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Title: Take
By: kellifer_fic
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: G
Category: Gen
Words: 544
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to my beta *superfox*
Summary: If Peter chose a different path, or had one chosen for him.
They underestimated him at first.
He went in search of them, of answers but was pushed aside. He didn’t have a flashy power, nothing to write home about, nothing that would get him in a comic book.
At first, they didn’t understand.
He’s put in front of a dark man first, shaved head and steely faced. His name’s initials of some kind but Peter can’t quite remember what they are. He isn’t tied but he remains perfectly still because somewhere in this complex is his son and the guy knows that he will never reach him before they have a chance to put a bullet in the kid’s brain.
Peter reaches out a tentative hand and his fingertips go through the man’s skin. He pulls his hands back with a jerk as if burned and the man in the glasses looks over his shoulder, a dark promise on his face. The other man seems to tense and then relax.
He nods.
Peter reaches forward again and this time his hands meet warm skin.
Do you need to touch them?, he’d been asked and although the answer was no, he’d said he should. He couldn’t really explain it, other than being the difference between passing your hands over water and plunging them in to the wrist.
He steps sideways and Claire is in a chair, blonde hair pulled up and out of the way and leather clamp around her neck. There is something sharp and wicked looking that is just touching the base of her skull, denting the skin a little. She froze when she first saw it, remembering a tree branch and how she’d been dead… she’d actually been dead until a morgue worker had yanked it free.
She has big dark eyes rimmed with tears watching him, trembling with the effort not to move. “Daddy, please,” she barely whispers and Peter’s not sure if anyone was supposed to hear. He’s gentle with Claire, letting his fingers run over her cheeks, thumbing away the tears he encounters.
He wants to say he’s sorry, but he’s not sure how.
He steps sideways again, marvelling at the feel of a jarred knee knitting itself, healing. He bobs up and down experimentally a few times and tries to fight off the grin that threatens to surface. He knows what he’s doing is wrong in all kinds of ways, but he can’t help feeling… elated.
Last, but not least is a face he knows as well as his own. Not tied, just like the Father. Nathan says, “Peter,” in a small voice, but nothing more. Peter leans forward and rests his temple against his brother’s, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding because this? This is what he was waiting for.
He stands upright again, stepping back and away, Nathan’s eyes following, looking dark and worried. He’s not sure what the man in the glasses has threatened to do, whether to go after Nathan’s wife and the kids, defenceless in their house against monsters such as these. He doesn’t know that it’s Peter they threatened to keep Nathan still.
The man touches fingers to Peter’s shoulder and smiles a little, which chills him to the bone.
“Now,” he says. “Let’s see what you can do.”
By: kellifer_fic
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: G
Category: Gen
Words: 544
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to my beta *superfox*
Summary: If Peter chose a different path, or had one chosen for him.
They underestimated him at first.
He went in search of them, of answers but was pushed aside. He didn’t have a flashy power, nothing to write home about, nothing that would get him in a comic book.
At first, they didn’t understand.
He’s put in front of a dark man first, shaved head and steely faced. His name’s initials of some kind but Peter can’t quite remember what they are. He isn’t tied but he remains perfectly still because somewhere in this complex is his son and the guy knows that he will never reach him before they have a chance to put a bullet in the kid’s brain.
Peter reaches out a tentative hand and his fingertips go through the man’s skin. He pulls his hands back with a jerk as if burned and the man in the glasses looks over his shoulder, a dark promise on his face. The other man seems to tense and then relax.
He nods.
Peter reaches forward again and this time his hands meet warm skin.
Do you need to touch them?, he’d been asked and although the answer was no, he’d said he should. He couldn’t really explain it, other than being the difference between passing your hands over water and plunging them in to the wrist.
He steps sideways and Claire is in a chair, blonde hair pulled up and out of the way and leather clamp around her neck. There is something sharp and wicked looking that is just touching the base of her skull, denting the skin a little. She froze when she first saw it, remembering a tree branch and how she’d been dead… she’d actually been dead until a morgue worker had yanked it free.
She has big dark eyes rimmed with tears watching him, trembling with the effort not to move. “Daddy, please,” she barely whispers and Peter’s not sure if anyone was supposed to hear. He’s gentle with Claire, letting his fingers run over her cheeks, thumbing away the tears he encounters.
He wants to say he’s sorry, but he’s not sure how.
He steps sideways again, marvelling at the feel of a jarred knee knitting itself, healing. He bobs up and down experimentally a few times and tries to fight off the grin that threatens to surface. He knows what he’s doing is wrong in all kinds of ways, but he can’t help feeling… elated.
Last, but not least is a face he knows as well as his own. Not tied, just like the Father. Nathan says, “Peter,” in a small voice, but nothing more. Peter leans forward and rests his temple against his brother’s, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding because this? This is what he was waiting for.
He stands upright again, stepping back and away, Nathan’s eyes following, looking dark and worried. He’s not sure what the man in the glasses has threatened to do, whether to go after Nathan’s wife and the kids, defenceless in their house against monsters such as these. He doesn’t know that it’s Peter they threatened to keep Nathan still.
The man touches fingers to Peter’s shoulder and smiles a little, which chills him to the bone.
“Now,” he says. “Let’s see what you can do.”
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