Author's Note: wow. People seem to really like this story XD

zookitty: I learned alot in my general psychology course bout the brain, and remembered much of it here, just had to look up one or two things XD

Thanks charmedtomeetyou, ShaolinQueen, sami1010220, Polly, and marinawings

Enjoy everyone, and please review XD

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Claire was playing messenger girl apparently between Nathan and his mother. So she was given the daunting task of trying to drag Nathan away from Peter. She'd rather die. She knew Nathan wouldn't leave that room willingly, so this would be tricky.

"He needs rest, Claire. He's no good for any of us going the way he is." Angela told her. She asked why Angela wouldn't do it herself, but only got a glare in return. That woman was by far the strangest she had ever meet.

So with the caution of a white tail deer crossing the road she eased herself into Peter's room. Both Petrelli males were sleeping, one in a peaceful position, the other in one that would leave him stiff beyond on imaginings. No matter how comfortable the chair, sleeping in one was a bad idea.

"Nathan?" She whispered, creeping towards him. His head hung down, chin touching his chest; His arms bent into his lap curled loosely around the same book as before, and his legs in an indian sitting position on the chair.

"Nathan?" She whispered again after he didn't stir the first time around. She was close enough to reach out and touch his arm gently. That was enough to wake him up. Instantly the inanimated became animated. His head snapped up, and he blinked a few times before yawning and focusing on Claire with his sleep deprived eyes.

"What is it Claire?" He asked in a quiet gruff voice.

"You should sleep in an actual bed." She replied.

"I'm fine." He refused.

"The chair will kill your back, if it already isn't." Claire returned.

"Who's the parent here?" He growled back.

"Don't kill the messenger, your mother sent me." She said softly. "And I agree with her." She continued in an even quieter voice.

"Alright." He gave in. Her eyes lite up, suprised that he gave in so quickly. He must have been really tired. She watched as he struggled to his feet, almost ready to help him if he was already stiff, which seemed to be the case. Her eyes didn't leave him until staggered out the door and shut it.

Claire then glanced at Peter, who laid peacefully and tugged tightly within the blankets sleeping quietly. She smirked slightly then sat down in what was once Nathans' spot.

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After leaving the room He found his mother in his office downstairs, sipping on some wine and reading. He looked at her for a second longer, waiting for her to notice him and look up from the book she had been reading.

"I called Heidi, and told her to stay in Nantucket for a few more days." She said without even looking up at him.

"What reason did you give her?" He asked, knowing full well she lied to his wife. A small burst of anger came and went. Heidi understood the bond between him and Peter better then his mother did. And one day He would tell her the truth, the whole truth. She deserved that.

"I told her you and Peter caught a bad cold, and you didn't want her and the boys to get it." She replied nonchalantly. Nathan only nodded then moved towards the sitting room, where this hell all began. He stared at the cushion where Peter's cadaver once laid.

He was really glad that he was still alive...or returned to life, whatever the hell happened. But it was beginning to look like it was going to be more hell then it was worthe to bring him back. He was in so much pain. Nathan hated, absolutely Hated, seeing Peter in pain. He hated that he felt it too in his own bones and veins.

Maybe he would have been better off staying dead.

The moment he thought that, he regretted it. He didn't wish for this hell, but Peter was alive. He had to keep telling himself, things would get better. Things had to get better. Otherwise Nathan would end up in a mental institution. The eldest brother rubbed his eyes roughly as he escalated the stairs again, almost tripping up them from his fatigue.

Claire and his mother were correct, he needed sleep. He stumbled down the hallway and found his own bedroom, and promptly collapsed on it. Shoes, Cloths, and all. He didn't even bother to get underneath the covers. He didn't have the strength. He was asleep within seconds.

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Crash.

His eyes popped open wide. Before he was conciously aware of it, he was on his feet and hurling himself towards Peter's room. He knew that was the general area where the loud noise came from. He ripped open the door, nearly taking off its' hinges in the process, to find Peter sprawled over the edge of the bed. His legs were on the bed, entangled in the sheets and covers, and his chest and arms flailed out on the carpet.

What was worse was next to Peter's head laid a pile of the soup that Peter had downed a few hours prior. He couldn't keep it down apparently, and in an attempt to move towards the bathroom, he couldn't get his body to move properly towards it. Ending in the crash and expelling of the vile on the floor.

Claire was by his side trying to get him back to the bed, but Peter refused, pulling from her grasp. The last shred of Peters' dignity was gone, and it was obvious that his little brother didn't know it, trying to maintain whatever he had left in fending off Claire from helping him like some poor helpless puppy.