Hearing Heaven

(A Heroes Fic)

Nathan was standing on his patio. For what purpose he couldn't say. He only went to the terrace whenever his mother staged a brunch. Was he playing hide-and-seek with Simon and Monty? They usually stayed in the house, but they were known to sneak off into the shrubbery. Nathan had never liked playing this particular game with them. In a mansion as large as his the hiding spots were endless. Peter was the one who usually indulged the boys. He had more patience for futility than Nathan.

He wondered briefly where his brother was and then he remembered. Peter couldn't be here. The bitter memories returned; the collapse, the hospital, Peter unmoving as tubes were inserted into his arms, his mouth. It had been hours and the doctors were still performing the tests. Peter's body was shutting down. None of them knew why. Nathan still hadn't told Mom.

"Nathan."

Peter stood in the doorway. Healthy, awake Peter complete in his obsolete nurse's uniform and stupid haircut. He smiled almost shyly, and stepped awkwardly onto the patio, as if unsure of his own presence.

"Peter," Nathan whispered, hoping beyond all semblance of logic that Peter was as real as he appeared to be. "What are you doing here you're…"

"Yeah, in a coma. I know."

Peter did not seem the least bit bothered by this fact. Nathan could only gape. Subtlety, of course. A potential congressman was expected to do nothing less.

"You're dreaming, Nate."

Liar, Nathan thought. "This isn't a dream."

It was too vivid to be a dream. There was a clarity here his muddled reveries had never possessed.

Peter shrugged as though the answer was obvious, cryptically muttering, "I told you before, we're connected."

Peter would say that. Nathan wanted to deny it, but Peter had known about Linderman, the other car, the crash, Heidi – no, it was impossible. Deja vu, that's all it was. Not some idiotic sci-fi psychic connection his brother had dreamed up. His brother was always dreaming stuff up.

"This is crazy, you're…"

"Listen, I need to tell you something and I don't think I have a lot of time."

"Peter, you're dying," Nathan blurted out. He couldn't say this sensitively. Peter was the one who could mince words. Nathan was the direct one, the crueler one.

Peter placed his hand on Nathan's shoulder; an empty comfort. "Don't worry. I'll get better, I think."

Nathan gripped his brother's arm. "You think, Pete…"

"You gotta listen to me now, okay? I can't fly, Nathan. I never could."

Why couldn't Peter say these types of things when he was awake? It would have made things so much cleaner, but Peter rarely ever said what Nathan wanted to hear.

"What are you talking about? We can both fly."

"No, you can fly. I can only fly when I'm with you. That's my power; when I'm around people with abilities I can do what they can do. Up until now I've only been around one person at a time, but now - I can't control them all. I think I overloaded, or something."

A thought entered Nathan's head. An uncertainty, both painful and terrifying.

"Did I do this to you?"

"What? No," his face held surprise, then anger, then the knowing smirk that mirrored Nathan's own. "Not everything's your fault. I started feeling sick hours before you showed up. There were so many; Claire, the cop, there must have been more."

Nathan didn't care about the others. They weren't Peter and were in no way connected to him.

"But did I push you over the edge? My being there - did it…"

"It's okay, Nathan. It's okay." Peter embraced him and Nathan wanted desperately to believe his younger brother's lies. Nathan was a curse upon his family. Nothing Peter could say would ever change that.

"Are you going to wake up?" Like Peter would know, but Nathan felt compelled to ask. Stranger things had happened. Peter stiffened in his arms before moving away.

Indecision. Fear. The earnest determination that had filled Peter's entire being for weeks was gone.

"I don't know. I'm just so tired," answered Peter. "It's quieter now. I might, but I'm kind of hoping I don't."

That was his brother, always was a goddamn martyr. Why couldn't Peter stop throwing himself into suicidal situations? If he wasn't jumping off skyscrapers, he was taking on violent maniacs and getting himself put into comas. Was it too much to ask for Peter to stay out of trouble? He was an adult now, not some screwed up, rebellious teenager. Nathan had his own life to live, and a family to support. He couldn't just keep dropping everything to save his kid brother's scrawny ass.

Guiltily, Nathan knew Peter's well-being was his responsibility. Ever since Peter was born it had been Nathan's obligation to protect him. Peter was always getting involved in predicaments he had no business being involved in. His brother was too emotional, too delicate, no, too weak to function without Nathan's firm guidance. Nathan knew this. He'd always known this. If Peter didn't survive because Nathan failed to shelter his brother he wasn't sure he could handle it.

"Right before I passed out I had this vision. New York exploded, and I caused it. I'm the weapon in Isaac's paintings. I'm going to wipe out New York."

"That's impossible." The useless phrase escaped Nathan's mouth before he thought to restrain himself. Peter was still dreaming fantasies. That's all it was. That's all it ever was.

"I'm beginning to believe nothing's impossible anymore. If I wake up…"

"When you wake up."

Nathan was very firm about this. He wasn't ready for Peter to die. Nathan was the older of the two. He went first, and Peter still had a lot of growing up to do. He had to live long enough to realize that taking care of dead people was a waste of time. Peter needed to stop being selfish, ask Nathan for a loan, and use that money to go to law school. They could put this behind them. The world wasn't going to end just because Peter had a God Complex.

His brother was speaking faster now, a sure sign he was troubled. Well, more than usual.

"I need you to be with me. Please, I'm scared, Nathan. I can't do this without you. I know you think I'm crazy, but you're all I've got. I need you to make sure I don't go nuclear, and, if it looks like I'm losing it, I need you to stop me."

Such an action was too repulsive for Nathan to even contemplate. There were many things Nathan would do for his brother, to his brother, but never this.

"Peter, I - I can't do that."

Peter didn't care about Nathan's feelings on the subject. Typical; Peter was always thinking about himself.

"And I can't blow up New York," Peter exclaimed. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

"You won't." Nathan would make sure of that. It was his birthright, after all.

"Please, I love you more than anything that's why I'm asking you to do this. You're the only one I can trust."

"To kill you?"

"Yes."

That was Peter's grand definition of love? Filial homicide? Even Nathan thought that was messed up and he freely used his brother for political gain.

"I can't." It was the most honest Nathan could ever remember being with his brother.

For a moment Peter was silent. "Fair enough," he offered; his voice rough with an emotion Nathan did not feel comfortable enough to name.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." Peter looked so old. "I forgive you for it." Peter could forgive him anything. "Make sure I don't die alone, alright?"

Nathan blinked and the room smelled of anti-septic. Peter's heart monitor kept right on beeping.