A/N: I decided to try writing a young!Petrelli fic, since I read a bunch that I really liked and thought I should try my hand at it. There's no incest, unless you go to the last few paragraphs, turn your head at a forty-five degree angle, squint your eyes, and count to twelve (ie, it's about as incestuous as the show, or any average older brother - little brother relationship). Enjoy, review if you like, and feel free to flame/criticize!
Nathan was woken up by a loud, shrill wail from the room next door. He rubbed his hands on his eyes, groaning, before he got up and shuffled into his baby brother's room. This was the fourth time in as many days Peter had woken him up with his nightmares, but he couldn't fault the five-year-old for being terrified.
When little Pete, his face still glistening with tears and sweat, described one of the dreams, Nathan felt a little shudder go down his own back. "I was in the big city - but I was all growed up, and you were there and you were growed up too. And I was all glowy and red and orange like I was on fire. You hugged me and then we were flying, and you let go of me and you were flying away and then I blew up, boom! It was big and fiery and I died and you died and everyone died! It was awful and it hurt and I was so scared and I hurt you and there was fire everywhere and everyone in the city went boom and it's all my fault!"
The poor kid had hardly been sleeping for almost a week, no matter how long Nathan sat with him and stroked his hair. "It's going to be alright, Pete. You're not going to hurt anyone," Nathan told the sobbing boy, rubbing a hand up and down his thin back.
"Hey, Pete. You alright? I heard you ... did you have the dream again?" he asked as he walked in. Peter nodded from where he sat on the bed, curled into an impossibly tiny ball against the headboard. "I told you, you're never going to hurt anyone like that. You don't need to worry." After settling himself on the twin bed, he pulled his brother into his lap and let him cry into his shoulder.
"But ... but I did! It's not a dream, Nate, it happens! I go boom and everyone dies! I'm scared, I don't want to hurt you." He whimpered for a moment, gripping Nathan's pajama shirt in his little hands. "I'm gonna get growed and I don't want to do that, I don't wanna go boom, you can't let me, Nate, you can't let me 'cause I'm gonna hurt you and please don't let me get growed, please." Finally, the little boy took a pause to breathe.
Nathan shifted Peter so he was cradled in his arms. "Peter, listen to me. You're not going to explode, no matter how grown up you get. I promise you, it's just a dream --"
Peter smacked his hands into Nathan's chest. "It is not just a dream!" He continued to punch Nathan for a few seconds before rolling away and sitting haughtily on the bed. "I'm gonna get big and glowy and go boom! You have to stop it, Nate! If you don't, I'll -- I'll hate you forever!" he shouted.
Nathan, fifteen years old and well past the phase where 'forever' meant 'the next three hours', laughed. "I don't think you could hate me, Pete. I'm your big brother. Brothers don't hate each other." Still chuckling, he ruffled Peter's hair playfully.
Instead of the giggling response he usually expected, his brother all but growled and scooted farther away. "I hate you, Nathan! Go away!" He even went so far as to try feebly to push the much larger teenager off his bed.
"Come on, Peter. It was just a dream, nothing to worry about. Why don't you try to go back to sleep? I'll even sing your favorite lullaby, the one Mom used to sing --"
"No! I hate you! Go away!" It was obvious that there was no reasoning with him -- after all, the resolve of a stubborn five-year-old was more powerful than any logic -- so Nathan sighed, patted Peter's head again, and left the room with a murmured 'good night'.
Sleep didn't come easily for the rest of the night, especially when he was woken again by Pete's screaming and eventual sobbing. Every fragment of his being told him that it was utterly wrong to let his baby brother cry like that, but the kid didn't want his help, and he wasn't going to try and argue at 3:45 AM.
The next morning, he knocked on the doorframe to wake his brother for breakfast. "Rise and shine, little Petrelli," he called, as was their morning ritual.
"I'm awake, big Petrelli,", Peter would usually reply. Instead, Nathan found himself standing in the doorway as a pillow flew at his face with remarkable strength. "I hate you! Go away!" He really was being stubborn -- normally, their little arguments and disagreements could be smoothed over by a good night's sleep. Then again, neither of them got much sleep the night before.
"It's breakfast time, little one. Chef made waffles with chocolate chips, just the way you like them, and there are fresh bananas --"
Another pillow hit him, this one in the gut. "I don't want waffles, not with you! I hate you! You're a bad brother and I hate you!" the boy wailed. There were fresh tears on his cheek, no doubt due to the prolonged fighting with the most stable figure in his young life. Their father was often at work and strongly favored Nathan. Their mother was often distant, scolding Peter for his imaginative ways. All in all, it was only Nathan who would put up with the flighty youngest Petrelli.
