Author's Note: I swore almost a year ago that my latest Harry Potter fanfiction would be my last. That I would not extend myself out to other fandoms or continue in the Harry Potter fandom and write any new fanfics. I wanted only to finish what I was working on, go my merry way and sometimes come in here to linger for some time, while I worked on my original stories. As you can all see, that didn't quite work, because instead I ended up watching Heroes this summer. I mean, the show had always been there and I had always wanted to watch it but it interfered with other tv watching, or something, so I never had, but I picked it up this summer and while watching the second season, it hit me that I didn't really like where the story was headed. So, I started to plan a story in my mind. Forming plots that could extend from what the writers from Heroes had begun. And then, a few weeks ago, I started writing, and I'll let you guys know, right now, I'm not really fully sure where I'm going with it, but that I will be using a lot of the plot from season 2 to start me off, but that I am putting my own twist to things and mostly summarizing some things because I couldn't handle writting exact scenes from the show. Anyway, I should stop rambling. Please review. And Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, Tim Kring and NBC do. I also do not own the large amount of characters that I've taken my liberty with playing with. I also do not own some of this plot...but just as I don't own all of it...I also do own some of it.

Summary: When Claire discovers that Nathan isn't her father, she travels to Ireland where she hopes to find some information as to where her real father is, she isn't expecting to run into an old friend she thought dead, even though Angela had had a vision...Where no one knows the heroes from the villans and mistakes from the past keep haunting them, what are our favorite heroes to do. At every turn they must deal with more problems. What does Adam have to do with this, and is he really the one behind the founders getting killed. What was that saying: "who diggeth a pit shall fall therein".

Volume 2: Generations

Chapter One:

Four Months Later

Claire Bennet and the Petrellis

Petrelli Mansion

Hyde Park, New York

Claire Bennet had known Nathan Petrelli for four months, and even she knew that the mess his home office had become was not Nathan's usual style. Neither was the beard he had let take residence upon his face, or the constant smell of some sort of alcoholic beverage on his breath. She had been in his office only a handful of times, but when she entered it with Heidi and Angela that Saturday morning on the only day they were all free to have the planned intervention to get Nathan back on his feet, it was thrust upon Claire the severity of the situation. The office was not just littered with empty bottles of his daily poison. There was broken glass, pens strewn all over the place, books soiled and ripped apart, and it seemed that not one thing had remained on a shelf or on his desk.

Nathan was seated behind his desk, a tall bottle of tequila clutched in his right hand tightly as if at any moment someone would try to take it from him. He was slumped in his chair, head hanging back as he stared mindlessly at the ceiling. The window behind him which Claire usually remembered as letting in a good amount of light had been covered by heavy curtains leaving the room in shadow. Taking it all in, now, Claire realized how much harm they had made in letting him wallow in his grief. They had all been blinded by grief.

"Nathan Petrelli, I cannot believe you," Angela said suddenly, the first to push a reaction to the mess away. "We all miss your brother," she continued, crossing the room and pulling the curtains aside and opening the window. "Peter was my son, and I want him back as much as you do, but we must face the facts. Peter is dead. You are not."

"Ma, just leave me alone," Nathan said. His words weren't slurred, not giving any indication that he was drunk or for that matter angry. Instead he sounded resigned.

"Nathan please..." Heidi began, hand stretched out towards him. "The boys miss you...I...miss you."

Nathan didn't respond, unless they counted him lifting his bottle to his lips and taking a shot sized gulp of the drink. It made Claire sick to see him like this, to compare this Nathan to the one that had arrived right at the nick of time to save New York City. For months now she had been picturing that Nathan in her mind. The noble hero that in the end cared enough about his brother's mental state and the millions of people that would die if he let Peter explode. That man she had been proud to call her father, but this one...Claire didn't think she would ever want anything to with him, bio-dad or not.

"...things are changing around here, Nathan. You will not just sit in this office drinking your way into a grave. I will not allow it. What would Peter say?"

"We'll never know," Nathan said in his calm voice. "He's dead!" this he yelled at his mother, standing suddenly and grabbing her by the shoulders as if to shake her. "Your fault. You...Linderman...dad." He let her go suddenly and threw himself into his chair again.

Heidi had begun picking up the few unbroken things from the ground, but now she stopped and looked at Angela. "What does he mean?"

Angela waved her hand. "Oh...you've heard his stories," she said. "It's the alcohol speaking now."

