NUCLEAR WINTER
a Heroes fan fiction
by Jennifer A. Johnson
scene from "Four Months Ago"
by Tim Kring
scenes from "How to Stop an Exploding Man"
by Tim Kring
Mohinder's lecture from "Four Months Later"
by Tim Kring
special thanks to
NBC's "Nathan Petrelli for Congress" website
DISCLAIMER: "HEROES" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and © by TIM KRING, NBC UNIVERSAL TELEVISION. All Rights reserved. This fan fiction is posted here without their permission, approval, authorization or endorsement. Any reproduction, duplication, distribution or display of this material in any form or by any means is expressly prohibited. It is absolutely forbidden to use it for commercial gain. For entertainment and educational purposes only. No infringement intended.
TEASER.
"You gotta let me go, Nathan!"
"You go, I go!"
He could feel the heat. Even through the darkness, he could feel the heat. And the pain. He didn't know who he was, or even where he was, he just knew the pain. An intense, fiery pain, tearing away at his flesh, twisting it, turning it into something else, something not quite human. He felt trapped there, in his pain, and in his skin, like it wasn't even his own, almost as if it belonged to someone else. He had to force himself to breathe, long, labored breaths that were barely there. His chest slowly moved in and out, in and out; each lungful tasted of ash. If it wasn't for the machine they had him hooked up to, he probably wouldn't have been breathing at all.
His thick eyelashes intertwined, keeping what was left of his eyes shut to protect them from the thin layer of ash and dead skin and clumps of hair on his face. Not that he wanted to open his eyes. He didn't want to be there; he wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else, but not there. It would be so easy to just slip away, to sink into that void and end it all, but something kept him there, something- or someone- kept him from taking that final step. So he struggled to open his eyes, struggled to survive, not for himself, but for the person who mattered most to him in the world. He had to survive, so that he wouldn't suffer through the guilt of killing his big brother. It took effort, and almost more strength than he had, to get his eyes open. And once he did, all he could see was a world of gray, one eerily reminiscent of a nuclear winter.
Nuclear winter. Just two little words, yet together they possessed enough power to make him momentarily cold. Why, he didn't know. Maybe he didn't want to. He almost preferred the pain to the memory of what he had almost done. Almost. Something told him he deserved all of this, this and so much more.
The pain started to unwrap itself from his brain, and suddenly, he knew. He knew who was keeping here, the one person who truly mattered to him in this world. He would force himself to live, for him.
His tongue felt thick and spongy in his mouth, oozing saliva and blood instead of soggy water, and it took him several tries just to croak out, "Peter".
Nathan Petrelli could still hear his little brother screaming as The Darkness descended.
---
His entire body felt like it was on fire. He could feel the radiation eating away at his insides. The medication dulled the pain some, but not enough. He could still feel.
His mother was in the room with him again. He could sense her there, could smell her perfume. It clung to his lungs, his nose, what was left of his hair. It sickened him. He wanted to be as far away from that smell as possible. He wanted to say something, to make her go away, just leave him alone with his pain and his memories, but it hurt too much to talk. Besides, she wasn't worth it.
He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids stuck together, sealing them shut. It was probably better that way. At least he wouldn't have to look at her. He squeezed his eyes further shut instead, trying to block her, and everything about her, out. All of her half-truths and constant manipulations. All of her evil.
Instead, he did thought of Peter. Sensitive, compassionate, selfless Pete, who had always admired Nathan so much, and would never know how much Nathan admired him back. Peter was missing; the Coast Guard had given up hope of ever finding him. He didn't want to live in a world without his little brother. And he knew, deep down, that he wouldn't have to. Despite everything, despite all that his mother said, Nathan knew that Peter was still alive.
---
Claire Bennet stared at the door. Room 1909. Even the numbers made her uneasy.
"You don't have to do this," came the familiar voice behind her. Claire turned to look at her dad. His trademark horn-rimmed glasses magnified the concern behind his blue eyes. "Not if you don't want to."
Visiting hours were over, and the two of them were alone in the hall. Still, Noah Bennet stuck to the shadows, where he felt the most comfortable, but Claire stood right out in the open. Claire guessed that was the major difference between the two of them, he had chosen the dark, she the light. "No, I do," she said, more to herself than to her dad. "I want to." She took a deep breath. "Okay. Here we go." Claire stared at the door. She wriggled her fingers a bit, trying to get them to move to the doorknob. "Watch me go. Go, Claire, go." She jerked her body, but her feet remained rooted to the spot. She turned to her dad. "I can't do this," she sighed.
Bennet glanced over his hurt shoulder, his arm still in a sling. Claire pretended not to see the bulge that was almost certainly a gun hidden beneath his jacket. It was this thing they did now; he pretended not to know when she did dumb teenager stuff, and she pretended not to know what he was really up to. He so owed her a car. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Claire, but this is the last time we can be here."
