Peter knows, if she could, she'd punch him right in the face. No-one dares, of course, but she's about the closest to. "Yeah, if he goes, I go. We take the network with us."
It's a speech Micah's given before, that they've both given before, but not one Peter ever takes seriously. Micah still believes in him, believes that the prophecies of the end of the world are real. The entire resistance does.
"I'm sorry?" He tries, and it sounds as ridiculous to his ears as it must to Micah's, because he only rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "People die," Peter says again, with finality. "Better a few now than everyone later." But he's tired already, of Micah's stubbornly resolute moral compass, so he just says, "Fine, whatever. I'll be in touch," and teleports out.
4.
It used to be easier. Back before they figured out that the only way to fight people that could do anything was to be prepared for everything, they'd walk right into facilities, practically unarmed. Now it seems like every other person working in the labs has an ability of some sort, and you never know how many of them will be able to resist mind-control or tell a lazy security system to snap back into action. Some facilities have employees whose entire job it is to just sit there and make sure no-one could use any sort of power to get in. They keep it unpredictable, so you have to keep changing your game. Too many variables and far too many surprises, and far too many people in charge who know exactly what they are dealing with, and how to overcome it. Peter doesn't mind so much, he's always enjoyed a good challenge.
The first time Peter killed someone, they were taking down a Pinehearst research facility masquerading as a paper company. Everyone screaming and running as the sprinklers went off, after Peter stunned the guards and Micah made every single door open, turned computer systems off and informed security cameras that what they really needed to be doing was transmit static.
Sometimes it was a research lab and there was nothing but people in lab coats and terminals of computers and vials of blood, and sometimes it was a holding lab and they had to unhook people from machines, rows and rows of them slowly coming to. Micah never lost focus, never wavered from his path, and at some point Peter forgot he was practically a kid, started looking at him as a fellow soldier. This time it was both.
It was a suit who came at them with a gun. He slammed the man into the nearest wall without thinking, almost felt his entire body pop as he hit it, as Peter squeezed with his mind until there was no-one inhabiting that body anymore. He barely noticed Micah staring at him in horror, until his sleeve was grabbed and Micah said, quietly, "Don't. Don't do that again. No-one needs to die here tonight." Back then, Peter believed him, nodded his head shakily with a mouth that was suddenly filled with bile. Never mind that the guy probably deserved to die. Never mind that this place was where they stuffed people exactly like him, like them, to be experimented on or left indefinitely to die.
"Come on," he'd said. "We have a lot of people to rescue, and not nearly enough time to do it."
They managed to get at least half of the people out, before the airstrike came, and Peter shielded Micah's body with his own and teleported them both out of there, not two seconds before everything around them turned to fire.
That was also the first time Peter realized: the game was changing. No-one cared about accountability anymore, about being faced with questions over death tolls and human rights violations. He told Micah that, but Micah was always smarter than he was, and he already knew. He wiped furiously at his face and said, "Did we just get all those people killed."
"No," Peter said. "You can't blame yourself. It was their fault. Not ours. We just need to be more careful next time, that's all. Plan for all contingencies." Not believing the words even as he said them, not trusting himself to say anything more for fear he'd break down himself. Missing Nathan suddenly, painfully, borderline ridiculously: I fucked up bad, Nathan. Tell me what to do. But that was a million lifetimes ago, and neither one of them was that guy anymore.
Micah just sat down, folded his body onto the floor and hugged himself tight. Peter knelt down beside him and wrapped an awkward arm around him. Micah turned his face into Peter's chest almost immediately, sobbed quietly into his shirt, and Peter thought about how young he was, and how the man's body had just burst in his grip, and how, for a brief, startling moment, it had been just about the best sensation in the world. "I'm sorry," Peter said. "Next time. We do better."
5.
Sometimes he thinks that he's wrong. That Nathan's not the key, not the one who started all this. And sometimes Peter wishes that he'd paid more attention to Nathan's thoughts, back when Nathan still traveled without his army of bodyguards and René or the new guy that's now permanently assigned to him. Back when he was just the newly elected President of the United States, his family standing proudly by his side. Peter still has pictures, keeps them for no reason that he can discern, although Nathan would say it's because Peter's always been the sentimental sort.