Heidi nodded, but Claire noticed at once that she wasn't just letting it go, and that Angela's excuse for why Nathan was so angry at his mother was not going to last much longer. Claire in fact preferred it this way. She had wanted to allow Heidi in on the secret at once, especially once Nathan had healed from his burns almost overnight. But, Angela, ever the matriarch of the Petrelli family had forbidden it and the thought of putting Heidi in danger with this knowledge had made Claire agree it would be for the best for the time being.

It took them about two hours to clean up the room and leave it close to its previous state. Nathan had broken so many things that it left most of his shelves empty. Angela had insisted on getting rid of anything that was broken, but keeping anything that had at one point truly meant something to Nathan or Peter. By the time they had finished, Nathan had fallen asleep with his head on his desk and the bottle of tequila cuddled to his side.

"We can get him in the shower," Angela said. "Just leave him in there. In the meanwhile we get rid of all the alcohol in the house. I've already called a place up in Maine where he can get some help. Nathan cannot give up on everything now. The public has given him a free pass for the moment. He just lost his brother, but that will not last much longer."

Claire should have known that Angela's agenda extended farther than just helping Nathan move on from Peter's death. Of course she cared about what everyone in New York thought of Nathan. His resignation from his post. His reclusion. The strange circumstances surrounding Peter's death or disappearance. Claire still had the hope that Peter was out there somewhere even after so long. He had her ability. She had been in the presence of Ted Sprague when he blew up her house in Texas and she had healed. Maybe exploding meant it took longer. But Peter needed to be out there. He just had to be.

"Alright, getting him to walk himself up there shouldn't be too hard," Heidi said and with Angela's help made Nathan sit up and then stand. He slumped into Heidi but seemed to hold up some of his weight.

"Come here, Claire, take my place," Angela said and Claire rushed forward.

Their relationship was still rocky. Claire would always look back to the night Peter exploded and remind herself that Angela had been ready to sacrifice half of New York at her son's expense so that Nathan could grow as a political figure and eventually become the president. She knew her grandmother had a higher agenda to the future that might have even included her, but she also knew that she deeply cared for her family. It was her grief, when after two weeks from the explosion they still hadn't heard from Peter, that convinced Claire that Angela had always expected Peter to make it. During this time, Angela had locked herself in her room at the mansion and refused to come out, even for meals. This and Heidi floundering between grief for Peter and fear that her husband was going mad had allowed Nathan to enter the depressive state he was in now. Claire moping around the house and dealing with her adoptive father's wishes that she go with him to California where he planned to move their family hadn't helped to keep her aware of anything other than her own hope that Peter was alive and her pain at knowing that he could very well be dead. Distracted as she was, Claire had still noticed that Angela Petrelli loved her sons; that she had a soft spot for Monty and Simon; that in a deep hidden part of her heart there was even a fondness for Claire.

Even though Nathan supported some of his weight, he was still heavy. He was also sweating the alcohol he had been consuming since early morning and parts of his shirt had gotten wet when Nathan miscalculated where his mouth was.

"He stinks," Claire said as the three of them stumbled out of the home office down the hall to the guest bedroom that was luckily situated in the first floor and had its own bathroom.

Once Nathan had been placed in the bathtub, Angela and Claire left Heidi to deal with giving him a bath.

"I haven't had to take my son into the bathroom in more than twenty years, and yet here we are now," Angela said as they exited the room and began their search for any possible beverage that Nathan could want to drink.

Mohinder Suresh and Noah Bennet

Bennet Residence

Costa Verde, California

There had been ninety six days of straight sunshine. Not one day in between when a few clouds blew in bringing with them some form of precipitation. Texas was not known for being a wet state, but never had there been almost a hundred days straight of sunshine. For lack of something to say, Noah Bennet would comment on this particular fact about where he had moved his family. Mohinder Suresh when hearing Noah's tidbit smiled.

"I find it refreshing," he said.

Noah countered with, "I need a change. Something to make the tedious days of actually working with paper go a little faster. Do you have anything on Peter Petrelli?"

Mohinder sighed. "Not a sign of him and no, I still don't think involving Molly, asking her to search for him, would be a good idea. Matt is very protective of her, and for that matter so am I. She's a little girl."

"With an ability that would make this process all the more easier," Noah said, knowing that he would never cease to push the subject. "She could tell us if this is futile. We could be wasting our time looking for a man that could be dead."

They had been arguing about this for weeks, every time they met to discuss any new developments. Peter was too powerful to just be forgotten if there was even the slight possibility that he was out there, especially since these two men knew that Peter was their only hope of ever getting rid of Sylar whom they also suspected was still alive.

