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.

Comments

Re: Sylar/Peter

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I don't even stop to think if I'm putting my head on correctly. I can feel my scalp moving against the clean cut rim of my skull, knitting itself back together properly. It makes me feel sick to my stomach and as I hear the door close, I drag myself to the bathroom to deposit the liquor I've been drinking safely in the bowl. In less than an hour, it's going to be my birthday, my twenty-seventh. And how do I spend it?

On the floor of a cheap hotel room after having my mind brutally raped by a man I thought was dead. That's how Peter Petrelli spends his 27th.

There are not enough tears to cry for this, so I do nothing of the sort, curling up in mostly ruined clothing. This will be the first time in my entire life that I will not be with Nathan when the clock strikes midnight. He won't be the first to whisper happy birthday in my ear or give me a hug.

I am a sick fuck.

Sylar's right.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

When I get home from my night of drinking and losing myself in the body of some barely legal boy, Heidi and my sons are sitting at the kitchen table, having breakfast. More like staring at their breakfast. Simon and Monty both glare at me. Heidi's been crying again.

Heidi looks up from the pancakes she's barely touched, her blue eyes cold as ice. She spits, "Nathan, where the hell have you been? Why didn't you call?"

"Not in front of the kids, Heidi," I say, hanging my suit jacket on the back of my chair. I see her looking at my collar, looking for lipstick marks. Not this time, I think bitterly.

I put a couple of pancakes on my plate, and while I eat, my family just stares at me. After the silence becomes uncomfortable even to me, I ask, "Isn't anyone going to talk?"

Heidi begins rambling about the boys' latest marks in school, and the boys tell me about their football games coming up over the weekend. There's an elephant in the room, all right. Me. The only way to solve this problem is to remove it.

I can't do this anymore. Heidi and I, we're irreparably shattered. There's no way to fix this. I'm letting my boys down, and they know it. They're heartbroken. But I will do my best to see them when I can. She can keep the house, everything in it. I don't need it. I don't need anything but her and the kids, and they're too far gone.

The rest of the week passes in a blur, a little bit of Christmas shopping, dinner at my mother's again. Peter doesn't show. I make phone calls to my fraternity brother about the job he's lined up for me, to my mother telling her I'm planning on leaving Heidi, but I'm going to wait until after the holidays. I think of calling my brother, but he'll probably know it's because I've realized that Heidi and I are over and I just want him for a replacement. It's not that, of course, but that's the way he'll take it.

But I miss him. Terribly.

I realize, while lying in bed, my arms around my wife who doesn't love me or believe in me anymore, that it's Peter's birthday in little less than an hour. I get up and grab my phone, punch in his number. I've never not been there to wish him a happy birthday, never in his life. I would go to him, but he hasn't been in his apartment at all since the last time we were both there. I checked seven times in the last four days.

I listen to the line ring and hope he's not so pissed off at me that he won't answer.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

The phone is ringing and for a moment, I think I'm hearing things. I mean, that's got to be it, right? I don't just wish that Nathan would call me and then suddenly, he does. It's not a storybook like. Who'd ever want to write anything as twisted as what my life's become? My mouth is dry, but i pick my head up, ignoring the spray of blood that coats the room. It's such a mess in here. The people that own this cheap motel are going to be absolutely livid.

I don't blame them. Of course not. Of course I don't. I'm going to cost them more in clean up than my meager daily rent will possibly cover.

For the longest time, I simply stare at my phone. The name that's on the ID makes the tears come and I blink them back until the very last moment. The call nearly goes to my answering machine, but as I flip it open and hold it against my ear, I am relieved that I answered.

"Where are you?"

It's been a week. No more, no less. but it feels like years.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I let out the breath I've been holding as I hear the call connect.

At first I don't know what to say, because my brain almost shorts out with the rush of all the things I need him to know. I want to tell him I'm sorry for sending him away. I'm sorry I'm not there with him right this minute to hold him and hug him and tell him for the twenty-seventh time in his life, "Happy birthday, Pete." I want to hold him close and touch him and make love with him and just be with him.

Before I'm even aware of it, I'm struggling to hold the phone between my neck and shoulder while I pull on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I choose a heavier coat than usual because I know I'm going to be flying, and it's below freezing out there tonight. I hope he's in Hawaii or somewhere warm. The thought makes me smile.

"Going off to fuck another one of your whores, Nathan?" Heidi grumbles sleepily. I want to scream at her, but I don't want Peter to hear that. And I hope he didn't hear her. Peter is not my whore. He's my brother. He's my life.

We've been on the line together for almost two minutes now, just listening to each other breathe, when one of us finally speaks, and it's Peter. "Where are you?" he blurts. He sounds panicked.

After shutting my bedroom door behind me, I whisper into the mouthpiece, "Wherever you want me to be."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I can't meet him here, but I can hardly move. I stll feel numb. I'm not sure if I can feel anything anymore except for an ache to see Nathan. My eyes scan the room. The reddish blood is becoming brown, seeping into the carpet and staining the awful wallpaper. I still am wearing shreaded clothing. I smell like a cheap whore and too much alcohol. Like blood and maybe even urine from leaning against the back room wall for hours every night.

Oh god... Oh Nathan...what have I become?

I put my hand to my face to stop myself from sobbing but it's too late. I tell Nathan exactly where I am. I tell him down to the room number. He'll hate me to see what I've been doing with myself. "Just... Just hurry." I don't really mean it though. I need to clean up.

I just can't do much more than put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt when there's a knock at the door. I think I've been trying for a full hour straight by that point.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

He opens the door and nearly collapses into my arms, sobbing and shaking.

He smells awful, like cheap cologne, liquor and sex, and there is dried blood all over his face, his hands, in his hair. He's wearing eyeliner for some damn reason, and it's streaking down along with the tears.

"Oh, my God, Peter, what happened? What is this?" I hold my brother close for a few minutes, until he quiets down a bit.

This is no place for my little brother to spend his birthday. This shitty little hotel room's walls are also splattered with blood, and I start shaking myself. It must be his. I know whatever wound he suffered has long since healed, but still, I fear for him. He's been through something terrible; it doesn't take any special empathic ability to know that.

I get him to his feet and walk him into the bathroom, and strip him down to nothing. There is blood all over his chest too.

He rests his head on the tiled wall of the shower, and hard sobs tear from his throat. He moans my name over and over, and my heart nearly breaks for him.

I should have never let you go, Peter.

"Peter, you're gonna be all right. I'm here now. I'm here." I take off my own clothes as well; he's not going to be able to wash himself, not in the state he's in right now.

I turn the water on and put him under the spray. He just stands there, still crying, looking lost and afraid, while I run my soapy hands all over him, washing away the blood, sweat, and the scent of sex from his trembling body.

I swear to God I'll kill whoever did this to him.

[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?"