Disclaimer- If i owned my own TARDIS i would go back in time and create these show as my own but sadly i don't, so don't get mad at me
On diffrent note enjoy my first ever fanfiction
Chapter 1
Memories
He can feel something coming. Something darker than before. If only he knew what before was. He never did look in the box. And yet he had a glimpse of his unknown past. A Japanese man on the subway, a soul patch, and a sword strapped to his back. His dark eyes were pained as all others were frozen around them.
"Peter Petrelli I have a message for you."
What was it again. Something about a cheerleader and the world. He snorted into his pillow. It seemed so foolish, but he remembered a flash of a uniform, torn with blood drenching it.
"I'm Claire." murmured a soft voice in his ear.
"Claire" he whispered, his voice fading into the night. He could picture her now, a petite blonde with sad blue eyes and a small smile.
"You're totally my hero."
Then there was a man, arrogant and business like. Cynical and none believing. "Delusions of grandeur." he kept repeating, his voice patronizing, but Peter remembered feeling the need to please this man like a younger brother showing his older sibling he was worthy of his attention. A brother.
He was trying to scavenge any other images of this man when something evil surfaced it's self into his thoughts. A menacing sneer of another man. Tall and unkempt with a black aura pulsing around him.
"I'd like to see how that works" he drawled, his eyes fierce with manic joy. And then he raised his hand. Slowly, as if he wanted to savor this moment. This death.
Peter shot up in his bed, clutching his forehead. Something was tearing at his skin, something invisible. His skin burned and he screamed, the sound reverberating inside him, shaking his bones. The pain intensified with each scream. He could feel himself trembling violently, the blankets being torn out from under him.
"Peter!" A panicked voiced drifted in and out of his consciousness, the pain washing it out in waves. "Peter what's the matter?" The voice sounded frightened. Peter tried to reach out, to communicate with the voice, to tell it he need help. Cold hands were trying to lay him down, soothing him, but the tide separated them. The pain began to drag him under the water, drowning him. He took a deep gasping breathe, swallowing a lung full of agony laced water and sank to the dark depth of the sea.
The abyss of his mind was peaceful. He felt nothing, he could finally rest . No more trying to remember, his pain never existed. But the weight began to form again as the world began to come back into shape.
"Please, no" he begged, the plead echoing louder and louder in his mind, but it was too late. He was standing in a deserted loft. Paintings filled the room. He walked around, his fingers lightly brushing the canvases. This place looked familiar. The art seemed to be screaming at him to remember.
His attention was drawn to one particular painting. It displayed a man jumping off a roof, caught in midair, his coat billowing up, giving the impression he had wings. He had his arms outstretched, clearly enjoying the feel of air in his face and the pure joy of the freedom of it all. This piece was screaming louder than any of the others, drowning out all their yells. He reached out to make contact with it, feeling a magnetic charge drawing him in.
"Peter" whimpered a voice behind him. He spun around to find himself no longer in the loft but circular room, with large coral looking structures around it. In the center was a large mushroom like control system with all sorts of levers, buttons, and switches. A large blue cylinder was pumping up and down, emitting a soft whirring sound. Walking over to the machine he looked at it closer careful not to press any thing, incase something bad would come from it.
He could only be amazed for a second as the small voice called again.
"Peter" He looked up from the controls to see a small blonde girl. Not the same girl he had seen in his memories but still pretty. She looked around twenty and was a bit taller with shoulder length blonde hair, he light brown eyes surrounded dark eyeliner. Her lips were trembling and tears were running slowly down her cheeks, he face streaked with mascara. "Peter, please you have" she whispered urgently, in a cockney accent. She walked closer to him, shaking with each sob that escaped from her lips
"No" Peter responded fiercely. He didn't know what he had to do, but something was telling him it wasn't right.
"Please" she implored. "You've have to. You cant let him get me, you can's. You know what will happen if he does." she cried, hugging herself and taking a deep breathe trying to control her emotions. Peter walked towards her, wrapping his arms around her. Instantly she began crying into his shoulder. He tucked her into the crook of his neck, burying his face into her hair. "Please" she murmured, the sound muffled by the fabric of his shirt, the vibration surging through him. She removed herself, her cheeks now black.
"Just…just tell…" she brought her hand to face. He reached to wipe away the tears, with his thumb, but she flinched away. "Just tell him… I lo.." she paused for a second "I love him."
After the last word she began to collapse to the floor. Peter moved to catch her but a bright surge of energy threw him back. He flipped in midair and struck the controls. Spark flew and the room shuddered. His back arched as he rolled over and fell to the grated floor. He lifted his hand to his face and drew it back to find blood. Trying to sit up, he found he couldn't. Looking down he say a large gash in his side. Before he could even begin to feel the pain, the skin began to knit back together, the wound healing right before his eyes.
Peter looked up to see a figure bathed in a pure golden light. It was the girl. But she was different. Her hair seemed longer as it blew around her face gently, her eyes were the same honey color as the mist cocooning her. Hand outstretched, she tilted her head to the side and smiled an unnervingly peaceful smile.
"I know you can do it yourself, but I thought I would help." She lowered her hand. Peter sat up, hand on his now perfectly healed stomach, still amazed.
"What… what are you?" he whispered, his mouth tasting oddly like blood. Her smile grew wider and genuine fear turned his blood cold.
"I am Bad Wolf."
"Peter!"
Peter jumped up and hit something solid. Someone let out a sharp breath. His eyes felt heavy and it took some energy to finally pry them open, and even then the world seemed disoriented . When the world came back into focus he saw Caitlin clutching her chin. She opened at closed her mouth, rubbing her jaw profusely.
"Peter are you alright?" she asked hurriedly, supporting him as he struggled to sit.
"Yeah, I'm fine" he mumbled also rubbing the spot where he had hit Caitlin. "Just a nightmare." She smiled in relief.
"Good" she laughed "Must have been hell of a nightmare" She helped him stand, as it appeared that he had fallen of the bed. Peter chuckled insincerely.
"Yeah, it was some dream"
"Let's get you back in bed" Caitlin gently pushed him to the end of the mattress. He fumbled as he tried to sit on the bed, almost falling back to the floor. And she caught him. He mumbled a "thanks" as he finally got situated , Caitlin getting into bed next to him. She moved in closer and he kissed her on the forehead.
"I love you Peter" she whispered
"I love you too" But his mind was still on the dream. He lay awake fore hours, trying to analyze it, trying to remember the girl from before, but his mind was blank. Caitlin's deep breathing was soothing, willing him to sleep. And as he slipped into nothingness on word escaped his lips.
"Rose"
...
Somewhere in a small London café sat a man. With short messy hair and an unshaven face, the man looked as if he hadn't taken care of himself in weeks. But his man had something more important on his mind. He lowered his coffe mug and looked down at the photos layed out on the small café table.
The pictures showed a small blonde girl with too much makeup around her brown eyes. She seemed to be in her late teens. His favorite picture was the one with her and a dark skinned boy, presumably her boyfriend. But the boy didn't matter. All that mattered was the girl.
He ripped the photo in half, crumbling the half of the useless boy and threw it across the table. Flipping it over, he saw the caption on the back read Rose Tyler and Mickey Smith, Christmas 2003 . He didn't need to know any more, he had what he wanted. Her name
"Mine." he hissed, a malicious grin on his face
A/N-Thank you for taking your time to read my first ever fanfiction I hope you enjoyed. I love both Doctor Who and Heroes and i was bored at school (this story has been in the works for months. I just found it). Add those three together and you get Don't look back before you run. Sorry for any spelling or grammatical errors, I will work on that