A Petrelli Christmas Special – Part One
Standard Disclaimer applies – I don't own them…blah, blah, blah
Author's Note:
This is a very tongue-in-cheek one-off for Christmas – not to be taken seriously under any circumstances! I'm still working on Fourteen Days and am almost ready for the next chapter but I wanted to get this out for Christmas. BTW – this is kind of set in the same AU universe as Fourteen Days but you don't need to have read it in order to read this one. I hope you guys enjoy and have a very Merry Christmas!
It was the night before Christmas – sort of. In almost every window, tiny lights twinkled and Christmas trees glittered, proudly displayed behind open curtains. Outside, the snow had begun to pepper the skyline of New York as shafts of light from streetlamps illuminated steady drifts of snow in the otherwise inky blackness.
Within the confines of the Petrelli mansion, the occupants lay snuggled in their beds, eagerly awaiting the coming of Christmas morning. Well, all except Nathan: he didn't snuggle and he wasn't particularly looking forward to the coming of Christmas morning, either. But none of that could dampen the spirits of his younger brother. Peter had attempted, urged on by an increasingly frustrated older brother, to go to bed at a reasonable time but, on finding sleep would not come easily, the young man had quietly crept back downstairs and into the kitchen, fixing himself a post-midnight snack.
As he finished off the last of his sandwich, Peter smiled thinking about the mince pies and whisky Monty and Simon had left out for Santa over the fireplace. He had tried to explain to the supervising Nathan, that whisky wasn't normally Santa's beverage of choice but he had only succeeding in getting a very dark, withering glare from his brother and had scuttled back into the shadows of the Christmas tree – Nathan hadn't turned the lights on yet, because they wasted electricity. Heidi had later discovered he simply couldn't find the bulb that had blown, nor the humility to admit it.
With the plate carefully washed and stacked away, Peter turned to switch off the light and then, picking his way slowly across the floor in the darkness, the young man headed in the direction of both the family room and the main staircase. He had insisted, whilst helping to fill his nephews' stockings and pile brightly wrapped presents under the tree, that the tree lights be kept on and their faint illumination now helped to guide his path to the room, the closer he drew.
Peter hadn't yet decided whether to go back to bed or to park himself in front of the television, wrap himself in the throw from the back of the couch and watch re-runs of his favourite old-time shows. However, in that instant the choice was taken out of his hands.
In the space of but a moment, Peter was aware of deep breathing, somewhere in the darkness ahead of him, emanating from the family room. Footsteps shuffled across the carpet and a tiny tinkling sound indicated the ornaments on the tree were moving around, no doubt being pushed by something of considerable bulk. Knowing for a fact that all family members were safely tucked away upstairs, Peter's heart began to beat fast. All at once, the noises seemed to stop, as if sensing his presence. Peter's hand shot out into the velvet darkness and, with a startled cry, he heard the whooshing of the movement of air and a thud as a large mass hit the fireplace mantle, then fell to the floor.
Peter's heart was thudding in his chest. Had he just…? He hadn't meant to do anything. It had simply been a reaction – his hand went out but the young man hadn't expected any of his off-and-on powers to actually work! Hesitantly, Peter crept forwards towards the fireplace, each step bringing him nearer and nearer to the bulky form lying on the floor. Step, by step, by…
"What the hell are you doing?"
Peter yelped and jumped about a foot in the air, spinning round to face the sound. There stood Nathan, arms folded across his chest and looking at him, clearly expecting an explanation.
"Well?" he demanded in a low voice. "It's the middle of the night and you're crashing around down here. You're going to wake the boys." Then he seemed to notice Peter's pale, shaky expression. "What is it?" It wasn't that he wanted to know. It was just that, inevitably these things always came back round to bite him on the ass, so it was better to get it dealt with as quickly as possible.
Peter was gesturing wildly with both hands towards the darkened end of the family room. Nathan followed his line, squinting into the night. "Over there!" Peter urged. "There was someone down here – I think they were breaking in."
Instantly and almost without thinking, Nathan had switched their positions so that he was now in front of Peter, edging carefully towards the far end of the room. He turned to Peter and hissed, "You sure?" Peter nodded.
Nathan took a deep, calming breath. "Okay," he whispered, turning slightly to get a better look at Peter. "You wait here – I'm going to get the gun." He felt Peter's restraining hand gently grasp his wrist, pulling him back. Sighing, he leaned in a little closer.
"It's just a precaution, Pete. Don't panic."
