Story Info
Title: No Such Thing
Author: Del Rion
Fandom: Heroes
Era: Some undefined future
Genre: Supernatural, drama, AU
Rating: M / FRM
Characters: Claire Bennet, Noah Bennet, Nathan Petrelli, Peter Petrelli (, Simone Deveaux, Isaac Mendez, Matt Parkman, Angela Petrelli, Mohinder Suresh, Sylar)
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Summary: Encountering the wrong kind of creature makes Peter's life harder than he thought possible.
Complete.
Written for: Heroes_Contest's One-shot Challenge 14: Midnight
Warnings: Violence/pain, death/murder, gore, language, supernatural events, physical transformation. Very mild sexual content and incest (you'll see it if you squint - hard).
Beta: Mythra (Thank you so much for this girl! Such a short time for you to work on it, and still you did beautifully.)
Disclaimer: The show, its characters, its places, and everything else, belong to Tim Kring and the other respective creators and owners of 'Heroes'. I have made no profit by writing this story, and make no claim over the show. Any and all supernatural aspects I have added to the story, and which don't originally belong to the world of 'Heroes', are based on no actual facts.
Feedback: I would love to know your opinion, so send it coming.
About No Such Thing: Started as a random piece of writing I began to work on one weekend. A plan was formed during the next few days to write a daring little story with some extra supernatural spicing. Afterwards finished for Heroes_Contest since the theme fit the challenge.
This story has been plagued by plenty of misfortune: writer's block after starting it, then two broken computers (within two days of each other). If that scares you, read no further ;)
Story and status: Below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.
No Such Thing
Written for Heroes_Contest's One-shot Challenge 14 (Midnight).
No Such Thing
The pain wouldn't stop. It went on and on, tearing at his insides, making him feel as if his skin was two sizes too small. His vision was blurring, making him stumble, and his nose stung with every inhale, adding to the sensation that reminded him of exploding. The taste of blood was in his mouth, but there was no actual blood yet; he had checked with his fingers earlier, and there had been nothing red stuck on them.
"Come on, Pete," came Nathan's voice, urgent and hushed.
Focus on Nathan, Peter told himself, and he stumbled along with his brother's arm around his chest making the pain just a little bit worse, but then, Peter didn't think he could take one more step without Nathan holding him.
"Just a bit further," Nathan urged.
Peter could barely feel his feet. One of his hands was holding onto Nathan's shoulder, the other fisted against his own stomach, draped over his brother's arm that held him up. Peter wondered briefly why they weren't flying, but he distantly recalled Nathan telling him that if he couldn't hold onto him, they couldn't take off…
"Just a bit further, Pete," Nathan encouraged. It felt as if he had been saying the same thing over and over for what seemed like forever. Peter wanted to believe him, but they had been walking for so long; why weren't they already there? Did Nathan even know where they were going?
They had left the car miles ago where the small road ended in the middle of the woods; the road that was miles away from the highway where Peter's pains had first started – or so he recalled; he was in so much agony now that it was hard to think.
While they struggled on – Peter stumbling and Nathan dragging him along – it was getting darker. It was harder to tell the trees apart from the space around them. The bushes kept jumping at them out of nowhere. Every root and obstacle on the ground seemed to roll towards Peter, making it difficult to keep up with Nathan. Had Peter still been a superstitious child, he may have thought the roots were trying to drag him somewhere.
His panicked mind jumped at the thought, and he tightened his hand over Nathan's forearm.
"Ouch, Pete!" Nathan shouted in pain, and when the older man stumbled, Peter almost landed face first in the dirt. As it was, he only made it to his knees, his other hand holding onto Nathan's shoulder, dragging the other downwards. "Pete," Nathan said again, grabbing at him, pulling him up almost violently. "Up. Get up. We have to move."
"Hurts," Peter managed. His throat burned, and that's why he hadn't talked since they left the car, but he wanted Nathan to know he didn't do this just to make things more difficult; even breathing was hurting by now. The sickening iron scent of blood was the only thing he could smell, making him hesitate with each inhale, but he needed air so he couldn't just stop breathing.
"I know, buddy. Just a bit further," Nathan encouraged, pulling him bodily along. Peter wondered if it was him, or was Nathan shaking? His voice had lost some of the determination that had been there all night.
Peter tried to focus on walking. His knees buckled though, and he couldn't control them. His shoulder hit a tree, making him grunt in pain, but still Nathan dragged him forward. Think, Peter urged himself. Where are we? What time is it? They were in the woods somewhere. He didn't know more than that because Nathan had been driving while Peter whimpered in the backseat in pain… Time. What is the time? he tried, urging himself to focus. He couldn't lose consciousness.
Something was dripping down his chin, wet and slightly warmer than his skin, although he felt as if he was burning up with fever. He could taste the blood in his mouth now, and his… teeth hurt. Like when his wisdom teeth had appeared, making his entire jaw throb.
Time. Think of time. What time is it? It had been close to nightfall when they left the highway. So, maybe it was close to midnight now. Peter wasn't sure, and he didn't think he could ask Nathan who had enough trouble half-carrying him to look at his watch.
"Almost there, Pete. Just hang on," Nathan encouraged him.
Peter wondered if that was how they talked to young soldiers in war when it was certain they were all going to die.
"You're gonna make it, Peter."
Peter knew he hadn't said anything, and Nathan couldn't read his mind, so perhaps Nathan was just trying to find courage himself. Because Peter sure as hell felt as if he was dying.
"Just a little more," Nathan gasped, and suddenly they went downhill. Peter stumbled and fell, rolling down. When he finally stopped, he could feel dry sticks and decaying leaves against his skin. He heard Nathan coming down, his feet falling heavy, and then there was a muffled thump and Nathan collided into him. Peter peered at him, finding that they were both on the ground.
Nathan's hand came to brush Peter's hair off his face, his fingers trembling. Peter just looked at him in the dark, the moon blocked by the trees. Nathan's eyes flashed as he gazed around, and then he got up again, dirt falling off him. "I think we're close, Pete. Just hang on. It will be all right. It's gonna be…" He walked away, and Peter could hear him kicking leaves somewhere behind him. He wanted to turn and see, to help, but his chest was on fire, and he couldn't properly feel his fingers. His skin felt so tight, as if something wanted to get out, and he could hear his own breathing, ragged and strained.
There was a clang of metal, and a muted cry of relief from Nathan. After a moment he came back, feet dragging in the leaves. "Come on, Pete. Just a bit further."
It was funny, because Peter couldn't have lifted himself had his life depended on it. Nathan dragged him forward a few feet, and then suddenly the ground was replaced by stone, and Peter's feet were jostled against steps as Nathan pulled him down. It was even damper and darker in there than it had been outside. Peter already felt like he was suffocating so it didn't make much of a difference. The floor was wet beneath his hands when Nathan lowered him down to it.
"It's gonna be all right," his brother chanted into his ear, words shaking, his hand combing through Peter's hair.
Peter wanted to nod, but his body suddenly convulsed. He cried out despite the pain in his throat. His insides felt as if someone had exploded a frag inside him. He tried to claw at Nathan, but he could no longer feel him beside him. "Nathan?" he whispered painfully, and coughed madly as something liquid was caught in his throat.