A trail of blood leading away from Kirby Plaza had been found after the shock of seeing Peter blow up in the sky had passed. Noah and Mohinder had left the hospital while everyone else waited for word on how Matt Parkman and DL Hawkins was doing, to see if they could find his body, but there had been nothing, not even a clue as to how he had gotten away. Noah had suspected help, but they were drawing a blank as to who could possibly had helped Sylar get away and why they had done it.

"Molly is our last resort if these last few places don't lead us anywhere," Mohinder said. "I am still unsure if the virus is completely gone from her system and I have to question how she got it in the first place. I mean my sister had it, and there no other known cases, and then Molly. It must have come from somewhere and others could be infected."

Mohinder had been obsessing over the virus for the past four months with little in the way of answers or time to truly do as much research as he wanted to. Searching for Peter and Sylar and trying to figure out exactly what the company was up to, now that their plan to let Peter blow up half of New York had failed left him with little time to devote himself to it, not to mention that any time he was back home he had Molly to spend time with and Matt to deal with.

"What do you want to do, then, Mohinder?" Noah asked. "We agreed the company needed to be taken down. Peter would be instrument in that, and knowing where Sylar is would help with those matters as well."

The Indian man sighed. "I know, and yet I wonder if the company isn't behind it all. The virus, Peter's disappearance, Sylar's body going missing..."

"And what would the company have gained by exposing Molly to the virus? Your sister? There is no connection there. Another reason why using Molly would be the only way to find either one of them."

"No," Mohinder said, forcefully. "She is a little girl that should be allowed to be as normal as possible. This is as if I were asking you to let me use Claire for some experiment."

Noah nodded. "I know," he sighed, "we can try a few more weeks, but sooner or later she will be our only option."

Bob and Elle Bishop

Trenton, New Jersey

Bob Bishop had always known that running The Company was hard. That was the reason why when Arthur Petrelli had run it, he had delegated so much to Daniel Linderman; it was why Daniel Linderman had hired Thompson, and why now Bob had decided that he needed to be a part of every decision made by the company. He couldn't sit back and hope that his handpicked employees, however good, could make the sort of impact that The Company needed to head in the right direction since the half-brained scheme of letting Peter Petrelli destroy half of New York City.

So, as he strode down the long hallway of Level 2, where the more comfortable cells were situated, he contemplated where he himself had already gone wrong during his time as the head of The Company. His daughter next to him was quiet, and he was glad for once that she wasn't trying to excuse her mistakes.

It had begun when he put Peter next to Adam Monroe. He should have known better than to put anyone next to Adam, but Peter had never seemed one to be induced into action by Adam Monroe. But, Adam had always had a way with manipulating those he needed to do his bidding. Four hundred years of watching and learning how people operated had made him an expert at how to best get someone to see his side of the story, to follow him and become so indoctrinated by his ideas that they'd do anything he said. Bob doubted Peter had been so easily brainwashed, but Adam knew how to use the weakness of others. And so, now, they were both gone and the world was in more danger than ever before.

"What are we going to do, Daddy?" Elle's voice suddenly said.

"We will continue searching," Bob said. "Adam will be the harder one to catch, but more important than Peter. More than them being out there, it worries me that they might be in league together."

Elle opened her mouth to say something, probably a complaint or a wish to be more involved in the case, but before she could say anything a young man in his twenties ran towards them. He was one of the newer recruits and had become Bob's personal assistant rather than the field agent that he had originally been hired to do. He was better in an office environment anyway, seeing as the man was the clumsiest person that Bob had ever met.

"There was an urgent call from Wilde, said he thought he had spotted Monroe in New York. No sign of Petrelli, but we're still watching his apartment and the Petrelli homes."

Bob frowned. Peter had to be in New York as well. Somehow he must have contacted his family. It was the first place Peter would go. Peter and Nathan had always been close. There was no way Peter didn't go directly there to see them, and Adam being present in New York didn't fare too well, but maybe they could capture him.

"Elle, I hope you know you are heading into New York now," Bob said, and his daughter grinned.

"Yes, Daddy, and I'll bring him back."

"Make sure you do. Go on." Bob watched her go, as soon as she was far away he pulled out his cell phone to send out two more agents just in case Elle messed up again.

