Disclaimer: I do not own "Heroes" or any of the characters described below. (Where have you heard that before?)
Summary: Everything gets worse on family trips.
Tripping
On family trips, it was always Nathan's job to watch Peter and make sure he didn't wander away."Watch Peter, Nathan," his mother would say as the car was loaded, "and make sure he doesn't wander away." Here she would smile, that strange sad-and-happy smile Nathan never understood. Her eyes would crinkle, and she would almost whisper, "again."
"Now, Nathan," his father would say, as they arrived at the day's distraction, "watch your brother. Make sure he doesn't wander away again." Dad's eyes were always busy, and very sharp. There was something else there too, though, something dull and hot that hid and was—usually—quiet. Nathan pretended it wasn't there, just like everyone else.
Peter had something of a reputation for disappearance on those family trips. He never meant to upset anybody (his mother repeated this vehemently as her tears died and the hugs grew looser) or even, it seemed, to go anywhere. But there was always (always) something. Something to see, to avoid, to find…
This was standard operating procedure with Peter. It just got worse, as many things do, on family trips.
There was the time (the first Nathan could remember, before he had been given his job) when Peter had decided to join a family flying a kite on the beach. Nathan was seven at the time, and he could still remember his mother's frantic screeches as she turned full circle and not found her little boy. Peter had been missing for twenty minutes when the mother of his new family had heard the commotion and connected them with the little tagalong.
Only Peter, Dad would later say in his better moods, could find a Dutch family to get lost with, three miles from home.
Then there had been the searingly memorable trip to the zoo (Nathan was nine,) when they had finally found Peter in the Butterfly House. Fascinated, had been watching those glorified moths flutter through their sad little lives for three quarters of an hour. Apparently he had never left with the rest of the Petrellis, the fact of which did not make life (or sitting) easy for Nathan afterwards. Still, it wouldn't have been so bad if Peter had just stopped gabbing about those stupid butterflies. Three days later, butterflies, butterflies, butterflies were still all he could talk, think, or even (it seemed) dream about. This, of course, helped no one forget the incident or the accompanying parental hysterics. Nathan took to kicking Peter under the table whenever he opened his mouth, but this, it turned out, only exacerbated the situation. It took three solid weeks before Nathan decided that his family had returned to pre-zoo functioning. Those were not three weeks Nathan thought he would be adding to his all-time best list.
That, of course, was before the camping trip.
A/N: This story got longer than I anticipated... I could continue, if you like.