"Uh, that's not exactly what I'm worried about," Peter admitted, hesitantly. He took a step back from his brother, feeling safety in distance. In the dim lighting, he could see his older brother's eyes narrowing and his presence expanding to fill the newly created space between them.
"Peter?" he questioned, a warning in his voice. Peter gulped a little before continuing.
"Well, I didn't exactly mean it – I mean, my powers hardly ever work when I want to them to and it's not like I really wanted them to now, but…"
Nathan held up a hand to cut off the rambling. "Peter! What are you talking about?"
Peter shrugged, helplessly. "I just kind of…" He trailed off and demonstrated, waving his hand across the air in a mimic of his original movement. Nathan's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before closing in despair, the signs of an encroaching migraine setting in.
"Then there was this kind of whooshing sound, then this cry and then this kind of…thud."
"Thud?"
"Yeah," Peter admitted. "Then this kind of…crack."
"Crack?" Nathan repeated, dreading the response.
Again, his little brother nodded. "I'm guessing that's where the mantelpiece came in." From beside him, he could tell that Nathan was pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head while his agile mind was already coming up with a suitable game-plan.
"Peter!" he remonstrated, still in hushed tones. "What were you thinking? This is just terrific! Attacking an intruder is one thing but how the hell are we going to explain you sending a man flying through the air without even touching him?" Peter looked down to the carpet, scuffing his toes through the thick weave.
"I didn't mean it," he mumbled in a small, almost petulant voice. He hated it when Nathan yelled at him – particularly at Christmas. It wasn't his fault his powers wouldn't do what he wanted and seemed to have a mind of their own.
Nathan sighed again, softening his tone a little. "Well, the first thing we need to do is take a look at this intruder. He doesn't seem to be moving but be cautious all the same. We'll turn on the small lamp on the coffee table." He moved to do just that, instructing Peter to stay where he was. In retrospect of course, he should have realised that was a bad idea.
No sooner had the soft light flooded the room then Peter was kneeling over the inert figure, lying flat on its back. He blocked most of the bulky form from Nathan's view as he had knelt in front of it. "Pete!" Nathan scolded, sharply. "I told you not to move. I…" Then he seemed to notice something…odd. "Is he wearing red?" Dimly, his back still to him, Peter nodded. Nathan's brows furrowed in confusion. "Well that's a pretty dumb colour to break in to a house in. Black would be more usual."
"Uh, Nathan…?" Peter began to stammer. He turned to look at his brother and the young man's face was growing steadily paler.
Nathan took a step closer to their uninvited guest. "Is that?" he questioned. "Is that a Santa Claus outfit?" He whistled, appreciatively. "Man, I'll give him an interesting get-up, that's for sure." For his part, Peter couldn't tear his eyes off the figure lying prone in front of him: this jolly, red-suited, white-bearded and rosy-cheeked figure.
"Oh my God!" he whispered to himself. Beside the rather rotund, cheery figure, lay a large red sack, trimmed with gold and tied with a ribbon. Nathan eyed the sack appraisingly.
"He's not going to get much in there," he remarked. "I mean, the TV alone will take up half that thing and it's not going to take the strain when he lifts it." He moved to the window and opened the curtains, peering out. "Must have a van parked nearby somewhere. How'd he get in, anyway?" Wordlessly, Peter pointed to the sooty footprints leading from the chimney to their tree and the dusting of soot over the otherwise shiny black boots. Nathan followed his gaze and laughed.
"Good one, Pete." He nudged the empty sack with his foot. "At least he hasn't collected anything yet. Now, we'd better call an ambulance, I guess. We'll just try to avoid the reason why he's out cold in the first place. With any luck he's on drugs and they won't believe him any way."
However, Nathan noticed, Peter was now peering in to the sack and when he looked up again, his eyes were shining in wonder: Pure, childlike wonder. "Nathan!" he breathed. Nathan immediately felt apprehension flood through him.
"Nathan," Peter said again, his mouth forming a perfect 'o'. "It's really him!"
"Who?"
"Santa!" Peter exclaimed. "He's real – this is the actual Santa."
Now Nathan was truly worried. Shrinks didn't tend to work Christmas Day, but perhaps if he phoned the right contacts, opened the right chequebooks? He'd get on to that as soon as the authorities had been and gone and he had ensured Peter said as little as possible throughout the interview. But Peter had stood and eagerly raced over to him, the seemingly empty sack in his hands.
"Seriously!" he insisted, holding open the sack. "Look – look inside." The politician scoffed.
"It's empty, Peter. I can see that from here."