There were steps, disappearing into the distance, then a clang of metal and the room got even darker. Peter could no longer feel the draft from the night air outside. "Nathan!" he shouted, trying to get up. He managed to get onto his knees and turn his head. It was pitch black around him. All he could smell was blood, and it was making him sick. "Nathan!" he shouted again, and his voice echoed in the darkness.
Suddenly he realized something: he was alone. Nathan was gone. He had left him here.
Panic seized him, mixing with fear briefly before it was washed away by pain. Peter clawed at the floor, feeling the grains of sand beneath his fingernails. He tried crawling to the stairs and back through the door they must have come in, but the pain just got worse, tearing at his head, his skin… his stomach was on fire, and the next time Peter screamed, he had no words to describe the pain.
27 day ago,
The State of Wisconsin
Nathan turned the map in his hands, frowning. "Are you sure we're in the right place, Pete?" he asked.
Peter, leaning on the wall of a building that looked just as unkempt as the street next to them, was unconcerned. "You're the one with the map," he noted.
"You were the one giving directions."
Peter grinned and pushed away from the wall. The air was kind of cool, yet fresh: vast forests opened up all around them, and while Peter found it quite refreshing, Nathan didn't look as pleased. "You would rather be in New York?" he needlessly guessed.
"You bet. Let's just get this over with," Nathan said tensely, folding the map back to his pocket.
"Hey, you agreed to come with me, so don't start that now."
"I know, Pete. I'm not quite demented yet, so I remember promising you, in exact words –"
"Great," Peter grinned, and set off down the street. They had flown all night, and he could use a cup of coffee before they set out. He headed out towards a diner on the other side of the road. Trucks were parked in front of it, none of them shining like most cars you could see parked outside restaurants in the Big Apple.
"I assumed they would be riding horses…" Nathan muttered. He was cranky, Peter could tell, but he had agreed to come without a fight, which meant it was all about impatience.
They went inside, ordered some coffee and a late breakfast, then sat down. The locals gave them a couple of looks, but Peter knew none of them could have seen them soaring down from the sky, so he guessed it was just curiosity.
"So, where are we going to start?" Nathan asked once they got their food and drinks.
"We'll have to wait until sundown. No one's seen this thing in daylight," Peter explained, taking a hasty big bite of his sandwich. In his life, he had learned that you never got a break when you really needed it, so he'd better eat fast just in case.
"You referring to it as 'this thing' doesn't really make me any less convinced that this is just some drunken story," Nathan muttered.
"I tell you, Nathan, if it's hairy, almost beast-like but standing on two feet, and a lot of people have seen it, it's got to be one of us," Peter said. "I just don't know if it's a he or a she, so…" He shrugged. Of all the powers they had encountered, he had never seen anything animal-like – if one didn't count Suresh's brief episode with scales. He was excited to meet this person, and see what the power was really about.
"Next I suppose we're going to hunt down Bigfoot and ask if he's one of us too," Nathan groused, then busied himself with his food. Peter didn't remember when they had last eaten. Probably before leaving New York, which was yesterday. Flying unnoticed took time and precautions, so they had been forced to make sure they didn't collide with any airplanes, or were seen by people on the ground.
"There's this thing called lycanthropy," Peter went on after he had finished his sandwich without interruptions, and was enjoying his coffee. "It could be something like that; a man turning into a beast, or at least half way."
"Or then it's a werewolf," Nathan suggested. "You said this thing has been spotted around the time of the full moon. Why couldn't we just let Ghostbusters handle this?"
"Because their number was out of service," Peter cracked back at his brother. "And werewolves are lycanthropes, Nathan; they're basically the same thing. Besides, our powers are tied to the eclipse, one way or another. Better not forget that. It could be that certain other powers are triggered by something else."
Nathan nodded, and they finished their drinks, after which Nathan ordered them a refill. "Long time until nightfall," the older Petrelli mused.
"We'll have to get closer to where it's been seen, but you're right: we have time," Peter agreed. He drummed his fingers on his cup restlessly, wondering what they were going to find. As far as he knew, no one had been killed by this thing – if you didn't count some mutilated cattle near by – and it gave him hope. Perhaps it was just one of the special people, afraid of their ability, not knowing where it had come from or what to do with it.
The woods were getting shadowy. It was creepy somehow, since it had been a while since Peter had gone camping. City lights and open sky were what he was more used to, but he comforted himself with the thought that anything out here could not touch him.
Of course there was one of the specials they were looking for, but Peter was certain he could convince him or her to listen to reason. After all, he could remember all those scared faces of the people when they came to realize something was wrong with them – and the relief when they understood they weren't alone.
Peter himself had never seen his powers as a curse or a terrible thing. They set him free, gave him purpose, and in his opinion made him a better person as well. At least now he had the power to actually heal the world – if he wasn't used to destroy New York or release a killer virus, of course. He had learned his lessons.
"Are we close?" Nathan asked impatiently. They had been walking for a while now after flying a good distance away from the little town they had spent their day in.
"You are still the one with the map," Peter replied, gazing into the shadows. There were sounds all around them; the rustle of leaves with each breeze, cracks of wood, and the flapping of wings from birds they had disturbed.
"Yeah, but I can only read the map if I'm given the right destination," Nathan grumbled, then swore as Peter managed to pass a branch, but made it slap back in his brother's face.
"Watch where you're going," Peter suggested with a grin.
"It's getting dark soon."
"Good," Peter decided, and stopped. He wasn't sure if they were far enough in. There had been several sightings, and this was going to be their last chance before the next full moon – if the special's powers were indeed tied to it, that was.
"This forest is really wide," Nathan went on again, not for the first time. "Are we just going to stand here all night, waiting for something to happen?"
"Well, that and I'm going to listen," Peter replied, then closed his eyes and focused.
"Listen?"
Peter frowned and asked him to shut up.
Madness. Fuck this, it's just some folklore passed on by whelps and drunken farmers…
"Stop thinking so loud, Nathan. All I can hear is you."
Nathan's thoughts stopped – or rather, he first thought of stopping, and then came to a realization. "Oh. Listen."
Peter smiled, eyes still closed, and focused again. He wasn't sure what he had hoped would happen, but pretty soon it was clear to them both that there was no easy way to go through this. Hours went by, nightfall approached and passed them, and still there was nothing.
They sat down on a log, too tired to stand, and still Peter strained Parkman's ability as far as he could. But all he could hear were Nathan's thoughts next to him, because the other just couldn't shut up; every time Peter told him to try and be quiet, Nathan's mind began to repeat not a sound over and over until he was wondering how he was supposed to be quiet if he couldn't think of being quiet.
"Maybe it's really an animal. Can you hear the thoughts of the animals?" Nathan mused, shifting a little. It was getting cold, although the proximity of the trees definitely helped.
"If that was the case, I think I would have heard a bunch of thoughts by now," Peter sighed, opening his eyes and gazing around, only to see the shapes of the trees. The sky above them was dark, but every once in a while the clouds would shift to allow the moonlight to pass through.
"Should we just go?" Nathan asked after a moment. They could hear a bird somewhere, rustling the leaves as it took flight.
"We came this far," Peter shrugged.
"Yes we did," the other sighed, but Peter could feel that Nathan would have rather been somewhere else, even if it meant they had come here for nothing.
