Disclaimer: Not mine, and all that.
A/N: This will probably make more sense if you've read The Catcher in the Rye but I don't think it's too hard to understand anyway. Set back when Claude was still around, mid-season. Constructive criticism is welcome, and if you like this, I'd love for you to check out my other stories. Thanks.
Peter Petrelli didn't sleep that night. Every time he started to nod off, he woke himself up by remembering the dream
(they weren't dreams, no they're nightmares, I blow up I'm the exploding man)
he kept having about people, friends
(and I'm killing them, I am, I've got to stop it)
dying. He went into the next room and shook his companion, asleep in the next bed.
"Claude." The man mumbled and pushed Peter away. "Claude, you have to get up. You have to help me. We have to start now."
"Peter, go back to bed. I'm not teaching you tonight." Claude spoke in the way one would speak to a small child who doesn't understand the word "no".
"Claude, please. I
(I'm going to die. I don't want to die. Please, Claude. Damnit, help me control this)
Really need your help."
"Tell you what: Go outside. Walk around. Don't get yourself mugged. Come back in twenty minutes. If you still feel like you need to start learning tonight after that, wake me up again."
Unhappily, Peter obeyed. As he took the elevator to the first floor, he thought that he would probably have the very same argument with Claude when he returned to his apartment.
He walked for what seemed like hours, but was really only minutes. He passed his brother's campaign office, Isaac's apartment, and the building Simone's father owned before his death. Peter reached Central Park and walked through it. When he reached the pond near the carousel, he sat on a bench.
Peter looked at the pond and wondered
(If a body catch a body, coming through the rye. What the hell does that mean anyway? I don't want to catch any bodies. Not that there will be any after the explosion. No, there won't be an explosion, there won't)
where the ducks had gone for the winter. He thought about crying. He thought about his brain turning into that of a teenage girl.
(So this is what PMS must feel like)
The bench was hard against his back, but Peter didn't notice. He watched the carousel. It looked sad, not moving like that. Peter felt like a baby and was glad Nathan wasn't there to see him.
Peter decided that it was probably a good time to start heading back to Claude at the apartment
(or maybe I shouldn't)
to ask for his help
(or maybe I should just throw myself into that pond and have done with it)
again.
He got up and walked towards the street. On the road, he was surprised to see a large number of cars that seemed to be stopped. He figured there must be a traffic jam until he saw a familiar face.
"Hiro!" Peter yelled. "Hiro Nakamura!" The other man made no reply, and looked unusually subdued. "Hiro, what's wrong?" Peter turned in the direction Hero was looking. "Na-Nathan? No," Peter breathed.
(how do you stop an exploding man?)
He turned back, knowing what he'll see. As if in slow motion, Claire Bennett ran towards him, then stopped and turned with a shocked look. Isaac pulled Simone- Peter's Simone
(not anymore)
away from
(the exploding man)
the street. Peter looked at his hands, and saw the white-hot light emanating from them. Then he felt the heat. He tried to yell, tried to warn them, warn Nathan and Hiro and Simone and
(Oh, God, it's hot, it's so hot, oh please let it stop, God it's so)
The bench was hard against Peter's back, but he didn't notice. As he woke up, tears rolled down his face and he gasped for air. Then he fainted.
When he came to, Claude was standing over him. He put a hand on Peter's arm. "Get up, we're going back."
"How did you…"
"Followed you."
"Please… help."
"You're sure you want to?"
"Bastard. Help me stop this."
"Alright, then." Claude pulled Peter up by the arm. "You trust me to teach you?"
Peter got angry. "What the hell do you mean? Don't you know how to control this? Haven't you taught people before? Were you lying to me?"
"Calm down. I'm no phony teacher. It's just that a few of the people I've tried to teach haven't been able to handle it."
"I can handle it," Peter said fiercely.
"Then let's go." Peter followed Claude obediently towards the edge of the park. Then, half expecting to see a running girl in a cheerleader's uniform, he turned back. But all he saw was a large brown duck flying towards the pond by the carousel. And, as the light of day came to New York City, music began to play, and the carousel began to slowly turn.