I'm a Super Hero

[chimeramimicry]

"I'm a Super Hero"
Who: Peter and...Peter?
When: After a visit to Nathan's office, Peter's older brother decides to take him out for dinner and a surprise.  The 'surprise,' it seems, is on Nathan though!  It's been about three months since that night and Peter's life is about to change forever...

I'm not having a very good day.  I don't know how I've let it happen, but I've been stuck into the pediatrics group.  I'm the only guy on the entire floor, minus two male OB/GYN doctors and various boyfriends and husbands that go to visit the nursery or track me down to help them find their nurse.  Boy, are they surprised when the guy in the baby blue scrubs is their nurse!

All I want to do is sleep.  But no.

No, of course not because there's someone in my apartment.  I know it's not the best neighborhood but I've never heard of a break and enter in my building before.  I don't even think to grab my cell, just the umbrella from the stand by the door and brandish it like a bat.

"HEY!"

Comments

[fallen-empath.livejournal.com]

I should have realized something was wrong when my key didn't work in my lock. Not as if something like that can keep me out.

I can't even remember the last time I stopped home, but I'm pretty sure it looked nothing like this. My apartment never had this much stuff in it.

Maybe my landlord must have figured I abandoned the place and leased it to someone else? No, I recognize some of these things. Not like my material possessions really matter. Nothing matters except trying to fix the mess I helped create...

The sound of something metal clanking on the hardwood cuts my thoughts short.

Looks like the current tenant is home. He or she won't even remember having seen me.

There's a flash of motion, and a shout, and I make it into the living room in time to see a man advancing on me wielding -- an umbrella? Can't a New Yorker do better than that? Well, it wouldn't have mattered even if it were an AK-47, or a baseball bat, to be honest.

I raise my arm and fling it out of his hands, then fling him up against the wall a split second after. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The light from the sodium streetlamps illuminates his face, and I'm shocked to see myself looking right back at me. This can't be.

"Who are you?" I demand, tightening my hold on him enough to scare some answers out of him.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I can't even think. One moment I've got the umbrella and I'm advancing on the idiot that broke in and the next my feet aren't even on the ground! It hurts too, being held up like this. You see it in comics all the time, some big brute holding the smaller hero by the throat against the wall... Only he's not touching me and the pain radiates from my limbs, my arms, my legs. It's like there's this massive hand holding me up there. I can't move. I can hardly breathe.

Which is why answering him is so insane. You don't give in to terrorists. Living in New York's taught me that, even if the 'terrorist' is just some guy breaking into your house. Plus, it hurts to suck in a breath.

"Peter Petrelli! This is my apartment! Get out!"

It dawns on my now that I know that voice. Or vaguely. I mean, I've heard recordings of myself, it sounds different in my head than to my ears. But... That's just not right. And with no one holding me--

I start struggling, or trying to.

I'm tripping. Did I knick my skin with something at the hospital? How will I explain being high?! What if I need to be tested for something... "Please!"

This is freaking me out. And that really doesn't help.

[fallen-empath.livejournal.com]

I take two steps toward him, not letting him go just yet. He struggles, but it takes a minimal amount of effort on my part to keep him restrained. If he really were me, wouldn't he fight back? He should be able to do everything I can do!

It's extremely disconcerting to hear my own name coming out of someone else's mouth, in my own voice. A shape-shifter, maybe? No, that's not it. I can feel his panic and disbelief, and I know those emotions like they were my own. Because they are.

There can only be one explanation for this: I've teleported myself to the wrong time. The more I use this ability, the harder it is to stay focused on my intended destination. It would explain why he isn't throwing me off. He can't. He's no threat to me.

I set him down, and I'm about to wipe his memory when it occurs to me: maybe I really am in the right place. If I can warn him of what's to come, then maybe he can change it. This is my last chance to save them all. I have to make him believe me.

Forcing down a sudden shot of desperation, I ask, "What year is it?"