Peter was determined, though, and so they waited yet another few hours, neither hearing nor seeing anything out of the ordinary. A fox scared the hell out of Peter while running through the bushes next to them, and Nathan attracted a colony of bats when he tried using his flashlight to take a proper look around. Other than that, nothing happened.
"It's way past midnight," Nathan said in a tone that was his form of whining. Peter glanced at his brother, who was currently looking at his watch beneath his jacket, the faint glow of the flashlight mostly blocked by the material. Peter smirked; bats weren't dangerous, but they were scary as hell coming at you from the middle of nowhere in the dark.
"There's still time until sunrise," he decided with a yawn. He got up, stretching his legs, wondering if they had picked the wrong spot. Perhaps if they had gone in a mile further, or two miles west… But no, there was no way of knowing, and Peter was pretty certain that in the middle of the woods, he could hear another person's thoughts from pretty far away, knowing there was no one else around but him and Nathan.
"I could use a cup of hot coffee," Nathan commented, putting away his flashlight and straightening his jacket. Peter could sense that he was cold, and also wished to be out of the dark woods already.
Peter walked around for a bit, using the brief light of the moon to look around. "Maybe we could walk a bit further," he suggested.
"Which way? Any direction is as good as the next, Pete," Nathan commented, kicking a stick at his feet. He was getting frustrated.
"Yeah…" Peter mused a bit hollowly, trying to decide which way to go. Maybe there would be a sign, somewhere… He walked a few steps further forward, pushing branches out of his way. He could here Nathan shuffling behind him, but not following yet. After a while, his voice rang out through the darkness:
"Pete? Where are you going?"
Peter turned to answer, but suddenly he lost his footing. He fell forward with a surprised shout, but before he could think of Nathan and flying, he had already hit the ground – or rather, the bottom of a ditch. The sand and stones were wet, and he could hear a silent trickle of water. "Great," he muttered, and scrambled back to his feet. He could feel water soaking his clothes, slowly making it to his skin, forcing a shiver from him.
"Pete!" Nathan shouted, and Peter could tell he was running towards him, although off to the right.
"I'm fine, Nathan. Just… lost my footing for a bit."
The sound of running stopped, and Peter climbed back up the side of the ditch. He was just about to reach the edge when he felt something cut into his skin. He hissed, pulling back his hand – and slid back down to the bottom of the ditch. Before he even thought of it, he could feel the healing power kick in, and although he briefly smelled blood, he knew it would be gone soon.
With his unhurt hand, he created a small spark of electricity, illuminating the ditch and the forest around him. On the side of the ditch, propped between stones, was a broken bottle Peter had apparently rested his hand against. He shook his head, glanced down at his healed hand, and then wiped the remaining blood off against his pants. When he allowed the electrical light to fade again, he was totally blinded by the darkness around him. It took him a while to get used to it again, and this time he took care not to take the same path up as before.
Peter was just about to call out for Nathan, who was coming closer after seeing the light, but suddenly he could feel something else. Someone else. His mind strained, and he wondered if he had heard anything at all, when he was met with mere silence but then he realized that Parkman's telepathy wasn't picking up actual thoughts, but feelings.
And the current feeling was one of hunger.
Peter was familiar with it, because one month he had partied too hard, needed some new books for school, and had run out of money to buy food since he needed to take care of the rent as well. He hadn't wanted to borrow money from Nathan since he was trying to show his family he could do it on his own… Long story short, he had been quite hungry those last couple of weeks, and he was familiar with all the emotions attached to it. And now there was someone out there, feeling the same primal urge to eat. Only, when Peter dug a little deeper, he wasn't certain if he got it right at all, because there were no thoughts to be found, and all he got was a jumbled mess of random feelings and sensations.
"Nathan?" he called out, half-whispering because he wasn't certain how far away the person he had sensed was. Perhaps it was distance that was messing up his telepathy.
He took a step forward, then turned around to see if he could spot his brother. He didn't dare to reach out with his mind in fear of losing the hungry person.
"Nathan!" he tried again, still trying to keep his voice as low as possible.
He heard a soft crash and spun around, wishing the moon would show itself. The hunger was closer now, he could feel it. That and… He frowned. There was another thought – a feeling – that was actually taking over the hunger. As before, there were no words, but the simple sensation he was tapped into.
The new feeling wasn't as familiar to him, but somewhere inside he felt as if he could relate. The day Isaac shot Simone. When I realized that I couldn't trust Nathan… No, that wasn't right; that had been anger and betrayal, but nothing like this. When he faced off Sylar at Kirby Plaza, though, he had felt this: an urge to hurt. To kill.
Peter took a sharp breath, trying to distance himself from the mind of the other person. Those were not the kind of feelings he tried to remember. When he did, he made mistakes. All that anger and hurt, the yearning for revenge… it had never got him anywhere other than worse trouble than the one he was already in.
A growl.
Peter snapped out of his thoughts and back to the present, and suddenly he was aware of something standing only a few dozen feet away from him. He could see its shape, and by God, it was not human. He cleared his throat, trying to remember something about lycanthropy – if that was what he was really looking at. It wasn't as if scientists agreed that such a thing existed… That would explain the raw thoughts, though; this thing wasn't an animal, but it wasn't human either. Or so he thought, because he couldn't see a damn thing.
"My name is Peter Petrelli, and I'm here to help you."
Another growl. It reminded him of a sound that a dog made. A very big dog.
He started again: "I know this must be pretty scary for you, but you'll have to trust me. I'm like you: special," he explained softly.
A gust shook the treetops, and for a moment the moon showed itself. Peter saw a glint of eyes, but otherwise the shadows hid the other from his view. Nervously he wondered where Nathan had gone. He had no doubt seen the flare of electricity, but perhaps he had taken the wrong direction since then. Peter was too afraid to reach out to him with his mind, not wishing to break the contact he had with the special in front of him.
"It would be nice if you could give me some indication that you understand what I'm saying?" Peter suggested to the animal; he had tremendous difficulties thinking of it as human right now.
The thing moved forward, making it a little easier for Peter to see it. In his life, he had seen numerous horror flicks, some with werewolves in them, but right now he had to admit that if he really had to think of one, this was the most accurate werewolf he could ever imagine; it's features were as if a human face had turned into… well, half-way into a wolf. It wasn't a dog's head, most definitely. Its fur was dirty and matted, full of twigs, leaves, and all kinds of seeds, making it look as if it had ran through the whole forest.
Its nose twitched – it wasn't located in the end of a snout, but rather like a human nose with some alternative bone structure. Its jaws were almost human too, but with the lower jaw dislocated and then somehow fixed in place. All in all, it was hideous.
The thing came closer, and Peter could see the claws. They weren't white and shiny, but dark, cracked and dirty. They looked like they had been put to good use. He had no intention of finding out what kind of use that was.
"I don't want to hurt you," Peter told the thing, praying there was a human mind in there somewhere. A scared, confused –
"Peter?" Nathan's shout rang out from the sky above, and it took only a second for Peter to realize the other had taken flight. He looked up reflexively, to see if he could spot Nathan.
He didn't get the chance to shout back at him, or send up a spark of electricity; with a snarl, the thing came at him, pushing him hard to the ground. Claws sank into his skin, ripping through his clothes and into his flesh. All the way to the bone, Peter could tell. He yelled in pain, pushing at it, feeling the dirty, greasy hair that was coarse to the touch. Teeth sinking into his shoulder, legs pushing him down, claws still tearing at him.