Hiro Nakamura

Japan

1670

Hiro Nakamura didn't remember ever being more scared for the future. Not when he had seen Isaac Mendez dead on the floor of his own loft and the human bomb went off, and not when he had met his future self and everyone else that had survived the bomb and realized what a terrible aftermath Peter exploding would leave behind. But knowing that he could have inadvertently already altered the course of future events just by being in feudal Japan was scarier than anything else. It wasn't even like he hadn't tried to leave, because he'd attempted to do it every hour with no success. It was as if something was preventing him from leaving. Ever the believer of fate and destiny, Hiro had come to the conclusion that he was there for a reason and something needed to be changed. The problem was that Hiro had no idea what he had to do.

After encountering the real Takezo Kensei and watching the man that had been paid to impersonate him run away, Hiro had lost all hope of ever putting history back to rights, especially since Takezo Kensei was an Englishman and he had a penchant for all sorts of things a noble hero shouldn't.

"Well, Carp," he said, using the nickname he'd decided fitted Hiro best, "I'm off to find something to drink. Take care of my horse, will you? That's a good lad. You don't know how glad I am to be able to speak English."

Hiro stared after the blond man that had dubbed himself Takezo Kensei wondering just how he had come to be the hero of legend. It didn't make sense. Hiro couldn't have broken history that badly. His very presence couldn't have made Takezo Kensei a drunk that didn't care about the promises he had made. Maybe he, Hiro, had always been meant to go back to 1670 and help this man claiming to be his hero become the man he was meant to be. And then, maybe, he could go home. First, however, Hero needed to help Yaeko and her father. Then, maybe, he could worry about making Kensei the man he needed to be, and getting back home where the world had hopefully been saved. And where Ando, he hoped, was still alive and well.

Claire Bennet and Nathan Petrelli

Petrelli Mansion

Hyde Park, New York

It had only been a week, but that had been enough time for Nathan to realize that sitting in his office and drinking his sorrows away was not going to accomplish anything else than to worry his family. So, a week after going off the alcohol, mostly due to the fact that Heidi had taken away his credit cards and for that matter the extra cash he kept in his wallet, Nathan had begun to see everything he'd done wrong in the past four months. Particularly when it concerned his daughter.

So, he'd spent time trying not to think about how he could deal with Claire, while he put his office to rights and made calls to figure out where he stood politically after giving up his position as Senator, not that he really had time to focus on his career if he wanted to first make sure he wouldn't fall to the temptation of tequila again.

A knock on his door brought him out of a long staring contest with Monty's school project, Rory the gerbil. Claire stepped inside a moment later and cautiously walked to the desk.

"Angela said you wanted to see me," she said softly and shifted her feet.

Nathan nodded, he pushed himself away from the desk and stood up. Claire watched him. "Come with me," he said extending his hand out towards her.

Claire walked in front of him. "Where are we going?"

"Out," Nathan replied, as if that answered the question perfectly.

He didn't want her to know that he planned on taking her flying, visit the Statue of Liberty, maybe the Empire State Building and explain to her that he did want her as a daughter and that he would try harder, now, to actually act the part of the father she had been searching for.

Nathan steered her out to the backyard. It was the classic American backyard, with the picket fences surrounding their property, the shed near one corner, the tree that had just recently regained its green leaves.

"What are we doing out here?" Claire turned, looking around, before facing him.

"Come here," Nathan said.

Claire frowned but stepped towards him, anyway, standing about a foot away. "Okay, now what?" She looked up at him and it was only then that Nathan realized how short Claire was compared to him.

"Now," he said, "we fly."

Claire gasped, and then she laughed. "Really?"

Other than Peter, Nathan had never had someone fly with him, but he knew it wasn't something impossible. He had seen Claire's reaction when Peter mentioned that he, Nathan, could fly. It had been fascination and excitement, although she had only said, "that's cool".

"I thought it was time we got to know each other. I should have...Peter..."

"I know," Claire said before he could continue to stumble with his words. "I understand. He was your brother. I didn't know him long, but even I was affected. I get it, but I hope you're getting better now. It wasn't fun watching you grow a beard."

Nathan reached up to stroke his chin. "I think I looked good," he said. "I mean, maybe not so much hair."

"No," Claire tilted her head. "I can't see it.

"Well, come on." Nathan opened his arms and Claire after a little hesitation stepped right into them, wrapping her own around his waist and lifting her head up to look at him.

Nathan winked, and then before she had knew it, took them into the air.