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I'm pretty sure by this point that I've hit my head or I got hit by a car and I'm in a coma and dreaming all of this because that's definitely my voice. What are the chances of some drunk, insane hobo breaking in who happens to have my voice?

My voice asking the sort of stuff you expect people to say in science fiction movies, not in your living room! 'What year is it?' Really? I guess it sort of goes with the whole 'pinning me against the wall without touching me' theme going on here anyhow.

Well, what's there to do but answer?

"It's December 2005, and let me go!"

There's something weird about the man in the dark, and that's because, as my eyes adjust, I realize that I'm looking at myself.

There's an all new terror that creeps up on my after that and I feel myself struggle. Not just because I really don't like how I look with short hair, but because I'm suddenly in a Terminator situation. Or like when Ben from the 'Fantastic Four' goes to the past in an alternate reality and meets himself only to realize that Spider Man is part of the Fantastic Four and Ben's just a bartender with no super powers or mutation at all!

[fallen-empath.livejournal.com]

In December of 2005, I was finishing my nursing degree, and I'd just gotten this place. That explains all the cardboard boxes still scattered around the living room, the beat-up armchairs and scuffed coffee table. After Nathan's death, for some reason I couldn't stand the sight of the clutter, and I moved everything I didn't throw away into storage. Or maybe it was because he and I spent so much time here together. From where I'm standing, I can see that there's a bottle of Scotch sitting on the counter in the kitchen. I never drank that stuff.

After the virus swept itself across the entire world, taking my mother and my brother with it, everything changed for me. My primary focus shifted from finding and stopping Sylar, to finding a way to correct the mistake I'd made because I was too naive to know I'd been manipulated. No matter how I tried to change the past, the result never varied from total and utter destruction of life as we knew it.

It would seem that I was off by a good two years when I made the jump to my apartment in New York, and now here we are, two extremely different versions of the same person, warily staring one another down.

I break the silence once it's clear to me that he's just going to stand there and gape at me.

"Just relax, all right? I'm not going to hurt you. But you have to listen to me. The fate of the entire world depends on it."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

When you suddenly show up with a bad hair cut and the ability to fling people around like puppets, you listen to them. Even before they deliver the all too exciting 'the fate of the entire world depends on it' speech.

I sort of feel a little faint and now I'm really very sure I'm dreaming which is all right because man, this is a really cool dream! "You've come to the future to tell me there's going to be an apocalypse? Like...is Skynet going to come online? Is there a league of evil forming? Oh my God, I can go back in time and...what's that? Telekinesis? What else can I do?"

He looks taken aback, but yanno what? My dream. Mine. I get to pick how amazingly awesome I can be and my other dream self can look at confused as he likes! I don't care.

"Can I fly? Am I super strong? You know which one I've always wanted? Teleporting!"

[fallen-empath.livejournal.com]

Well, he's definitely not scared anymore. My past self is positively beaming with excitement now. I can't help but laugh, because really, it's just like me to spew comic book references and ask ridiculous questions like that, isn't it?

This version of me has no idea what he is capable of yet. The truth is, he --well, I guess we-- can do all those things and more. I don't know whether it's the best idea to warn him of that too, or just let it come naturally. No future me came and warned me I was about to become a human sponge, soaking up special abilities left and right. Just being here is a huge clue in itself, and now that I think about it, the more he knows, the better equipped he'll be to deal with the repercussions of this ability. This Peter Petrelli is a clean slate, and I can steer him in the right direction from the very beginning.

I show off a little for him, righting the tipped-over umbrella rack with just a twitch of my finger, and creating blue fire in the palm of my hand.

"You've got the ability to do just about anything, Peter." It feels a little strange to be addressing my past self by name, but what else am I going to call him?