Just like in the container in Cork, it came out of him faster than he could think: one moment his mind was blinded by pain and terror, and the next his eyes closed against the bright blue flash, a growl following from the beast as it was violently thrown backward. Peter scrambled back, already feeling Claire's power working its magic, stitching his skin back together, mending the cracked bones. His skin burned, as did his lungs, but he knew it would be over soon.
He hoped that the thing would just run away, but instead of doing that, it prowled some feet away from him, jaws ajar, claws digging into the earth. Peter sat up fully, then climbed to his feet. A sparkle flared between his fingers, and he stretched out his hand. Maybe if he set a tree on fire…
The beast roared and came forward. Peter attacked it, throwing it back, but it charged again, clearly angered now. The smell of singed fur hung in the air. Peter could feel its hurt and rage, and beneath it, the blood-lust. Only then did he realize that he had probably attracted it when he cut his hand on the broken bottle.
"I really don't want to hurt you," Peter tried to reason, but there were no human thoughts he could grasp onto. Just the lust to kill him.
"Pete!"
Peter saw Nathan dropping down through the branches, then halt in mid-air. To warn his brother, he increased the ball of electricity in his hand, illuminating himself and the beast.
Jesus Christ. What the hell? He could hear Nathan's thoughts, quick and unbidden, his reaction one of horror. "Get away from it!"
"What if it's one of us?" Peter shouted back to his brother, who was hovering a safe distance above them.
"Is that blood… What the hell happened to your clothes? Did it attack you?"
Peter felt like rolling his eyes. "Yeah. You distracted me and it managed to attack. I'm fine, though. Regeneration, remember?" Not that he thought Nathan would forget.
"Still, get the hell away from it," Nathan ordered, voice tense.
The beast apparently grew tired of waiting and attacked Peter again. He shifted to one side, then took flight, rising into the air. The beast snarled and tried to reach them, but one more flash of electricity made it drop the chase and vanish into the woods. Peter gazed after it, but just then Nathan floated closer to him, grasped his arm, and Peter knew better than to try and fight him on this.
Together they shot up to the sky, heading back towards the little town they had left the day before.
"That thing," Nathan started again, "is dangerous. It should be put down."
It had been three weeks since their unfortunate trip to Wisconsin. Their narrow escape from the werewolf wannabe had set Nathan on a warpath about the whole thing, and while he had agreed to go browsing the woods for a sign the following day of the attack, they had found nothing and he was only too happy about it.
Peter, of course, wanted to go back for it, and the closer the new full moon came, the more persistent he grew. "It might be out there still. I didn't hit it that hard. And sooner or later it's going to kill something other than cattle."
"Well, it hadn't done that before it attacked you, so it's your fault if it got the taste for human flesh." As soon as he said it, Nathan regretted it. He looked at Peter sternly across the car. "No. You will not go back there."
"If it's my fault and someone gets hurt, Nathan, I have to," Peter insisted.
"Just alarm the rangers. They'll hunt it down."
"But it was a full moon –"
"And there's no such thing as werewolves. Not in the real world, and that's where we live," Nathan snapped adamantly. Sure, he had seen it, but all it was was some kind of a mutant freak, that's all. An anomaly. Or maybe, just maybe, it was someone like them with a serious hypertrichosis issue.
Peter pouted silently in his seat for the next few minutes, then straightened up. "If I want to go, you can't stop me. I can teleport."
Nathan groaned. Sometimes he wished someone would push 'delete' on Peter's powers – or his eagerness to use them. Teleportation and time travel weren't Peter's favorites since they had gotten him into trouble several times, but Nathan knew he would do it if they kept this argument up long enough.
"You wanted to do this one, right?" Nathan reminded his little brother, tapping the folder in Peter's lap. "This case is an actual little girl, scared to death by her ability to create little rainstorms above people she's upset with, and the meteorologists around the world will be happy if we solve this."
"I hope she soaks you through," Peter decided, but Nathan could see the little twitch of his lips, and he reached out to ruffle his brother's hair.
They had decided to take the car because Virginia wasn't all that far away, and Nathan insisted it wouldn't hurt to behave like normal human beings for once. Peter, of course, argued that Nathan behaved like a 'normal' person all the time anyway, to which Nathan reminded his brother that he had just flown with him to Wisconsin and back. That, for the time being, cut the disagreement short, although Nathan was certain Peter was just too busy plotting how to get to Wisconsin when the next full moon appeared.
When they crossed over the state line into the Old Dominion they began to discuss how to best approach their Rain Girl, as they had dubbed her. She had a name, of course – Tiffany – but Peter had always been fond of superheroes, and every good superhero had at least one alias. Nathan was amazed Peter hadn't already chosen one for himself.
The closer they came to their next target, the more focused Peter was on it, and Nathan couldn't have been happier. As long as Wisconsin wasn't brought up, he was content.
It was past afternoon when Nathan realized it was something other than Peter's new mission that kept him occupied, though.
They had stopped to fill up the car, and Nathan took a moment to use the restroom and grab them something to eat. When he came back, the car was ready but Peter was nowhere to be seen. Nathan frowned, went to drop his purchases in the back seat, and suddenly noticed someone on the other side of the car. He rounded it and found Peter sitting on the dirty asphalt, knees drawn up, looking very pale.
"Are you okay, Pete?" Nathan asked, because Peter sure as hell didn't look okay.
The brown eyes looked up at him, and he could see Peter's jaw clenched shut so tight it must hurt. "I probably just… ate something," he finally said, stammering a little.
"Come on, lie down on the back and maybe it will pass," Nathan suggested, cleaning the backseat and then helping Peter in. He checked Peter's forehead gently, finding it clammy and cold. Frowning, he moved his hand to Peter's cheek and neck, fingers wet from the sweat.
"I'm fine," Peter said in a tight voice, and with a nod Nathan shut the door and slid to the driver's seat. Perhaps it had indeed been something that Peter ate. You never knew with the diners that they had passed on their way.
During the next few hours Nathan began to doubt the chance of food poisoning. After all, shouldn't the regenerative power kill any signs of such a thing before they even appeared? And Peter was getting worse. He was shaking, and now burning up with fever, his body seizing in pain that Nathan couldn't see, but still it made him grip the steering wheel tighter than he needed to.
The longer they drove, the worst it got. The soft whimpers Peter couldn't bite back made Nathan's skin crawl, but every time he was about to pull up, Peter told him not to. Twice Peter asked him to stop the car, though, and each time he crawled out to throw up on the bank.
"We should find a hospital," Nathan muttered.
Peter shook his head almost violently, and Nathan knew after gazing at the map that they were too far from any hospital. Perhaps they should fly… But Peter was in no condition to hold onto him, and Nathan wasn't certain if he could carry his brother the whole way.
They got back in the car and Nathan drove on. It was getting dark. Peter's breathing was getting ragged behind him, and when he turned to look, he almost swerved off the road: Peter's brown eyes were almost yellow, and his pupils were very dark and dilated. Nathan had seen his share of horror movies, but they didn't do justice to the real thing.
He stopped the car before he killed them both, then leaned between the seats to touch Peter's forehead. His fingers slid through the sweaty dark hair. The other man was looking in his direction, but didn't seem to be really looking at him. "Pete?" he asked softly.
