Fourteen Days – Chapter 7
Standard Disclaimer applies
A/N – yup – it's time for Nathan and Peter to demonstrate their unique version of brotherly affection!
After several long hours on a plane, Nathan was more than ready to disembark, stretch his legs properly and work out the knots in his back and shoulders. His brother's plane had landed in Pueblo several hours ago and as he made his way over to the rental lot, he calculated how far they could have gone in that time. The snowfall had only just stopped but it still lay thick across the hard ground, turning into an icy sludge along the more, well-travelled paths where the gritting trucks had managed to make their rounds. Looking up at the sky he could tell there was only an hour or so of proper daylight left, the weather creating the effect of an earlier dusk.
Leaving the town of Pueblo behind him, Nathan headed out on the State Highway 96, a map and the directions from the rental agency as his only guide. What car didn't have SAT-NAV these days, he wondered, irritably as he settled the tar-like Styrofoam cup of coffee into the cup-holder. Yellow post-it notes on the dashboard gave him reminders for his journey to Crestone Park (where he had been assured his quarry had been heading towards): first Wetmore, then Westcliffe then the destinations dried up so he assumed a huge mountain would be the next clue on his journey.
Barely mindful of the treacherous driving conditions, Nathan cranked up the heat, depressed the accelerator and sped on towards his final destination.
Dawn had approached all too quickly for the young men. Peter had awoken with a pounding headache and managed to stumble out of the tent without disturbing his friend, long enough to give way to the familiar nausea. How he was feeling an uncomfortable sensation similar to indigestion, when he clearly hadn't eaten or retained much of anything, was beyond him.
By the time Mohinder had awoken, Peter had already packed up a lot of their gear and covered the evidence of the campfire, returning their site to how it was before, just as Nathan had taught him to all those years ago.
If Mohinder noticed the thin sheen of perspiration covering Peter's pallid skin despite the low temperatures, he didn't say anything. Instead they packed up the tent and once again took up their packs.
As the sun crept over the horizon, Nathan blinked back the urge to close his eyes. Now that he was finally at Crestone, he certainly wasn't giving way to sleep. Nor was he going to let the, frankly bullying tactics of the local ranger dissuade him from the next part of his mission. On hearing confirmation that his brother had indeed made it to the park, Nathan was filled with a mounting sense of excitement. He could almost feel his brother's presence and, without knowing or caring how, he could also feel a sense of urgency and encroaching fear. Peter needed him, whether the young man was aware of it or not. Armed with directions that he barely felt he needed, Nathan zipped his coat up a little tighter, checked his first aid and emergency supplies in his pack and set off at a clipped rate.
They had barely been walking an hour when they heard it, somewhere off in the near distance. Tearing through the placid tones of babbling brooks and rustling leaves had come an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream followed by another and then a desperate wailing. It was the kind of scream that tore the very air asunder and made every hair on your body stand on end. Even as Mohinder stopped dead in his tracks, Peter began sprinting off towards its source forcing the young professor to follow.
"Peter, wait!" he called, frantically. Peter slowed and half turned to face him as he continued walking backwards towards the sound.
"Someone needs help, Mohinder!" he called back, beckoning him to hurry as he turned back round and continued his race along the winding path and through the trees, allowing the thick branches to whip past him, tearing and scratching at his face and hands as he did so.
"Yes," Mohinder muttered nevertheless quickening his pace to match that of his companion, "probably us in a matter of moments."
Peter pushed his way through the last set of trees, coming out onto a steep mountain clearing, surrounded by a high wall of conifers. The young man pulled up short at the sight that greeted him, Mohinder arriving seconds behind him and reacting with similar horror. Two forms lay face down, crumpled on the ground – one still in his tent, the other further off from the campsite. Rivulets of bright red blood ran from underneath them, pooling out onto the pure white snow and highlighting each crystal flake in a stark contrast to those around them. From the discarded and torn packs that lay off to the side, it was clear these men were hikers.
Mohinder's voice broke the moment of silence. "What do you think…?" he began but Peter cut him off with a nod in the direction of a set of animal tracks, recorded in the snow and leading off up into the mountain's trees.