Back when he was still the poster child for the evo-human, and not the monster out to destroy civilization. Nathan pushed him out, the empath do-gooder who only wanted to help save the world. Peter Parker without the spidey-suit, it took the focus off of Nathan, made his ability to fly seem harmless by comparison. Quaint, almost. On a planet with people who could bend time and space, control minds, start fires or freeze things with their bare hands and kill everyone within a five block radius with a single tear, well, Nathan was just about what they needed. "I'm not sure about all this," Peter told Nathan once, after yet another press conference, yet another round of the photographers' flash in his face.
Nathan just cupped Peter's neck with his fingers, said, mildly condescendingly, "No, trust me, Pete. We're going to do great things together." His mind telegraphing: God, how long do I have to keep holding his hand though every single thing. Peter punched him then, without thinking, and teleported out in the middle of Nathan's slow fall to the ground.
In retrospect, he probably should have just stayed away, not allowed himself to get dragged back into the circus that was the public life. But he couldn't. Not then, and not now.
It was the first and just about only time he'd tried to kill Nathan. The knife slippery and hot in his hand, and he'd hesitated, far too long, enough time for Nathan's instincts to kick in. He'd lashed out with a flat palm against Peter's wrist and Peter's face had gotten in the way of the resulting forward motion. The pain he was used to, the blood on his face and in his eyes as well, but it was Nathan cradling his face in his arms, urgently saying his name over and over again, that he couldn't take.
He'd woken up in a chair, his face bandaged and his arms and legs restrained, Nathan standing above him, blood still drying on his shirt. "They say you're a terrorist, Peter. That you're plotting against us. Against me."
"I'm trying to save the world."
"Yeah, I've heard that one before, Pete. Notice how it always ends with you doing anything but. Kirby Plaza. The virus. How many times do I have to rescue you before you stop self-destructing and trying to take us all with you." Nathan picked up the knife and held it gingerly, one palm flat against the butt and a finger on the sharp, blood-stained point. "You tried to kill me," he said, almost wonderingly.
"I did - Nathan. You don't understand. What I've seen."
But of course Nathan did. Peter flinched when Nathan leaned down, but all he did was wrap his arm around Peter's shoulders and kiss him on the temple, the way he always would. "I'll keep you safe, Peter. I promised Ma."
In the end, Nathan always did what he thought was best.
6.
Peter flies to the White House because he can't directly teleport there anymore. He lands on the balcony right outside Nathan's window, gracelessly because his body's already forgetting it knows how to fly. Nathan never sleeps without a power suppressor standing guard.
Peter won't get his powers back here and more often than not he has to wait until morning, scowling at Nathan until he finally deigns to make that phone call and Peter can teleport or fly out. One of these days, he'll just walk right out the door and see what happens. Nathan's staff aren't stupid: they know. Maybe Claire does too. But none of them are in any position to disobey Nathan's direct orders, and on nights like these, Nathan's orders are always to stay the fuck away.
Peter still keeps the knife tucked into his boot. Sometimes when Nathan sleeps, after, draped openly over the bed as if he has no reason to be afraid, Peter will take it out, run the flat blade of it over Nathan's skin. Goosebumps will rise but Nathan never stirs beyond a slight shift, a hand that will unconsciously seek out Peter's.
Nathan should never let his guard down, and Peter should take advantage of it when he does. In truth: Nathan's fully aware that Peter will never be strong enough. He always ends up here, ends up kissing the hollow of Nathan's neck, rearranging heavy, compliant limbs until he's satisfied, until Nathan stirs, barely awake, and then Peter will fuck him again, and again, and Nathan will never resist.
Sometimes Peter thinks if he buries himself deep enough under Nathan's skin, digs past flesh and skin and bone, he'll manage to get his message through, and Nathan will believe. But that won't happen. Nathan's still the President, and Peter. Peter's the guy with the cardboard sign at the street corner, yelling about the end of the world.