But his brother was insistent, waving the sack around in front of his face until Nathan was left with only two options: completely lose his temper with him or look in the damned sack. With a put upon, dramatic sigh, Nathan looked in the sack. He stopped. He blinked and looked up at Peter, a question in his eyes. Then he shook his head as if to clear it and looked again.
There, piled deep inside the dark sack, lay dozens and dozens of neatly wrapped gifts – some in small boxes, some in large boxes, some in bags, some wrapped loosely. There were some that looked like entire bicycles and still others that appeared to be moving about. Around the dark inners of the sack, tiny lights seemed to be twinkling, like stardust in the night.
Nathan's mouth hung open. "But this," he stammered mostly to himself, "this is not possible, this is…" He trailed off as Peter snatched the outwardly empty, weightless sack from him and peered into it again, nodding his head vigorously.
"But it IS!" he insisted in awe and amazement, dark eyes shining. "Now aren't you glad you started being nicer this year?" He stuck one hand down into the depths of the sack and started rummaging around. "There's probably one for you in here, too." He paused in his blind searching to look at his older brother appraisingly. "Course," he added, sagely, leaning in closer to his brother's ear and glancing about them to make sure they would not be overheard, "best not mention the whole Vegas thing."
Following this sagacious advice he patted a still open-mouthed and dumbfounded Nathan on the shoulder before springing away in giddy excitement leaving the politician to silently re-evaluate his entire belief system.
Which, incidentally, he seemed to do quite rapidly. Snapping out of his mental haze, Nathan suddenly stepped forward and halted Peter's dizzying movements with a vice-like grip on the back of his neck. There were possibly more gentle ways of stopping him but Nathan didn't feel inclined to use them having decided that Peter was personally responsible for shaking the entire foundations of his adult life.
Peter yelped in response and immediately froze, shooting an affronted look at his brother but nevertheless waiting to see what the elder man wanted. In answer to the unspoken question, Nathan began to explain in a deceptively calm voice:
"Shouldn't we see what's wrong with him and find a place to store him until he wakes up?"
Peter's eyes widened in concern as he gasped, "He has to wake up soon! There'll be no Christmas without him!"
"From your mouth to God's ears, Peter," he heard Nathan mutter, darkly.
Ignoring his brother Peter walked back over to the still form on the floor and gently shook him by the shoulders. No response seemed to be forthcoming. Frowning a little, Peter tried again. Then he grabbed the jolly old man's wrist and waited to start counting his pulse. Any time now, he thought to himself as he proceeded to nudge him with his knee for good measure.
Beside him, Nathan stood peering down intently at the old man. "Uh, Peter?" he questioned. "Shouldn't his chest be rising up and down or something? I mean, I'm not a nurse or anything but I covered that much in kindergarten."
Peter was starting to look worried. "But I swear it was a moment ago! I'm sure it was!"
"Well, if you can feel a pulse, we might be getting somewhere," Nathan prompted, trying hard to keep his patience. Suddenly, he appeared very suspicious. Dread began to fill his heart. "You do feel a pulse, right?" Peter didn't even have to shake his head before Nathan closed his eyes in dismay.
"Aw, damn it, Peter! Only you! Only you could wipe out a mythical figure!"
Peter's face crumpled but Nathan was too busy ranting to care. "It's just a typical day for you, isn't it Pete? Most people accidentally burn the toast or lock themselves out of the house. You accidentally take out saints in the middle of the night."
The elder Petrelli was finally forced to stop his raving however, when he actually took a good look at his little brother.
"My God, Nathan!" Peter was whimpering, over and over again, gripping his hair tightly in his hands and gently starting to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Oh my God! I killed Santa! I killed him! What am I going to do? What am I…"
Nathan stilled him, instantly. Placing his hands squarely on his brother's shoulders, Nathan leaned down and looked him in the eye. Speaking in a very low, eerily calm voice, Nathan said: "You're not going to do anything, Peter. I'm going to make an anonymous call."
"No!" Peter interrupted, wildly. "Who's going to believe us, Nathan? I didn't mean it – honestly." Then he went back to rocking. Nathan gripped him even tighter by the shoulders and shook him, once.
"Peter – get a grip!" he commanded. Surprisingly, Peter seemed to do just that, stilling his movements and starting up at his brother with wide, slightly puzzled eyes as if he was suddenly curious as to what they were both doing, standing there in the middle of the night in dressing gowns.
Nathan blinked in mild surprise but decided not to comment – there were more pressing matters, after all. "Now," he continued, releasing Peter's arms.
