Hey y'all!!! :):):).

Thank you to everyone who read or reviewed the prologue (the reviews really made me smile so thanks! :D).

In the chapter, the adorably amazing Peter Petrelli will make his entrance! (woop woop!!! :P). Milo Ventimiglia deserves a huge thank you for his incredible ability to bring this character to life - without his talent, there would be no Heroes FanFiction on Peter at all *argh! =O* hehehe. So thank you Milo!

This chapter is pretty violent in places so I just wanted to warn you beforehand. Also, to spare confusion, this takes place maybe 10-15 minutes before the prologue (so hopefully you can see how the scenes link) ;).

Playlist: -

Aqualung - Left Behind

The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus - Your Guardian Angel

Nine Inch Nails - Hurt

Snow Patrol - Run

Creed - One Last Breath

Chapter 1: Fallen From Grace.

Torrential rain coveted the city of New York, unrelenting in its attacks. The streets were practically flooded as taxis ploughed their way through relentlessly. Constant spears of raindrops hailed down to the world below: a translucent sheet to anyone who struggled their way through it.

Peter Petrelli was one of these unfortunate people.

He shuddered, tugging his now drenched coat tighter around his body. He had literally just walked a block away from his apartment before being hit by the taunting weather. He had no reason to go back – his last umbrella had been caught in an unfortunate updraft and was never seen again.

The long dark bangs flopped in front of his eyes and he flicked his head, knocking them back for the twentieth time in one minute. He felt weighed down, his soaked through jeans continuously slipping at his skinny waist and, embarrassingly, he had to keep tugging them up before he was arrested for indecent exposure.

That's just give Nathan something else to laugh at me for, he thought to himself, cursing his runaway umbrella for the last bout of jests his big brother had sent his way.

Glancing up from his hunched position as he tried to shield himself from the weather, Peter watched a taxi go by wistfully. His urge to hail for a cab had been easily overpowered by the need to eat, and with cash being particularly strapped at the moment, food took priority.

But even starving seems more appealing right now.

Too engrossed in his own self-pity, he failed to notice the taxi speeding along the road towards him: well, him, and the monstrously huge puddle positioned directly next to him.

All he saw when he next looked up was a huge wall of water heading directly for him. He gasped, attempting to lift his arms up in an attempt at a barrier.

It was futile.

The harsh cold of the water made him screech and he stumbled back a few steps. Opening his eyes in a squint, his mouth hung open comically, he glanced down at himself. And he thought he couldn't be any more soaked…

His favourite red hoodie clung to his chest while it sagged at the bottom, now drooping down towards his knees. With the enforced weight, his jeans had made another desperate bid at falling down and Peter hastily stopped them, tugging them up and hoping nobody saw.

But then again, everybody else who had to be out in this weather had taken a cab.

Sighing, Peter shook his head from side to side, sending drops of water everywhere. "Nathan's gonna have a field day when he sees me," he murmured like a kicked puppy, before enveloping himself tightly within his saturated coat once more.

He winced as his trainers squelched as he walked and he realised that, bitterly, the only thing the rain could possibly do now was make him drier. Luck just wasn't on his side today.

Stifling a cough, he dragged himself down the street, the fading light of the day doing nothing to aid his situation. He had thought about calling ahead to let them know that there was a slight chance he might be late - if he wasn't already - as he was dragging about ten pounds more extra weight than before. But he had the small suspicion that his mobile may have drowned.

His entire frame shivered harshly and he stopped for a moment, trying to catch his breath. The cold was beginning to compress in his chest and even without a medical degree, he'd have known that hypothermia would start creeping up on him soon.

Inhaling deeply, he nodded his head as his own confirmation to go, and began brisker steps towards his destination. He was glad that he had in fact walked this route before and therefore his impaired sight held no obstacle for him.

But if I flew… he stopped that trail of thought abruptly. He had only flown twice, and both times had been with Nathan nearby. As far as Peter could tell, his brother was the catalyst that allowed him to take flight and without him there, he wasn't sure if he could do any more than jump up and down on the spot.

