Fic: New Wounds, Part IV
Well ya'll have been so kind regarding this series so far, it seemed cruel to prolong the suspense. Here be the angst-ridden conclusion.
Title:New Wounds, Part IV of IV
Author: brighteyed_jill
Word Count: 2900
Rating: NC-17 or more
Pairing: Sylar/Peter, Nathan, Petrellicest implied
Warnings: dub-con, angst, violence
Summary: Nathan gets to see Peter.
Author’s Note: For the un_love_you prompt 10: I’m broken. Thanks to jaune_chat for the help.
Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three
Nathan wasn’t sure why they’d taken him out of his cell. They’d given him clothes, told him to get dressed, and led him to another room a few doors down. The small, unlit room held two folding chairs, and on one wall was a large window. The room beyond was also dark, and Nathan couldn’t make out anything. He sat down in one of the chairs. It felt strange to be sitting the normal way, instead of crouched on the floor like an animal.
A light flipped on in the room beyond the glass, and Nathan blinked as his eyes adjusted. The now-lit room was a bare cell, a mirror image of his own cell. A naked man, painfully thin, stood with his back to the observation window. Nathan felt hope stir he took in the long, smooth lines of the man’s body, the pattern of moles on his back, the soft curve of his ass. It was Peter.
He was at once assaulted with feelings of relief and disappointment. Relief at seeing Peter once more, at his being alive. Disappointment that Sylar had told the truth about his being here, trapping and helpless. Nathan hit the palm of his hand against the glass, but Peter didn’t turn. The glass must be soundproof. Nathan sank back into his chair, wondering what Sylar had planned.
The door swung open, and Peter turned. Nathan saw himself step into the room, smiling his broad, voter-pleasing smile. Sylar moved just like him: strong body, fluid muscles, confident stride. His face was one Nathan hadn’t seen in the mirror for a long time: a face unspoiled by time and torture. Sylar spoke, and Nathan was glad he couldn’t hear. He didn’t want to hear Sylar’s words in his voice, the voice that had been a major contributor to his vanity. The voice that had caused his speechwriter to say, “My job is redundant. Just read the phone book and smile-voters will fall in love with you.” Heidi had called his voice, “sex for the ear.” Peter had kissed his throat and said, “I love hearing the filthy things that come out of that mouth.” Now Sylar had taken what was Nathan’s, and Peter was nodding at Sylar’s words.
Sylar shut the door behind him. Peter stepped closer, bracing his hands against Sylar’s chest, and kissed him.
Nathan watched in fascinated horror as Peter’s soft lips melted into his-into Sylar’s. He remembered too well how it felt: Peter opening up so easily, parting his lips to suck in Nathan’s tongue. Peter always tasted clean, even in the morning, sweet and salty, always young and firm and open, eager to take everything his brother gave.
Remembering, Nathan licked his lips as he watched what could have been a reenactment of any number of encounters. Now it wasn’t Nathan who Peter was opening for. It wasn’t Nathan’s tongue exploring Peter’s mouth, but he yielded hungrily just the same.
Hadn’t Sylar said Peter knew he wasn’t really Nathan? No, Sylar was an expert at lies, an artist at causing pain. If Peter knew that Nathan wasn’t himself, would he be loosening Sylar’s tie, opening himself for Sylar’s mouth as he rubbed his body languorously against him? Lies, all of it. Peter would never… Not for anyone but Nathan. But they’d been apart so long, years since Nathan had tasted Peter, touched him, slipped inside him…
And then Peter was dropping to his knees, running his hands gently down Sylar’s sides. One hand came to rest at Sylar’s crotch, hand pale against dark suit pants. Peter was so willing, so eager for it. Even after all these years, even in this hell, Nathan could see that Peter loved his brother. He wanted Nathan. This was proof of it.
He watched Peter unzip Sylar’s pants, pull down his briefs and gently, almost reverently pull out Sylar’s half-hard cock. Peter didn’t know-he couldn’t know it wasn’t really Nathan.