"Mountain lion. Maybe two. We must have scared them off." Quickly he knelt by the man in the tent, checking for signs of life as Mohinder went to his fallen companion and did the same. With his fingers expertly seeking out the tell tale signs of a pulse on the man's throat he grimly met Mohinder's expression after a few moments, shaking his head sadly. Turning the man over slightly, he winced at the sight of the man's chest and throat – it seemed to be one large haematoma, too many deep, tearing lacerations to count. Judging from the state of the man's throat, Peter only hoped it meant he had died quickly. He was more than likely still sleeping when the attack had occurred.
Gently standing, he moved silently away from the unfortunate soul and joined Mohinder. "Well?" he asked, hope straining his voice.
Mohinder hesitated. "He's alive but very weak. We need to get help from the Ranger's station straight away." Peter nodded his agreement, dimly concerned that he was starting to feel less well as the moments progressed. His head was starting to swim and he felt a distant tingling in his arms. With an almighty effort, he forced the discomfort aside. He didn't have time to worry about himself when this man's life hung in the balance.
Mohinder quickly emptied his pack onto the ground, retrieving the First Aid box and rummaging through it for gauzes and bandages. Carefully and with expert hands he began to strip the tattered remains of cloth from the wounds and to apply pressure with the gauze, wrapping the clean linen bandages tightly around the man's torso. As he worked, he glanced over at Peter who was still kneeling opposite.
"I'll stay here with him and do my best to keep him comfortable. Do you think you can make your way back to the ranger's cabin? It shouldn't be too hard in daylight." Peter's resolve doubled.
"Absolutely. It shouldn't come back again but just be careful all the same. I'll be as quick as I can." He reached in to his own pack and emptied it of all but essential supplies for the relatively short trip.
"Take care," Mohinder warned as Peter nodded his agreement and quickly headed back the way they'd come.
Retracing their steps wasn't hard. Without any fresh snowfall, not only was the landscape familiar but their tracks were clearly visible in the snow. If it hadn't been for the fact that his vision was currently spiralling round and round, causing the young man's steps to waver as he moved, Peter would have been making much faster progress. Get a grip, he demanded silently. Taking a deep breath, Peter closed his eyes tightly for a moment, willing the world to stop spinning long enough for him to traverse the steep slopes of the ridge through which they had earlier passed. It was, however, an unfortunate mistake. The sheer motion of closing his eyes and losing all bearing seemed to tip the young man forwards. Instinctively he put a foot out to steady himself, aware only seconds too late that he had overstepped the ridge. With a startled yelp, Peter felt both the panic and odd sense of exhilaration of freefall. His arms uselessly flayed in front of him in an effort to stem his fall.
It wasn't his arms that bore the brunt of the impact, however. He landed heavily on his left foot as it gave way sharply beneath him, his legs and body quickly hitting the ground moments later. Dimly, Peter was aware of the tiny popping sound from his foot – or more likely, he only felt it. Thankful his head was spared any impact, Peter could do nothing for a moment but lie still on the ground at the bottom of the ridge. The fall hadn't been far, but it had been awkward and heavy. Cursing his stupidity and clumsiness, Peter lay there catching his breath. Finally, after what seemed like an age but was in fact only a minute, he rolled onto his side with a groan and pushed himself up sitting.
Running a mental checklist over his body, the young nurse swiftly surmised that although he would be badly bruised for some days to come and had sustained a few minor cuts to his arms and legs there was no substantial damage. He looked up around him. There was a more or less gentle slope leading up to where the ridge would have taken him, had he been able to walk more than a few paces without keeling over. Gingerly, Peter pushed himself to his feet, almost crying out in pain as his left foot made firm contact with the ground. Immediately he shifted his weight onto his right foot, wincing in pain and drawing in a sharp breath with a restrained hiss. He didn't want to take his boot off. Knowing what was probably broken, he was aware that, until he could get help, his boot was offering the best support his foot was likely to get.
He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth making his way step by painful step up the slope and back on course for the ranger's cabin.
By the time he had walked for another thirty minutes, Peter was drenched in sweat and breathing in short, harsh breaths. His face was pasty white against his dark brown hair. He had remembered to take a compass bearing shortly after leaving Mohinder and he checked the compass again now. The boy groaned out loud as he realised how far he still was from the cabin. Nevertheless, he forced his body to continue despite the fact that every part of him was screaming its protest. His foot felt as though white-hot nails were being hammered into it with every step.
The young man could no longer deny what he had been vehemently ignoring for the past few hours: he was sick and whatever seemed to be wrong was only getting steadily worse. Peter hated to admit it but he was beginning to get worried. Mohinder had most of the emergency supplies and Peter doubted, at his current pace, that he would make it to the cabin before it began to get dark.