"I should have killed you," he tells Nathan, wraps his fingers around Nathan's throat and squeezes. "Back when it would have made a difference." Nathan coughs, and grabs at his wrist with slippery fingers, but not that hard. This is Nathan's idea of benediction. Of turning Peter into an animal to be hunted down and killed on sight. "I should have," Peter says, and leans down to kiss Nathan on the side of his mouth. He tries to move away, but Nathan's other hand is suddenly on the back of his neck, holding him there, and his kiss is bruising and relentless.
The last time Gabriel was Sylar, he was strapped to a bed in a storage facility, a place meant to secure one, and only one, prisoner. The mark of Noah all over it. Peter never quite trusted Noah alone with Sylar, but the important thing was that Sylar did. "You should talk to him," Mom said.
"He's a mass murderer, or have you forgotten that?"
"He's a lost boy who desperately wants a family worthy of his gifts." She reached out and adjusted Peter's shirt collar, and Peter almost flinched away before he remembered who she was. "Besides, once the hunger is under control-"
"You believe that?"
"What's important isn't what's true, Peter. But what Sylar believes is true."
"His name is Gabriel," Peter said, and Mom smiled. "And we're not his family."
"So long as he never finds out." She hugged him then, and very often when she did that nowadays he saw it for what it was rather than what she wanted him to think it was. He took comfort in it nonetheless. At least some things never changed. The way she touched him. The way Nathan touched him: I have what you crave. Love, comfort, reassurance. Just trust in me and do whatever it is I tell you to. He pulled away before she was ready to let him go, and he gave her credit for masking her surprise well. "Go talk to your brother, Peter. Convince him to go the right way."
Noah brought him down, said, "We're making progress. He's not killed anyone in over a week now."
"A week?"
"It was just an orderly. Not a big deal." He stopped in his tracks, and put his hand on Peter's arm. "This is important, Peter. His powers. Don't fuck this up."
"Hey," Peter said, as they reached the cell door and Noah started keying in the security code. "He's my brother. Family takes care of one another, right, Noah?"
Sylar was sleeping, but Peter sat down next to him and he opened his eyes. "Hello, Peter," he said, and Peter kept his thoughts deliberately neutral and calm, even though as far as he could tell, Sylar didn't have that particularly ability yet.
"I heard you're doing well." Peter put his hand on Sylar's shoulder and squeezed, and Sylar responded with a wan smile.
"I feel terrible about that man that I killed. I suppose you could consider that a positive sign."
"Every man needs a conscience, Gabriel. I have faith in you." He leaned closer and tightened his grip, not even thinking about what he was doing until his lips were on Sylar's forehead. "You're my brother, us Petrellis have to stick together, right?"
"Tell that to our older brother."
"Nathan's always been." He paused, and finally found the right word to use. "Weak." And even this close, he could feel Sylar smile.
Bennet said afterwards, "You should visit more often. I believe it might help."
"Yeah, I'll pencil it in on my calender. Visit my other power-crazy brother." He stopped and let Bennet walk ahead a few steps in front of him before saying, "I'll see you later, Noah. Say hi to Claire for me."
7.
There's a man whose face is wrapped in shadow even when Peter paints the future, focuses all his energy on revealing him. Gabriel says that perhaps it's just Nathan, but Peter doesn't quite know what to make of it. It's wishful thinking on his part, mostly, that it might be someone else. Someone else who's responsible for Nathan's actions, for spreading the formula around like an expensive viral infection, because then it would all stop, perhaps. Too much protection, too many walls. Micah's got his ear to the data stream and there's a boy in Beijing that can do what Molly Parkman does, only better, but neither one of them can find this one person. "Are you sure he's even real," Micah asks once, quietly dubious. "That it's not just Nathan."
"No - I. Yeah, okay. You can stop looking. I don't care anymore." Faith slipping away every single day. He'd asked God once, demanded answers for this mess, but whatever God that exists apparently only speaks to his brother these days.
"You can't save him, you know." Micah says, and Peter scowls. He knows. Everyone knows. It's the opposite of what he was once assigned to do. His finger's on the trigger as it is, and he's just biding time right now, making excuses. Hoping something, somehow, will change.
8.