Watching Peter stroke Sylar’s cock, his cock, Nathan felt blood pooling in his groin. He remembered so well the pleasure of Peter’s hot hand wrapped around him. Slowly, Nathan let his hand drift to the front of his pants, just let it rest there.
Now Peter opened his mouth, wrapping those kiss-swollen lips around Sylar’s cock. Nathan remembered how that felt-Peter’s lips squeezing him. It has been years, and why? For what? Why had he pushed Peter away? How could he have said no to that? He rubbed his knuckles against the bulge in his pants as he watched Sylar’s cock disappear into Peter’s mouth, inch after inch. Sylar’s pleasure, written in Nathan’s features, looked wrong somehow. Nathan clenched his teeth as he stroked. Did he ever look like that-cruel and smug? He hoped not, but he knew better. Sylar was undoubtedly putting on a show, had brought Nathan here to gloat, hoping to hurt him with Peter’s eagerness. It didn’t hurt, though, at least not the way Sylar wanted: if Peter didn’t know, then everything Peter was doing, he was doing for Nathan, and, despite his guilt, Nathan wouldn’t deny that Peter’s enthusiasm made him feel very good indeed.
Nathan ripped his eyes from the bobbing motion of Peter’s head to glance further down. Peter’s cock was standing out of its nest of dark hair, leaving a wet smear against his belly. Of course, Peter had been known to initiate sex even in the most inappropriate of places. Peter got into it anytime, anywhere, so it wasn’t so surprising that even here, he was enjoying himself with Nathan.
Peter licked sloppily up and down Sylar’s cock, and Nathan cursed the soundproof glass between them-Peter had always made the most beautiful noises. That thought was followed immediately by a wave of shame. Peter didn’t know what was happening, and it wasn’t fair. Nathan shouldn’t be enjoying this. He grabbed his erection roughly through the thin cloth of his pants, trying to punish himself, but it didn’t hurt. If anything, it made him harder.
Peter was busily stripping off Sylar’s pants, and soon Sylar was on the floor on his back, his proud erection wet with saliva, pointing straight up. Peter planted a knee on either side of Sylar and wrapped a hand around his dick. It was such a beautiful sight. Nathan’s own body, strong and beautiful as it used to be, strained underneath Peter: gorgeous, broken Peter, ready to open himself, to give all of himself, to be used. Nathan slipped his hand inside his pants, hissing as skin met skin. Peter lowered himself slowly onto Sylar, inch by tantalizing inch. Nathan’s fingers wrapped around his hot flesh as if of their own accord, and slowly his hand began to move.
Peter was down all the way, fully impaled on Sylar’s cock. It must have hurt, Nathan realized, without any prep. He regretted that the thought did nothing to stem his arousal.
Sylar crossed his arms behind his head, making himself comfortable. Seen through the lens of Nathan’s shark-like features, Sylar’s expression of cruel expectancy was positively chilling. Peter seemed to think so, too. As he began to raise and lower himself, riding Sylar with evident enthusiasm, Nathan noticed Peter’s erection was waning. He began to suspect that something was wrong-more wrong than he’d already thought, anyway. Behind his scar, Peter seemed grim, determined as he rode up and down, apparently trying to make the man under him climax as soon as possible. It didn’t seem right: Peter was playful, even in their last few times together, when he’d turned so bitter. Even then, sex was always play for Peter. Nathan felt a cold splash of dread as he thought Peter might not really want to be with him after all.
Sylar said something then, and Peter froze. Sylar spoke again, and Peter leaned down to kiss him, opening his mouth again, letting Sylar inside, penetrating with his tongue, claiming. A sliver of jealousy rose up inside Nathan. Even though it was his body Sylar was using, it wasn’t right. Peter-Peter’s mouth, all of Peter’s body-belonged to Nathan. Peter should know. He should recognize that that monster was not his brother. A sharp, quiet voice inside Nathan’s mind whispered that he was a monster too, and Peter could hardly be blamed for mistaking two equal evils. To silence that voice, Nathan stroked himself faster.
