hackthis_archive | Heroes - Neverland (Nathan, Peter, G)

July 3rd is

serialkarma's birthday, and I've been trying to get her to tell me what she wants, but she's the most contrary person I've meet since, well, me and she won't. Ergo, I shall have to extrapolate from her squees. This is for you, darlin' I hope you like it.

Peter Petrelli, Nathan Petrelli
pre-series, G

Neverland

Four-year-old Peter Petrelli has a pair of red footie pajamas with Winnie the Pooh sewn on the left breast pocket. Actually, Peter has three pairs; they match his Winnie the Pooh themed bedroom, his overwhelmingly Winnie the Pooh-based book collection and his stuffed Winnie the Pooh with one eye and a chewed leg. According to Peter, they are his favoritest pajamas in the entire world.

When he runs down the hall from the kitchen to the living room after his evening snack, the padding makes a whish!whish!whish noise against the linoleum that Nathan can hear a mile off. This is very different from the stomping noises Peter makes when he's told to tidy up the toys in his room, or the slapping noises of bare feet when Peter's trying to avoid his before-bed bath and he's streaking around the house like a crazed cherub.

This particular prelude to Peter's arrival makes it much easier for Nathan to shift his books off of his lap and change mental gears, so that when Peter bursts into the room, all wide eyes, wild hair and quick motions, Nathan's prepared to catch Peter when he launches himself at Nathan's lap.

It only took Nathan one instance of being unprepared to realize that it's better to anticipate Peter's movements than to be surprised. He still shudders when he thinks about Peter jumping on him while he was still engrossed in his Chemistry textbook. Peter hit his chin on the edge of the book, bit his lip and there was blood everywhere.

Peter did the screaming, but Nathan was the one who thought he was dying.

Tonight, when the clock chimes 7:00 pm, Nathan shifts slightly on the sofa so that he's turned towards the doorway. Peter likes to surprise him, but Nathan likes to show Peter that there's nothing he can do to surprise Nathan. At 7:06, Nathan moves all his books to the end table. At 7:13 Nathan hears the thundering of little feet and the door swings openly wildly as Peter makes his entrance, shrieking, "Nathan!Nathan!Nathan!"

Peter's got his abused Winnie the Pooh in one hand and a battered copy of The Tale of Peter Rabbit in the other. Nathan raises an eyebrow and steels himself as Peter launches himself at Nathan's knees. Peter's aim is a little off, and Nathan has to grab the back of Peter's pajamas so he doesn't end up face down on the carpet.

"You might want to work on your flight pattern a little bit," Nathan remarks trying to settle a wriggling Peter on his lap. He winces as Peter knees him in the thigh and plants a sticky kiss on his cheek.

"Read to me now," Peter orders, flinging his arms around Nathan's neck and smacking Nathan in the head with his stuffed animal.

Nathan snorts and pulls back slightly. "Were you good for Sophie?" he asks, as he disentangles himself from Peter's super-glue like grip.

Peter's head bobbles up at down as though it's detached from his spine, and Nathan cups his jaw to hold him still. "Don't nod so fast, you'll give yourself a headache."

Peter's face scrunches up. "What's a headache?"

Nathan can't help chuckling. "You are -- you're a headache."

Peter's cocks his head to the side as though considering this carefully. "Okay," he says after several seconds, "read to me now?"

Nathan's laugh starts from somewhere in his chest and breaks free like a piece of a glacier falling into the ocean. He can feel the laughter wracking his body, and the quizzical look on Peter's face only makes it worse.

"What's so funny?" Peter demands.

Nathan gets control of himself and smoothes some of Peter's unruly hair back from his forehead. "You are, Pete," he says with a smile. "You are."

Nathan has his very own Peter radar. It's not a personal choice he's ever made, it's just something that happened to him one day. Nathan is sixteen; he's not very big on things that just 'happen'. He is a Petrelli; he's big on control. He doesn't like inexplicable occurrences, but that's what Peter is. That's what Peter does. Since the day he came into Nathan's life, he's just sort of happened, and Nathan has been trying to control him ever since.

Nathan doesn't know what came over him the day that his mother brought a red-faced, squirming blob home from St. Joseph's, he just thinks it's a good thing he doesn't believe in things like love at first sight or eternal devotion.

Nathan remembers their first meeting as though it just happened twenty minutes ago. There was his mother looming as ominously as ever in her favorite pink Chanel suit, pacing back and forth in the yellow sitting room in black heels and talking in a low voice to this shrieking interloper swaddled in a blue blanket.

Nathan doesn't know where his father was, just that he had mysteriously gone on a 'business trip' three days before Peter's birth and he wasn't there when Peter came home. Nathan recalls standing in the doorway, watching his mother pat the blanket, trying to soothe it, and then she turned, sensing him as only his mother could.

"Lurking in doorways is the sign of an indecisive mind," she said a clipped voice, her words slightly drowned out by incessant wailing.

