Heroes fic: He Came Back Broken
Title: He Came Back Broken
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,094
Characters: Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet, with mentions of Nathan and HRG
Spoilers: Through "How to Stop An Exploding Man"
Summary: After months of nothing, Claire sees Peter wandering the streets of Odessa.
A/N: Here's my angsty take on what could happen after the events of the finale.
He came back.
After months of being at home, pretending to be normal, and praying each moment that he wasn’t dead, Claire had seen Peter Petrelli walking the streets of Odessa like it was something he did every day.
She didn’t believe it at first and thought she was seeing things. Maybe, Claire thought, the denial of his death had finally sent her over the edge. Maybe the guilt had finally enveloped her completely.
She should never have left New York without searching for him. She shouldn’t have let her dad bundle her up in his arms and talk about going home as if Peter exploding were something she could just forget and move on from. It had been easy to follow her Dad’s lead and Claire knew that she had always been the type of person to take the easy way out if it was an option.
Peter was a ghost that Monday afternoon as she walked home from school. His skin was pale and his clothes ragged, like an eternal wanderer searching for the unobtainable.
“What are you looking at?” a friend said as she followed Claire’s gaze across the street.
Claire wanted to ask if she was imagining things. She wanted to ask if those with her saw him as well, but if it wasn’t real she didn’t want to know. She’d rather live a life of delusion than a life without him.
Claire didn’t say any of these things, but simply told her friends that she’d talk to them tomorrow. “I need to go see someone important,” she mumbled before crossing the street and following the black edge of a trenchcoat around the corner and into an alleyway.
“Peter?” she called out hesitantly. The figure kept walking. It had to be him. She wouldn’t let it not be. The hair was longer and unkempt, and he walked hunched over as if the weight of the world was still on his shoulders.
“Peter!” Claire started to run just as he stopped. He didn’t turn around. She reached him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Peter,” she whispered and it came out ragged. “Is it really?...I hope it’s you.”
He let out a sigh and Claire rubbed his shoulder, needing to feel him. She needed to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
“Peter, are you really here? Am I dreaming? I’ve dreamed of this so many times.”
Claire wouldn’t be surprised if it was a dream, with the way he wouldn’t face her. Why would he have come all the way to Odessa if he wasn’t going to say a word?
“Peter,” she begged, “I need…”
Claire didn’t know exactly what she needed but it had to do with Peter. Since he wouldn’t turn around to face her, she walked around to face him, letting her hand trail around as she moved. If she stopped touching him he might just disappear.
It was really him.
Claire let her free hand trail over his face. The texture of his stubble grated against her fingertips and her thumb caught the corner of his lip before she moved to his haphazard hair. It was soft and probably greasy by the looks of it, but she didn’t care. Her hand finally came to rest on the side of his neck and an unexpected sob choked her throat when she felt his pulse beating underneath her palm.
“It’s you,” she said as tears started to stream down her face. “It’s you.”
She threw her arms around him tight and never wanted to let go. Claire stayed like that until she couldn’t cry anymore. She took long shaky breaths to recover and after her breathing returned to normal, she realized that Peter had never returned her hug. His arms had never left his side.
He hadn’t looked her in the eyes since she’d found him.
Claire stepped away and shook her head, willing this to be a misunderstanding, but Peter’s eyes were still looking at the gravel beneath his feet.
“What?” Claire whispered. “I don’t understand.”
He didn’t look up, didn’t say anything, but gave a slight defeated shrug as he started walking past her.
Claire followed him and they walked until they came to a park. He stopped and squinted his eyes at the bright Texan sun. Claire waited beside him, but when he didn’t do move or say anything for several minutes she grabbed his hand and led him over to a wooden bench under the shade of a nearby tree. Peter didn’t protest, and Claire wondered if the movement had even gotten through his frozen shell.
“Peter, what happened to you?” The only response was a slight tightening of his lips and a minute clenching of her hand in his.
“What happened to Nathan?”
For the first time since she’d found him, Peter’s eyes met Claire’s and she wanted to look away from the intensity that lay there. The pain and the sadness radiating out tore at her heart. How could one person feel that much and still live?
“It’s all my fault,” Peter said in a voice that was harsh from disuse. “It’s all my fault,” he repeated and Claire knew that Nathan hadn’t survived.
“It’s not,” she said as she squeezed his hand tight.
He shook his head as if he didn’t believe her.
“It should have been me. It’s all my fault.”
Claire didn’t bother repeating her assertions because Peter wouldn’t hear them anyway. She didn’t bother telling him the truth because he would deny it. It was all her fault. Nathan died because she couldn’t pull the trigger. He died because she’d been weak and had wanted an easy way out. She had begged for an easy way out. “Tell me there’s another way. Please.”
Peter slipped his hand out of hers and stared out in the distance. His words repeated over and over in the space between them - “It should have been me. It’s all my fault.” - but they were Claire’s words too. She was sure that he could hear them.
It was her fault that Peter was no longer the same man she’d met almost a year ago. The Peter she’d met had been full of hope. The one sitting beside her looked like he didn’t have any left.
“Why did you come here?”
“You’re just about the only family I have left,” he replied. A single tear slid out of a watery eye and traveled down his cheek before splattering on the empty wooden stretch between their hands.