"Ok – no phone call. You wait here and I'll…" He trailed off, still looking at Peter closely. After a moment's pause, he had a rethink. "On second thoughts, you'd better come with me." He took Peter's wrist without waiting for a response and started dragging the boy along behind him.
"Where are we going?" he asked, a touch uncertainly but following nonetheless.
"To get a shovel," was Nathan's curt reply. At that, Peter's heels dug sharply into the floor, causing Nathan to pull up short.
"A what?" Peter squeaked, the whites of his widened eyes shining like lamps in the darkness.
"Shh!" Nathan warned, waving him quiet. The politician shot a furtive glance to the top of the staircase ensuring no one had heard the ruckus from below.
"B…but Nathan," Peter was stammering, eyes flicking from his brother to the inert saintly corpse by the fireplace, all bright and red and jolly and…rigid, "we, we can't. It's Santa – we just can't…" He trailed off, not even able to finish the sentence. Nathan turned to face him, head on and fixed him with one of his You Don't Want to Know How I'm Going to Fix This looks. Peter was suddenly very aware of being a part of a powerful Italian family. He started to feel most uncomfortable.
"Peter," Nathan began, firmly. "If he is…who you say he is – and you realise the limits of my imagination and tolerance are being tested, beyond belief tonight - we cannot simply leave him there, nor can we call the authorities. When Monty and Simon come down in the morning, this is not the festive surprise I was hoping for them to discover. Now, I'm not asking you to do anything – in fact I'm ordering you not to do anything – all I'm asking is that you stand quietly by and not alert my family to the fireplace homicide decorating the family room."
He paused a moment and pulled back a little, tilting Peter's chin upwards with one finger so that he was forced to meet his elder brother's look.
"Now," he continued, gently. "Do you think you can do that?"
Miserably, Peter nodded and immediately dropped his gaze back down to his feet, his hair flopping back over his crestfallen face. He truly did look the picture of misery and dejection, Nathan decided but then he had just killed Christmas so Nathan couldn't blame him for a little wallowing.
Thirty minutes later and Peter and Nathan were seated at the kitchen table. The young man didn't think his life would ever be the same again. The sight of mince pies was making him feel ill. How Nathan was sitting there swigging a cup of coffee was beyond him. All at once, Peter shot to his feet, ran to the front door, threw it open and dashed outside. Nathan rolled his eyes, wearily put down his coffee cup and followed his little brother outside.
In the deep, crisp snow Peter stood, hopping from one foot to the other. Nathan had had the forethought to wear slippers. Unsurprisingly, Peter had not.
"It's gone!" Peter exclaimed in dismay, eyes fixed upon the roof. Irritably, Nathan followed his gaze.
"What's gone?"
"The sleigh!" Peter explained. Nathan appeared shockingly unconcerned – it was cold, darn it, even with slippers.
"All those presents," Peter continued, shaking his head miserably. "They'll never be delivered now. It's just not right – it's not fair! What are we going to do?"
"Do? Pete, we're not going to do anything!"
"But we have to Nathan!" Peter urged. "We're meant to do this – I can tell! Everything happens for a reason – maybe we're meant to be the ones to finish the job?"
"Peter!" Nathan was more than just annoyed now. This was getting beyond a joke. "Do you have any idea how crazy you sound? You don't even know where they were meant to be delivered to!"
"I'm sure I saw addresses on them," his brother cut in. Nathan glared at him.
"And do you have any idea how many thousands and thousands of people he probably has left to deliver to?"
"There were only a few dozen left," Peter argued. "I think he must have been near the end of his rounds."
"Even so," Nathan ground out, daring his brother to find another reason to argue with him. "Without this sleigh of yours, you'd never get them delivered in time. I mean, what? Shall we hire a helicopter to whiz round the houses in the dead of night? Hope to God it's no louder than the sound of sleigh bells jingling?"
Feeling his point was sufficiently made, Nathan turned to go back inside wanting nothing more than to crawl back in to bed and put this whole ridiculous debacle behind him. Peter's final proclamation then was the last, the very last thing he wanted to hear.
"But, Nathan – there are other ways to fly."
He stopped dead. He turned and he looked at his brother's ever so earnest, ever so serious and ever so entreating expression.
"Oh – my – God."
That one glass of whisky just wasn't going to be enough.
Right. Thanks for reading this far. Only one chapter to go and most of it is written. As I said – this is just a one-shot. Hope you liked it! Please let me know what you think.