Owl to Nathan

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

(Needless to say, Peter's usual nurse-scrawl is nearly impossible to read, and anything crossed out has been done so heavily that it's ripped the parchment in a few places.)

Nathan,

Not that I care or anything but

Are you still here?

So. When are you leaving?

I really don't want you to leave this quick, I ...does being around me suck that much?

I just want my brother around, and you're talking about leaving. I don't

I'm sure New York must be falling to pieces without you there -Go on, just leave, see if I care

Can you at least give me notice? Maybe I'll arrange a farewell party. You like red and blue, right?

Your BROTHER
Peter

Comments

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

Despite his mood, Peter snorted quietly at Nathan's reply. Trust Nathan to immediately say the one thing that simultaneously attempted to diffuse the situation and please the masses. The masses, in this case, being Peter, but the analogy was there. "And you say that I have weird dreams," he smirked briefly. "Mine don't have anything on talking dogs."

When Nathan pulled him closer, Peter let out a slight sigh, dropping his head to rest on Nathan's shoulder. It was an awkward angle, but Peter could care less. Maybe he was acting a bit clingy right now, but that was another thing he could care less about. His brother still didn't sound happy about the fact that Peter wanted him around, but when had Nathan last sounded genuinely happy about anything? Seriously. Peter almost couldn't remember.

"Yeah, I know," he agreed. "You're too stubborn to let that happen, anyway." They were just dreams. But Peter had always paid too much heed to his dreams.

Frowning suddenly, Peter lifted his head off Nathan's shoulder and tried to twist around slightly to stare at him. "When was the last time you smiled? I mean, actually genuinely enjoyed yourself, not that fake politician thing you wear?" That question had a thought process, he swore. It was just that Nathan hadn't heard Part One.

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

Too bad it hadn't worked on Peter. This conversation would just be so much easier if they were discussing something like... freaking talking dogs, and very much not the topic of when Nathan was going to leave, or Sylar or anything. This had all been easier before these damn powers. Heidi wouldn't have ended up in that wheelchair, Peter wouldn't have been bound and determined to save the world. Claire wouldn't have survived that fire. But, damn, cruel and cold-hearted as it was to admit to himself, weren't things a lot simpler when she wasn't around too? Imagine trying to explain an illegitimate daughter to your wife and your two boys.

"Yeah, but mine aren't about blowing myself up all over New York," Nathan muttered back under his breath, and sighed. Dreams. Just dreams. That came true, in the long run, usually, when Peter had them. He'd said something about seeing Nathan fly, six months ago when he and Heidi had had their accident. The dreams about Peter exploding. God only knew what else he had up his sleeves.

And... where the hell had that come from? Peter was twisting his head and Nathan glanced to him right back, eyebrows furrowed and mouth crinkling into a mockery of a laugh that never seemed to quite reach his eyes. "Where the hell did that come from? Jesus, Pete, I swear, you're so random sometimes." Said, of course, in that way that sounded joshing but was really threatening to beat Peter into submission if he didn't stow it, and fast.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

Fair point, blowing up New York did trump talking dogs. Peter would take dreaming about talking dogs any day over those dreams - the only good thing about them was that he wasn't having them anymore. He supposed dreams like that stopped as soon as you averted it. Thankfully.

He'd been almost eagerly awaiting Nathan's answer, hoping for some kind of confirmation that Nathan had been happy lately. Maybe a story about how one of his children learned to play a song on a new instrument, or a particularly meaningful and touching encounter with a dedicated voter. Hell, Peter would have been satisfied with something so simple as Nathan laughing at a movie, not... his actual reply.

Peter's expression twisted in disappointment, and he shrugged Nathan's arm off his shoulders. "I hate that politician smile," he muttered darkly, shifting off the couch. He grabbed his sketchbook and tossed it onto a nearby table, making an extremely pathetic attempt to look busy. The newspapers needed sorting, he'd swear. Seriously.

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

Nathan watched Peter shrug him off and stand, a slightly irritated expression drawing his eyebrows downward into a slanted furrow. Great. Just what he needed. "You're kidding, right?" he prompted right back in turn, eyes riveting onto the papers Peter was mindless sorting and sounding vaguely pissed off out of nowhere. "You're mad because I smiled." He could have admitted that, yeah, he knew what Peter was talking about. It had been a while since he'd genuinely smiled, not his plastic politician one that showed off all three hundred and forty-seven teeth. He could've. But... didn't.

"When am I supposed to be laughing, again?" he asked instead, squaring his jaw. "Should I be when I'm taking off for Scotland when my brother disappears off the place of the planet? No, wait, maybe when a brain-eating freaking serial killer's going after him, out for his powers. You know, you exploding was pretty goddamn hilarious. Why didn't I crack a smile then? Or when I was pulling an IV pole out of your forehead?"

Nathan rubbed at his forehead, frustrated, and God help him before he was sharing something that he shouldn't have been. "It's not like I don't smile, Pete. I do." Oh, that was a lame argument. "Just... you know, there hasn't been much to lately, if you've been paying attention." And then paused for a few long seconds, rubbing at his knee. Don't do it, Nathan. Don't.

"Heidi walked."

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

Okay, maybe Peter could understand where Nathan was coming from. Lately, there really hadn't been much cause to genuinely enjoy anything. Even Peter, who liked to consider himself an optimist, hadn't found many reasons.

But for some reason he expected Nathan to be... above that, somehow. Maybe he was just thinking years back to a more carefree Nathan, or maybe Peter had just conjured up some sort of idealized memory. It was a bit like wearing rose-coloured glasses with only one lens in; seeing the best and the worst in Nathan was kind of disturbing sometimes.

Then again, he should probably go easy on Nathan. The guy had been running for Congress and trying to keep their family together for months now, he was allowed to be a little stressed out. Peter almost went to reply, when... well.

...That was a fairly random statement about Heidi.

Baffled, Peter finally turned around to look at Nathan, dropping all pretense that he was actually doing something. It's not like Nathan believed it, anyway. "She... what? I thought the doctors estimated years, not months?"

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

And with everything weighing on his shoulders... from everything he'd babbled about to Heidi's accident, to the election and... their father's death. To say these hadn't been an easy six months on Nathan would be a little bit of an understatement. Pressure from Peter. From his wife and his kids. From... Meredith. And Claire. And... three hundred million people all across America suddenly counting on what decisions he made. Just... pressure, and building up on him slowly and steadily until the one day when you knew Nathan was going to snap. And fire shots off the clock tower or something. Hmm, that would probably be best to avoid.

"Yeah, I know what the doctors said," Nathan replied, quietly, nails digging into the material of his slacks, on his knee, as he looked... at the floor. At his shoes, at his nails skritching away at his pants. Anywhere very much not Peter. "They also said that was going to be a three percent chance. Three percent. And she... moved her foot." But finally did glance up, then, slightly cautiously. "I mean, you're a nurse. What are the odds of that? Three trillion to one or something? She WALKED, Pete. She's WALKING. She's... okay."