Sometimes, Nathan will trace the scar on Peter's face, and Peter will say, "Remember when you gave this to me," but without rancor.
"It was your knife, Pete," is Nathan's only reply.
9.
It's become a running joke among the resistance: Peter Petrelli can't kill his brother. Not one that anyone besides Gabriel dares tell to his face, they're all too afraid of him, but Peter's acutely aware that his constant failure is a point of conversation. Gabriel pretends to understand, or at least he thinks he does, he tells Peter with all seriousness that you couldn't choose your family, but you couldn't betray them at the same time. That Nathan is his brother too. Peter's too old and too tired, but a large part of him wants to wave his arms and go: Nathan is my brother. Mine and only mine.
What Gabriel doesn't say, but lies heavily between his lines, is that Nathan's already fired the first salvo, already betrayed Peter, and his loyalty shouldn't lie with the man that had him locked up for half a year at Pinehearst. What he doesn't say, is that three people died in the drive to get him out of there, because he was important. Because what he could do, no-one else could. Hiro Nakamura's face looking down at him after he'd removed the drug feed, saying, "Hello, Peter. Long time. You look like hell," the night they came for him. They'd just missed Nathan's visit, and it was a shame, they could have just ended the war right then and there.
"How's our brother, Peter," Gabriel says, when Peter returns from the White House.
"Alive and well. Sleeping it off. I wear him out, you know how it goes." A punch in the arm, Gabriel still thinks he's kidding, although there is never anything remotely resembling humor on Peter's face. The underlying point is the same: Peter can't kill Nathan because Nathan is his brother and Peter loves him.
He sabotages a factory in Madrid and Nathan makes a speech on television. He destroys a shipment heading towards the United States and Nathan makes a speech on television. Terrorism will not be tolerated. We will bring these murderers, these monsters, to justice. Tracy by his side, Claire in the shadows. The man he promises to God he'll take down: visiting him in the night, tracing his lies with his tongue and the tips of his fingers. Nathan always has things under control, and that includes Peter.
next »
pg-13ish, peter/nathan, I am Become Death Verse, and spoilers for up to there | ao3 link
pretty much what it says on the tin. peter in the obligatory IABD verse fic, being uh, peterish. and also there's petrellicest. and micah. not really an AU.
1.
Nathan's standing orders are to bring Peter in alive. It's not an order that's feasible in any way, Peter knows that and Nathan knows that, but that's what they are, nonetheless. Claire tried, once or twice, with René, but Peter hit her over the head the first time and shot her the second, and now she just wants him dead, to hell with what her father wants. Peter doesn't think about who Claire used to be nowadays, just who she is, right now. A Petrelli whose only true loyalty lies with a man long dead, a man whose death she still lays at Peter's feet.
"If I could," she said once, when she'd gotten him cornered in an alleyway, "I would kill you and bring you back, over and over again, just so you knew what dying felt like. Just so you'd wonder: is this going to be the last." Her hair was still blond back then, if severely tied up in the long braid she so favored, and he still, back then, tried to talk to her first before attempting to escape, but René was catching up and he could almost feel his powers start to ebb.
"I'm sorry, Claire," he said, and he teleported out on her lip curling up.
Claire never got over Noah, but Peter never held that against her. It was just how they were.
2.
Micah calls him from a payphone in downtown New York. Peter knows it's him, because as he ignores it and keeps walking, the next phone rings. And then the next, and the next. There are cameras everywhere, and Micah sees everything, and eventually a man in a suit, briefcase in one hand, lands smoothly in front of him and holds a cellphone out. "I, uh, I think this is for you," he says, and he sounds confused.
Peter grabs the cell, "Thanks," and pushes him out of the way. The man gives a startled shout of protest, but he doesn't chase after Peter as he strides away. Peter never expects them to. "What do you want, kid," Peter says, because it annoys Micah whenever someone calls him kid.
"You're the one looking for me, remember? How can I help you, Peter?" Always so polite, this boy.
"There's a factory in Michigan. High level security. I need in."