Peter blinked and shifted his head. His nostrils flared with every attempt to inhale. And his eyes… they weren't human. Nathan had seen a lot of weird things since he discovered he could fly, but he didn't recall anyone with eyes like that.
"Pete, did you meet someone at the gas station? Did you talk to someone while I was gone?" He couldn't think of any power that could possibly be like this one, but it was his only lead. Perhaps Peter had absorbed some power. Maybe that was why he didn't want to go to the hospital.
There was no reply from his brother, though, and Nathan felt desperation gnawing at his mind like a pack of hungry dogs. Distinctly he recalled that fateful night in Wisconsin, when the beast that had attacked Peter. He hadn't seen it, but there had been blood, which meant Peter had been hurt.
Suddenly suspicious, he looked out through the car window. It was getting steadily darker, and for a moment he considered a possibility: maybe something was wrong with Peter and the darker it got, the worse he seemed to get. He grabbed his calendar, and nausea filled his chest. It was going to be a full moon tomorrow. He glanced back at Peter, then at the calendar, and then out the window.
Then he threw the calendar away and banged on the dashboard in frustration. "It isn't even the damn full moon yet!" he shouted. Peter didn't even flinch. He just lay there, shuddering in pain, those alien eyes staring at him. Waiting. "Don't you pull that werewolf stunt on me," Nathan laughed nervously. "It's not real. It's just some power, and you believe in it…" He started the car and began to drive again. He was shaking, adrenaline pumping through his system as he considered his options.
Something scratched at the back of his seat and he turned to see. It was just Peter, looking just as agonized as before. He was clawing at the seats, the slim body spasming, and Nathan felt sorry for him. Maybe a hospital could help, but there wasn't one he could reach, and Peter hadn't wanted to go.
He focused on driving again. "Where are you going?" he asked himself out loud. "Where?"
Peter whimpered and gasped in pain. "Nathan…" he moaned.
"Where…" Nathan muttered, gazing frantically at the road ahead of them. Just then he saw a smaller road leading away from the highway, and he took it, not caring where it would lead. This made no sense, but if Peter had indeed copied the beast's special power and was now getting just as crazy… Nathan suddenly didn't want to be in the same car with him.
He drove as far as he could. When the road ended as a small dirt patch in the middle of the woods, he finally stopped. Carefully Nathan tried to even out his breaths, then looked at Peter. He was still shaking, disoriented, and when Nathan slid a hand against his head, the golden eyes flashed at him. Desperate. That was the look on Peter's face. The same kind of fear as when he almost blew up New York, trying to stop but finding himself unable to. Pain.
Nathan tore out of the car, pulled one of the rear doors open and grabbed Peter, pulling him out. The younger man tried to stand, tried to hold on, the small pained gasps telling Nathan that the struggle was still going on.
Or perhaps the struggle had never been there. Maybe it was just this… transformation. Nathan didn't know how he knew it, but he was aware that Peter wasn't completely Peter anymore. Whatever was happening to him, it wasn't going to apologize or hesitate. Which meant he couldn't do those things either.
"Can you hold onto me?" Nathan asked.
Peter tried, he could tell, but his fingers were shaking and his grip was only fuelled by pain and fear. Nathan sighed, knowing they couldn't fly. And God forbid if Peter changed into a monster mid-flight…
"You're going to be okay, Pete. Come on. I'm going to take us somewhere safe." And then he dragged them both into the darkening woods, praying for a miracle.
Nathan stumbled out of the old bomb shelter and barricaded the doors. The lock was rusty and his hands ached from pulling the bolt into place, but he managed it. Inside, he could hear Peter shouting – screaming – and it hurt him.
He gasped and took a step away, trying to breathe. In the moonlight he looked down at his hand, grimacing at the bloody welts Peter had left there. Perhaps the other hadn't even noticed… Nathan certainly hadn't noticed the claws until they had cut into his skin when Peter tried to hold onto him.
Inside, his brother still made enough noise for him to hear. Nathan paced, clenching and unclenching his bleeding hand. He couldn't leave Peter, but what could he do? By some miracle he had found this dump. Now he just needed to figure out how to heal Peter.
Claire. The thought was as clear as day in his head. Claire's blood would heal Peter. Nathan refused to believe this was some kind of power. It had to be a disease of some sort… There had to be a way for him to heal it!
It had become silent.
Nathan took a step towards the sealed iron doors, covered by a layer of undergrowth and rust. No one had been here for a long time. Peter would be safe. If only he survived.
He almost went and opened the doors, unwilling to leave his sick brother behind, but then he heard the growl. Not a human one, although one of pain. Not quite like the creature they had seen, either, but close. He took a step away from the door.
"Hold on, Pete," he said out loud, then gazed up into the sky and shot towards the stars, not knowing if he had time to spare or not, but he sure as hell wasn't going to wait around and find out.
"A werewolf?"
Her voice was painfully shrill after Nathan's long flight where all he could hear was the air passing him.
"Yes, Claire… I know how it sounds, but that's what Peter called it, and it's a hell of a lot easier to spell than lycanthropy."
"I thought you politicians liked big words," his daughter noted doubtfully
"Not when my brother's turned into one." And that was the truth of it. After seeing the eyes, and the claws, it was enough information for him to conclude that Peter was sick, and no way was he going to allow things to stay that way. Whatever he had turned into – not that he had stayed long enough to see it – was going to be removed.
"Why do you need me?" Claire asked, although she was already pulling out the few things she might need on their trip.
"Your blood might heal him."
Claire nodded, then turned to him, her face serious. No one so young should look like that, but Nathan knew he was partially to blame for it. "What if it doesn't work? What if it's a power he absorbed?"
"We'll think of that when and if that's the case." Nathan refused to think of it as a power, because if so… Peter would just have to learn to control it. And Peter's track record showed exactly how good he was at controlling rogue abilities.
They arrived in Virginia late the next morning. Nathan was exhausted from flying back and forth, his entire body feeling strained, but he knew that soon he could rest. Peter would be fine, and this would all be over.
Finding their way through the forest and to the bomb shelter took time. Claire was impatient, but then, she only said out loud what Nathan was screaming in his head. It had been dark when Nathan dragged Peter there, but after they found the car, it took less than an hour to find the spot.
Only…
They both stared at it, stricken.
"I barred the doors," Nathan said stiffly. Claire dashed forward before he could say anything else, and down through the open doors. Nathan followed her, feeling sick. "Is he in there?" he asked as he climbed down to the damp, stuffy space that wouldn't fit any modern standards of a shelter.
Claire stood in the middle of the room, looking around. Nathan allowed his own gaze to follow hers in the dimness. The floor, the walls, and even the ceiling at places were covered in claw marks. At some places there was a dark stain. Blood. Nathan shuddered. He hoped it wasn't Peter's, but a bigger part of him knew that if someone had come in here, and that was their blood… there would have been plenty more of it around than this.
"Where is he?" Claire finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper. It seemed she no longer thought that Nathan had been joking about the werewolf thing.
"We'll find him," Nathan said – just to avoid saying 'I don't know'.