A sudden sound from the trees in front of him brought the boy up short. His breath caught in his throat as he paused, silently where he was. Peter looked around him. There was nowhere he could get to quickly enough if this was a predator. Thoughts of more mountain lions leapt to mind, his ability to fight one off or out run it was laughable in his present condition – hell, in any condition!
Casting his gaze downwards, Peter desperately looked for a branch or anything heavy enough to ward off an attack. There was a fallen branch lying off to the side. It looked thick and a little round and awkward to grip properly but it was the sturdiest thing he could see. Ever so carefully, Peter hobbled across to it. The sound in the trees ahead of him had paused and then continued on, branches clearly being shoved aside as something large moved hastily between them, quickening its pace as if it sensed the young man before it was alone and in danger - unable to prevent even the smallest of attacks. Cursing his hindered pace, Peter stumbled faster towards the branch, leaning his body down to grasp it so quickly that he stumbled and lost his balance. Despite successfully using his hands to break his fall, Peter couldn't stop the startled cry before it had left his lips.
That had done it. Whatever had merely sensed his presence before was now keenly aware of him. The rustling movements in the copse of trees ahead had turned into a run, heading straight towards him. Even with the best will in the world, Peter felt a crushing sensation of misery as he realised he would never be able to stand in time, before whatever was heading his way, was already upon him. His fingers closed shakily around the branch and he gripped it as tightly as he could as he prepared to –
"Peter?!"
Peter stopped – froze, from his spot on the ground. He said nothing, he didn't look up, barely hoping to believe.
"Pete? Thank God!" The voice was at once harsh, relieved and ever so, ever so welcome. Finally, trusting his ears to have not deceived him, Peter looked up and joy flooded his heart as his eyes confirmed he hadn't been tricked.
There, slightly out of breath and staring incredulously at him was his brother. "Nathan!" he breathed. "Thank God it's you. I thought you were another mountain lion."
"You thought I was…" Nathan started to stutter in amazement before the reality of the situation suddenly took over. Peter didn't even remember seeing Nathan move over towards him. He was only aware of suddenly being encased in strong, warm arms as his brother knelt on the ground in front of him, enveloping Peter in a crushing, suffocating hug that seemed to last forever. The young man couldn't work out if it was himself who was shaking or his brother.
"Thank God," Nathan was whispering quietly over and over again, the sound muffled against the side of his head. In that instant, Peter forgot about pain in his arms, he forgot about the searing sensation in his foot and about the dizziness and nausea. He even forgot about his mission to reach the ranger's cabin. All he cared about was that he was once more in the safety of his older brother's arms and soaked up all the warmth and comfort that his embrace offered.
All too abruptly, the moment ended. Nathan's hands moved from around his back to grasp him tightly by the shoulders and roughly pull him out to arm's length. Peter caught a glance of his dark, stormy expression and felt sick. Giving him a hard shake, which rattled his bones, Nathan launched at him.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he shouted, shaking him once again and keeping his hands gripping his younger brother's shoulders in a vice-like hold. Peter winced, partly from his brother's anger and partly because he was now very much reminded of how awful he was feeling.
"I'm sorry," he replied, weakly. Nathan's eyes widened incredulously. Apparently, Peter considered, 'sorry' wasn't going to cut it this time.
"You're sorry?" he demanded, furiously. "Well sorry isn't going to cut it this time!" If Peter had been feeling up to it, he would have felt pleased for at least predicting the next move. However, he could only cringe and allow his brother a few more moments of ranting, feeling too weak to interrupt during full-flow.
"Do you have any idea the worry you've put me through – the danger you could have put yourself in?" Peter glanced down at the ground, his arms starting to ache again and vision starting to swim.
"Let's get this straight once and for all, Peter: when I tell you that you can't do something, you damned well don't do it! Is that clear? Because when we get back home, you aren't leaving the house for at least a week – if I'm in a good mood! And where the hell is Suresh?" Nathan asked, suddenly looking around them for the absent professor. "I want a damned word with him."
When Peter didn't answer him straight away, Nathan looked at him closely and immediately, anger was replaced by concern. Gently, he cupped Peter's bruised and scratched face in both hands and ran his fingers appraisingly over the scrapes.