Peter was sliding up and down again, his erection renewed as Sylar closed a hand around it, jerked it roughly in rhythm with each rise and fall. Peter’s head was thrown back, mouth open, and Nathan could imagine the noises-shuddering moans and frantic, high-pitched rhythmic sighs, cries of “fuck me” and “harder” that inevitably escaped from Peter’s lips as he neared the edge. Nathan closed his eyes, imaging that he could hear Peter’s needy little noises. He ran his thumb over the tip of his weeping cock, spreading pre-come down his length. “Peter,” he breathed, and opened his eyes, wanting to see Peter’s face when he came.
The first thing he realized was that a light bulb was on over his head, illuminating the tiny room where he sat. Beyond the glass, Peter and Sylar were on their feet. Sylar had reverted to his own appearance, and had a possessive hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter didn’t seem surprised by Sylar’s transformation. Instead, he was staring at Nathan, meeting his eyes through glass that was evidently not one-way. “I’m sorry,” Peter mouthed. He’d known. He wasn’t surprised by Sylar’s appearance because he’d known from the start who he was fucking. Nathan pulled his hand out of his pants, his arousal gone and forgotten, and stumbled out of his chair, backing away from the glass.
Nathan shook with anger, mostly at himself. Anger and shame. Nathan knew that Sylar was violating Peter, and still he had watched. Still he was selfish and greedy, taking pleasure in some sick, vain fantasy when he knew it was really Sylar fucking his precious little brother. He retreated from the sight of Peter, staggering back until he ran into the opposite wall of the tiny room.
“No, I’m sorry!” Nathan read Peter’s lips as he shouted. Sylar had his arms wrapped around Peter’s waist, holding him as he struggled toward the glass. Nathan tore his eyes away and started pounding on the door. Sylar hadn’t lied; Peter knew it was Sylar, and he let him take what was Nathan’s exclusive right. He’d let Sylar use him, he’d enjoyed it. However Sylar had made this happen, the damage was done now. Peter had seen Nathan sitting there watching, getting off on believing that Peter’s actions were really for him. Nathan pounded on the door, resolutely refusing to turn and look at Peter. He’d lost Peter. He’d lost himself.
********
After the guards took Nathan away, Sylar pushed Peter onto the floor and plowed into him as he lay still, in shock. When he finished at last, he lay there petting Peter’s hair. “He saw it all,” Sylar said. “Looked like he was enjoying himself, too.”
Peter wanted to say something to defend Nathan, to defend himself, but no words come out.
Sylar pressed his thumb into Peter’s mouth. Peter took it. “Is something wrong?” He drew his thumb out and began to stroke Peter’s cheek.
“I’m broken.” It slipped out. Peter hadn’t meant to say anything, but that’s what was inside. That’s all that was inside. There was nothing else: no tears, no remorse, no shame, no hope.
“Oh Peter.” Sylar leaned in and kissed him, pushing his tongue past unresisting lips. Then he rested his forehead gently against Peter’s. “I’m so glad. Now things will be better, I promise.”
********
After Sylar was gone, Peter curled up in the corner. It was cold. He hurt. He had no idea how much time passed before he felt someone shaking his shoulder.
“Peter, get up.”
“What?” Peter looked up from his miserable ball on the floor. The Haitian crouched next to him, and suddenly Peter felt something he hadn’t felt in months: power. His abilities were no longer blocked.
“Your mother helped me once,” the Haitian said, helping Peter to his feet. “I am going to help you.”
Peter felt power flowing through him, healing fighting back the fatigue and pain that had become his constant companions. He felt strong. “Get away from me.” Peter pulled his arm out of the Haitian’s grasp. “You’re as bad as the rest of them.”
