Title: Nothing. No One.
Author: Jack Velvet
Characters: Petrelli family (Young!Petrellis, no pairing)
Rating: M / R
Warnings: Unpleasant things. (Specifics will spoil the fic.)
Spoilers: Few. General character/series knowledge.
Summary: The boys never knew the Petrelli mansion could be so terrifying. (Pre-series)
Disclaimer: Heroes (c) Tim Kring/NBC. No infringement is intended. This is a fan-work created to show a love of the franchise.
Notes: Has this been done before? Many apologies. The idea hit me last night and I basically woke up and wrote it without stopping.
Suggestion: Read this before bed. Preferably in a quiet area with the lights off.
Nothing. No One.
by Jack Velvet
"No! No! My babies! Not my babies...no!"
"Angela!" Arthur shook his wife, who was tossing and turning in fits. "Angela!"
The woman blinked her eyes as she came to. "Arthur! Arthur! Please tell me-"
"Another dream."
"We can't go," she said, sitting up in the king-sized bed. "Tell him to put the meeting off."
"You know Daniel. He won't be happy about that. This meeting is important for our family's future."
"Then I will stay behind."
"It will be dangerous if you are here alone."
"Then we take them with us!"
"We can't. Dear. Please."
Angela clenched her fists. Arthur was no longer the man she married.
-------
Angela was alone in the parlor when her young, teenaged son joined her.
"Ma," Nathan started, "Peter's in bed now."
Angela was unresponsive.
"Ma? You okay?"
"Your father..." She rubbed her knuckles. "Look, dear. I didn't want to leave you alone tonight."
"You're leaving too? What about Maria?"
"She has her own family, Nathan. She has to stay with them."
"It's not that I don't mind takin' care of Pete..."
Angela's voice shook. "Nathan. Please. You must stay here, and you must take care of your brother. Do you understand me? I don't care if you're up all night. Make yourself a pot of coffee, if you must."
The eyebrows Nathan inherited from his father were furrowed. "Is everything okay?"
"Please? Nathan? I received an unexpected call. A good call, but unexpected. Please, promise me that you'll take good care of your brother."
"I always do," he reminded her.
"Good." Angela stood, heading for the coat closet. Nathan followed. "I have to leave now. I promise that I will hurry. I left a number on the refrigerator, dear. If anything happens, you call that number right away. Don't hesitate. I don't care if it's the smallest thing. You call."
"You're acting weird, Ma."
"This is just the first time your father and I have had to leave you two alone. I'm worried, Nathan." She kissed him on the cheek. "I love you both very much. I will be back as soon as I can."
"Okay Ma. Love you too."
-------
Thump thump.
Nathan awoke with a jolt. Blinking rapidly, he listened for the source of the sound. He could swear that it was his door.
"Pete?" he asked the door.
No answer.
Thump thump.
A shuffling of feet.
Nathan hopped out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. He put his ear to the wood, listening. Darkness crept out from the space beneath it. He assumed the night-light was out in the hallway. Gripping the handle, he opened the door.
Nothing.
No one.
"Pete?" he whispered into the darkness. He didn't want to startle his brother into waking if he was still asleep in the room beside him.
Nathan's bed-head stuck out of the door for a few minutes, listening again for that mysterious sound elsewhere in the house. If it were a burglar, he'd surely hear more, or so he figured. The dragging of furniture, maybe a broken dish or two. Possibly the hum of a motor outside. Though he knew the house was filled with lavish things, he naturally assumed that a lone burglar would attempt to rob jewelry first. Glancing in the direction of his parents' bedroom at the end of the hall, he listened some more. Nothing.
Nathan recalled the time he fell asleep in the family room with the television on. He woke up and swore that snakes covered the ceiling. He heard the television, and saw the way the lights danced off of their scales. After scrambling like hell to get out of there, he turned on all of the lights, and found out that there were no snakes at all. Never mind that it didn't make sense for that many snakes to defy gravity. He decided that if his mind had been powerful enough to dream up that horrendous sight when he was half asleep, a mere sound‒probably incited by his mother's dramatic suggestions earlier that night‒was nothing.
So he went back to bed.
He did find a white tee first. Just in case.
Just as he began to half-dream about that cute, blonde student-teacher, he heard it again.
