Peter Petrelli Dreams
AN: Peter alliterates so well. For
example; Peter Petrelli Picks up on other People's Powers. He's
Perceptive like that. That said, he doesn't belong to me, nor do any
other names, places or events that occur in this fic, save those
events completely separate to cannon (ie, the fic itself).
I
really hope you get what this fic is about, because it's not stated
implicitly. I'm relying on the intelligence of this fandom for you
guys to pick it up by yourselves. Good luck.
He wasn't dead, of course. He could still see these stories, playing out behind his eyelids. They were all so much bigger than him, but in the end all revolving around him, and as much as he wanted to, he just couldn't die, couldn't take the responsibility for all these lives of his own shoulders. (Save the cheerleader, save the world.) Never said anything about 'save yourself'.
Delusions of grandeur, he
remembered. Remembered reading it off a slip of shredded paper,
making bedding for his hamster way back when. Heard it a couple of
times since, in all kinds of settings. Being a nurse had always
seemed like such a noble thing. Actually doing something for
someone else. Changing the world for the better, one life at a
time.
"Yes but, I always thought you'd do your nurse's degree
and then… go be a doctor or something." Nathan, of course. His
hopes and dreams had always been so brash. But then, the nurse was
never the leader, the centrepiece, the headlining story. He could
leave that to the politicians, to his brother. But now he had to save
the world, and no less than that, even though it was only New York
he had blown up… was going to blow up… Temporality is becoming an
issue.
"You're such a… a softy. You're like a big puppy, with sad, sad eyes." Christina, a cheerleader in eighth grade. He hadn't been her type. He was never the cheerleader's type. He hadn't remembered her saying it at first, but something had stuck with him, because Claude had said the same thing. (He'd always loved that movie. He'd have given anything to be invisible. Anything.) Not that he'd controlled what Claude had said, but still… something subconscious. (increasing psychosis) Who knows, his mind provided, maybe I've even picked that up somewhere along the way. She'd called him poodle, he remembered, and now he wondered if it was his imagination that put that nickname into Claude's mouth, or if he'd ever really said it. (paranoia). Now he thought about it, he wondered if Claude and Christina had ever met. Ever talked about him. Things were getting strange.
It wasn't as if he was trying to die. (I'm meant for something more, Nathan) He really had no wish to (But Peter. You'll die.) do anything so drastic. (If I'm going to die, I'm taking you with me) In his mind, something like that was far too brave for him. (Please Claude, please take that decision away from me)
And yet the world was circling around his own death and the trick was to keep everyone away from him when the end came. (Kill the nurse, save the world?) When was a nurse ever the centre of a story? Maybe everyone had just forgotten who he was. His role had grown into something so much greater than him.
Simone. Oh God, Simone. My fault, all my fault.
He sees it a final time. He's standing on the rooftop like he'd dreamed so many times. (delusions of grandeur) He knows (he's seen it, seen it all) he will fly today. The world will watch (he should have chosen somewhere more public) as he takes to the skies. (increasing psychosis) When he finds the man who knows everything about what he is (paranoia), he will be proved right. He is right. He knows it. And he sees it all.
When he hits the staircase, lots of things break. That's when the dreaming begins.