The Haitian shook his head sadly. “I know what you have gone through can not have been pleasant. But you have to trust me. Without me interfering, you should be able to use your powers. You can get your brother and walk out of here. Come. I’ll show you the way.”
“Of course.” Peter put his hands on the Haitian’s shoulders, and felt a brief moment of nostalgia for the man he used to be, the man who might have trusted the Haitian. “Thank you,” he said, and broke the Haitian’s neck.
*********
“Nathan?" Peter called softly. Nathan looked up, seemingly surprised to find himself not alone. It took him a moment to register recognition, and a moment more to skip past suspicion and straight to hate. He buried his face in his arms, turning his back on Peter.
Get away from me, Sylar. It hurts. Please stop. It’s too much like him.
“It’s okay, Nathan.” Peter drew closer, kneeling behind Nathan and gripping his shoulders gently.
Get the fuck away from me! Nathan snapped his elbow back at Peter’s face, but Peter felt the move coming, dodged it. Nathan lunged at him, and Peter caught his arm. He was disturbed at how easily he was able to pin Nathan to the ground, wrists held at his shoulders. Nathan had always been stronger, better at grappling, always laughing as he held Peter down and kissed him. Now Nathan fought for a moment more and then went limp, shutting his eyes tightly.
It’s not really Peter. Sylar would never let us see each other, not after today. He just wants us to suffer. God, it even smells like him. His eyes drifted open, and, as if against his will, focused on Peter’s face.
His wrist pulled against Peter’s hand. Curious, Peter let up. Nathan reached for Peter’s face, tracing the scar with his finger.
That happened after I pushed him away. After we fell apart. I should never have let him go. Everything that’s happened to Peter has been my fault. Let Sylar hurt me. It’s no more than I deserve.
His hand fell back, and he went limp again, turning his head to the side. I was supposed to look after him. He loved me, and I let him down. So many times I failed him. And again today. He saw what I was doing.. He hates me.
“I still love you, Nathan,” Peter said.
Nathan squeezed his eyes shut tightly. I wish he’d stop playing and get it over with.
“Nathan,” Peter said, desperately. “It’s me. Please believe me.”
Nathan opened his eyes, cautiously looking at Peter. Slowly, he reached up, again tracing the scar. Sylar’s too vain. He hates that I have scars he has to wear. He would have come as Peter before the scar. But… He’d never let us see each other. He got what he wanted from that this afternoon. It can’t be Peter.
“Sylar doesn’t know I’m here. I’m getting us out.” Peter felt a momentary stab of hope, and wondered if Claire’s healing ability had fixed that, too.
That’s cruel. There is no getting out of here.
“There is for me,” Peter said. Nathan drew his hand back as if burned, and regarded him warily again. “I can read your mind, Nathan. Can Sylar do that?”
I don’t know.
“It is me.”
“Peter?” His voice sounded like breaking glass. For the first time Peter noticed the scars across Nathan’s throat and realized that Nathan, whose best weapon had always been his silver tongue, biting sarcasm cutting down Peter, building him up, handling him, Nathan had said nothing until this moment. Sylar had taken that away from them, too. But he wouldn’t take any more.
“It’s me,” Peter said again.
Please don’t let me be wrong. Please don’t let him hurt me like this.
“He’s not going to hurt you ever again,” Peter said. “I’ve got you.” He gathered Nathan in his arms, wincing at how slight his brother seemed. Then he stood, lifting Nathan with him before pulling gently away. “Nice beard,” he said, offering one of his signature half-smiles.
Nathan lifted a hand to Peter’s face, touching his fingers to the crooked corner of Peter’s mouth.
It is you.
“Yeah, it is.” Peter held him for a moment more. “Can you walk?” he asked at last.
When I’m with you, I can fly.
Peter grabbed Nathan’s hands and put them on his shoulders, then braced his own hands against the wall and prepared to phase. “Hold on, Nathan. We’re together. Whatever happens…” He couldn’t bring himself to say that everything would be okay, because it would not be okay, not ever again. “We’re together,” he repeated, and took them through the wall.