Thump thump thump.
Nathan whipped off the blankets and rushed to the door. Bracing his nerves, he opened it.
Nothing but that never-ending darkness.
Nathan stretched, scratching in between the small tangles of his short hair. Leaving the door open, he turned around to check the time on his alarm clock.
Thump thump thump.
Nathan inhaled quickly as he spun around.
It was Peter.
The small boy was sleepy-eyed. He pushed his floppy hair out of his face. Nathan couldn't help but think about how adorable the kid was. The one-piece, soft pajamas the boy was dressed in made him look like a tiny teddy-bear. Even the bottoms of the foot-pads looked like bear paws.
"Hey, Pete," Nathan said, ruffling the child's hair up and back into his face.
Peter tried to fix it to see again. "I heard a noise."
"You heard a noise? What kind of noise?"
"Someone knocking. I think Mommy is knocking downstairs, because she's home."
Click. Click.
Nathan put a hand on his brother's shoulder and listened.
Click. Click. Click click click click.
"Just the heat, Pete. You know how the heaters make that noise?"
"The baseball heaters?"
Nathan smiled. Peter always called the baseboard heaters the "baseball" heaters. "Yeah. And you know what? Ma will be home real soon. She has keys, remember? So she won't have to knock."
"I want keys," Peter mumbled.
"Keys are for old people, Pete. You don't want them yet."
"Oh."
Click click click.
"Hear that? It's the heat again."
"It wasn't that sound."
"Okay, I can go look at the heater in the basement, okay Pete? Can you go back to bed? I'll come right back up, alright?"
"Okay."
Nathan guided Peter back to his bedroom, tucking him in before shutting the door and heading down to the basement. Peter immediately closed his eyes, but didn't want to fall asleep before Nathan came back upstairs.
Click click click.
Peter started humming a song he'd heard on Sesame Street, but then got a brilliant idea. Rolling over, he grabbed three of his stuffed animals, and lined them up. He sat up, and started to sing.
"One of these things is not like the other! One of these things doesn't belong."
He bounced up and down on his bed to every beat, staring down the beady-eyed tiger in the middle of two dinosaurs. When he finished the song, he grabbed the tiger, and announced, "You're the one that doesn't belong! It's okay though, because the dinosaurs will be your friends!" He picked up one of the dinosaurs, and roared, translating what the dinosaur was saying to the tiger in his head.
Thump thump thump.
Peter stopped and looked at the door.
Click. Click.
The creaking pipes were almost done pumping heat through the upstairs.
THUMP THUMP THUMP.
Peter gasped, grabbing the plush toys and scrambling under the covers. The thumping continued, louder, louder, and louder. Tears formed in Peter's eyes, and he sobbed, "Nathan! Nathan! Come back!"
And just then, the thumping ceased.
It was hot and moist beneath the heavy blankets that Peter hid beneath. Feeling the natural need for air, he pulled aside a small bit of the blanket, and peered at the door. Nothing.
"Nathan?" Peter asked. "Mommy?"
Gripping the tiger tightly, he revealed more of himself from under the blankets, and decided to sneak to the door. He thought that maybe it really was his mother, and that maybe she forgot her keys and was trying to wake them up to open the door for her.
With a labored breath, he squeezed the tiger and kissed it on the head, then put his hand on the knob. He leaned into the wood, hoping to hear everything beyond the door. He heard nothing. Slowly, he turned the knob, and peeked out into the hallway.
Nothing.
No one.
The soft pads on his feet made a quiet pitter-patter as he walked next-door to Nathan's room. "Nathan?" Peter stood on his toes, trying to reach the light-switch. It flicked on. Nathan wasn't around.
Peter breathed deep, trying his best to be brave like his big brother. He walked over to Nathan's bed, wondering if he should hop up on it and wait for him. Then he heard a rustling from the end of the hall.
"Mommy!"
Peter dropped his tiger and ran down the hall to his parents' bedroom, which to his dismay, was still dark.
Nothing.
No one.
"Mommy? Are you home, Mommy?" Peter started rambling, thinking that maybe if he just kept talking, that maybe his magic would kick in and he'd be able to talk to his mother from inside the house. "Mommy? Are you home? Are you at the door? Did you forget your keys? I can tell Nathan-"
Footsteps. Quiet creaking.