Claire nodded. Being here put them both at risk, her dad had made that quite clear, but if it was important to her, it was important to him. She needed- no had- to do this. And her dad understood; he was there for her, he would do anything for her. Over and over again, he had almost died to protect her. She just had to remember not to exploit that. Or him.
She took another deep breath, and this time felt more calm, more relaxed. Thanks to her dad. She put her hand on the doorknob. It felt cold. She glanced again at her dad for support. He smiled reassuringly. That was all she needed. Claire opened the door and went inside. Bennet did a quick sweep of the hall with his eyes, then slipped in after her.
---
Claire stopped beside the bed and just stared at the tangled mess that her biological father had become. It wasn't too long ago that she thought of him as her Bio-Dad, The Sperm Donor, her Creator, or just That Guy, and now here she was calling him her father. Her father. It was weird, right?
She had seen him with his other kids, seen how much they loved him, how much he loved them, and in that moment, she hated him. She hated him for not being able- or willing- to be that way with her. Seeing him with Thompson, the man who wanted to ruin her family, her real family, and learning of the plot to blow up New York, had only solidified that. And then he had swooped in, saving not only New York, but her dad, the man she loved more than anything. The way he looked at her in Kirby Plaza, when Peter said, "I can't let you die," and he responded with, "And I can't let everyone else," showed her just how much he really did love her. She finally understood Peter's devotion to him.
Claire looked down at him. Radiation burns covered his face, making him almost unrecognizable. In fact, it looked like a Halloween mask. He was all puffy and bruised and well, gross. His mouth was half-open in a permanent grimace, with lips that had blown up to three times their normal size. His chest was bare, except for the dark purple burn that ran right across it and up his throat.
Claire shifted nervously. She didn't know what to say, or how to say it. She fought the instinct to just take off. Perhaps sensing her inner turmoil, and she wouldn't doubt that he could, her dad, her real dad, brought her a chair. He took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back. Claire took a deep breath, and sat down. Bennet returned to the shadows, where he could keep watch without being in the way.
The machine beeped, but she could barely hear it over the raspy sound of her his breathing. It sounded like he was going to die. Claire looked back at her dad. He smiled again, the smile that, back when she was a little girl, had always made her feel better. Back before biological families and attempted rape and brain-eating serial killers. Back before plots to blow up New York. Back before she could heal. It was a smile that said that everything was going to be all right. Of course, now she knew better. Claire smiled that sweet smile of hers back at her dad anyway.
The smile faded the instant she looked back at her biological father. She took another deep breath. "Dad..." She frowned slightly. The word sounded wrong to her ears. Her dad was her dad. "Nathan." Her mouth trembled slightly. She wrung her hands in her lap. She looked down. "I don't know what to call you." She made a small hissing sound as she exhaled. She stared at her hands. She tried not to think of them as dainty. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I was in a nuclear explosion, too. This guy, Ted..." She stopped when she realized how lame she sounded. She could heal; he couldn't. It really wasn't the same thing. She glanced again at her dad. Bennet nodded, and Claire continued, "So I know. I know what you're going through. I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for saving my dad's life." She leaned in real close. "And I promise you, we'll find Peter."
Nathan's eyes flew open, his left eye like a negative representation of his right eye that made them two different colors. He opened his mouth as if to talk, but all that came out was air. Claire gasped and stumbled back, nearly taking a bouquet of flowers out with her. These were not the fierce, intelligent eyes she remembered from before. No, these eyes were glassy and vacant, like two marbles sunk into his sockets. They were practically dead.
Claire suddenly felt very sick. She could feel it, the nausea, wriggling around in the pit of her stomach, fighting its way up her throat. She covered her mouth to hold back the vomit. "I'm sorry," she moaned, tears forming in the corner of her green eyes. She pushed past her dad and ran out into the hall.
Bennet watched her go, his eyes gleaming. The second the door closed, protecting Claire from anything that might be going on in here, Bennet pounced with all the agility of a jungle cat. The lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses reflected something dark, something almost sinister back at Nathan. "I want to thank you for sparing my daughter the pain of killing her hero, Mr. Petrelli." The door swung open behind him. "Unfortunately, I can't risk your mother finding out she was here."
The Haitian stepped into the room, emerging from the dark as if from a nightmare. The helix he wore around his neck shone with a light of its own. Bennet watched his partner reached out with his right hand. The Haitian stared at Nathan, his eyes intense, focused, his brow furrowed the tiniest bit. He put his hand on Nathan's forehead and covered his face.
For Nathan, his touch was cool, soothing and inviting. For the first time in a long time, Nathan didn't feel engulfed in flames. He felt The Haitian's invisible hand as it shifted through Nathan's short term memory. And when he found what he was looking for, the memory of Claire's visit, he plucked it right of his head, like a worm.
Nathan closed his eyes, thankful once again for The Darkness.
END TEASER.