"You're a real life superhero, and you're going to save the world." Because I couldn't. But that doesn't matter, not anymore. For the first time in a long time, I remember what hope feels like.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

A real life super hero? I don't care if I'm dreaming. This is the best dream that I've had. Ever. And I've always had some pretty epic dreams, haven't I? I like the ones were I fly the best. So while it is pretty damned cool that he can clean up after himself and stick my still bent umbrella back in it's place, and he can pin me to walls and dresses in black coats, what I really want--

"I want to fly. Can we? We you-- are we like Superman?"

I have no idea why flying's always been something so close to me. I blame Nathan. For most of my childhood, I use to imagine that Nathan was flying every plane that passed over head.

I inch closer to him. To me. Christ, am I really that small? It's worse than looking in a mirror.

[fallen-empath.livejournal.com]

My answer to his question is more abrupt than I meant for it to be.

"No, I can't fly."

It's more like, I don't want to fly. I haven't done it in a long time. Teleportation is more practical and quicker and -- oh, Christ, who am I kidding? It just makes me miss my brother even more.

He's going to know I'm lying; I've always been pretty terrible at it, and even though the full spectrum of his ability hasn't manifested yet, his empathy works just fine. If he's bothering to pay attention to it at all through his excitement, he'll know.

When he takes a few tiny steps closer to me, I get the strange urge to do the same thing. I still own the pair of jeans and the worn out t-shirt he's wearing.

Instinctively, I raise my hand to push my hair out of my face even though I don't have any left, and I sigh, letting it drop.

"There's a lot of other things we can do. Anything but that, all right?"

[fallen-empath.livejournal.com]

The faint pink color spreading over other Peter's face and neck really makes this all worthwhile, considering the fact that my illusion is so solid, my bra straps are cutting into my shoulders. I made myself a little top-heavy, it seems. How the hell do women wear these damn things all day?

Is it my imagination that I can feel him lusting after me? Nope. He's totally staring at my chest.

"Peter? Hey. Up here!"

It takes me snapping my fingers in front of his face twice before he blinks and looks up. God, I hope I never looked so nervous in front of her! I take his hand and drag him towards the door, teetering a little in my heels.

"Don't get any crazy ideas, all right? I'm still you. Now come on." But I just can't resist teasing him a little more; he makes it so easy! When we get into the elevator, I stand up on my tiptoes and give him a peck on the mouth.

"Consider it a gift, 'cause I know you're never gonna ask her out."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

She kissed me! She fucking kissed me! It's like the best day of my life! Until she reminds me that she's me. Or, that's me pretending to be her and therefore, I technically just kissed a guy so-- My first instinct had been to lean forward and kiss her again. My arm's even around her waist, but that'd be a little too weird by everyone's standards so instead, I face front. Simple as that.

Clearing my throat, I absently lick my lips and wait for the elevator to ding. "So first you build me up, saying I'm going to be this really cool super hero and now you're knocking me down because I'll never get Lois Lane? Lame, man."

Still, she sits really close to me in the back of the cab as he head to Nathan's office. I'm about this ready to try for second base.

"Stop teasing."

[fallen-empath.livejournal.com]

"Oh, come on. You can't get Lois Lane if you don't try," I tell him, in what I hope sounds like a sultry voice. Illusions can't help me with successfully acting like a woman. I have to remember to keep my legs crossed and sit up straight. My hair keeps getting stuck to my lipstick, too. And this thong is giving me a wedgie! No wonder some women are so bitchy; they make their lives so unnecessarily uncomfortable!

But even so, it's been a really long time since I was able to have fun with one of my abilities like this, and the fact that I'm doing it at the expense of my past self makes it even better.

I move over closer to him, nudging his leg playfully with the heel of my shoe. He stares straight ahead, doing his best to ignore me. He's half-irritated and half-horny, a combination I've elicited out of my brother many, many times. Who cares if I'm hitting on myself? I might not be GQ material, but I'm not a bad looking guy either. And getting a rise out of my past self is just proving to be too much fun. He's going to wind up hating me before I go!

