Even Heroes Fall

Summary: Peter is faced with a difficult choice in NY. One shot.

A/N: This story takes place during the third episode "Walking the Line." What if Peter didn't attend a meeting and chose the bar instead? I did make one slight change – I gave Peter a cell phone instead of the pay phone he used in the episode.

A Peter-centric fic since there isn't nearly enough for him. One shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Peter stood, one hand frozen on the cold, metal door handle of the bar, the other closed tightly around the arrowhead Frank had given him before he left.

'…so you remember where you belong.'

He closed his eyes for a split second, willing himself to forget that moment, to forget the last seven years, and then pulled open the door and stepped inside. He blinked, his eyes adjusting from the bright sun to the dim lights of the bar. There was a time in his life when the smoky, dark bar felt as much home to him as Horizon did now. There was a time when this was where he belonged.

The place was nearly empty – only a few people sat scattered around the bar. The bartender didn't even look up when Peter walked in and took a seat at the furthest end of the bar.

"What can I get you?" came the gruff voice as he threw a cocktail napkin in front of Peter.

"Gin and tonic, please." It scared Peter a little how quickly the order rolled off his tongue.

The bartender mixed his drink and sat it in front of him, never cracking a smile. "Should I start you a tab?"

Peter wondered if his desperation was so obvious that it was painted across his face. He nodded and pulled his drink closer. It was hot inside the bar and the cool droplets of water already forming on the glass felt refreshing as they skimmed across his fingertips. He sighed, thinking that it wasn't too late to walk away – to make a different choice, but his mind kept reliving his morning, his past, his failures.

'You just threw it all away…up your nose, in your veins, down your throat…'

He lifted the glass to his lips, hesitated for only a second, and poured the contents down his throat. It burned slightly, and he recoiled, then ordered another.

'What do they say? One day at a time? What about tomorrow Peter?'

It had been seven years. Seven years since he sat in a bar like this one, drowning his sorrows in the bottom of his glass. He thought he had come so far, but really, it seemed he had just walked in a circle, ending right back where he had started: still searching for his father's approval, still taking the easy way out. How much more of his life would he spend this way?

As he drained his second drink and motioned for a third he felt his cell phone buzz in his jacket pocket. He glanced down at the number – Horizon. No doubt it was Hannah returning his call. He pressed ignore and wished that he could ignore the things his father had said so easily.

'Do you know what it's like having a drug addict for a son? What people think? You swore you kicked it a thousand times, what's one more time?'

He swirled the liquid in his glass and thought about what he had just done. Hannah had told him before he left that he was a different man now, but that wasn't true. Inside, he was still the same old Peter he used to be. He thought about his students, how he preached to each of them before they returned home to "use their tools" and to "make good choices." What tools was he using now? What good choice was he making? He couldn't even follow his own advice, how did he expect his students to?

'I just wish I had a son I could be proud of.'

The truth was he wasn't all that different from his students. He dealt with the same disapproval from his father, the same self-loathing that all of his students had buried inside of themselves. It wasn't fair to set himself apart as an example to his kids; he wasn't a hero. As he drained his glass again he tried to block out their faces, but found that with each sip, he saw them even more.

He was Scott, numbing his pain in the first vice he could find, desperate to not feel.
He was Juliette, constantly trying to prove himself worthy.
He was Shelby, too hurt to let others know how he really felt.
He was Kat, wrapped up in past grief.
He was Auggie, not sure of where he really belonged.
He was Ezra, searching to escape the pain of failure.

He was each and every one of his students, and it hurt.

Peter threw a large bill down on the bar and gave a wave of thanks to the bartender. His students deserved better than this.

It had been only a few hours since he first entered the bar, and Peter was surprised to again be greeted by warm sunshine beating down on him as he left. The day had felt like a lifetime. He hesitated for minute, wondering where to go next. He walked down the street, slightly tipsy from the heat and alcohol and found himself at a welcoming place just a few doors down. He needed to make the choice he should have made the first time. His students deserved that much. Hell, he deserved that much.

He pulled open the doors and again paused as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, but instead of the stench of cigarettes and booze he was welcomed by the smell of stale coffee and day old pastries. A few heads turned when he entered the small room, but the young man speaking at the front didn't miss a beat as Peter took a seat near the back.

It was never too late, isn't that what he always taught his students? Maybe the lesson wasn't about never screwing up. Maybe the lesson to be learned had changed. Because sometimes even heroes fall, and it's the getting back up that makes the difference.

The small crowd applauded politely as the speaker finished. "I see some new faces here," the young man continued, "Welcome to AA." He paused and glanced in Peter's direction. "If anyone wants to introduce themselves we're a friendly group."

Peter gave a half smile and stood, "Hi, I'm Peter, and I'm an alcoholic…"