"Hey, Pete," he soothed. "What the heck happened?" He eased an arm around his little brother's shoulders and shifted until he was kneeling next to him, pulling Peter close against his side.
"I fell," he mumbled.
"Are you hurt?" Nathan asked, concern heavy in his voice. Peter glanced away. "Peter," Nathan prompted, dangerously. "Tell me everything." The boy sighed, wearily.
"I think my foot is kind of broken," he admitted. "But everything else is fine, I promise."
Immediately, guilt crashed over Nathan and he laid a gentle kiss against the side of his little brother's head. "Oh, Pete – I'm sorry. How did you fall?" Again, the moment of hesitation. It wasn't lost on his brother.
"The truth," he reminded him, sternly. Peter couldn't meet his gaze this time and that made Nathan very, very nervous. Taking a deep breath, Peter explained.
"I was dizzy, feeling sick – kind of light-headed. I lost my balance along one of the ridges." Nathan's eyes narrowed in concern.
"What's wrong?" he questioned. Peter shrugged, helplessly. Something suddenly clicked in Nathan's mind. "Did you feel any of these symptoms before you left New York?" he demanded in his low, dangerous voice. Peter felt so utterly exhausted and miserable that he honestly felt that at any moment, he could break down and cry. Wordlessly, he nodded.
He could feel Nathan willing the anger down but knew all too well that he was going to hear about this at a later date. "Okay Peter," Nathan began steadily, calmly, "we'll talk about that later. Right now we need to get you back to the cabin and get you some help." At that, Peter's head sprang up.
"Yes! That's what I was trying to get when I found you!"
Nathan looked annoyed. "Yeah – no wonder! Why the hell didn't Suresh go and get the help? What? You break your foot and he sends you off to call for your own ambulance?" Peter shook his head.
"It's not for me," he insisted. He then proceeded to explain all about the mountain lion and the attack on the two men. Nathan listened intently, still a mite annoyed that Suresh had sent his brother off to get help when he was very obviously sick, even if he hadn't fallen and broken his foot at that point. Then again, Nathan never would have run in to Peter if he hadn't been the one to come but it still didn't sit right with the elder Petrelli.
When Peter was done with his story, Nathan carefully helped ease Peter up to a standing position, being sure to wrap an arm around his shoulder and lean Peter's weight into him. It was a relatively level walk back to the cabin and, seeing Peter gasp in pain as his foot made contact with the ground and his illness caused his body to shudder, Nathan was sorely tempted to ignore his brother's indignation and simply carry him back to the cabin. However, the fight he would have to endure to get that one past his brother would do more harm than good at that moment. So, ensuring Peter was as supported and as comfortable on his feet as possible, Nathan began leading them both back towards the safety of the cabin and the means to contact the rescue services.
The two brothers had walked another ten minutes before Nathan noticed a shift in Peter's composure. The young man was becoming increasingly agitated, his breathing short, quick and shallow. Nathan paused and slowed them to a halt. "Don't slow down, Nathan," Peter insisted through gasping breaths. "We have to get Mohinder and that man help." However, Nathan's priority was and always would be, the boy currently cradled to his side. Ignoring Peter's protests, he placed a finger at the pulse on his brother's throat and counted. It was fast – way too fast.
"I think you need to slow down a bit, Peter – your pulse is racing." Peter shook his head, his unsteady breathing making it difficult to answer. He pulled himself forwards and, for the moment, Nathan carried on walking with him, all the while looking over at his younger brother's pale countenance. His skin seemed a sickly white colour and glistened with the sheen of perspiration.
For a moment, Peter closed his eyes. It was harder to breathe now. The pain and tingling in his arms had now spread to his chest, rippling through him as fingers move across a piano's keys. "Are you alright?" Nathan stopped once more and turned his brother to face him. When Peter opened his eyes again they were shining with panic. Nathan's heart started to beat soundly in his chest, drumming away like a tribal dance. Peter was scared. Whatever was happening, his brother had finally admitted that it had him scared. The pretence was gone and in its place was his vulnerable, frightened younger brother – his eyes imploring Nathan to, once again, fix it, make it okay.
"Peter?" Nathan questioned, sharply. Peter's mouth opened and closed once.
"Nathan?" he stammered. "I don't feel so good."
He didn't get out another word as Nathan watched in horror as his little brother crashed to the ground, unconscious.
Thanks for reading, folks! As always, reviews help make a speedy and inspirational chapter 8!