I try different things that women do when being flirtatious. I bite my lower lip, twirl my hair around my finger. When that doesn't work, I rest my hand high on his thigh and squeeze lightly. Holding in the ridiculous laugh that threatens to burst out of me, I lean close to his ear and whisper his name.

"Peter... don't you like me? Don't you think I'm pretty?"

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"Y-Yes, of course I th-think--" What am I doing? What am I saying?" How can I stutter so much when I know that the girl sitting next to me is not the girl I see every day catching the eyes of all of the surgeons, the one who never looks at me because I'm the 'kid brother' of our group.

And yeah, she's coming onto me now, but it's fantasy. My own fantasy.

And doesn't that make it all right? Probably not. My thoughts trip over each other as she presses against me. I can feel her breasts against my arm and it's driving me nuts. My cheeks flush when I turn to touch her cheek. "Yeah, you're pretty," I tell her and give her a kiss. Which I know has got to be really weird...since that's me under that skin.

I really hope I understand that it's sort of like a dream come true, this.

[fallen-empath.livejournal.com]

When he kisses me I'm sincerely shocked. Who knew my feminine charms were so persuasive? Okay, not funny. This is kind of twisted, really. Way worse than sleeping with my brother.

He does remember that it's himself under all this, right?

All right, I didn't really mean for it to go this far, did I? I'm playing a trick on poor, defenseless me because I think it's funny. Back then I know I had no sex life to speak of. Vanessa never gave me so much as the time of day. This is just cruel.

While these thoughts race through my head, I don't push him off like I ought to. No, instead I bury my small, perfectly manicured fingers in his hair and kiss him back. Of all the things I could possibly think of right now, I notice that he's a wonderful kisser.

Because he's you, you idiot! Narcissistic much? But do I stop? No, of course not.

The cab pulls up to Nathan's office building, and the cabbie tries to get our attention by clearing his throat noisily. Two sharp raps on the safety glass finally get us both back to our senses.

"Eight-fifty," he snaps, his distaste completely evident. Oh, if he only had an inkling!

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I stride into Nathan's building with a confident grin that screams simply: 'I just made out with Vanessa Poole and it was amazing!" Yeah, yeah, she's me under all of that. And it's weird, but when I turn to her-him in the elevator, I have to bite my lower lip to keep from doing something brash.

So I just thank her. Him. Me. "That was awesome. I'm never going to be able to look at Vanessa the same was again, though." He did me a favor, I've decided.

And my grin stays in place until I see Nancy. I try to charm her. It never works. She's uncharmable!

[fallen-empath.livejournal.com]

Peter says he's here to see his brother, and when Nancy looks up disinterestedly from touching up her nail polish, her jaw nearly hits her desk.

Nancy has always disliked me, even though I never did anything outright to earn it. She's also one hundred percent convinced I'm a closet homosexual. Nope, far from it, it would seem! I guess I'm doing him a favor on this one too.

I slip my hand into other Peter's, and give Nancy a victory smile, even though she has no idea that's what it is. But I'm not even thinking about her anymore. I'm thinking about the person behind that frosted glass door. My brother, gone for two years now, is alive and well behind that door.

I've missed him so much. Everything about him... his smile, his laugh, his sarcasm. Even his arrogance and his temper. His scent, and his touch...

No. He's not my Nathan, and I would do well to remember that. Mine will be waiting for me when I finally finish my work here.

That's what makes it so hard when we walk in there, and my brother looks up from his paperwork, grinning brightly. "Hey, Pete."

It's a wonderful feeling to see him, but my heart breaks all over again, knowing that greeting isn't for me.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Nathan gets a hug and a kiss before I introduce him to Vanessa. We're here to tell him he can fly, which means that my 'girlfriend' is going to go away pretty soon, but for now, she can stay lovely and mine and the illusion will remain for another few minutes.