The bottom of his jeans caught on his opposite foot and he stumbled for a moment, almost going to one knee as his clothes practically willed him to fall. Catching his balance, he focussed on placing one foot in front of the other.

Besides, even if I could fly on my own, I doubt I'd be able to push myself off of the ground with this weight.

Trembling again, Peter proceeded to wrap his arms fully around his torso, ducking his head back down for cover. As the wind blew, it knocked his hair back from his ears, allowing them to instantly freeze in the harsh weather.

Peter winced. Red ears, red nose, red hoodie, drooping clothes: sounds like a deranged Christmas story where Santa gets depressed and turns anorexic.

Trying to pick up the pace, Peter took a quick look around, trying to recognise his surroundings through the rain. He groaned aloud as he realised that he still had several tedious blocks to pass before he reached the Petrelli household.

Mom's gonna be angry, he realised, not exactly being a standing fan of Angela Petrelli's wrath. After all, the invitation was simple: Dinner at our house. Nathan and his family are coming. Don't turn up late! Try to look presentable.

The only part of the invitation that Peter could say had probably been accomplished, was that Nathan and his family would be there. At this rate, he would most definitely be late and, not only that, but clearly this evening he would be attempting to pull off the 'drowned rat' look. As for dinner, by the time he arrived, he had no doubt that Angela would have given up any hope of him actually arriving and disposed of his.

I should've taken the cab – I knew it!

He paused, looking to his left and seeing a dark alleyway. He remembered taking it before as a shortcut to get to the Petrelli house – he recognised the graffiti of an eclipse on the wall.

Peter took a step towards it, before he stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably. Of course, when he had last taken this shortcut, it had been daytime. With the sun almost set, the alley had a sinister feel about it and the youngest Petrelli gulped slightly.

If you don't take it, you'll be really late and you know how that turns out. He inwardly recoiled at the memory of the last time he hadn't been as prompt as what had been expected. Besides, you're an adult now – you shouldn't be so freaked out by one alleyway.

He knew he was being childish to be so suspicious, but his caution stubbornly remained. Nathan would do it without a second thought… and that was the deciding factor.

Nathan had always been his hero: the one he had looked up to all through his life. No matter what it was, Nathan seemed to be able to fix it. He was the golden boy of the family and Peter knew he would always be living in the immense shadow cast by his big brother. It didn't matter though. Nathan deserved to be a hero of the world, just like how he was the constant hero of Peter's.

With only a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, he entered the alleyway. Pleasantly, he noticed that the walls of the alley protected him from the wind and even sheltered him from the worst of the rain. By this point though, it wasn't like it really mattered, but any small relief was a relief all the same.

He moved with grace between the overturned dustbins and increasing puddles that lay ahead of him. Coughing, he rubbed a hand against his chest, trying to soothe the ache that rested there. He lowered the other hand to the waistband of his jeans, tugging them up again as they slid.

He was, truly, a miserable sight to behold.

As he passed a side alley, he failed to notice a man dressed completely in black that watched him. The unnerved feeling persisted, but simply burying himself deeper into his cream-coloured coat, he picked up the pace, leaving the man behind.

Peter couldn't help but shake the feeling that someone was watching him. He knew that it was probably just his surroundings that were making him feel paranoid – after all, horror films totally drank up dark, secluded alleyways on a raining night.

It was a perfect setting for a perfect crime.

Ahead of him, two men stepped out from behind a dumpster and Peter froze immediately, eying them with distrust. He turned, beginning to make a retreat back from where he had come from when two more men appeared, blocking his way.

His heart began to race as he stood still, head twisting from side to side as he took in the two pairs of men advancing towards him. Still clutching his sodden coat close to him, he backed away towards the wall, trying to keep the men in his sights as he did so.

"Oh, look at 'im! You scared little Princess?"

Peter glared at the comment, directing it to whoever had spoken at his right. He stepped back again, flinching as his back collided with the wall. Trying to still the panic, to maintain his glare on the man who had spoken, Peter inwardly felt the despair clutch at him.