"Nathan?"
Peter looked in the hall. The light emanating from Nathan's room was gone. Peter wasn't sure if that meant Nathan was upstairs again, but he walked back in that direction anyway. He didn't want to be without him for long. If Nathan wasn't there, then Nathan was downstairs, and Peter was going to find him.
"Nathan?" Peter called out. No answer.
He continued his trek down the hallway, passing his room when he heard it again.
Thump.
Peter looked back. "Nathan?"
A few footsteps.
"Right here," Nathan said from behind him.
Peter let out a shriek and hugged his brother tightly. "It's scary, Nathan."
"It's okay. I turned off the heater," Nathan said, picking his brother up. Truth be told, he had no idea how to mess with the heater downstairs. He wasn't savvy with appliances and had only heard his parents discuss the heater before. He opted for turning off the main thermostat instead‒that he knew how to do. "Let's go back to my room, okay? We can hang out there."
"Okay," Peter agreed, wrapping his small arms around his brother's neck. "I left Tiger in there."
"We can stay in there as long as you want," Nathan said.
"It's scary."
"I know, Pete. I know." Nathan flipped his lightswitch up and down a few times. "Bulb musta blown. It's okay. I'll open the curtains so we can get some of the outside light."
"I don't like it. It's orange."
"It's okay. It won't be so ugly tonight. We need it. It'll be fine."
Nathan set Peter down, and the child immediately rushed for Nathan's bed, picking up his tiger on the way. Nathan shut the door, and sat beside his brother.
"Damn it," Nathan uttered.
"Aw, you swore!" Peter noted.
"Sorry Pete. I just forgot something in the kitchen."
Peter pawed at his older brother's shirt. "Don't go back down there!"
"Don't worry." Nathan kissed the top of the youngster's head. "I won't. I'm staying right-"
Thump thump thump.
"Ah!" Peter screamed.
"Shh, it's okay. It's okay." Nathan pet Peter's head. Stay right here. Don't move until I get you." Nathan stood, letting the absence of his weight bounce Peter on the mattress.
"No! Nathan! No! Don't go!"
"I'm not going. I'm gonna stay in here. I'm just gonna check the hall. Shhh." Nathan held a finger to his lips. If there was an intruder, he didn't want Peter to draw attention to them. "Just stay there, okay? Please?"
Nathan couldn't see it well, but Peter nodded and sucked on his fingers. He opened the door a sliver, holding the frame and door tightly. If anyone was going to barge in, Nathan wouldn't be taken by surprise. He would hold on. He searched to his left, past Peter's room and toward the stairs. Nothing‒not so much as a flickering shadow. He looked right, ears as perked as they could be for a human, and into his parents' room. The door was open more than he remembered. He figured Peter must have gone in there, or hoped, at least.
From where he was, Nathan could see the very corner of their bed, and a full length mirror.
A pale person dangled in the closet.
"Shit!" Nathan swore, slamming the door. Peter jumped. Nathan rushed over and scooped him up. "Come on, we're going downstairs."
"Did you see the noise?"
"I just want to go downstairs," Nathan withheld. "We're going downstairs, okay? We're gonna call Ma. She left a number. We can check when she's getting home." He grabbed the knob. "Do me a favor and close your eyes, okay Pete?"
"Why?"
"Close your eyes."
Nathan opened the door fast and looked in his parents' mirror. The closet door was closed. The person wasn't there.
"Okay, we're going now." Nathan held his brother's head. "Hold on tight, okay? I need to hold the railing while we go downstairs."
"I am holding on tight."
"Tighter."
The boy tried as hard as he could to comply, but Nathan's neck felt too big. Nathan plodded heavily down the grand staircase, making a hard turn as he headed for the kitchen. He turned on the light as fast as he could, thankful when the bulb brightly lit the room on command.
"Can I have some water?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, yeah, Pete. Here." Nathan reached for a plastic cup and quickly filled it. "I'm gonna call Ma now. Just stay here."
Peter nodded as he sipped at the water.
Nathan looked at the fridge, but was unable to find the number his mother claimed to have left there. "You've got to be kidding me." Nathan fell to his knees and searched the floor, sticking his fingertips under the ledges of the cupboards.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
More footsteps, this time above them.