Peter Petrelli came back, but he came back broken.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,094
Characters: Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet, with mentions of Nathan and HRG
Spoilers: Through "How to Stop An Exploding Man"
Summary: After months of nothing, Claire sees Peter wandering the streets of Odessa.
A/N: Here's my angsty take on what could happen after the events of the finale.
He came back.
After months of being at home, pretending to be normal, and praying each moment that he wasn’t dead, Claire had seen Peter Petrelli walking the streets of Odessa like it was something he did every day.
She didn’t believe it at first and thought she was seeing things. Maybe, Claire thought, the denial of his death had finally sent her over the edge. Maybe the guilt had finally enveloped her completely.
She should never have left New York without searching for him. She shouldn’t have let her dad bundle her up in his arms and talk about going home as if Peter exploding were something she could just forget and move on from. It had been easy to follow her Dad’s lead and Claire knew that she had always been the type of person to take the easy way out if it was an option.
Peter was a ghost that Monday afternoon as she walked home from school. His skin was pale and his clothes ragged, like an eternal wanderer searching for the unobtainable.
“What are you looking at?” a friend said as she followed Claire’s gaze across the street.
Claire wanted to ask if she was imagining things. She wanted to ask if those with her saw him as well, but if it wasn’t real she didn’t want to know. She’d rather live a life of delusion than a life without him.
Claire didn’t say any of these things, but simply told her friends that she’d talk to them tomorrow. “I need to go see someone important,” she mumbled before crossing the street and following the black edge of a trenchcoat around the corner and into an alleyway.
“Peter?” she called out hesitantly. The figure kept walking. It had to be him. She wouldn’t let it not be. The hair was longer and unkempt, and he walked hunched over as if the weight of the world was still on his shoulders.
“Peter!” Claire started to run just as he stopped. He didn’t turn around. She reached him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Peter,” she whispered and it came out ragged. “Is it really?...I hope it’s you.”
He let out a sigh and Claire rubbed his shoulder, needing to feel him. She needed to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
“Peter, are you really here? Am I dreaming? I’ve dreamed of this so many times.”
Claire wouldn’t be surprised if it was a dream, with the way he wouldn’t face her. Why would he have come all the way to Odessa if he wasn’t going to say a word?
“Peter,” she begged, “I need…”
Claire didn’t know exactly what she needed but it had to do with Peter. Since he wouldn’t turn around to face her, she walked around to face him, letting her hand trail around as she moved. If she stopped touching him he might just disappear.
It was really him.
Claire let her free hand trail over his face. The texture of his stubble grated against her fingertips and her thumb caught the corner of his lip before she moved to his haphazard hair. It was soft and probably greasy by the looks of it, but she didn’t care. Her hand finally came to rest on the side of his neck and an unexpected sob choked her throat when she felt his pulse beating underneath her palm.
“It’s you,” she said as tears started to stream down her face. “It’s you.”
She threw her arms around him tight and never wanted to let go. Claire stayed like that until she couldn’t cry anymore. She took long shaky breaths to recover and after her breathing returned to normal, she realized that Peter had never returned her hug. His arms had never left his side.
He hadn’t looked her in the eyes since she’d found him.
Claire stepped away and shook her head, willing this to be a misunderstanding, but Peter’s eyes were still looking at the gravel beneath his feet.
“What?” Claire whispered. “I don’t understand.”
He didn’t look up, didn’t say anything, but gave a slight defeated shrug as he started walking past her.
Claire followed him and they walked until they came to a park. He stopped and squinted his eyes at the bright Texan sun. Claire waited beside him, but when he didn’t do move or say anything for several minutes she grabbed his hand and led him over to a wooden bench under the shade of a nearby tree. Peter didn’t protest, and Claire wondered if the movement had even gotten through his frozen shell.
“Peter, what happened to you?” The only response was a slight tightening of his lips and a minute clenching of her hand in his.
“What happened to Nathan?”
For the first time since she’d found him, Peter’s eyes met Claire’s and she wanted to look away from the intensity that lay there. The pain and the sadness radiating out tore at her heart. How could one person feel that much and still live?
“It’s all my fault,” Peter said in a voice that was harsh from disuse. “It’s all my fault,” he repeated and Claire knew that Nathan hadn’t survived.
“It’s not,” she said as she squeezed his hand tight.
He shook his head as if he didn’t believe her.
“It should have been me. It’s all my fault.”
Claire didn’t bother repeating her assertions because Peter wouldn’t hear them anyway. She didn’t bother telling him the truth because he would deny it. It was all her fault. Nathan died because she couldn’t pull the trigger. He died because she’d been weak and had wanted an easy way out. She had begged for an easy way out. “Tell me there’s another way. Please.”
Peter slipped his hand out of hers and stared out in the distance. His words repeated over and over in the space between them - “It should have been me. It’s all my fault.” - but they were Claire’s words too. She was sure that he could hear them.
It was her fault that Peter was no longer the same man she’d met almost a year ago. The Peter she’d met had been full of hope. The one sitting beside her looked like he didn’t have any left.
“Why did you come here?”
“You’re just about the only family I have left,” he replied. A single tear slid out of a watery eye and traveled down his cheek before splattering on the empty wooden stretch between their hands.
Peter Petrelli came back, but he came back broken.