End.
Title:New Wounds, Part IV of IV
Author: brighteyed_jill
Word Count: 2900
Rating: NC-17 or more
Pairing: Sylar/Peter, Nathan, Petrellicest implied
Warnings: dub-con, angst, violence
Summary: Nathan gets to see Peter.
Author’s Note: For the un_love_you prompt 10: I’m broken. Thanks to jaune_chat for the help.
Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three
Nathan wasn’t sure why they’d taken him out of his cell. They’d given him clothes, told him to get dressed, and led him to another room a few doors down. The small, unlit room held two folding chairs, and on one wall was a large window. The room beyond was also dark, and Nathan couldn’t make out anything. He sat down in one of the chairs. It felt strange to be sitting the normal way, instead of crouched on the floor like an animal.
A light flipped on in the room beyond the glass, and Nathan blinked as his eyes adjusted. The now-lit room was a bare cell, a mirror image of his own cell. A naked man, painfully thin, stood with his back to the observation window. Nathan felt hope stir he took in the long, smooth lines of the man’s body, the pattern of moles on his back, the soft curve of his ass. It was Peter.
He was at once assaulted with feelings of relief and disappointment. Relief at seeing Peter once more, at his being alive. Disappointment that Sylar had told the truth about his being here, trapping and helpless. Nathan hit the palm of his hand against the glass, but Peter didn’t turn. The glass must be soundproof. Nathan sank back into his chair, wondering what Sylar had planned.
The door swung open, and Peter turned. Nathan saw himself step into the room, smiling his broad, voter-pleasing smile. Sylar moved just like him: strong body, fluid muscles, confident stride. His face was one Nathan hadn’t seen in the mirror for a long time: a face unspoiled by time and torture. Sylar spoke, and Nathan was glad he couldn’t hear. He didn’t want to hear Sylar’s words in his voice, the voice that had been a major contributor to his vanity. The voice that had caused his speechwriter to say, “My job is redundant. Just read the phone book and smile-voters will fall in love with you.” Heidi had called his voice, “sex for the ear.” Peter had kissed his throat and said, “I love hearing the filthy things that come out of that mouth.” Now Sylar had taken what was Nathan’s, and Peter was nodding at Sylar’s words.
Sylar shut the door behind him. Peter stepped closer, bracing his hands against Sylar’s chest, and kissed him.
Nathan watched in fascinated horror as Peter’s soft lips melted into his-into Sylar’s. He remembered too well how it felt: Peter opening up so easily, parting his lips to suck in Nathan’s tongue. Peter always tasted clean, even in the morning, sweet and salty, always young and firm and open, eager to take everything his brother gave.
Remembering, Nathan licked his lips as he watched what could have been a reenactment of any number of encounters. Now it wasn’t Nathan who Peter was opening for. It wasn’t Nathan’s tongue exploring Peter’s mouth, but he yielded hungrily just the same.
Hadn’t Sylar said Peter knew he wasn’t really Nathan? No, Sylar was an expert at lies, an artist at causing pain. If Peter knew that Nathan wasn’t himself, would he be loosening Sylar’s tie, opening himself for Sylar’s mouth as he rubbed his body languorously against him? Lies, all of it. Peter would never… Not for anyone but Nathan. But they’d been apart so long, years since Nathan had tasted Peter, touched him, slipped inside him…
And then Peter was dropping to his knees, running his hands gently down Sylar’s sides. One hand came to rest at Sylar’s crotch, hand pale against dark suit pants. Peter was so willing, so eager for it. Even after all these years, even in this hell, Nathan could see that Peter loved his brother. He wanted Nathan. This was proof of it.
He watched Peter unzip Sylar’s pants, pull down his briefs and gently, almost reverently pull out Sylar’s half-hard cock. Peter didn’t know-he couldn’t know it wasn’t really Nathan.