"What if we don't?" Claire snapped, turning around to look at him. "You left him here, alone –"
"What was I supposed to do?" Nathan demanded, refusing to believe he actually had to justify his actions to his own daughter. But the ones of your own flesh and blood were sometimes the worst people to explain your failures to. As long as he didn't have to tell their mother, Claire would be an easy task to deal with.
Claire huffed and breathed hard, but apparently she had reached the same decision as he: if Peter had turned into something, staying with him would have probably solved not a single one of their problems. Other than… "Well, he's gone, and we have to find out how. It doesn't look like he broke out," she observed smartly.
"Which means someone let him out," Nathan concluded. Not a nice thought, that.
Peter woke up with blurred vision and a tingling sensation of numbness running up and down his entire body. He was lying on a bed, and the room was dim. In the distance he could hear a sound like the crackle of fire. He blinked, waiting for his vision to return to normal. Then someone moved across his line of sight, and he jerked his head to follow the shadowy shape.
"You're awake," someone said, with a bit of an accent. The voice was warm, though, and a little worried.
Peter settled back down, and the shape came back. Now that he looked at it, he realized it was a young man, perhaps his own age, standing next to him; his eyes were still bothering him so it was hard to make out the details. He licked his lips, and found his jaws aching painfully.
"You want some water?" the man asked, then stepped away. He poured something into a mug from what looked like a canister, then came back to the bed. Peter tried to drink it, but kept coughing when he wasn't fast enough to swallow. "Easy," the man soothed and set the mug down, giving him a look. "It was a nasty trick they did. Was it your friends, locking you into that old shelter? You were lucky we found you – who knows, you might have died there."
Peter frowned. His memory was just as fuzzy as his eyes, although both were starting to work slowly. A shelter? Friends? It didn't make any sense.
"Shook you up pretty bad I reckon," the guy went on, smoothing the blanket that was laid out over Peter's body. "Don't you worry: we'll take good care of you. We'll drive you back into town if you want."
"How did you…?" Peter started, but his voice was raw and throat painful. It was as if his entire body had been turned inside-out.
"Find you?" the guy guessed his answer. "We and our parents come down here to hunt every month. We tend to check old abandoned places like that, just in case, but you're the first we've ever found – other than dead animals. We found you this morning, but it didn't seem as if you had been in there for long. You really got lucky; you wouldn't wake up so my dad and brother carried you. We've been hoping you to wake up."
Peter didn't feel lucky, but he nodded, deciding he probably was just that.
A door opened and closed somewhere, and Peter could see more people entering his line of sight. He craned his neck to see better. One man was sitting in a chair in front of a fireplace – something he hadn't noticed before. He blinked again, and noted his vision was gradually returning. A man and a woman were removing their boots by the door, and with a quick look around, Peter guessed this was a hunting cabin. A lot smaller that the one their father used to take him and Nathan, but he could recognize the smell of wood…
"How is he doing?" the woman asked.
"Better," the guy standing next to his bed answered. "Running a bit of a fever."
"Can't understand the kids these days. Locking someone in there isn't a joke," the woman muttered, then came over to the bed. Her hand was cool against Peter's forehead. "You're safe now, sweetie. What's your name?"
"Peter," Peter said, then frowned. It was an automatic response, but… yes, that must be his name. It was strange he could remember he had a brother called Nathan and that he had never liked their dad as much as his brother, but his own name still eluded him. Must be the fever, he decided.
The woman nodded, then wandered off to the other side of the cabin, probably to make food. The young man who had previously come by also went to sit down, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts. He was still tired, and he could tell it was getting dark outside. He felt cold and hot at the same time, his body sweaty beneath the blanket. The sensation of something crawling under his skin wasn't disappearing, but getting worse.
The mother offered him some hot soup, and after swallowing a few mouthfuls of it, Peter dozed back to sleep, the soft murmur of voices lulling him into dreamless oblivion.
Blood pounding in his ears… Ragged, hard breaths, tearing at his lungs, making his chest heave painfully… His fingers, smeared and sticky…
Peter bumped his head against something hard and solid, which made him stop. He felt disoriented, unconnected, and his entire body ached. He opened his eyes, finding them so blurred he could barely see the shape of the wall before him. He felt around with his hands, and could map out the corner he was crouching in.
His fingers felt funny, and he looked down at them, then brought them closer to his face and sniffed. The smell of blood intensified instantly, making him sick. He swallowed, lowered his hands, and tried wiping them against the floor to get rid of the stickiness on them.
Slowly his breathing evened out and he blinked, lifting his head. Thin rays of light made their way into the cabin; he could hazily remember the place, and guessed he was still in there. He slowly moved from his corner, on all fours and naked as far as he could tell. He sat down after a moment, shivering a little. His sight was getting better, but long before he could actually see anything properly, he heard the birds singing outside the cabin, and even through the overwhelming stench of blood he could smell a faint odor of the forest surrounding the small building.
Peter rubbed his face with the heel of his hand, then blinked again. For a moment he just stared, uncertain if he was seeing what was really there. But no, the smell remained the same. It wasn't the sterile kind that you met in the operating room of a hospital, but rather…
A little whine of disbelief escaped Peter's throat. Only few feet away from him lay a corpse of the young man that he had first talked to. His chest was ripped open, bone snapped, bent, and broken. Blood and entrails littered the floor around him, barely hiding the scratch-marks on the wood.
Across the table lay another body, and Peter guessed it must the father. The wood was smeared with red trails that were almost the shade of black in places, and there was a pool of it beneath the table as well. On the floor closer to the door, two more bodies lay; the mother and the brother of the nice young man. The woman's face was almost ripped off, and Peter could make out claw marks on the torn skin.
He wanted to throw up more than ever, but found himself unable to.
For a moment he just sat there, staring, eyes wildly dashing around the cabin. Glass from a shattered window, bloody footprints from something that wasn't human, and splinters of wood were everywhere. Peter wondered if something had attacked them, plunging through the window, but a part of him laughed at the idea. It was a hysterical little voice he couldn't stop. Frantically he rubbed his hands together, trying to get rid of the copper-stench and the color of dried blood. It was almost as if the blood had sunk beneath his skin, and no matter how hard he scrubbed, it wouldn't go away.
Just like the scene before him.
With a shaky breath, he finally stood up. Behind the bed that had been turned upside down and clawed inside out he found his clothes, and while it made him cringe to put them on while he was still filthy, he knew he had to get out of here. There was no monster that had come through the window – or left through it for that matter. If he looked at the father's prone form hard enough, he could see shards of glass stuck onto his back and neck. It had been his body smashed against the window…
After he was dressed, Peter made his way through the macabre scenery, heading to the door. It was still locked from the inside. Peter's hands shook worse than ever before as he unlatched it and stumbled outside into the fresh morning. It was as if he had stepped into another world where the room full of bloodied, torn bodies didn't exist.
Peter took a few steps, then stopped and turned to look at the cabin. From the outside, no one could tell what lay inside, waiting for some unsuspecting traveler. He wrung his hands and took a step back, then stopped. He couldn't go back there. Not while he could feel that somewhere inside him, the beast still lurked, waiting… waiting…
He ran. Never before in his life had he ever wanted to escape from something so badly.
Nathan was sitting across from Claire at a diner table. It was a lot like the place he and Peter had been in before the whole incident with the werewolf. He couldn't help but think of the similarities while his daughter tried to explain to her adoptive father over the phone why she wasn't home. Nathan had offered to explain, but she was determined to do it, because 'finding Peter was so much more important than school', according to Claire.