"Nathan, I want you to meet Vanessa Poole." I've spoken about her often enough, he's got to know who she is. And yeah, he's checking her out too. He's going to be so surprised when he finds out who this is. "Sweetheart, this is my brother, Nathan Petrelli."

I'm so excited that I've actually got to pee. I'm like a freaking puppy sometimes. I know Nathan would have a field day if I ever said that out loud!

Excusing myself, and kissing Vanessa on the cheek, I scurry off to the bathroom, leaving my brother and my 'girlfriend' to chat.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

He's got to be kidding. A future version of himself just told him there's a deadly virus holed up in Odessa, Texas, and that's his plan? Just...go there?

If what I've just witnessed really did just happen, my brother is going to lose his mind, and it's starting right now. He's definitely the crazy one, not me.

I can't deal with this right now. If there was going to be some kind of future catastrophic event, our mother would be raving about it in advance, wouldn't she? She tends to know when things are about to occur just before they do. This is a crock. Enough.

"No, Peter. We're not going to Odessa. We're going to live our lives just as we always have. Superpowers. You need to lay off the comic books, Pete."

I take his hands and push them down, and I can see that mine are shaking. Understandable, after all of that. I need a drink, right now.

I pour more Scotch into my glass and set the bottle down hard on my desk, as if to signal the end of the conversation.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

It takes me about two weeks to realize that I'm never getting to Odessa, or anywhere close. I don't know what sort of pull my brother has, but something comes up every single time I've got a ticket in hand. I probably can't blame him for clinicals or for periodic exams or for our mother's friend falling ill... I still don't know why I had to stay in town for that--

I give up in the end. I still have that pendant but Nathan won't even talk to me about it. Not even to say I've made it up. It's become a non issue, like he shuts down whenever I mention something.

Things have changed drastically six months later. I can fly. I've been to Odessa to save a cheerleader like some other future guy wanted me to. I'm pretty sure I've stopped it, that virus.

Odessa is where Future Me said I had to go to save everyone. I did it. Nathan's not going to die now. Back home again, I'm feeling pretty damned good. There's two more hours left to go until it's dark. I can practice my flying then. Maybe I'll go around to see Nathan and-- Haha, yeah right. He'd never fly with me.

So fine, here I am, sitting on the couch with my brew...just...just waiting for something to happen. And when it does, it's really not what I was expecting. I have to say that I'm happy to see him...me... Just the same.

"Peter! I did it!"

[fallen-empath.livejournal.com]

Just seeing my other self makes me smile, even though I left him only moments before. Peter Petrelli of the past looks happy and relaxed, his sock feet up on the coffee table, beer in hand. Well, that is, before I arrive with no warning at all. Seems like he might have been waiting for me, the way he reacts. Excitement rushes through and out of him, crashing like a wave into me.

I don't stop myself from throwing my arms around him in a tight hug. It's strange, and at the same time not strange, how emotionally close I am to this version of me. I don't have a younger brother, but I imagine it's how Nathan felt about me. Without the other complicated stuff, of course.

"Did what?"

I was careful about my teleportation this time. By now I know he's actually flown, and he's saved Claire from the clutches of Sylar. That is, if everything's playing out the way it should. But he has to realize we've only just begun.

"Tell me everything," I whisper.

:3 Peter and Nathan never had their flight...so they never...

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I'm quick to get him a beer and we sit facing each other onf the couch, legs touching like we're kids up in my old club house, the space too tight for us to fit comfortably otherwise. My story is long. Heidi's accent, losing my license because Nathan just had to tell everyone that my jumping from the roof was me trying to kill myself. I mention Simone too, and then her boyfriend. Going to save Claire-- Yeah, and more of Nathan being a damned jerk.

Again.

Because seriously, he hasn't stopped being a jerk since Peter left us and I really don't know why he's so hostily against me. "We're not talking. I collapsed in Odessa and I think we were fine again but-- Well he's an asshole. He just doesn't understand. He doesn't want to use his powers."