Nowhere else to go…

"He's a pretty one, this'un," commented a grating voice and Peter jumped at the proximity. He pulled away as one of the men on his left reached him, lifting a hand towards his face. The fingers stretched further, despite Peter's obvious attempts to move away. "So pretty…"

Peter wanted to say something. 'Leave me alone' seemed like a good way to start, but he couldn't force out the words. Besides, he doubted that these men would actually do as he instructed. He certainly wasn't intimidating enough to scare them away.

A hand gripped his arm and he started, swinging around and aiming a strong left hook at his attacker. Pain erupted in his knuckles as they met their target and the hand was, thankfully, released with a grunt.

Before he even knew what was happening, a knee buried itself into his slim abdomen and the air was forced out of his lungs. Peter gasped, doubling over as he struggled to draw in oxygen, his arm now cradled protectively over the injury.

Again, hands grabbed at him and unable to retaliate this time, he was pushed up against the wall, his head cracking back against the bricks. He felt the sets of hands on his arms hoist him upwards off of his feet, and he struggled, legs kicking out uselessly at his restrainers. Something sharp was pushed against his neck and he held back a wince as what he knew to be a knife dug into his skin.

"Feisty little one ain't ya?!" spat out the grating-voiced man, and Peter stared down at him with blurred and pain-filled eyes. The man before him was bald, with a scar leading from where his hairline should have been to just above his right eyebrow.

A moan to his right attracted his attention and the man who he had punched stumbled into view, clutching his now bloodied face, "My nose! The little shit broke my nose!"

His hand fell away momentarily and inwardly grimacing, Peter made the assessment that he had indeed broken his nose. Oops…

Breathing heavily, Peter allowed his gaze to fall on the two hooded men that held him up, before it fell back upon the bald one. "W-What… do you… want?"

The question was forced as he struggled to breathe regularly. His stomach still hurt and he knew that he was badly winded. It didn't help that the cold proceeded to steal his breath away, the soaked clothes stinging his skin bitterly.

"Well, originally, we was gonna rob ya for your money." Chuckling, the bald man lifted a hand, brushing away Peter's bangs much to the younger man's revulsion. "But you don't look like ya have any on ya."

The two men that held him laughed darkly and Peter's expression hardened. He kept his head very still, feeling the knife nick at his skin and what he supposed to be blood began to trickle down his neck.

A look that Peter couldn't place, but that still managed to make him feel increasingly nervous, crossed the bald man's face. He clamped his mouth shut, breathing deeply through his nose in an attempt to control his amounting fear.

"But now…" the knife lifted from its position on his neck and now hovered before his face, tracing imaginary lines all over it. A tongue slithered out past the man's chapped lips and he edged in closer. "You really are a catch… pretty boy."

Peter controlled the whimper of terror in his throat as the man's eyes trailed down the length of his body. He tensed in the hold that kept him suspended and readied himself to make an escape attempt.

The knife had now been lowered as Baldy abruptly invaded way too much of Peter's personal space, pressing up against him. "Maybe you can repay us in another way."

The suggestion was abundantly clear, even to a gentle, kind soul like Peter's. He met the dark eyes that stared at him lustfully and tried not to throw up. Although, maybe vomit in the eyes might make him back off a bit, he reasoned, before feeling the man lean closer into him.

"Go screw yourself."

As soon as he said the words, he swung out with his foot, catching Baldy neatly in between his legs. A disgruntled noise, like a pig being gutted Peter imagined, erupted from his gaping mouth and he fell backwards.

Swinging out wildly, Peter managed to catch his restrainers hard in the sides and their grip loosened. He pushed off of the wall, slipping from their clutches before he took off running. Deftly, he dodged to the side, out of the way of broken-nose guy's angered lunge.

Heart beating in his throat, all previous thoughts of exhaustion banished from his mind, Peter raced down the alleyway, determined to get away. Nathanwas his only thought: the thought of his big brother protecting him as always giving him the strength to run.

Before he could get clear of the alley, burning agony erupted in the back of his thigh and he screamed. His knees buckled and he hit the floor hard, the side of his face and hands ripping against the hard concrete. His eyes opened, wide and terrified as he felt the burning stab of pain pulsate in his leg with every racing heartbeat.

"Got him!"