"Peter, I know you're upset, but it's just a nightmare! You need to understand that --"
"Shut up! You're stupid and ugly and I never want to talk to you again!" Their mother chose that moment to walk into the room, obviously wondering why her ever-obedient sons hadn't reported for breakfast.
"Peter! Do not talk to your brother that way! Apologize, young man!" she ordered, her face and voice equal parts stern and threatening. Peter didn't respond, arms crossed and lips pouted. "Apologize this instant or you will be in trouble." She'd become perfectly calm, a sign of imminent danger.
"I'm not going to apologize to him! He's a stupid ugly jerk and a bad brother and I hate, hate, hate him! I want a new big brother, he's the worst in the world!" Rather than listen to the verbal lashing Peter was about to receive, Nathan stormed back into his room and slammed the door, locking it behind him.
Why couldn't Peter just grow up already? Nathan had spent five years putting up with changing diapers, patching up war wounds received in the great outdoor battlefield also known as the backyard, and chasing away nightmares. It wasn't as if he could just give it up, either. Who else would take care of Peter's gentle, fragile spirit? The poor kid had been born into the wrong family. He needed parents who would support him, parents who lavished attention and love on him just as much as he deserved.
Whatever Peter needed, it certainly wasn't two ladder-climbing parents and a teenager trying to play mother, father, and big brother all at the same time. Nathan had no idea how to help him, and it killed him.
There was a knock at the door. "Nathan? Your brother wants to apologize for what he said," his mother informed him from out in the hall.
Instead of instantly standing up and unlocking the door, Nathan just grumbled and pulled his knees to his chest. "Come back later, I'm not in the mood." He found wet spots on his pajama pants when he looked down -- apparently, not only was he a terrible brother, he was a terrible brother who cried. Wonderful.
"Open the door, Nathan. Peter wants to talk to you." Furiously trying to stop the tears, he wiped at his cheeks and grumbled.
"Not interested." He could hear sniffling from outside.
"Nathan? I'm really, really sorry. I didn't mean to call you names. You're not a bad brother --"
"Yes I am!" he shouted in response, before his mature-brother sense caught up with his angst-ridden-teenager sense. "I'm a crappy brother, Peter!"
"Nathan, don't use that language in front of your brother! You open the door this instant, or I will call your father!" Obviously, his mother was furious, but at the moment, he really didn't care.
"Please, Nathan. I'm really sorry. Don't be mad at me," Peter begged, and Nathan could just see the tears, the puffy red eyes, his mother's disapproving look as he wiped his nose on the cuff of his button-down shirt.
When Nathan gave no answer, his mother gave a gusty sigh. "Come downstairs when you've finished being melodramatic, son." With that, there was silence from outside.
It was nine o'clock in the morning when he first sprawled out on his bed, tears drying on his jaw and neck.
At ten thirty, Peter knocked on the door, asking innocently if Nathan wanted to play hide and seek in the backyard. He stayed outside for almost fifteen minutes, a remarkable show of patience for a five-year-old, before he finally tramped off, sniffling.
At twelve forty-five, his mother pounded on the door. "Nathan, if you do not come out this instant, you will be grounded for a week. This behavior isn't becoming of a young man, do you know that? I expect better of you." He didn't respond, too busy dragging his hands through his hair.
Peter deserved better than him. He deserved someone stronger, wiser, more fatherly. A proper big brother wouldn't have locked himself in his bedroom to mope all day. A proper big brother would be out in the yard playing hide and seek with his little brother, pretending absolutely nothing was wrong. Nathan had never been good at pretending, though.
At four twenty, there was a single, firm knock at the door. "Nathan Petrelli, if you do not open this door, I will be forced to call your father. You haven't eaten all day. I've heard you crying. It is time to grow up, son. Whatever is upsetting you, it cannot be worth all this whining and childish behavior ."
Occupied with pounding his head into a pillow and muttering 'not worthy, not worthy' under his breath, he didn't even notice his mother outside. If he was to step outside right now, he knew that Peter would be overjoyed to see him, because he loved his brother unconditionally. No matter what Nathan did, his brother would always adore him. The kid practically worshipped him. It wasn't normal. The kid loved him, even though he was a terrible excuse for an authority figure.
By nine thirty, Peter and his mother had given up, and Nathan was slumbering restlessly, his legs hanging off one side of the bed. It hadn't taken long for him to collapse on the bed, after unlocking the door -- he'd never been comfortable sleeping when he was locked in.
"Nathan, you have to let me go!" They were flying, and Peter's skin was glowing red and orange.
"I'm not gonna let you go, Pete, not ever!" His hands and arms were burning like someone had stuck brands to him, but he maintained his grip on his soon-to-explode younger brother. Someone had to protect Peter, who always wanted to save the world.