03/09
Back in the early days, back before he wasn't Public Enemy Number One and he could still walk in, relatively easy, to the White House, more often than not, Nathan wasn't there. Or he was there, only he was busy. "Your brother's the President," Tracy told him once, her eyes obscured by huge sunglasses and her thoughts mainly filled with boredom and impatience towards him. "Surely you can't still expect him to drop everything because you need him." Tracy was nothing like Heidi, who had always been fond of him, if slightly resentful of Peter's importance in Nathan's life. She didn't have any patience for their drama, especially not Peter's.
He bit back a spiteful inclination to go, had him first, you know, just to see if her face would crack, if she'd even care, or pity him like Noah did, and said instead, "Just tell him I was here. Again." If he concentrated hard enough he could hear Nathan's thoughts, focused and decisive. Making plans that would change the world. For a second he contemplated just shoving himself into Nathan's mind, until Nathan came around to find him, but it was a fleeting thought and he pushed it, and Nathan, out of his head.
"Next time, call first," Tracy said to his retreating back.
Peter stopped and turned around, reached one finger out to touch a vase sitting on the nearby mantlepiece. Watched as it turned to ice and shattered. "Thanks," he said to her. "For that," and she flinched.
3.
Peter's never been able to fully absorb all of Micah's ability. Never been able to fully understand and talk to machines the way Micah does. He doesn't much care, both about the power or what the extent of Micah's abilities are, so long as Micah remains firmly on his side. "Try not to kill anyone tonight," Micah's saying now. He's brought Monica along with him, she scowls at Peter, telegraphing a dislike that Peter doesn't need to mindread to understand. That's okay though, he doesn't need them to like him, just do what he says.
Peter shrugs. "Things go down. People die." He ignores Micah's frown to ask instead, "We ready?"
"Ready enough. I think they have a new Technopath. He's trying to block me from overriding the security locks."
"Is he as good as you are?"
"No," Micah says simply, and that's that.
In the end, five dead is collateral damage he can live with, but Micah's furious. He waits until Peter teleports the three of them safely out of there, and then he turns on him. "I'll teach you how to use my ability if that's what you want. I don't care anymore. You can be the one-man army that will save the world, all on your own. I'm out."
Monica's still glaring at him, and Peter knows, if she could, she'd punch him right in the face. No-one dares, of course, but she's about the closest to. "Yeah, if he goes, I go. We take the network with us."
It's a speech Micah's given before, that they've both given before, but not one Peter ever takes seriously. Micah still believes in him, believes that the prophecies of the end of the world are real. The entire resistance does.
"I'm sorry?" He tries, and it sounds as ridiculous to his ears as it must to Micah's, because he only rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "People die," Peter says again, with finality. "Better a few now than everyone later." But he's tired already, of Micah's stubbornly resolute moral compass, so he just says, "Fine, whatever. I'll be in touch," and teleports out.
4.
It used to be easier. Back before they figured out that the only way to fight people that could do anything was to be prepared for everything, they'd walk right into facilities, practically unarmed. Now it seems like every other person working in the labs has an ability of some sort, and you never know how many of them will be able to resist mind-control or tell a lazy security system to snap back into action. Some facilities have employees whose entire job it is to just sit there and make sure no-one could use any sort of power to get in. They keep it unpredictable, so you have to keep changing your game. Too many variables and far too many surprises, and far too many people in charge who know exactly what they are dealing with, and how to overcome it. Peter doesn't mind so much, he's always enjoyed a good challenge.
06/10
The first time Peter killed someone, they were taking down a Pinehearst research facility masquerading as a paper company. Everyone screaming and running as the sprinklers went off, after Peter stunned the guards and Micah made every single door open, turned computer systems off and informed security cameras that what they really needed to be doing was transmit static.
Sometimes it was a research lab and there was nothing but people in lab coats and terminals of computers and vials of blood, and sometimes it was a holding lab and they had to unhook people from machines, rows and rows of them slowly coming to. Micah never lost focus, never wavered from his path, and at some point Peter forgot he was practically a kid, started looking at him as a fellow soldier. This time it was both.