"Is Mommy upstairs?"
"Uh..." Nathan didn't want to lie to Peter. "It's probably a mouse between the floor and the ceiling."
"You can't cut a hole in the ceiling and see my floor?"
"No, there's a space in between..."
Thump.
Nathan wiped the sweat from his hands onto his shirt. It was then that a scrap of paper with a number on it caught his eye. It was in the middle of the kitchen island, next to a black marker. Quickly, he grabbed it, and looked at the wall charger for the telephone.
It was missing.
"Pete, did you see where Ma put the phone last?" Nathan shoved the paper into one of his pockets.
"You can press the beepy button."
"Observant. Good idea, Pete." Nathan pressed the "beepy" button, calling the cordless phone. He couldn't hear it beep back. He pressed it again. Nothing. "It's probably dead," he muttered.
A door slammed upstairs.
Peter put his cup on the floor and ran for Nathan. "Someone's upstairs, Nathan."
"I..." Nathan's eyes wandered to the far counter. Six black knife-handles called his name.
"Can we go to Daddy's room?"
It struck Nathan. His father's study. There was a telephone in there. He also recalled setting his bat down there when speaking to his father a few days ago. He silently wished it was still there, and that Maria hadn't returned it to his room.
"Yeah." He grabbed Peter's hand. "Let's go," Nathan agreed, leaving the knives behind.
The two boys walked to the back of the house, toward the home office their father often spent time in. Nathan let go of Peter's hand as they entered, and turned on the light. Immediately, he saw the bat leaning up against the same bookcase he'd left it on. He moved over to it, and snatched it.
Backing up from the bookcase a few steps, Nathan tested the weight of the bat, making sure that it would be a viable weapon. Satisfied, he lowered the object, and called out to Pete, "Hey, I'm gonna call Ma now."
Peter was gone.
"Pete?" Nathan clenched the bat tighter. "Pete! Pete!"
The teen dashed out of the room, flicking on every light that he passed, screaming for his brother. As he dodged the island in the kitchen, he looked at those knives again, swearing he'd use them on the fool that dared to touch his brother.
Slop!
His foot plopped into something wet. Something warm. He looked down, hoping the red trail on the hardwood was wine. He knew it wasn't. He didn't have time to consider it.
"Pete! Pete!"
He heard a high-pitched screech coming from the parlor. Nathan's eyes darted in its direction, and saw his brother bolting out of the room. Nathan raced to greet him, and with one strong, angry arm, lifted the boy, who was babbling inaudibly into his ear, getting it wet with tears, snot, and drool.
Nathan lifted the bat in his other hand and put his back against a wall. "What's wrong, Pete? What happened? Where did you go?"
"Th-there's a man! A man, with pur-purple sausages and blood dripping out of his tummy! He was hanging from the ceiling! Nathan!"
"You saw a man in the parlor?"
"Yeah!" Peter cried loudly, wearing his lungs out, his voice raw and scratchy. "He was scary, Nathan! I don't wanna go back in there! I don't wanna go back in there. I want Mommy! Nathan! Call Mommy! I want Mommy!"
Nathan cuddled Peter in closer, despite how hard Peter was making it with his terrified, squirming feet.
"Why did you go in there?" Nathan asked.
"The phone was beeping. I heard the phone! It was beeping. And then the man! He was there!"
"Are you okay? Do you feel okay?"
"I'm warm. I don't feel good."
"Shh, shh, shh." Nathan began side-stepping to the foyer. "Are you gonna be sick, Pete?"
"No, I'm just warm! I want Mommy!"
"Okay, okay. We're just gonna go straight to her, okay?" Nathan opened the coat-closet the best he could with the back of his hand. He set the bat down, and tugged Peter into his coat. "Stay here." He slipped his feet into his sneakers, and grabbed for Peter's shoes.
"No!" Peter protested with an ear-piercing cry. The sound broke Nathan's heart.
Nathan put on his own coat quickly, not bothering to zipper it up the front, and picked up both Peter and the bat again. "It's okay, we're going," Nathan said. He wasn't going to take his chances with a car, just in case someone was hiding in the backseat. So he slipped out fast, careful not to slam the door and alert their predator that they were gone. Once he felt they were out of ear-shot, Nathan began a dash to the nearest public place he could find, which unfortunately was not the police station.