Of course, I still can hardly use mine. I try to fly and I can't. But I healed automatically. That was new.

"So I saved the cheerleader in Texas. Mohinder's not answering his phone though. I was going to stop over and see him later if you want to come with?"

[fallen-empath.livejournal.com]

A profound sense of futility comes over me while I nurse my beer and listen to Peter's story. My story. Regardless of my brief appearance in my past self's life, even though I warned him of what was to come, not a single event has been affected. Everything is playing out just as it did when I experienced it.

What makes me think I'm going to able to change our future if nothing's changed at all? Besides Nathan being even more of a prick, that is.

My only hope is that it's just too soon to tell what might happen. There's still time.

I'm sure my eyes are glassed over while I'm lost in my fatalistic thoughts, but Peter's last sentence hits me like a ton of bricks.

Mohinder's not answering his phone though...

That's because he's being tossed around and tormented by Sylar. "We've gotta go to his apartment. Right now."

I deposit my beer bottle on the coffee table, clamp my hand on Peter's shoulder, and in the space between heartbeats, we leave his living room and wind up collapsing on our asses in the hallway outside Mohinder's door.

"Oops. We should have stood up first."

I don't bother warning him that Sylar's in there. My warning was a splash of blood on my forehead. I nod at the door. "Go ahead, it's open."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I have too much jumbled up in my head to do more than sit on that kinda gross hallway floor for two beats longer than necessary. I want to ask why we needed to get to Mohinder's apartment, and then how we were going to get there when he lives in Brooklyn, and shouldn't we call ahead? But no.

Groaning, I get to my feet and push open the door. The gun, once trained on a guy in a black t-shirt, moves up to me. "Oh, Peter," Mohinder says and I immediately put my hands up.

'Woah.. Hey, Mohinder, what're you doing here?"

The poor man in the chair looks up at me, a growl to his voice for a moment before I realize that he looks scared. Pretty damned scared.

"Mohinder--"

"It's Sylar! He killed my father!"

[aptlyintuitive.livejournal.com]

"Oh, quit your whining, Mohinder. Survival of the fittest. Even he'd tell you that." I laugh at my own joke, and Mohinder's two unexpected houseguests just gape at me.

Well, one of them does, with that stupid haircut and that vapid puppy stare. The other one glares and tries to look bad ass in his trenchcoat. Not intimidating in the slightest, if you ask me.

"Well, well. If it isn't the Boy Scout himself. And... his twin brother! Jesus, there's two of you? Isn't this my lucky day. Which one of you wants to die first?"

With TK I wrench the gun out of Mohinder's hand --seriously, if he tried to shoot me holding it like that he'd shatter his wrist, the idiot-- and spin it in the air like a deadly pinwheel, firing off the entire clip as it goes. Bullets lodge themselves into Mohinder's crappy wallpaper job, into chairs and bookshelves. A window shatters.

The two brothers duck, one actually deflecting the bullets away from them with my own trick, and one of them nicks Mohinder's arm. Oops, friendly fire.

Enough of this shit. "Give me the damn list, Mohinder," I demand, picking him up out of his chair and slamming him into the wall.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

My other self has obviously forgotten that it's been like two days since I learned that I can heal and likely? Like I can still die, especially when I'm being shot at. When those bullets start flying, I hit the deck. Jesus, he's a worse teacher than Claire had been when we tumbled off of the roof together and worse than Claude who got way too handsy and threw me off of the roof!

What's it with people trying to kill me all of a sudden? "Put him down!" I call, which on second thought? Not the best idea. He's looking at me now and I get this feeling from him--

It's the guy from that high school. He killed that cheerleader, he tried to kill Claire and--

My heart's racing when I launch myself at him. I feel a little like Captain America. Which is stupid. Because when that dude throws his hand back at me, and it's my turn to play jacks with the wall, it really hurts.

I crumble. Playing super heroes is only fun when you're winning.