Peter Pretrelli

Wandering Rocks Pub

Cork, Ireland

To be quite truthful, Peter wanted to know desperately what the wooden box hiding away underneath the counter of the bar contained. He wanted to know his last name, if he had any family. A brother, a sister? Parents? He wanted to know if someone out there could be searching for him, and what he wanted to know more than anything else, was what exactly was wrong with him and why he could hear the thoughts of the people around him when he concentrated hard enough, why he could shoot out electricity from his hands and move things with his mind. He wanted to know where his strength came from, and why when he looked up at the sky, he longed to fly. But, as much as Peter wanted to know, the part of him that was frightened of finding out that he was some sort of alien or experiment escaped from some government facility, did not allow the curious part of Peter that wanted answers.

So, when given the option of opening the box that contained his old life, Peter had chosen the pretty Irish girl that had been the first person to truly be nice to him. Caitlin was a pretty little thing that looked as if she could be broken in two if Peter used even a fraction of his strength while holding her in his arms, but she was tough. Stubborn and sure of herself, Caitlin didn't allow herself to be bossed around by her brothers or the many drunks that passed by the pub daily. She was ready at the first sign of trouble, even, to grab the concealed gun and protect herself and her family's livelihood. Peter doubted he had ever met any other woman like her, even in his old life.

"Could you clear the table near the end, Peter?" Caitlin called to him from behind the bar, her Irish accent pronounced so that no one could doubt she was Irish.

"Sure," Peter threw her a smile and went to do as he was told.

He'd begun helping out at the bar a few weeks before, but when it had become quite clear that he couldn't mix a drink for his life, Peter had been put on cleaning up duty. He'd wipe the tables clean, sweep the floors, and sometimes drag the men that were getting just a bit too fresh out onto the street. It was easier in the morning and early afternoon when most people came in for food rather than a hard drink and Peter could actually help the customers without looking as if he knew next to nothing about what they were asking about. Sometimes thick accents threw him off and he'd have a hard time at getting their orders right, but all in all the work wasn't hard and Peter felt that he was earning his room and board above the pub where once rooms had been rented for those too drunk to go home. They were still used occasionally, but for the most part Peter resided alone.

Peter cleared the table quickly, and wiped it down just as fast, glad that whoever had sat there last had been considerate enough to not spill most of his or her drink all over the table.

"I think we'll stay for an hour or two," Caitlin said when he returned. She was handing a shot glass full of some amber liquid to a red haired man who Peter thought had already drank enough.

"Alright," Peter said and looked around.

There weren't that many people left now, just five. The red head that had just ordered the shot, two older women in a booth that drank straight up beer with crackers and were talking loudly about their grandchildren, the couple cuddling at another booth not drinking or eating anything.

"In fact, you can head on up, Peter, I don't think there'll be much more to do. I'll just close up in an hour."

Peter looked up. "I'll stay. It's nice to have some company. I won't if I go upstairs."

He had been standing by the bar, but not behind the counter, but now he walked around and went to her side. Their relationship was not complicated, if one ignored that he had no memory and he had been found handcuffed to a cargo box shirtless. Caitlin had been the first one to be nice to him, cleaning his face of the blood left behind. She had found out his secret, that he could do things most people could only dream of doing. And she respected Peter's wish to not look in the box once he had been allowed to have it. Caitlin had even, Peter thought, encouraged him to not look when he voiced his fears of finding out that he was a killer or something worse. Peter didn't want to admit it to himself, but he thought that Caitlin hadn't wanted him to open the box, period.

Now, he hugged her from behind. There was a feeling deep in his gut that told him that as good as it felt to have her in his arms, someone else belonged there. But this was his life now. He had chosen this, and he would squish the part of him that wanted, no, needed, to know who he had once been. He smiled into her hair and breathed in her scent. Apples. He sighed. He could be happy here if he let himself be.

Author's note: I've actually been told before that author notes at the bottom of the story are annoying, but I really do like them. You can explain things after the reader has read the chapter and isn't rushing to get to the chapter and ignore my ramblings. Anyway, I figured I should have pointed this out earlier, but I forgot. This is Paire and not the cesty kind because I just don't see the appeal of that, but I do like Paire. But where this does have a pairing, that in no way means that this story will not take true Heroes fashion and have a rather complicated story arc that does not involve just a romance part. I think the world of fanfiction in this particular fandom needs a bit of a mixture, and I've only found one other story that has done this. Anyway, I hope you guys liked it and I can't really think of anything I meant to address here, so if anyone has any questions, go ahead and ask them and I'll answer as best as I can.

Also, I wasn't sure where Adam was kept for those 30 years, and where Peter was put, so I decided New Jersey would fit the place. I didn't think it would be in Primatech, because Adam would have known that the virus was kept there, so wouldn't he have searched the place before leaving?

Please review, and let me know your thoughts.

-Erika