Set in the alternative universe of 1x20 (Five Years Gone), but it's a 'what if…' fic. It doesn't follow the original plot, and it's my vision of what would have happened if Peter arrived in time to save Claire from Sylar.

The promise to survive

She collapse in your arms and the smell of blood risks to make your head explode, your roaring and screaming voice is far away and makes your ears burn. You realize only after a few seconds that the deathly thud that just rumbled in your ears is the noise of your knees falling on the ground of what once was your home.

…

You dip the handkerchief in the cup of hot water, before making it slide slowly along the bloody wakes that encrust her face. You can see your hands trembling, and you grind your teeth trying to calm yourself. Pointless.

She's cold at the contact with your fingers, if it weren't for her breath so frenetic to shake her at every beat you would think that she's really… no. It can't be. What a pathetic bastard.

She moves a bit her head, without opening the eyes. You would like her to do it again. You wish she woke and slapped your face, shouting how disgusting you are for having abandoned her in that way for five fucking years. Because you're tired of the people who don't throw your mistakes in your face because they're afraid of you.

You blink violently, continuing to ask yourself why the hell that son of a bitch didn't put an end to both's lives. You were at his feet.

You move the hand from her face when you see her half-opening the eyes. Maybe someone else would smile at her, but you don't. You can't, you're not capable of, or you don't know what. Just no, shit, you don't smile.

"Pe… ter…"

"… sh" you make her sign not to worry. For an instant her voice nearly made you vacillate. But it's just an instant.

You wish that what is pouring along her face mixing with the scarlet trickles weren't tears, that it was your imagination. Maybe because you know that you don't have the right to wipe them away.

"… where… is he…" she coughs weakly.

"He's gone" you swallow "don't think about him. Does it hurts?" and either you don't know what you're talking about. The head, maybe.

She squeezes for a moment her eyes. "It's like I was… on fire"

You know what she would like to tell you, but she can't. You know she would like to tell you how horrible it has been. Maybe even thank you, but really, no need. Rather, it's better this way, because she would end up making you think of what would have happened if you hadn't arrived, and no, you totally have no will to think of that.

"… thank… you" but she does, finally. And she smiles.

"Don't think about it" you repeat mechanically, and if everything wasn't pathetic enough you would end up feeling embarrassed. You fell out of the habit of seeing people smiling.

"… the man who…" other tears. "The man… who wanted to kill me…"

You feel the blood seething in your mouth. "Yes, Sylar"

She bites her lip. You would like to make her understand that there's no need to talk about it at all costs, but you would end up spitting blood with rage, if you opened your mouth in that moment.

"He was… the man I saw… when I arrived, when they took me… they took me here… and… he was…"

"… Claire, just cut it off, okay? Sleep" you barely graze her raven hair without meaning to, but she doesn't seem to notice it. Maybe she didn't even hear you.

"… Nathan"

A name, and everything falls down. A name and you don't care a damn if you will spit blood or every other crap, because no, no, and again no, he must not have nothing to do with a situation that already smells like death and filth without him. Your brother. The same who banished you all, yes, your brother.

"What… what did Nathan do?" you haven't said that name aloud for so long that your tongue slurs.

"It was… him"

"No"

The suffering is printed on her face with a clearness that almost makes you shiver. "… I… wish it.. it wasn't like this, but I swear you that…"

"It wasn't Nathan" you stand up with a burst that cause the chair to fall on the ground.

It's all so loud that you go on even if she didn't answer anything. "IT WASN'T NATHAN, DAMN IT!! DID YOU UNDERSTAND, CLAIRE?! IT.CAN'T.BE.NATHAN"

No. It can't be Nathan. Nathan is fighting his fucking battle against he only knows what. But he would never hurt you. And you need to believe it like a child, because be serious, what else have you still got?

Claire's eyes are low and dull, or maybe simply too dim.

"I didn't… didn't mean to scare you, I… Claire…" you sit again, dipping the face in your hands.

"… you don't have to trust me, if you don't want" is the feeble answer you get.

"Don't ever say it again. Never… think about Nathan, okay?"

Words are burning in her throat, and you read it on her face. But she nods.

Now her hand is between yours, and you're gripping it too hard.

"You must promise me that you will survive"

You would think that it's a joke if someone addressed you like that, but you need to tell her this. She isn't asking you anything, and you're overwhelming her with your mad claims, all to keep alive that mad world existing in your head and nowhere else.

She moves softly the hand, and her fingers caress your forehead. "He may come back"

"… just promise it"

"O… okay"

"Say it: I promise you I won't die"

"… I promise you I won't die, Peter"

Thnk you. But you don't say it. She already knows.