Stirring his coffee, Nathan gazed at the local map in front of him. He had been trying to think of every logical possibility for Peter's disappearance. When he ran out of those, he tried every illogical one, which felt like a never-ending list. Claire wasn't helping, her irrational worry for Peter making it okay in her eyes to just rush out the door to go search for her lost uncle. Nathan knew that they could fly around Virginia until next year, and that still wouldn't mean they'd find Peter.
On the small TV screen on the other side of the room, local news began. His mind tired of attempting to outrun his brother's logic, Nathan looked up to listen. His eyes widened after a bit, and he even got up to ask for someone to turn up the volume, but one of the locals had already done that.
"… the family was found in a cabin. All of them were seasoned hunters, experienced and well prepared. The police have said that some kind of wild animal is responsible for the brutal murders that took place last night."
A map was shown on screen, and Nathan felt the color drain from his face. No. No, Pete, please no…
"Nathan?" Claire asked, her tone hushed and urgent.
Nathan looked down at her, and then at the map. He had already circled the point where he thought the old bomb shelter was. Even if his calculations were a little off, it was only a few miles to the hunting cabin where the dead people had been found… "Last night was the actual full moon," Nathan whispered.
Claire frowned, turned to look at the TV, but they had already switched onto another piece. Her eyes were narrowed suspiciously as Nathan took his pen to circle the cabin's location on their map. "What was that?"
"They found a bunch of dead people, only few miles from… from where Peter disappeared."
It was Claire's turn to pale. "But… he already changed, right? How could he have done it again? Maybe it was someone else. Something else."
"According to some information, it could be that it's actually a few nights that they're… active. Not just one." Nathan couldn't believe he was citing 'legends' as 'information', but that was all he had. Maybe the full moon began to take effect already the night before, because it was so close. And who was to say that it wouldn't do the same the night after. "We have to find him," Nathan finally decided. There was no other choice.
Despite Nathan's solemn vow to find Peter, it turned out to be a lot harder than that. If Peter was still in Virginia, he eluded his brother perfectly. On a good note, no more dead people turned up, and that gave Nathan some hope. After searching for Peter for four days, Noah Bennet was getting increasingly anxious about his daughter being on a hunt for something that had already killed four people. How he found out, Nathan never knew. Maybe Claire told him.
Nathan took Claire home although she kept protesting the whole flight. To his surprise, once they got to the Bennet residence and Claire was safely in the arms of her adoptive parents, Noah showed genuine worry for Peter's situation. Perhaps it was all his years hunting rogue specials, but he was very serious about finding him.
During the next week they gathered information, trying to figure out what had happened – and more importantly, how it had happened.
"I've never seen a power like that," Noah confessed more than once, but he didn't seem to completely rule out the possibility that it existed. Nathan didn't particularly care what it was; every time he had to tell their mother that Peter was safe, it tore at him inside. How could he know Peter was indeed safe? And on top of that, how could it be he had actually lost him? Angela Petrelli may have offered a few pointers, as well as stern reprimands; while Nathan was the successful son, Angela still doted on her youngest child.
Another week passed, and it was increasingly difficult to lie to his mother and continue the search. Eventually Nathan returned to New York, out of options, and had to explain to Angela how Peter had pulled a vanishing act after he had found a special as a potential risk of exposure. It seemed to calm her sufficiently, and Nathan was able to continue his search.
Then a ray of hope entered his mind. Nathan had a nightmare of the night in Wisconsin, and the creature attacking Peter. For some reason, as soon as he woke up sweaty and panting, he was convinced that that was where Peter would be; the source. He called Noah in the middle of the night, and the other agreed the idea was valid. They agreed to meet in the little town near the forest they had first encountered the beast in.
It was five nights to the full moon when Noah arrived with Claire in tow. Nathan couldn't believe she had actually convinced him to take her along, but the hope still existed that her blood could help Peter, and there was no way anyone was going to tell Claire to stay home for this.
"I can't get hurt," she kept reminding both her fathers, who just tried to feel reassured by that.
They sat in the same diner as he and Peter had, two months ago. The table he and Peter had vacated was taken when the three of them entered, but Nathan couldn't help staring at it, even though Noah kept telling him to keep his focus.
"If he's out there somewhere, it's the safest plan to find him before the full moon."
"Or the night before the actual full moon," Claire reminded Noah, who just adjusted his horn rimmed glasses and moved his attention back to Nathan.
"As I was saying… Nathan, are you listening?"
Nathan looked up. He wasn't going to admit to his thoughts wandering – he never had done such a thing in his life – so he just nodded for Noah to continue.
Apparently he didn't fool the other man, though. "Why don't we get a car, and head out to the woods. We can just as well start looking."
That was the best plan of action by far. As long as they were out there, searching, it kept Nathan's mind occupied and gave him hope that at any moment he was going to find Peter, and this nightmare would be over.
They searched and scoured the forest for three days. On the fourth, Claire told them to hurry up or they would be too late. Nathan kept glaring at anyone who tried to talk to him – his daughter included – because he didn't want to be reminded of his failure to find Peter. Noah just tried to appear practical, although he was bringing them no closer to finding the missing man.
It was getting late and they were in the middle of nowhere when Nathan finally had it. They were wasting time moving on foot, and although he couldn't see anything in the twilight, he still hoped for a sign of some kind when he flew over the forest. Like a flare of electricity…
Nothing like that came, though, and he had to return to his friends empty handed. It pained him to feel so useless and weak. Powerless.
They had made a camp of sorts in an abandoned warehouse near the woods. It was a drafty place that still smelled of oil and metal, and had too many banging doors and windows to keep them all silent. Sleeping was the furthest thing from Nathan's mind, though. Tomorrow, the full moon would be almost complete. Last time Peter had already changed then, and the night after. Would this time be different? Or was it only like that when it happened for the first time… Nathan didn't know, and he had no way of finding out either. There was no werewolf hotline to call for information. He had played with the thought of letting Dr. Suresh in on this, but he guessed the geneticist would be just as out of this as they were. After all, there was no blood sample from Peter available.
The following morning was a quiet affair: Noah was checking his guns, Claire just drank her coffee and stared into the campfire they had made, and Nathan either paced, checking the woods on the horizon, or picking up one of Noah's guns just to have the other take it away from him.
At one point, he noticed something odd. "What kind of bullets are those?" he nodded towards a set of light grey rounds.
"Call me paranoid, but they are silver. Not very easy to get, either," Noah replied. Claire frowned at him. The man nodded, all the while going through the routine of cleaning his weapon. "They say a silver bullet in the heart kills a werewolf."
"We're not going to kill Peter!" Claire shouted out Nathan's exact thoughts.
"No, but there's the other one to consider," Noah explained practically.
Nathan had to admit he had a point, although silver rounds sounded just as ridiculous as a wooden stake through a vampire's heart.
The day dragged on as they once again searched the woods. The further the sun passed in the sky, the higher Claire's voice rose, calling out for Peter. They had come to the conclusion that perhaps a silent search was all for nothing. If Peter heard them, maybe he would come to them.
Near to nightfall Nathan took off again, although Noah tried to advise him against it. Nathan knew that Claire would be safe with her adopted father, so there was no reason for him to worry. Noah was well trained and equipped to deal with this.