It was the bus station, which was rather crowded with tourists and locals, trying to catch the midnight ride or off-loading their gear from the stores beneath their respective buses. Nathan's arm was tired from carrying Peter, but he didn't let go. Instead, he asked Peter to hold the bat, and tried desperately to rummage through his coat pockets with his free hand, looking for any sort of change he might have forgotten about.
They were in luck. He found enough to make a call, and immediately claimed a pay-phone. Trembling, he put the coins in, picked up the receiver, and retrieved the paper from his pocket before dialing. Peter shifted in his grasp.
The phone rang, rang, and rang. Nathan considered hanging up and dialing 9-1-1 just as someone answered. He sighed with relief and looked down at the number again, about to ask for his mother and explain how he received the number.
Peter let out a yelp as a man's hand plunked down on the phone, disconnecting Nathan's call. Nathan dropped the receiver, leaving it hanging from its silver cord, and backed up into the wall to face the man. The man turned out to be his father's friend, Bob Bishop, who was accompanied by a woman and two other men. He found them to be awfully well-dressed for this time of night.
"Mr. Bishop? What are you doing here?"
"Your mother wanted us to come and get you." Bob nodded to the two men. One snatched Peter, and the other held back Nathan. The woman stood by, just watching.
"You bastard! Let us go!"
"Not very strong for a kid who wants to be in the military after high-school," Bob taunted. "What are you, only a freshman? Not a lot of years left."
The man holding Peter held a hand over the child's mouth. Nathan watched as water cascaded over the man's hairy knuckles.
"Come on," Bishop nodded. "Let's go."
"Why is no one doing anything?" Nathan yelled.
"Because humans are curious but they generally don't care. Your mother's in a car outside. Could you keep quiet please?"
The group left the station and approached a black limousine outside. The men loosened their hold on the Petrelli brothers as the woman opened the door, revealing Angela Petrelli and a dark-skinned youth. The boys eagerly climbed inside, sharing an embrace with their mother.
"Sorry we had to be rough, Angela," Bishop said. "The kids were scared and wouldn't have come willingly."
Angela choked back a sob of relief. "I understand, Bob."
"We'll be in the other car."
"We'll see you back at the house," she bid them. The door shut.
"I'm so sorry, boys. Mommy's gonna take care of this." She stroked Peter's hair, straightening out the mess that it had become that night. "You didn't call, Nathan. I told you to call."
Nathan pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Was this the number? I tried calling. The phone at home was-"
Angela snatched the paper. "Did you draw on this?"
"Draw on it? No, why? Would it matter?"
Angela flipped the paper over in her hands. Nathan thought he caught a glimpse of the letter "F" on the back. The woman crumpled the paper in her fist.
"Boys, I'm sorry about this. Please, this is René. René, these are my boys, Nathan and Peter."
The mute youth nodded his greeting.
"Who is he?" Nathan asked.
"We just found him. That is why I had to leave you alone tonight."
"'We'? Who's 'we'?"
"That doesn't matter." Angela nodded at René. "Dear, could you check Nathan's forehead, please? He looks a bit feverish."
-------
Angela looked at the bloody, hand-cuffed man sitting across from her. Beside him sat the two men from earlier.
"You're lucky, you know. Arthur wouldn't be so forgiving."
"As if I have anything to fear from that man, darling."
"He could end you," Angela warned.
"Doubt it, love," Adam replied. "No one has in centuries. I came back from bloody ashes, I did."
"Boys," Angela commanded.
One guard held the immortal down, while the other injected him with a serum.
"Bitch," Adam swore.
"If you ever terrorize my boys again, Arthur will be the least of your worries."
"You'll....you'll just bring that boy of yours again? That...that Haitian child?"
"You'll be buried in so many places," Angela stated. "Think twice before escaping again, Mr. Monroe."
The blond scowled one last time before falling into slumber.
Angela folded her hands. "Make sure to notify Mr. Parkman when he's in his cell. I want him to live a nightmare far beyond what he did to my sons."
"Of course, Mrs. Petrelli."
The End.