Watching Peter stroke Sylar’s cock, his cock, Nathan felt blood pooling in his groin. He remembered so well the pleasure of Peter’s hot hand wrapped around him. Slowly, Nathan let his hand drift to the front of his pants, just let it rest there.
Now Peter opened his mouth, wrapping those kiss-swollen lips around Sylar’s cock. Nathan remembered how that felt-Peter’s lips squeezing him. It has been years, and why? For what? Why had he pushed Peter away? How could he have said no to that? He rubbed his knuckles against the bulge in his pants as he watched Sylar’s cock disappear into Peter’s mouth, inch after inch. Sylar’s pleasure, written in Nathan’s features, looked wrong somehow. Nathan clenched his teeth as he stroked. Did he ever look like that-cruel and smug? He hoped not, but he knew better. Sylar was undoubtedly putting on a show, had brought Nathan here to gloat, hoping to hurt him with Peter’s eagerness. It didn’t hurt, though, at least not the way Sylar wanted: if Peter didn’t know, then everything Peter was doing, he was doing for Nathan, and, despite his guilt, Nathan wouldn’t deny that Peter’s enthusiasm made him feel very good indeed.
Nathan ripped his eyes from the bobbing motion of Peter’s head to glance further down. Peter’s cock was standing out of its nest of dark hair, leaving a wet smear against his belly. Of course, Peter had been known to initiate sex even in the most inappropriate of places. Peter got into it anytime, anywhere, so it wasn’t so surprising that even here, he was enjoying himself with Nathan.
Peter licked sloppily up and down Sylar’s cock, and Nathan cursed the soundproof glass between them-Peter had always made the most beautiful noises. That thought was followed immediately by a wave of shame. Peter didn’t know what was happening, and it wasn’t fair. Nathan shouldn’t be enjoying this. He grabbed his erection roughly through the thin cloth of his pants, trying to punish himself, but it didn’t hurt. If anything, it made him harder.
Peter was busily stripping off Sylar’s pants, and soon Sylar was on the floor on his back, his proud erection wet with saliva, pointing straight up. Peter planted a knee on either side of Sylar and wrapped a hand around his dick. It was such a beautiful sight. Nathan’s own body, strong and beautiful as it used to be, strained underneath Peter: gorgeous, broken Peter, ready to open himself, to give all of himself, to be used. Nathan slipped his hand inside his pants, hissing as skin met skin. Peter lowered himself slowly onto Sylar, inch by tantalizing inch. Nathan’s fingers wrapped around his hot flesh as if of their own accord, and slowly his hand began to move.
Peter was down all the way, fully impaled on Sylar’s cock. It must have hurt, Nathan realized, without any prep. He regretted that the thought did nothing to stem his arousal.
Sylar crossed his arms behind his head, making himself comfortable. Seen through the lens of Nathan’s shark-like features, Sylar’s expression of cruel expectancy was positively chilling. Peter seemed to think so, too. As he began to raise and lower himself, riding Sylar with evident enthusiasm, Nathan noticed Peter’s erection was waning. He began to suspect that something was wrong-more wrong than he’d already thought, anyway. Behind his scar, Peter seemed grim, determined as he rode up and down, apparently trying to make the man under him climax as soon as possible. It didn’t seem right: Peter was playful, even in their last few times together, when he’d turned so bitter. Even then, sex was always play for Peter. Nathan felt a cold splash of dread as he thought Peter might not really want to be with him after all.
Sylar said something then, and Peter froze. Sylar spoke again, and Peter leaned down to kiss him, opening his mouth again, letting Sylar inside, penetrating with his tongue, claiming. A sliver of jealousy rose up inside Nathan. Even though it was his body Sylar was using, it wasn’t right. Peter-Peter’s mouth, all of Peter’s body-belonged to Nathan. Peter should know. He should recognize that that monster was not his brother. A sharp, quiet voice inside Nathan’s mind whispered that he was a monster too, and Peter could hardly be blamed for mistaking two equal evils. To silence that voice, Nathan stroked himself faster.