It was a suit who came at them with a gun. He slammed the man into the nearest wall without thinking, almost felt his entire body pop as he hit it, as Peter squeezed with his mind until there was no-one inhabiting that body anymore. He barely noticed Micah staring at him in horror, until his sleeve was grabbed and Micah said, quietly, "Don't. Don't do that again. No-one needs to die here tonight." Back then, Peter believed him, nodded his head shakily with a mouth that was suddenly filled with bile. Never mind that the guy probably deserved to die. Never mind that this place was where they stuffed people exactly like him, like them, to be experimented on or left indefinitely to die.
"Come on," he'd said. "We have a lot of people to rescue, and not nearly enough time to do it."
They managed to get at least half of the people out, before the airstrike came, and Peter shielded Micah's body with his own and teleported them both out of there, not two seconds before everything around them turned to fire.
That was also the first time Peter realized: the game was changing. No-one cared about accountability anymore, about being faced with questions over death tolls and human rights violations. He told Micah that, but Micah was always smarter than he was, and he already knew. He wiped furiously at his face and said, "Did we just get all those people killed."
"No," Peter said. "You can't blame yourself. It was their fault. Not ours. We just need to be more careful next time, that's all. Plan for all contingencies." Not believing the words even as he said them, not trusting himself to say anything more for fear he'd break down himself. Missing Nathan suddenly, painfully, borderline ridiculously: I fucked up bad, Nathan. Tell me what to do. But that was a million lifetimes ago, and neither one of them was that guy anymore.
Micah just sat down, folded his body onto the floor and hugged himself tight. Peter knelt down beside him and wrapped an awkward arm around him. Micah turned his face into Peter's chest almost immediately, sobbed quietly into his shirt, and Peter thought about how young he was, and how the man's body had just burst in his grip, and how, for a brief, startling moment, it had been just about the best sensation in the world. "I'm sorry," Peter said. "Next time. We do better."
5.
Sometimes he thinks that he's wrong. That Nathan's not the key, not the one who started all this. And sometimes Peter wishes that he'd paid more attention to Nathan's thoughts, back when Nathan still traveled without his army of bodyguards and René or the new guy that's now permanently assigned to him. Back when he was just the newly elected President of the United States, his family standing proudly by his side. Peter still has pictures, keeps them for no reason that he can discern, although Nathan would say it's because Peter's always been the sentimental sort.
Back when he was still the poster child for the evo-human, and not the monster out to destroy civilization. Nathan pushed him out, the empath do-gooder who only wanted to help save the world. Peter Parker without the spidey-suit, it took the focus off of Nathan, made his ability to fly seem harmless by comparison. Quaint, almost. On a planet with people who could bend time and space, control minds, start fires or freeze things with their bare hands and kill everyone within a five block radius with a single tear, well, Nathan was just about what they needed. "I'm not sure about all this," Peter told Nathan once, after yet another press conference, yet another round of the photographers' flash in his face.
Nathan just cupped Peter's neck with his fingers, said, mildly condescendingly, "No, trust me, Pete. We're going to do great things together." His mind telegraphing: God, how long do I have to keep holding his hand though every single thing. Peter punched him then, without thinking, and teleported out in the middle of Nathan's slow fall to the ground.
In retrospect, he probably should have just stayed away, not allowed himself to get dragged back into the circus that was the public life. But he couldn't. Not then, and not now.
07/09
It was the first and just about only time he'd tried to kill Nathan. The knife slippery and hot in his hand, and he'd hesitated, far too long, enough time for Nathan's instincts to kick in. He'd lashed out with a flat palm against Peter's wrist and Peter's face had gotten in the way of the resulting forward motion. The pain he was used to, the blood on his face and in his eyes as well, but it was Nathan cradling his face in his arms, urgently saying his name over and over again, that he couldn't take.
He'd woken up in a chair, his face bandaged and his arms and legs restrained, Nathan standing above him, blood still drying on his shirt. "They say you're a terrorist, Peter. That you're plotting against us. Against me."
"I'm trying to save the world."
"Yeah, I've heard that one before, Pete. Notice how it always ends with you doing anything but. Kirby Plaza. The virus. How many times do I have to rescue you before you stop self-destructing and trying to take us all with you." Nathan picked up the knife and held it gingerly, one palm flat against the butt and a finger on the sharp, blood-stained point. "You tried to kill me," he said, almost wonderingly.