The yell came from behind him and he raised his head, spying the open street only a few feet away. Stretching out a hand, fingernails digging and cracking on the hard floor, he dragged himself onwards, groaning in pain.

Rain still bore heavily down on him, hardening his struggle as he dragged his aching and bleeding body towards safety. He could hear running footsteps behind him and gasped in panic, wrenching his body harshly down across the ground.

Suddenly he was pinned down: a choked noise erupted from his lungs as his ribs were crushed under the weight. He felt a sting in his leg followed by an intense rip and he cried out, tears rolling down his already rain-drenched cheeks.

He blinked upwards, hurt etched in his pale features as broken-nosed man appeared before him. The thug lifted the knife, now bloody up to the hilt and swung it back and forth like a pendulum, grinning cruelly. "Ya don't get away that easily."

Moving out of his line of sight, Peter slumped against the floor as the heavy weight atop of him was lifted. The reprieve was brief before harsh kicks started raining down on him, catching him in the chest and side. He attempted to curl in on himself to get away from the attacks, but it was no use: the blows just kept on coming.

After one particularly hard kick to his side, he felt some ribs crack and he gasped, finding it instantly harder to breathe. He thought he heard somebody tell them to stop but as far as he was concerned, it was too late and his face fell forward against the cold floor.

Aches were now constant, spiking along his body with each miniscule movement. Peter coughed, body trembling with the cold and abuse and he felt blood begin to conjugate in the back of his throat.

Shit.

His head was wrenched upwards and had Peter even wanted to make a sound, he couldn't. The taste of the rising blood managed to distract him from the pain as someone yanked on his hair, keeping his head raised reluctantly off of the floor.

"You shouldn't've done that."

Peter couldn't agree more, watching Baldy's angry face as it swum above him. He blinked slowly, realising that it only made his vision worse. Fantastic…

He coughed weakly, clamping his mouth shut as he felt blood trickle over his lips and down his chin. Baldy filled his view now, gripping his chin and studying the bright red stain intensely. Something like a snarl escaped him and he released Peter, who, caught unaware, did nothing to prevent his short descent.

His already bloody and abused face smacked hard against the concrete, white pain erupting from his nose. Instant moisture clouded his eyes and he felt a nosebleed begin promptly: blood racing over his upper lip and swiftly joining the massing rivulets that stained his chin.

Distorted voices met his ears and Peter turned his head on one side, not really trying to listen. It was his own pitiful attempt at putting himself in the recovery position as breathing was becoming steadily impossible with the blood flowing from both of his air passages.

"N-Na… th'n."

He knew Nathan wouldn't hear him: he might have been Superman in Peter's eyes, and even literally considering he had the ability to fly, but he didn't have instant victim intuition. There was no way of his family knowing he was in trouble – they'd have just chalked it up to him being unable to turn up on time as usual.

I'm gonna die here, and they're not even going to realise.

He heard shuffling behind him and he instinctively tensed. A pair of shoes appeared before his face and he focussed on the Nike sign across them: bright, bold and prominent against the deep black surrounding it. Something brushed against his side and he winced before rough hands grabbed onto his hips.

"You're lucky you're still pretty, even when you're messed up."

Hazel eyes widened from their half-lidded state as the words filtered through his hazy mind. They were still going to… even when he was dying… God, no!

He attempted to struggle, each jerk causing him to almost black out for a few seconds. He was instantly held down and he whimpered loudly, powerless to do anything about it.

The hands at his hips gripped his baggy, soaked jeans, fingers looping over the waistband. The fingers were cold as they brushed against his skin and Peter shuddered, bringing on another bout of coughs. He heard the distinct splatter of his blood against the floor over the patter of rain and he gasped, back arching slightly as he inhaled.

"Hurry up… ain't got long…"

That was broken-nosed guy, or at least, that's who Peter imagined it would be. He felt sick, physically, mentally, emotionally… they knew he was in trouble here, possibly dying, but they were still going to… How can people act this way?

Peter had often been told he was naïve, that he put too much trust in the fairness of humanity. He had never believed it until now. It was just tragic that he had to experience the horror first hand to truly understand.