Nathan took one step forward and then another as though being reeled in by an invisible tow-line. There was this low level pinging in the back of his mind that he thought was the clock on the mantelpiece, and then his mother presented Peter to him.

"This is your little brother, Nathan," she said, carefully settling the squalling, wriggling trespasser into Nathan's arms. "It's your job to look after him."

Nathan looked down, the distaste settling on his features automatically. Peter was wrinkled and pale, his shock of black hair looked like a dead animal resting on his head, and his eyes were screwed shut as though the world had disappointed him enough already. Nathan tightened his grip automatically. He would never hear the end of it if he dropped his little brother.

And then Peter stopped screaming.

His screwed up face relaxed, he opened his eyes slightly and looked at Nathan, and Nathan looked back. The pinging in the back of Nathan's mind went quiet, and Nathan felt a tidal wave of ownership wash over him. This was his. Peter was his -- in a way that his mother wasn't, and his father seemed to struggle with.

He could do this job. He could look after Peter. Holding Peter in his arms gave Nathan this strange sort of relief, this sense of purpose and control, like he'd finally found someone to share his burden, someone who could be all the things he wasn't allowed to be.

The Peter Radar in Nathan's head sounds a bit like a reverse Geiger counter: when Peter is far away, it's obnoxiously loud, pinging severely enough to give Nathan a headache. It's an incessant nag reminding Nathan there's an important piece of him that he's not watching over, and who knows what damage could be occurring without Nathan standing by.

When Peter is close to Nathan, the radar is quieter but not entirely silent. It hasn't been silent since the day Peter came home, and this makes it rather impossible for Peter to sneak up on Nathan -- but Nathan gives Peter a lot of credit for trying.

In fact, when Nathan rounds the corner early Saturday morning to go to the bathroom, and Peter springs out of nowhere, waving his Winnie the Pooh like a sword and hollering, "Give up, Cap'n Hook!" Nathan has to take a couple of steps back.

It's not even seven o'clock in the morning, and Peter is wide awake if his babbling mouth is anything to go by. Nathan snorts and shakes his head. "I'm Captain Hook now?" he asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Last week I was Rabbit."

Peter grins toothily and flings himself at Nathan's legs. "Pooh loves Rabbit," he says fervently, clinging to Nathan's thigh, "But Cap'n Hook is bad bad bad."

And then Peter smacks Nathan on the butt with his Winnie the Pooh.

It's a little early in the morning for this sort of ignominy, and when Nathan looks down at Peter and his mop of unruly hair, his mouth thins into a line. "Bad, huh?" he asks, grabbing Peter by the scruff of his pajamas and pulling him away from Nathan's leg.

"You want bad," he announces, dragging Peter down the hall to his room, "I'll make you walk the plank!"

Peter looses a 12 year-old-girl shriek of glee as Nathan propels him through the door of his bedroom, and Nathan's anything but surprised to see a videotape of Disney's Peter Pan playing on the TV that gets wheeled into Peter's room when he's mobile before his nanny.

Peter runs around the room, screaming like he's being murdered, and Nathan thanks his parents for sleeping on the other side of the house. He scratches the back of his neck and shakes his head as Peter hollers that he can fly! He can fly!

Nathan gets tired just watching Peter sometimes, so he's a little slow to react when Peter climbs up on one of his little chairs and then on top of his tiny desk and jumps off.

There's a blur of motion as Nathan dives halfway across the room to keep Peter from breaking who knows what bones in his body. Nathan lands on his side, holding Peter in mid-air, his chest heaving with adrenaline and anxiety and 'what if?'s.

Peter's delighted, kicking his legs in the air and smiling toothily. "Fly more! Fly more!" he says excitedly, wriggling in Nathan's grasp, and Nathan narrows his eyes.

"What have I told you about jumping off of the furniture?" Nathan snaps, shaking Peter once, more in fear than real anger. "You could have gotten hurt!"

Peter's lower lip juts out. "I forgot."

"Don't forget this," Nathan barks, "no more flying for you!"

Peter's face falls. "Don’t be mad, Nathan," he says, making grabby motions with his hands. "Hug now?"

Nathan sighs and lowers Peter to the ground. He can feel the rug burn forming on his side where his shirt rode up and his skin lost the battle against the carpet. Peter's eyes are wider now, the tears can't be far off, and Nathan pushes himself up to sitting position.

"C'mere," he says, letting Peter fling his arms around Nathan's neck as Nathan picks him up. "Don’t scare me like that," he admonishes softly.

"I'm sorry," Peter sobs burying his face in Nathan's neck. Nathan can feel the collar of his tee shirt getting wet.

Nathan pats Peter on the back. "I can't always be there to catch you," he explains, "One day I won't be there and I don't want you to get hurt."

Peter sniffles and lifts his head. "You can't leave. Never! Never leave me!" The stricken expression on Peter's face is unmistakable, and Nathan sighs.

"Never," he promises, knowing he means it.

-end-

Title provided by

12_12_12 and the Walt Disney Co. Beta by

antheia. Happy Birthday,

serialkarma!