"I did - Nathan. You don't understand. What I've seen."
But of course Nathan did. Peter flinched when Nathan leaned down, but all he did was wrap his arm around Peter's shoulders and kiss him on the temple, the way he always would. "I'll keep you safe, Peter. I promised Ma."
In the end, Nathan always did what he thought was best.
6.
Peter flies to the White House because he can't directly teleport there anymore. He lands on the balcony right outside Nathan's window, gracelessly because his body's already forgetting it knows how to fly. Nathan never sleeps without a power suppressor standing guard.
Peter won't get his powers back here and more often than not he has to wait until morning, scowling at Nathan until he finally deigns to make that phone call and Peter can teleport or fly out. One of these days, he'll just walk right out the door and see what happens. Nathan's staff aren't stupid: they know. Maybe Claire does too. But none of them are in any position to disobey Nathan's direct orders, and on nights like these, Nathan's orders are always to stay the fuck away.
Peter still keeps the knife tucked into his boot. Sometimes when Nathan sleeps, after, draped openly over the bed as if he has no reason to be afraid, Peter will take it out, run the flat blade of it over Nathan's skin. Goosebumps will rise but Nathan never stirs beyond a slight shift, a hand that will unconsciously seek out Peter's.
Nathan should never let his guard down, and Peter should take advantage of it when he does. In truth: Nathan's fully aware that Peter will never be strong enough. He always ends up here, ends up kissing the hollow of Nathan's neck, rearranging heavy, compliant limbs until he's satisfied, until Nathan stirs, barely awake, and then Peter will fuck him again, and again, and Nathan will never resist.
Sometimes Peter thinks if he buries himself deep enough under Nathan's skin, digs past flesh and skin and bone, he'll manage to get his message through, and Nathan will believe. But that won't happen. Nathan's still the President, and Peter. Peter's the guy with the cardboard sign at the street corner, yelling about the end of the world.
"I should have killed you," he tells Nathan, wraps his fingers around Nathan's throat and squeezes. "Back when it would have made a difference." Nathan coughs, and grabs at his wrist with slippery fingers, but not that hard. This is Nathan's idea of benediction. Of turning Peter into an animal to be hunted down and killed on sight. "I should have," Peter says, and leans down to kiss Nathan on the side of his mouth. He tries to move away, but Nathan's other hand is suddenly on the back of his neck, holding him there, and his kiss is bruising and relentless.
03/08
The last time Gabriel was Sylar, he was strapped to a bed in a storage facility, a place meant to secure one, and only one, prisoner. The mark of Noah all over it. Peter never quite trusted Noah alone with Sylar, but the important thing was that Sylar did. "You should talk to him," Mom said.
"He's a mass murderer, or have you forgotten that?"
"He's a lost boy who desperately wants a family worthy of his gifts." She reached out and adjusted Peter's shirt collar, and Peter almost flinched away before he remembered who she was. "Besides, once the hunger is under control-"
"You believe that?"
"What's important isn't what's true, Peter. But what Sylar believes is true."
"His name is Gabriel," Peter said, and Mom smiled. "And we're not his family."
"So long as he never finds out." She hugged him then, and very often when she did that nowadays he saw it for what it was rather than what she wanted him to think it was. He took comfort in it nonetheless. At least some things never changed. The way she touched him. The way Nathan touched him: I have what you crave. Love, comfort, reassurance. Just trust in me and do whatever it is I tell you to. He pulled away before she was ready to let him go, and he gave her credit for masking her surprise well. "Go talk to your brother, Peter. Convince him to go the right way."
Noah brought him down, said, "We're making progress. He's not killed anyone in over a week now."
"A week?"
"It was just an orderly. Not a big deal." He stopped in his tracks, and put his hand on Peter's arm. "This is important, Peter. His powers. Don't fuck this up."
"Hey," Peter said, as they reached the cell door and Noah started keying in the security code. "He's my brother. Family takes care of one another, right, Noah?"
