Chapter 2

When Peter continued to sneeze and sniffle through dinner, Mrs. Petrelli immediately sent him up to bed. "But Momma," Peter whined, looking at his older brother, hoping Nathan would stick up for him.

"You may be coming down with a cold, love," Mrs. Petrelli explained, feeling her youngest son's forehead, listening as he wheezed.

"But it's Nate's birthday," Peter whimpered, and she kissed him gently.

"I know, sweetheart. But if you are ill, I would rather you be in bed resting. Nathan will be up to check on you later, dear."

Peter sighed, and Nathan gave his brother an apologetic smile, watching as the youngest boy reluctantly shuffled up the steps. Mrs. Petrelli leaned her chin in her palm for a moment, and looked at her husband.

"Has Peter been feeling sick at all this week?" she asked, and Nathan shrugged.

"He didn't sneeze at all when I came home from school. We went out to play baseball before you and Dad got home, so..."

"Nathan," Mrs. Petrelli gasped in a scolding voice. "After it's been raining all day?"

"He did slip and fall in the mud, but I had him go change right away," Nathan explained.

"That shouldn't have made him start sneezing that quickly, dear," Mr. Petrelli replied, a frown on his face. "Our son has had colds before, and usually he starts showing symptoms much sooner than this."

"Well, we'll keep an eye on him tonight, and see if he improves," Mrs. Petrelli replied. "in the meantime, let's finish dinner, and then we can let Nathan open the rest of his presents."

Nathan grinned, trying to focus on his birthday rather than the idea that his baby brother might be sick. When dinner ended, Mrs. Petrelli went upstairs to check on Peter, while Nathan helped his father clean the dishes.

Upstairs, Mrs. Petrelli opened the door to her youngest son's bedroom, and saw him laying in bed reading a comic book.

"Hello, love. How are you feeling?" she asked, and Peter looked at her.

"Okay," he replied, and she frowned a little. "I was all stuffed up but now I'm not as much."

She sat down on the edge of the bed and used the digital thermometer she'd grabbed from the bathroom medicine chest, wanting to take his temperature just in case. Peter sat up so he could hold it under his tongue, and she held his hand while they waited for the familiar beep to go off.

"No fever," she announced once she pulled the thermometer out, and Peter sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm still going to ask you to stay in bed for the night, though, honey. Just in case." She tucked him in, and Peter gripped the blankets with his tiny fists.

"Can you tell Nate to come up and say good night with Bullet?" he asked, and Mrs. Petrelli smiled at her son.

"Of course," she promised, and Peter flashed one of his heart-melting smiles in reply.

Nathan sat on the living room floor playing with his dog when his mother stepped in, and encouraged him to go and see his brother.

"Is Pete okay?" Nathan asked, his eyes wide with curiosity, and Mrs. Petrelli nodded.

"He seems to be. If he starts to show anymore symptoms, fetch me at once, will you, Nathan?" she asked, and he nodded, carrying his dog up to his brother's room. Peter lay dozing when Nathan pushed open the door, though the younger boy immediately sat up when the new addition leapt onto his bed.

"Hi," Peter greeted as the dog licked his face, causing him to shriek with giggles.

"Feeling okay, then?" Nathan asked, sitting on the edge of his brother's bed, and Peter shrugged.

"Guess so," he replied, and gave another sniffle. "Wait..." he paused, and Nathan stared as Peter gave another sneeze.

"Get down, Bullet," Nathan ordered as his brother broke into another fit as he had downstairs, though this time coughing entered into the mix. "I'm gonna get Mom," Nathan gasped, and Peter gripped his arm, eyes wide.

"No," he whimpered, and Nathan narrowed his eyes.

"I have to," He argued. "Mom said if you started sneezing again that I had to get her. You don't want me to get in trouble, do you?"

Peter frowned, knowing he didn't, but the idea of his mother coming up and possibly making him go to the doctor in the morning wasn't a pleasant thought.

Nathan drug Bullet out of the bedroom at once, and rushed downstairs to grab his mother who sat sipping a cup of tea at the kitchen table.

"It's Peter," He choked when she asked what on earth was the matter, and didn't need to say another word. Nathan held Bullet tightly in his arms, watching as his mother flew up the steps once again.

Mrs. Petrelli sat with Peter until his breathing eased, encouraging him to blow his nose. "What's wrong with me, Momma?" Peter asked, and she smoothed his hair away from his face.

"I'm not entirely sure, sweetheart. Are you certain you felt well before Nathan came in with his dog?" she asked, and Peter shrugged.

"I felt okay," he replied. "Then Bullet jumped on the bed and I started feeling all itchy."

Mrs. Petrelli pulled her youngest son into a tight hug, a terrible thought crossing her mind. Peter had never been the healthiest of the two, catching colds from a mile away. He also seemed to be allergic to everything, and it would not be far-fetched if the new dog was the cause of the sudden symptoms.

"All right, love. I want you to rest...your breathing still sounds a little forced." She looked into his eyes, and he coughed as though to prove his point.

Peter allowed her to pull the blankets up to his chin, and he gave a small sigh. "I'm sorry I ruined Nathan's birthday," he whispered, and she squeezed his hand.

"Peter, you know you did nothing of the sort," she insisted.

"Tell him I'm sorry, anyway?" Peter croaked, and Mrs. Petrelli nodded.

"I will," she replied, before making her way downstairs. This time, Nathan sat at the kitchen table with his father, a blank expression on his face. Clearly, Mr. Petrelli had been explaining possible reasons for his youngest brother's sudden situation.

"Pete's allergic to the dog, isn't he, Mom?" Nathan asked, his voice cracking with emotion, and Mrs. Petrelli sat down next to her husband.

"It certainly seems that way," she replied. "Nathan, honey, I'm so sorry."

"He always makes a mess of everything!" Nathan spat, his sad face suddenly growing angry, and Mrs. Petrelli shook her head.

"Nathan, you know that's not true. Your brother can't help this. He would do anything for you, and I am horrified to hear you say such a terrible thing about him."

Nathan turned on his heel and stomped off, leaving both adults watching him with open mouths.

"He's at that age," Mr. Petrelli sighed. "he'll go on a rampage for a little while, and in the morning he'll treat Peter as though nothing happened."

"I wish there was something we could do," Mrs. Petrelli thought out loud, and heard her eldest son's bedroom door slam shut.