Elegy

Prologue: A Decision

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: This is my first Heroes story so if there are any questions, comments, or criticisms: please review!

Summary: He was put away so he wouldn't hurt anyone, but now he's the only one who can save them all. AU for Season Finale.

"I took his power, Nathan. I can't control it. I can't do anything."

"I'm not leaving you, Peter. There's another way to end this and you know it."

"I can't let you die."

"And I can't let everyone else. You saved the cheerleader, so we could save the world."

"I love you, Nathan."

"I love you too."

Nathan Petrelli walked towards his radioactive brother ignoring the heat emulating off him to tenderly brush his hair out of his face and pull him close like he did when he was a teen and Nathan an aspiring DA. And there was something he never expected to do – in all his months of campaigning he had never covered this – never figured out what to say when pressed with the question, "So was it really your brother who blew up most of New York City last Friday?"

Nathan slipped his hand into his jacket pocket as Peter practically collapsed into him, hugging him tightly and tucking his head into the crook of Nathan's shoulder. Nathan – never one for emotional displays – let him. He figured that Peter needed the comfort. Hell, he needed the comfort. Nathan rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, an itch forming between his shoulder blades as he forced himself not to shrug Peter off and scoff at him.

The problem wasn't that Peter was burning him – he was. Currently Nathan's pressed suit was crisping right onto his body. No, it was all the stares of the people behind him. His daughter – daughter, for fuck's sake; he had never expected that and he could fly – was expecting him to solve this, to take care of this without hurting Peter and…and he had a way but it would probably, no definitely hurt Peter.

And of course there was all those other people behind him. He saw Nikki behind him with her husband and who he presumed was her son along with another little girl and god, why were there children here of all places? Then there was Mohinder, his curly head bent over a bullet stricken man. He had an edgy, determined look on his face that just screamed "press conference in the future" Even the man who had tried to kidnap him out of his bed in the hotel in Vegas was here, leaning up against a pillar, obviously hurt.

These people were counting on him to save the day. And Peter too, especially Peter.

Nathan quelled the hysterical laugh that threatened to fight its way out of his throat and make itself known to all with the help of years of army training. Could he really do this- do what he planned? Nathan focused his attention of Peter again, well his mop of hair really and breathed in his scent. It was a mixture fear, desperation, that clean scent that nurses seemed carry along; and underneath that all, was a certain musky scent that Nathan recognized as purely Peter.

Nathan fingered the large shard of glass in his pocket. It was still bloody and red from the inside of Peter's head, it's edges jagged and Nathan swore lightly as he cut himself on it, drawing a thin line of blood on his forefinger. Nathan would reflect later, while staring at the scab in the darkness of his room that it was symbolic – the final mixing of blood between brothers.

Peter was a stranger to Nathan for most of his life, but then again, Nathan was a stranger in his own home for most of his life. Nathan had gone from boarding school to college to the army to an apartment on the Upper East Side. The perfect little soldier; daddy's little boy. There was little time for little brothers in that picture.

Nathan had learned of Peter's conception six months into the fact during a phone call home from boarding school. Nathan had first held him four months after his birth during Christmas vacation – even then, Peter was so contrary that he had to be born in September, a whole three weeks late and five days after Nathan had left for school in France.

From then on, well into college, it was a couple pictures a year and then after Peter finally turned three and began to make sense of word structure, short, stilted, yes-no conversations after which Nathan's mother would come on the phone and apologize – Peter was going through a faze; he was shy; he'd grow out of it when he saw Nathan again, because Peter just hero-worshiped his older brother – but Nathan knew that Peter really just didn't remember him. There were too little memories to draw from and the pool grew smaller every day.

Nathan came home for an extended stay a couple of months after his first leave from the army. It was after his tour abroad and entering his childhood home was as much a war zone as the streets of Rwanda with an increasing reclusive father; a cold mother; a colder house; and a stranger peering at him from between his knees and too long bangs.

Peter was fifteen the first time Nathan ever paid any real attention to him. He was gangly, all-arms-and-legs, a crooked smile, all dreams, no logic – nothing special really, but the first time Nathan saw him, he fell in love all over again.

It was like Nathan had been sleepwalking through life and Peter had finally woken him up.

Stifling back more memories, Nathan concentrated on the glass in his hand. He slowly began to draw it out of his pocket, keeping it close to his side.

"Nathan," Peter moaned, lifting his head to look his brother in the eye. "Do something." His fingers were clutching Nathan's shoulder, burning through the fabric and his eyes were frantic. His breathing quickened and Nathan gripped the glass tightly.

There was no time.

Nathan brought the glass up swiftly and ground it up the back of Peter's head, registering Claire muted scream in the background, but paying far more attention to his brother as he choked, hands weakly fluttering down Nathan's shirt. Slowly the unholy light faded from Peter's body and then Nathan had the distinctly unpleasant duty of watching the light that made Peter Peter fade from his eyes. And was that a look of gratitude in Peter's expression as he slumped forward, lips almost but not quite moving?

No, no, his brother was not trying to thank him for killing him. Nathan just couldn't think that way or he'd break, or maybe, maybe that was the way he needed to think. After all, this would be easier if he could think that this was what Peter wanted, wouldn't it?

Nathan adjusted his body so that Peter's limp body flopped into the crook of Nathan's shoulder and he was able to lift his little brother up and turn around to face the people in the square.

Nathan took a deep breath, steadying himself. He could do this. "We need to talk."

To Be Continued...