Sylar was sleeping, but Peter sat down next to him and he opened his eyes. "Hello, Peter," he said, and Peter kept his thoughts deliberately neutral and calm, even though as far as he could tell, Sylar didn't have that particularly ability yet.
"I heard you're doing well." Peter put his hand on Sylar's shoulder and squeezed, and Sylar responded with a wan smile.
"I feel terrible about that man that I killed. I suppose you could consider that a positive sign."
"Every man needs a conscience, Gabriel. I have faith in you." He leaned closer and tightened his grip, not even thinking about what he was doing until his lips were on Sylar's forehead. "You're my brother, us Petrellis have to stick together, right?"
"Tell that to our older brother."
"Nathan's always been." He paused, and finally found the right word to use. "Weak." And even this close, he could feel Sylar smile.
Bennet said afterwards, "You should visit more often. I believe it might help."
"Yeah, I'll pencil it in on my calender. Visit my other power-crazy brother." He stopped and let Bennet walk ahead a few steps in front of him before saying, "I'll see you later, Noah. Say hi to Claire for me."
7.
There's a man whose face is wrapped in shadow even when Peter paints the future, focuses all his energy on revealing him. Gabriel says that perhaps it's just Nathan, but Peter doesn't quite know what to make of it. It's wishful thinking on his part, mostly, that it might be someone else. Someone else who's responsible for Nathan's actions, for spreading the formula around like an expensive viral infection, because then it would all stop, perhaps. Too much protection, too many walls. Micah's got his ear to the data stream and there's a boy in Beijing that can do what Molly Parkman does, only better, but neither one of them can find this one person. "Are you sure he's even real," Micah asks once, quietly dubious. "That it's not just Nathan."
"No - I. Yeah, okay. You can stop looking. I don't care anymore." Faith slipping away every single day. He'd asked God once, demanded answers for this mess, but whatever God that exists apparently only speaks to his brother these days.
"You can't save him, you know." Micah says, and Peter scowls. He knows. Everyone knows. It's the opposite of what he was once assigned to do. His finger's on the trigger as it is, and he's just biding time right now, making excuses. Hoping something, somehow, will change.
8.
Sometimes, Nathan will trace the scar on Peter's face, and Peter will say, "Remember when you gave this to me," but without rancor.
"It was your knife, Pete," is Nathan's only reply.
9.
It's become a running joke among the resistance: Peter Petrelli can't kill his brother. Not one that anyone besides Gabriel dares tell to his face, they're all too afraid of him, but Peter's acutely aware that his constant failure is a point of conversation. Gabriel pretends to understand, or at least he thinks he does, he tells Peter with all seriousness that you couldn't choose your family, but you couldn't betray them at the same time. That Nathan is his brother too. Peter's too old and too tired, but a large part of him wants to wave his arms and go: Nathan is my brother. Mine and only mine.
What Gabriel doesn't say, but lies heavily between his lines, is that Nathan's already fired the first salvo, already betrayed Peter, and his loyalty shouldn't lie with the man that had him locked up for half a year at Pinehearst. What he doesn't say, is that three people died in the drive to get him out of there, because he was important. Because what he could do, no-one else could. Hiro Nakamura's face looking down at him after he'd removed the drug feed, saying, "Hello, Peter. Long time. You look like hell," the night they came for him. They'd just missed Nathan's visit, and it was a shame, they could have just ended the war right then and there.
"How's our brother, Peter," Gabriel says, when Peter returns from the White House.
"Alive and well. Sleeping it off. I wear him out, you know how it goes." A punch in the arm, Gabriel still thinks he's kidding, although there is never anything remotely resembling humor on Peter's face. The underlying point is the same: Peter can't kill Nathan because Nathan is his brother and Peter loves him.
He sabotages a factory in Madrid and Nathan makes a speech on television. He destroys a shipment heading towards the United States and Nathan makes a speech on television. Terrorism will not be tolerated. We will bring these murderers, these monsters, to justice. Tracy by his side, Claire in the shadows. The man he promises to God he'll take down: visiting him in the night, tracing his lies with his tongue and the tips of his fingers. Nathan always has things under control, and that includes Peter.
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