Peter was sliding up and down again, his erection renewed as Sylar closed a hand around it, jerked it roughly in rhythm with each rise and fall. Peter’s head was thrown back, mouth open, and Nathan could imagine the noises-shuddering moans and frantic, high-pitched rhythmic sighs, cries of “fuck me” and “harder” that inevitably escaped from Peter’s lips as he neared the edge. Nathan closed his eyes, imaging that he could hear Peter’s needy little noises. He ran his thumb over the tip of his weeping cock, spreading pre-come down his length. “Peter,” he breathed, and opened his eyes, wanting to see Peter’s face when he came.
The first thing he realized was that a light bulb was on over his head, illuminating the tiny room where he sat. Beyond the glass, Peter and Sylar were on their feet. Sylar had reverted to his own appearance, and had a possessive hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter didn’t seem surprised by Sylar’s transformation. Instead, he was staring at Nathan, meeting his eyes through glass that was evidently not one-way. “I’m sorry,” Peter mouthed. He’d known. He wasn’t surprised by Sylar’s appearance because he’d known from the start who he was fucking. Nathan pulled his hand out of his pants, his arousal gone and forgotten, and stumbled out of his chair, backing away from the glass.
Nathan shook with anger, mostly at himself. Anger and shame. Nathan knew that Sylar was violating Peter, and still he had watched. Still he was selfish and greedy, taking pleasure in some sick, vain fantasy when he knew it was really Sylar fucking his precious little brother. He retreated from the sight of Peter, staggering back until he ran into the opposite wall of the tiny room.
“No, I’m sorry!” Nathan read Peter’s lips as he shouted. Sylar had his arms wrapped around Peter’s waist, holding him as he struggled toward the glass. Nathan tore his eyes away and started pounding on the door. Sylar hadn’t lied; Peter knew it was Sylar, and he let him take what was Nathan’s exclusive right. He’d let Sylar use him, he’d enjoyed it. However Sylar had made this happen, the damage was done now. Peter had seen Nathan sitting there watching, getting off on believing that Peter’s actions were really for him. Nathan pounded on the door, resolutely refusing to turn and look at Peter. He’d lost Peter. He’d lost himself.
********
After the guards took Nathan away, Sylar pushed Peter onto the floor and plowed into him as he lay still, in shock. When he finished at last, he lay there petting Peter’s hair. “He saw it all,” Sylar said. “Looked like he was enjoying himself, too.”
Peter wanted to say something to defend Nathan, to defend himself, but no words come out.
Sylar pressed his thumb into Peter’s mouth. Peter took it. “Is something wrong?” He drew his thumb out and began to stroke Peter’s cheek.
“I’m broken.” It slipped out. Peter hadn’t meant to say anything, but that’s what was inside. That’s all that was inside. There was nothing else: no tears, no remorse, no shame, no hope.
“Oh Peter.” Sylar leaned in and kissed him, pushing his tongue past unresisting lips. Then he rested his forehead gently against Peter’s. “I’m so glad. Now things will be better, I promise.”
********
After Sylar was gone, Peter curled up in the corner. It was cold. He hurt. He had no idea how much time passed before he felt someone shaking his shoulder.
“Peter, get up.”
“What?” Peter looked up from his miserable ball on the floor. The Haitian crouched next to him, and suddenly Peter felt something he hadn’t felt in months: power. His abilities were no longer blocked.
“Your mother helped me once,” the Haitian said, helping Peter to his feet. “I am going to help you.”
Peter felt power flowing through him, healing fighting back the fatigue and pain that had become his constant companions. He felt strong. “Get away from me.” Peter pulled his arm out of the Haitian’s grasp. “You’re as bad as the rest of them.”
The Haitian shook his head sadly. “I know what you have gone through can not have been pleasant. But you have to trust me. Without me interfering, you should be able to use your powers. You can get your brother and walk out of here. Come. I’ll show you the way.”