Silently, he sobbed, raging fear boiling under his skin. He knew what was about to happen and he was just terrified. His pulse had begun to spike erratically once more and he was almost hyperventilating, his body close to convulsions with the shock he was putting himself into.

The jeans began to slide…

A single tear formed and fell, hanging off of one of his eyelashes. He blinked and it fell, dribbling from the corner of his eye before travelling diagonally over the bridge of his nose. It then sank into his torn cheekbone, adding yet another sting to the countless injuries on the youngest Petrelli's frail body.

This was it…

Help me, someone, please…

The fingers that had been digging lustfully into his hipbones were suddenly wrenched away and Peter gasped aloud in surprise. The Nike shoes ahead of him were thrown abruptly out of his line of sight and the restraining hold over him vanished.

It was his chance.

He had to get away now.

Finding purchase beneath his shaking frame, his hands pushed upwards, forcing his body into a runner-type pose. He lifted his weary head, fading vision aimed on the street ahead.

Nathan.

Pushing off of his unwounded leg, he shot forwards, gravity losing its grip upon him. Thoughts of his brother granted him the wings to fly and he accepted them willingly, rising into the rain-filled sky and heading for the masses of clouds.

Thunder roared. If it was furious at him or the men who had assaulted him, he didn't know, but it instantly made him move faster.

The harsh wind battered his already abused body, knocking him out of his straight-line trajectory. He grunted, the force causing his broken ribs to shift and more blood to spill from his lips. It clogged in his throat and he choked, retching.

Consciousness was fleeing him rapidly and he lost altitude, falling loosely through the air. More than once, he had to catch himself, managing to straighten his spine enough to keep him horizontal.

He couldn't see where he was going as the rain persisted, still adamantly unrelenting. The seeping darkness further worsened his sight and he practically flew blind through the heartless weather. In the end, he had to simply trust his faith in Nathan to keep him on course.

As his desperate adrenaline rush began to ebb away, agony practically stabbed him when all of his wounds were made known at once. He yelled out, his flight halted. Eyes rolling in their sockets, Peter lost all control, plummeting back down towards the ground.

Drenched hair whipped back as he fell headfirst, completely limp and pliant. Gravity had once again captured him as its prisoner…

The raindrops raced him, keeping pace with him as he cut through the open air, nothing to stop his inevitable collision.

Peter.

Peter's brow furrowed, heavy lids pulled back by the velocity of his descent, eyes still rolling.

Peter.

His fists clenched by his sides, nails digging into the ripped skin of his palms. Each muscle began to tense, his body preparing itself for his mind to awaken.

Peter!

Intense irises appeared, along with pupils the size of pinpricks as he struggled back to alertness. With tremendous effort, he dragged himself upwards so that his stomach was facing the floor. Bending his one knee slightly, trying not to aggravate the knife wound, he kicked out, shooting forwards like a bullet in a desperate attempt to rectify his weakness.

But despite saving himself from becoming a splatter on the hard ground, Peter couldn't pull up any higher: his pain-threshold long since surpassed.

He saw the wall first, his spine somehow granting him the ability to twist just enough to avoid it. And then, a large garden of grass followed, which he welcomed obligingly. After all, grass was much better than pavement.

Peter hit the ground hard, grunting at the contact. His body flipped in the air, before landing back down again and rolling haphazardly across the now churned up grass. His reprieve had, kindly, been granted long before he slumped to a stop, his mind finally allowing him to escape the hurts of his physical form.

Laid lifelessly across the garden floor, Peter looked like a broken toy: pale and with arrayed limbs strewn about him. His eyes were tightly closed, but the blood from his nose and lips continued to flow, aided by the cruel rain.

It was the only sign that he was still alive.

And, with the hands of time positioned against him, that wasn't going to be for much longer…

... Oops? :/.

Anyone who has read my fics before for other shows knows that I have a real bad tendency to severely injure the main characters (sorry!).

I hope you all liked it and please review to let me know what you think!!! :D

The next chapter brings in Nathan and Angela Petrelli, and I'll try to get it done so I can update asap.

Thanks for reading!!! :):):).

Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;).