"You can fly; I can't! Let go, Nathan!" Finally, he realized that it was true; Peter would heal from any injury. He knew what he was doing. So, giving his brother a kiss on the forehead, he spread his arms wide and let his brother, the human bomb, fall.
There was an infinitely long and tense moment, and then there was a rush of white, blinding heat. Nothing had ever hurt so much. A boom followed, and Nathan knew it had happened. He could almost hear his skin sizzling as it sloughed off. "Peter!" he shouted, as blackness overtook him and he fell --
"Peter! Peter!" he screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed. Instead of skin pouring off, sweat ran from him like a waterfall as he realized that it really was just a dream, that they were both alright. But it was so real, almost like a memory from an adult life that hadn't happened yet. Now he understood exactly what Peter was talking about - and he hadn't believed him. God, he was such an idiot.
The door opened. Nathan jumped instinctively, but it was merely Peter, poking his little head into the doorway. "Are you okay, Nathan? You were screaming. Did you have a bad dream, too?" He sounded nervous, hesitant, as if he was afraid his older brother was going to chew his head off.
"Yeah, I did. I'm f-fine." He sniffled, rubbed under his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you earlier."
"It's okay, Nathan. I forgive you." With that, the five-year-old rushed up and tackled Peter to give him a massive hug. "You're the best big brother in the world. I love you." A little thumb reached up to wipe half-dried tears off of his cheeks.
"I'm not the best brother in the world, but thanks anyways, Pete," he mumbled, hugging Peter tightly to him like a security blanket.
"Yes you are! You always play with me whenever I want to, and you fix my booboos, and when I have a bad dream you help me get back to sleep. You're the best brother that ever was." Nathan shook his head.
"Well, if you want to think that, I can't stop you. Now, you need to get back to your room. If Ma finds out you're out of bed, you'll be in almost as much trouble as I am," Nathan said after a short silence, standing up and taking Peter's hand.
"I don't think she's mad at you. I saw her in her bedroom and she was crying a lot. When I tried to ask her what happened, she told me to go to my room. Did something happen to Daddy, Nathan?"
His mother? Crying? The two things just didn't go together. "Stay here, Pete. I'll be right back." He left his brother sitting on his bed, confused, and walked down the hallway.
"Ma?" he called, peering into his parents' bedroom. Sure enough, his mother was sitting on the bed, sniffling demurely and dabbing at her face with a pure white handkerchief. "What's wrong?"
Instantly, she sat up and smiled stiffly. "Nothing's wrong, son. Glad to see you out and about. Did you want something to eat?" And just like that, the entire day was swept under the rug, because that was how things went in the Petrelli household. Problematic events just disappeared, never to be spoken of again.
This was exactly why inquisitive, eager Peter didn't belong. Of course, if he said something to that effect, his mother would just shake it off like she shook off everything else. "No, I'm going to head back to bed." He turned to walk out, but instantly rushed back to hive his mother a tight hug. "I love you, Ma."
"I love you too, Nathan," she replied awkwardly, patting him on the back several times. "I'll see you in the morning." He departed with a soft smile over his shoulder.
Peter was asleep on his bed, his thumb half in his mouth. "Pete? Don't you need to go back to your own bed?" he asked, smiling tiredly at his little brother as he sat up and rubbed at his face blearily.
"Can't I stay here with you tonight? I don't want you to have more bad dreams." A wise explanation from the five year old who'd had nightmares ever since he started sleeping through the night.
"Alright, little Petrelli, but if you kick me, I'm giving you the boot." Peter clapped his hands and giggled as Nathan crawled into bed and got under the covers. Little toes pressed into his thighs, little hands gripped his collar, and his brother snuggled against him for dear life.
"Hey, Nathan?" Peter asked quietly, his head lolling against the pillows.
"Yeah, Pete?" Nathan replied with a gentle smile.
"Why do you think you're a bad big brother?"
And the inevitable question came out, just as he'd hoped it wouldn't. Peter's often selective memory seemed to have gripped onto Nathan's recent emotional obsession.
"You deserve better than me. I'm not always gonna be here for you, bud, and you need someone who is --"
"Nathan, you're the bestest big brother anybody has ever had, no matter what, ever." Rather than try to argue with his bull-headed brother again, Nathan pulled Peter to his chest and kissed the top of his head.
"Well, you're the best little brother anyone has ever had, no matter what, ever," Nathan replied before kissing Peter's head again.
"Can we have waffles again tomorrow? They don't taste as good when you don't cut them for me," Peter pouted, his face pressed against Nathan's sternum.
With a quiet laugh, Nathan ruffled Peter's hair and nodded. "I'll tell Chef tomorrow. Now, go to sleep, or we're never going to get breakfast."
Nathan made sure he didn't go to sleep until Peter was snoring softly into Nathan's t-shirt.