Fireworks

A/N: My little oneshot-thing, inspired by the events on November 9 in Kirby Plaza, from Nathan's perspective, with a prologue thing from Peter's point of view. I mean, his storyline is the most dramatic at this point, right? Thanks to Just Lilo for bringing to my attention some things I'd overlooked.

o

Peter was going to explode. There was no getting around it with excuses, or fancy metaphors, or an apology. He was going to explode, and kill all these people watching him with fear in their glassy eyes. It was just a matter of when. Claire sobbing as she tried to steady her hand on the gun was hardly helping. "There's got to be another way, Peter," she choked out, the words mangled by her misery.

And then, swooping down like a humanoid bird of prey, Nathan, of all people, the newly elected congressman, put his hand gently on the barrel, and lowered it, saying kindly to Claire, "Yes, there is, Claire. The future isn't written in stone." He turned to Peter, who panted, "I took his power, Nathan. I can't control it. I can't do anything."

"I'm not leaving you. There's another way to end this and you know it." Nathan walked to his brother, his face somber. With every step forward, Peter retreated one step back, until the backs of his legs were against the wall of the fountain.

"I can't let you die," Peter said with a cringe as the power gave a nasty kick. "And I can't let everyone else," Nathan responded, gesturing to the heroes scattered around the plaza. Although his voice remained steady, Nathan's eyes glistened as he reiterated the famous prophecy. "You saved the cheerleader so we could save the world."

For once, possibly the first time in his life, there were no ulterior motives. Nothing he could stand to gain, yet everything to lose. This really was a selfless act, one that moved Peter deep enough to gasp through clenched teeth, "I love you, Nathan."

Nathan nodded with a knowing smile that seemed slightly sad. "I love you too. You ready?" Peter dipped his head, and Nathan lunged forward; wrapping both arms around his radioactive brother and sprang into the air with a powerful kick of his superhuman legs. They soared up into the smoky Manhattan sky, never to be seen again.

o

Flying with a radioactive man in his arms was not high on Nathan Petrelli's list of things he'd like to do before he died, but it seemed to be the last thing he would do, considering that otherwise thousands of people would die, because of this radioactive man. His brother. Nathan was reminded of this as Peter grunted that he didn't want Nathan around at the time of the detonation, his voice drained from the exertion of holding in the radioactivity. The few seconds before the explosion were precious. They had to reach the right altitude, high enough to shelter those on the ground from the fallout, and low enough that, in case Peter miraculously survived, he could fall to a rooftop unscathed, or as unscathed as could be expected. Nathan, however…No rapid regeneration for him, no further genetic anomalies to save his life. And oddly enough, he was okay with that.

Nathan struggled against the winds as they rose through the night sky, irrestibly reminded of the last time he tried to fly with Peter in his arms. He vowed not to drop his brother again and tightened his grip. Peter's body was racked with convulsions, his burning hands clenching into Nathan's back. His younger brother's legs were hitched up around his waist, as if they were children again, playing a game of piggyback. Innocent children, two brothers laughing in the sun and wiggling their toes in the dirt. Just like Monty and Simon. What were they doing now? Nathan bit his tongue, imagining his sons flying in a jet overhead, faces pressed to a glass window wondering where Daddy was…

Don't think about it, don't think about it, Nathan chanted in his head. Tears were no good at this point, and would only hinder his vision. He gritted his teeth against the pain, both physical and emotional, and persevered.

As they soared, Nathan reflected on the last month he'd spent with Peter. He regretted the times he'd brushed off his brother and the excited retellings of his newfound abilities, his theories about life, that they were all connected. Skeptical bastard that he was, Nathan had remained steadfast in his belief that his brother was insane, unknowingly causing him pain. If he had the chance to do it over, Nathan would have listened that day at the campaign office, held him tighter when he caught him off the side of the building. He wouldn't have blamed Peter's jump on depression, he wouldn't have ignored Claire like he did. Nathan would have folded Peter into his arms on the day his little brother died and came back to life, and he never would have let go, murmuring all the while, "I'm so sorry." And maybe that still wouldn't be enough.

Suddenly, a long moan wrenched itself from Peter's lips. Nathan awoke from his reverie and looked his brother in the eyes. While the color was no longer hazel, the iris and pupils a fiery crimson, they were still Peter's eyes. The pain in those eyes broke Nathan's heart.

"Pete," he murmured, resting Peter's chin on his shoulder as they rapidly approached the detonation point, "Pete. You gotta hold on for just a second. We're almost there."

Peter nodded, sucked in a deep breath and held it, rallying his strength one last time. Slowly, the glow in his face subsided, leaving him strangely pale. Nathan realized that even if Peter did survive the explosion, he would only be a shadow of the man he once was, drained by the trauma of this. Pity welled up, and he did his best to swallow it back.

They came to a stop in midair, Kirby Plaza a speck in the distance. Nathan glanced down for a second, and looked back at his brother. Peter's face was taut with pain, his lips bared in an agonized grimace. Tears were pouring unhindered, clinging to his eyelashes and only visible for a second before they evaporated. Nathan felt a surge of protectiveness swell within him, cupped his brother's face, Peter's sweet, childlike face in his hands, reminiscent of Simon, Monty, even Claire, and kissed him chastely on the lips, ignoring the burn of his brother's flesh. A farewell to Peter, and in the same sense, a farewell to all the people he held close to his heart, and the ones he should have held closer. When they broke away, Nathan felt a wan smile on his lips and a sense of deep unmovable peace in his heart.

"Thank you," Peter whispered hoarsely. Nathan nodded, unable to speak through the hard lump in his throat. The glow surged up again, mottling Peter's skin a ghastly orange, so swift and so bright that Nathan had to look away. Then, at the last second, Peter threw his head back and unleashed the surge of radioactivity with an unearthly roar.

Nathan closed his eyes against the unnatural light – and the exploding man writhing at its heart – and serenely accepted his death.

His destiny.

Fin.