He flew towards the spot where he recalled Peter had been attacked. After an hour he actually found the ditch, and kicked small stones away angrily as he paced alongside it. Time was running out. He could almost hear it ticking inside his head, unstoppable and annoying. Teasing. Taunting.
"Peter!" he shouted, but nothing but the faint echo of his own voice answered. He kicked another stone.
A twig snapped somewhere behind him, and he turned to look. Blinking, Nathan didn't know if he should believe his eyes or not, but just then, he was sure he had seen someone move in the lengthening shadows. "Peter!" he shouted again, his voice shivering now. Excitement coursed through him. Had he found him? It had to be him. Nothing else would move so fast…
For a moment he froze. It wasn't dark yet. It wasn't even close to midnight! But could it be… Another snap and a rustle of leaves, and as soon as Nathan tried turning around, something pressed him to the ground, hard. It emptied his lungs for a moment, a weight on top of him pressing him to the soil.
He struggled to turn around, and over his shoulder he saw a flash of yellowish eyes. But there were no claws ripping into his skin, or fangs snarling at him. Just harsh, ragged breaths and Peter's face, tense and nervous.
"Pete?" Nathan tried, softly as possibly. "Pete, it's me, Nathan. It's okay, I'm here to help you. Pete…"
Peter moved just slightly to the side, and Nathan rolled over, trying to sit up. His brother crouched on the ground, almost like an animal, and his eyes regarded Nathan with distrust. Nathan was tempted to reach out for him, but if Peter had indeed killed all those people, and was already changing, perhaps it wasn't smart.
"Pete, look, you've got to focus. Claire's here, and she will help you. Her blood –"
Peter moved towards him again, and although Nathan tried to avoid the impact, the other man jumped on top of him with an animal's strength and agility. The alien eyes scanned his face, and Peter sniffed the air as if it would tell him something. Then he lowered his head and sniffed closer to Nathan's skin, and there was a soft growl, although perhaps it was a purr. Nathan wasn't sure. When he looked down at Peter's hands where they were curled against his chest and into his clothes, he could see his nails were changing.
"Peter, come on, you can do it. You can beat this," Nathan said urgently. If Peter attacked him now, Nathan wasn't all that certain he could fight him off and take flight in time. "Just focus onto… anything! Focus on Claire. You remember her, right? You went all the way to Texas to save her, although you knew you might die."
Peter tilted his head, and it was almost adorable – if one didn't take notice of the animal eyes staring out of his skull. Then, without warning, he lowered his head again, and Nathan could feel his mouth on his throat. Wolves aim for the throats of their prey, right? "Peter, come on, you don't want to do this."
But instead of a bite, Peter licked him. There was another of those purring sounds, and the fully transformed claws dug through the layers of Nathan's clothing, touching skin. They weren't tearing, though; when they tugged, they merely dragged against his skin, ripping the fabric instead. Peter licked him again, then nipped his jaw, then his lips. Nathan was frozen in place, uncertain if he was supposed to do something. And what was Peter doing?
Peter raised his head again, tilting it, and his hands tore Nathan's jacket, shirt, and t-shirt in two as if he was merely parting curtains. Nathan's chest heaved and he tried shifting away, but Peter was sitting atop him and there was nowhere to go.
"Jesus, Peter, just stop for a moment, okay?" Nathan begged, trying to sound reasonable.
Peter didn't smile, reply, or otherwise indicate that he recognized his name or knew what he was doing. He dove in again, licking Nathan's neck, then nuzzled it. The clawed fingers dug into the earth on either side of Nathan, and he hated to think what might happen next.
"Peter!"
Claire's shout made Peter raise his head, and then he slowly turned around to face her. She was panting, probably after a long run, and the shock on her face was probably similar to the one Nathan had worn when he saw Peter change for the first time. Even in the half-light…
"Claire, dodge!" came a shout, and she threw herself to the ground just as two muffled bangs echoed in the silence. Peter's body jolted back and he fell down, panting hard, two darts stuck on his left shoulder. Noah stepped out of the shadows, his gun still pointed at the prone form on the forest floor. Nathan felt a moment of gratitude for the man, and that he hadn't used bullets – not even the silver ones.
"Quick, let's try the blood," Nathan said, trying to compose himself as he got up and jogged over to where Peter lay, his body twitching, no doubt fighting the sedatives in his system.
Claire came over and opened her backpack, taking out two needles and a few tubes. Nathan didn't know where Noah had learned about transfusion, but he got it set up pretty quickly. They all sat waiting then, hoping for the best, watching blood flow from Claire's arm into Peter's. After a while Noah removed the needles and needlessly bandaged his daughter's arm while Nathan kept a close eye on Peter.
"What if it doesn't work?" Noah asked matter-of-factly. Nathan knew he had more guns at his immediate disposal than the one he had seen.
"It has to work," Nathan decided. Claire nodded, her eyes resting on Peter as well.
It seemed to take forever before Peter groaned, the small prick on his arm healing, and this time it was the sound of a man instead of an animal. When Nathan took his brother's hand, he could see the claws withdrawing back into the skin. The transformation was incredible, much like watching Claire heal. One moment it was there, and the next…
Peter opened his eyes, and the brown depths were full of confusion. He looked at Nathan as if he was a stranger.
"I guess he's a little out of it," Noah noted, and suddenly Nathan guessed that he and Claire had seen Peter on him. He decided not to worry about that right now.
"Pete?" Nathan asked softly, and Peter jerked his head towards him.
His brother frowned at him, then seemed to catch some comprehension. "Nathan…?" he asked, very slowly and uncertainly.
Nathan just nodded, relief washing through him.
"It's past midnight," Claire noted suddenly. She sounded happier than she had been all of last month.
"Let's get a move on," Noah decided, standing up. "We have a long way to go."
Nathan helped Peter up, and it reminded him strangely of the night he locked Peter away in that old bomb shelter in Virginia; Peter could barely stand on his feet and kept holding onto Nathan. The difference was that this time he was not in pain, but merely disoriented.
They had walked for about fifteen minutes when there was suddenly a growl from the darkness. Noah stopped and so did everyone else behind him. Peter let out a soft whimper, but Nathan wasn't certain if he even knew something was going on.
"Get –" Noah started, but before he could finish, something plunged at them through the darkness. Nathan braced himself, ready to take off, but he hesitated, knowing that would mean leaving Claire defenseless…
A shot rang through the night, and Claire let out a little shout of surprise, the light from her flashlight jolting to the side. Nathan stared into the darkness, and soon enough another flashlight was lit, Noah holding it while still gripping his gun. On the ground lay a hideous creature, of which Nathan had dreamt for the last two months. Only this time, it wasn't moving to rip his brother apart. When he looked a little closer, he could see a wound right about where its heart would be…
"Damn, it actually worked," Noah mused, making the rest of them look at him as he went and kicked the beast, making sure it was dead. When he finally looked at them, putting his gun away, he just shrugged slightly. "Silver bullets."
Nathan wondered if it was funny or just ironic. Peter squeezed his shoulder just then, though, and he decided it didn't matter. "Let's get you home, Pete," he told his brother, kissing his forehead as they continued their walk through the dark forest. He couldn't wait to leave it behind – for good.
The End