A Long Trip Home

[chimeramimicry]

The door is two yards away but I can't move from the top of the stairs.  It's been months, four or so, since I've been here, in this spot.  Gone were the days of trudging up the stairs with my satchel on the way home from work because my building's landlords refused to fix the elevators properly.  Gone too was the pleasure I had of returning to this apartment I paid for with my own money and not from my trust fund.  I donated all of that to charity the moment I turned twenty-five and finished paying off my loans to school.  It was two years ago.  It feels like forever.

I'm not the same man I had been.  I'm not a child anymore.  At least, I want to think that.

I'm still clutching the photograph of my brother and I in our tuxedos.  There's a smudge on it from my thumb and full of creases.  I've not let it go since I opened that box containing everything that I am.  Everything I was.  I left Ireland without looking back.  There was, there is only one thing on my mind.  Nathan.

Nathan.

Nathan.

I know he's here.  I've always felt a connection to him.  Mohinder Suresh called it part of my empathy, to feel things like that.  Funny to be so empathically linked to someone I spent my whole life pining for, who has always had a life to live without me.  He's never had time for me.  Never.

"Just walk, Peter," I whisper to myself as I move to a door I have not touched in a long time.  I swallow.  And knock.  I know he's in here without knowing it.  I almost lose the nerve to knock.  Please answer, Nathan.  Please.

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[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I can't believe my brother is here. My eyes catch the clock as he drags me, half carries me really, into the bathroom. 12:01. It's my birthday and he's here. He's got his arms around me, holding me, not judging me for once. I'm not sure if I'll ever catch my breath, if I'll ever be warm, not until the water drops onto my head. He scrubs my hair until the puddle at my feet runs clear. My forehead presses against his chest, nose jabbing against his sterum.

"Nathan--" He hushes me. Kisses my neck and my ear. And when I finally can look him in the eye, he takes my mouth with his. I almost melt, the tears mixing with the water as I lean up into him.

Skin pink and raw, though healing quickly, I let my brother dress me like a doll in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, bundle me up in my coat, and fly me right out the window. We're going someplace nicer. Someplace without blood and memories painted on the walls.

I wait beside him in the lobby of the Four Seasons, shivering, clinging to him, and for once, he doesn't push me away. The girl at the desk has got to think that I'm some tweeked out twink Nathan's pulled from a club. He's so suave and perfect. I'm a shaking, sunken eyed mess.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I slide my American Express across the counter to the clerk, and I tell her I want the nicest room in the hotel, and I'll have her job if they don't get room service up there in the next twenty minutes.

Peter is holding on to me for dear life, not crying anymore, but still trembling all over. The clerk busies herself running my credit card and assigning our room, and I surprise myself by pulling him even closer and pressing my lips to his forehead.

"You're gonna be okay," I promise him again. I haven't wished him a happy birthday yet, and I won't, not until he's totally calmed down, not until I have him warm and fed and taken care of.

We get into the elevator and I let us in the room. I shake the snow off our coats, and I lay Peter down in the large bed, wrapping the comforter around him. I pace in front of the door, and as promised, room service arrives within the next ten minutes. I order soup and sandwiches, bottled water, and a bottle of Scotch for myself. I promise myself I'll go very easy on it; I just need one really, just to take the fear and the chill out of my bones. I know alcohol doesn't really affect Peter anymore, but I have a feeling he'll want a drink himself.

I lay down next to my brother and slip my arms around him, turn him to face me. He's having a hard time looking into my eyes, as though he's ashamed of himself. "You don't have to feel bad," I assure him. "You found me a lot like that not too long ago, remember?"

Peter cracks a smile finally, but it's forced and more tears slip down his face. But it's all right. I don't care what he thinks he's done. I know someone hurt him, and it's not his fault.

"You want to tell me what happened, Pete?" I whisper, stroking his hair. "If you want me to help you, you have to talk to me, okay, buddy?"

I haven't called him that since he was ten years old, but I can't help it. He looks like a lost child, and all I want to do is make it right.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

It's not that I don't want my brother's help, it's just that he can't help me. I know I should not be getting too comfortable here. Nathan should not be here, he's suppose to be working things out with his wife and being a father to his children. But I am selfish. Oh God, I'm much too selfish. What Sylar saw in my thoughts, what he ripped open for me to observe, has left me mindless.

I can't do this without my brother.

"Can you just hold me?" I know it's asking for a lot. Nathan's he sort of guy that needs to know and usually, I don't mind telling him. He might not always be able to fix my problems, but he'll always listen to them. I am already sitting up when Nathan opens his mouth to retort. I'm not going t let him speak right now. Nothing he can say will get me to change my mind. I undress in front of him, slowly. This isn't to be sexy, but jus to strip down to nothing. When I lay in his arms again, it's as the young brother he use to use for anything and everything he wanted.

He taught me what to do. He taught me how to be.

"I just want you to love me." But for Nathan, that could be an issue. One person is not enough for him. "It doesn't matter if you need anyone else. You can have whomever you want. But you have to promise me that you'll love me."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"Of course I love you. I'll always love you. No matter what, Peter," I say with a smile, covering his nakedness with the comforter. It's not that I don't want to look at him; I just know I shouldn't.

Something terrible has happened to him, aand since he doesn't want to tell me, I have a feeling it was sexual in nature. He was probably raped and almost murdered by some sick fuck from one of those goddamned clubs downtown. That's why he was wearing the eyeliner, and those ridiculous, shredded, blood-splattered clothes he hadn't quite hidden from my sight.

Thank God he can't die, or I would have blamed myself forever.

He's probably ashamed of what happened to him, and he thinks it's his fault. I decide not to press the issue any further. I'll let him tell me on his own, when he feels ready. If he ever does. He's strong enough to handle it. He's a grown man. He's just turned twenty-seven years old, in fact. I'll always be his older brother, but he's telling me he doesn't need me to hold his hand anymore. But I will, if he ever needs me to again. Peter doesn't deserve to hurt like this.

Room service knocks at the door, and I take in the cart and slip the server a handful of twenties for his trouble, probably more than he's made all night. Money isn't that important to me, and I have plenty.

I put a couple of sandwiches, two cups of soup on a tray, and I pour us both a bit of the Scotch over ice. I still don't feel like I should, but I say it anyway.

"Happy birthday, Peter." Then I give him a hug, just like I do every year.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

By that point, I'm sitting like an eskimo wrapped up in blankets and eating picnic style on a bed with my brother. So much has happened in the past two weeks, ever since I returned home from ireland, that I can't even tell what's up and what's down anymore. I stare at my brother across the bed as he finally says the only thing I've wanted him to since he arrived. It's just after two in the morning of my twenty-seventh birthday.

Thirteen years ago, just about now, he was taking my virginity, making me his, molding me to never love anyone else so long as I live.

"I love you, Nathan." I wish I could have said it without tears in my eyes. In two days it will be christmas. Tears are not for such happy times. They're for remembering hiding in attics and kissing and jerking off and getting drunk on stolen wine.

I know that my brother will remember almost nothing of that time. Sylar showed me everything. showed me on my brother's wedding night pushing my way into my parent's study to tell them that this was wrong, what my brother was doing. I told them everything, I told them that I was in love with my older brother, that he loved me too.

Mom wasn't surprised. But Dad... Dad took my memories. All of them. I was almost seventeen years old when that happened.

Nathan and I had been lovers for nearly three years. No. Longer than that. We've been messing around since i was twelve afterall.

I stare up at Nathan, I gaze into his eyes. "Will you stay with me for a little while?"