I was going threw some old files and found this. I must have done it ages ago as I don't even remember writing it. Reading threw it though, it seems as though its set sometime after series one, episode 17, .07%

Whispered Like Prayers

Chapter One: Murder Most Foul

Peter fell to his knees with a chocked sob, tears turning crimson as they mingled with the rapidly healing gash across his face. He rose his shaking, bloody hands from the lifeless form and stared at them, eyes wide and feral with fright.

Pools of blood grew on the wooden floor, ever expanding and coating his jeans. It shone in the light of the lamp before running off into the shadows of the room, but it didn't hide the crime, and could not muffle the cry of anguish which echoed throughout the room.

His hands hit the floor, blood splashing onto the back of his hands, but Peter took no notice as he vomited violently, back hunched. He lost his breath as he continued to vomit and sob, unable to control his shaking body. His dark hair fell across his face, mattered from sweat and blood, the ends getting flecks of sick mixed in.

The stench of death surrounded him, mocking him, assaulting his senses, trapping him in his pain, showing him what he'd done, never letting him escape.

His heart thumped painfully against his ribcage as he had nothing left to throw up, still he gagged, fingers curling in the red liquid causing his nails to scrape against the floor. He wanted something to cling to, something solid and real in his hands, something to take him away from the present.

Her scream echoed tauntingly in his mind, images of her shocked face, her angry eyes jumping to disbelief, then slowly becoming dull and glazed. Her warm skin becoming cold and pale.

He shifted to a crotched position when the tears could fall no more, and his eyes stung, gently rocking himself on his heels. "It was an accident," he mumbled, "an accident." He repeated the mantra, trying unsuccessfully to drill it into his mind, closing his eyes tight, willing away the scene. He reopened them, the first thing he saw was her, face towards him, lips slightly parted. He began to laugh hysterically, the sound made of nerves, sorrow and madness. He didn't no what to do, he was going insane being here, the blood, the smell, the darkness, he had to get away.

Still shaking, Peter forced himself to his feet and stumbled from the room, weak with flooding emotions.

He stepped out into the cold night air, but didn't feel the chilly breeze whipping against him. He ignored his blood soaked clothes, hands and face. Where should he go? Where could he go? He didn't want to hand himself in, he didn't want to go to jail. He couldn't go home, he couldn't taint his home along with his mind. Nathan, Nathan would no what to do. His big brother always knew that to do. Doing his best to keep his mind on getting to his brother and keep them from that lifeless from, Peter stumbled drunkenly down the street, taking in nothing around him. The stench of blood, vomit and death followed him.

*

He banged desperately against the door, the tears were back, and the cold wind hurt his skin like thousands of tiny needles. The lights were off in the house, but Peter continued to bang until the little energy he had left faded, and he fell against the door, attempting to use the handle as a crutch to keep himself standing, but instead he slumped down, and buried his head in his arms. He wailed helplessly, wondering where Nathan was. He banged his head against the door, causing a dull thud and pain in his skull. He didn't notice the light inside flick on, nor the click in the door. He had no chance to steady himself as the door opened, and he fell in the doorway, crumpling into a messy, tear stained heap.

There was a surprised sound, and strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him up. He fell against his brother, face hidden in his shoulder as the older Petrelli reached out to shut the door. Moments later two hands rested on his shoulders, and Nathan pushed him back to arms length to see him. His eyes widened when he saw the state Peter was in, his hair mattered and tangled with blood and vomit, his face pale, checks wet with tears. His jacket was torn in places, and his t-shirt had a trail of blood down the middle. The entire front of his jeans from knee down was dark red with dried in blood. Once white snickers also red. "Jesus, Pete, what happened?"

Peter continued to sob, and Nathan pulled him back to him, holding him in a tight embrace for several minutes.

Once he's calmed down slightly, Nathan walked him to the closest bathroom, told him to strip his shirt, wet a towel, and whipped away the blood from Peter's face and chest where the blood had soaked threw his top, asking again what happened.

"I-it was an accident." Peter whispered pleadingly, trying to get his brother to understand that it wasn't his fault, he didn't mean to do it.

Nathan held him steady, cupping his face and forcing him to look at him. "What was an accident Peter?"

"I didn't mean to, it was an accident." He repeated, voice a soft whimper.

"What was?"

Peter didn't respond, and Nathan's worry only increased as he continued to wash away the blood. "Please, Peter, you have to tell me what happened. It was an accident, I believe you, I promise I won't blame you for what's happened. But I need to know what it is."

Peter shook his head, lips moving wordlessly.

Setting the towel down, Nathan kept a firm grip on his brother. "I need to know."

A few seconds passed by, and Peter looked at his brother. "It was an accident, I didn't mean it, I-I didn't mean to kill her."

Nathan's hands dropped, and he fell back a step in shock at his brothers words. His mind immediately tried to dismiss it, Peter, the sweet little kid who grew up to be a kind hearted nurse, he couldn't have killed a person. But all of the evidence was right in front of him. He stared at his distraught little brother, unable to bring himself to move. It was the wounded sound that escaped Peter's lips which snapped him back into action. He picked back up the damp towel and continued to clean up the mess across Peter's face. "It will be ok Peter," he promised, hoping he didn't sound as shaky and nauseated as he felt. "It was an accident, I know you'd never hurt somebody willingly.

Peter shook his head wildly, dirty hair whipping across his face and forcing Nathan's hands away. "No, its all my fault… I did it… I-I killed someone." Wide, frightened eyes locked with Nathan's. "Please, help me."