“Of course.” Peter put his hands on the Haitian’s shoulders, and felt a brief moment of nostalgia for the man he used to be, the man who might have trusted the Haitian. “Thank you,” he said, and broke the Haitian’s neck.
*********
“Nathan?" Peter called softly. Nathan looked up, seemingly surprised to find himself not alone. It took him a moment to register recognition, and a moment more to skip past suspicion and straight to hate. He buried his face in his arms, turning his back on Peter.
Get away from me, Sylar. It hurts. Please stop. It’s too much like him.
“It’s okay, Nathan.” Peter drew closer, kneeling behind Nathan and gripping his shoulders gently.
Get the fuck away from me! Nathan snapped his elbow back at Peter’s face, but Peter felt the move coming, dodged it. Nathan lunged at him, and Peter caught his arm. He was disturbed at how easily he was able to pin Nathan to the ground, wrists held at his shoulders. Nathan had always been stronger, better at grappling, always laughing as he held Peter down and kissed him. Now Nathan fought for a moment more and then went limp, shutting his eyes tightly.
It’s not really Peter. Sylar would never let us see each other, not after today. He just wants us to suffer. God, it even smells like him. His eyes drifted open, and, as if against his will, focused on Peter’s face.
His wrist pulled against Peter’s hand. Curious, Peter let up. Nathan reached for Peter’s face, tracing the scar with his finger.
That happened after I pushed him away. After we fell apart. I should never have let him go. Everything that’s happened to Peter has been my fault. Let Sylar hurt me. It’s no more than I deserve.
His hand fell back, and he went limp again, turning his head to the side. I was supposed to look after him. He loved me, and I let him down. So many times I failed him. And again today. He saw what I was doing.. He hates me.
“I still love you, Nathan,” Peter said.
Nathan squeezed his eyes shut tightly. I wish he’d stop playing and get it over with.
“Nathan,” Peter said, desperately. “It’s me. Please believe me.”
Nathan opened his eyes, cautiously looking at Peter. Slowly, he reached up, again tracing the scar. Sylar’s too vain. He hates that I have scars he has to wear. He would have come as Peter before the scar. But… He’d never let us see each other. He got what he wanted from that this afternoon. It can’t be Peter.
“Sylar doesn’t know I’m here. I’m getting us out.” Peter felt a momentary stab of hope, and wondered if Claire’s healing ability had fixed that, too.
That’s cruel. There is no getting out of here.
“There is for me,” Peter said. Nathan drew his hand back as if burned, and regarded him warily again. “I can read your mind, Nathan. Can Sylar do that?”
I don’t know.
“It is me.”
“Peter?” His voice sounded like breaking glass. For the first time Peter noticed the scars across Nathan’s throat and realized that Nathan, whose best weapon had always been his silver tongue, biting sarcasm cutting down Peter, building him up, handling him, Nathan had said nothing until this moment. Sylar had taken that away from them, too. But he wouldn’t take any more.
“It’s me,” Peter said again.
Please don’t let me be wrong. Please don’t let him hurt me like this.
“He’s not going to hurt you ever again,” Peter said. “I’ve got you.” He gathered Nathan in his arms, wincing at how slight his brother seemed. Then he stood, lifting Nathan with him before pulling gently away. “Nice beard,” he said, offering one of his signature half-smiles.
Nathan lifted a hand to Peter’s face, touching his fingers to the crooked corner of Peter’s mouth.
It is you.
“Yeah, it is.” Peter held him for a moment more. “Can you walk?” he asked at last.
When I’m with you, I can fly.
Peter grabbed Nathan’s hands and put them on his shoulders, then braced his own hands against the wall and prepared to phase. “Hold on, Nathan. We’re together. Whatever happens…” He couldn’t bring himself to say that everything would be okay, because it would not be okay, not ever again. “We’re together,” he repeated, and took them through the wall.
End.