Hey y'all :):):).

I'm sorry for the lateness - college is getting busy with exams coming up in January so *phew!*, I finally got updated! lol.

I realised when I started writing it that the only was to get the scene to work in the way I wanted it to, was to - yep, you guessed it! - write another hospital scene! =P.

Anyways, I hope you like it and thanks for all the wonderful support I've had so far!!! =D.

Enjoy!

Playlist:-

The Fray - Over My Head (Cable Car)

Fountains Of Wayne - All Kinds Of Time

Coldplay - Warning Sign

Chapter Seven: A Helping Hand.

3 days later…

He'd been staring at his bare feet for the better half of a minute, relishing that he could actually move the cold toes before him. It really was a blessing – had he been the victim of one unfortunately misplaced kick, this moment, staring at his feet, would have had a much more different feel to it.

Sighing deeply, Peter swung his feet back and forth slowly, rating the pain as ach swing became slightly more vigorous. He had attested quite openly to the fact that broken ribs limited practically everything that you could do: moving, breathing, even talking a fraction louder than a murmur.

Lifting one hand shakily from where they rested in his lap, Peter grabbed the plain white t-shirt that rested neatly beside him. He tugged it to him, quickly unfolding and holding it before him with an arched eyebrow.

Now what?

It was embarrassing to say the least. He was 26-years-old, a qualified nurse with his own apartment and own life, but here he was, facing the arduous task of pulling on a shirt. He scoffed, stretching the material out and slowly beginning to lift his arms above his head.

It wasn't that Nathan and his mother hadn't offered to give him assistance. Peter was not, as everybody knew, a true Petrelli, but he had still inherited a Petrelli's pride. He didn't want to be seen as weak in anyone's eyes.

But more so than that, he didn't want to be seen as weak in his brother's.

Puffing out pained breaths of air, Peter tugged the t-shirt over his head, cursing as it caught on his ears. As he wrenched it down a fraction further, searing agony erupted down his side and he whimpered, abandoning all further attempts. Doubling over, the youngest Petrelli, gasped, squeezing his eyes closed as he waited for the pain to pass as it always did.

"You need some help with that?"

Peter titled his head slightly, squinting through the thin white shirt to glimpse the tall silhouette of Nathan standing ahead of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, biting back a wince. I really should stop moving…

Managing a gentle smile, despite the fact that Peter was unable to see it, Nathan stepped into the room. "Please, let me help you. You're looking a bit…"

"Stupid?" the tangled man supplied bitterly, giving up and allowing his arms to drop uselessly by his sides. Well, so much for his planto not seemtotally useless before Nathan.

"Dysfunctional."

Upon reaching Peter, the elder brother studied his bowed posture, shoulders slumped heavily. He was trying to analyse which was the cause: pain or defeat.

To him, it looked like both.

The man looked so dejected sitting there and it would take someone with an absolute lack of heart to not look at him and feel bad. Sympathy clouding his judgement, and before even stopping to think, Nathan placed a warm hand on Peter's shoulder.

The effect was instantaneous.

Peter jerked back in surprise at the touch, wrenching away and almost toppling over the opposite side of the bed. Pain flared again, but he ignored it, intent on getting away from the touch, touching… He scrabbled for the shirt, tugging it fervently past his eyes to identify the culprit of his panic.

Nathan stood in utter shock, one hand still raised as a sign of support. As the terrified hazel eyes came into view, he began inwardly berating himself for being so stupid. They had been told that he might be sensitive to anything like touch: that he was to be treated delicately.

Shaking his head, the congressmen raised his hands apologetically, "Pete, God, I'm sorry."

Upon realising how had grabbed him, Peter relaxed marginally, his inhales still wheezing as his broken ribs moved uncomfortably under his skin. With a small nod, he proceeded to lower his head, long bangs falling over his eyes as he struggled to control his breathing.

He felt so pathetic. He should be stronger than this – one single touch shouldn't have reduced him to this trembling wreck?

Nathan wouldn't ever hurt him, he knew this. In fact, Nathan had been the one to save him, to get him help when he needed it. Peter had even managed to fly to him, putting his entire faith, and even his life, dutifully in his hands.

And Nathan hadn't failed him, not once.

Stretching out the leg that had somehow managed to find itself beneath him, Peter winced as it pulled the stitches in the back of his thigh. He had been told he was lucky, in all senses of the word. The knife wound hadn't been too deep, the punctured lung had been easily fixed, the concussion was only mild and he had managed to escape before he was…

A shudder struck him. He knew that he had been lucky – much luckier than others had been in the past. But still, he couldn't help but feel increasingly hurt and betrayed.

Peter had put his trust in the world and the 'kindness of strangers'. And now, he felt that there was little left that he found could be trusted anymore.

"Pete?" asked the low voice, kind and patient as always.

Except for Nathan, the younger brother found himself thinking fondly, raising his head to see Nathan hovering worriedly before him. Plastering on an all-too fake smile, Peter gave another nearly imperceptible nod. "I'm okay. You just caught me by surprise, that's all."

Accepting the words, not believing them but still accepting nonetheless, Nathan rubbed a hand across his jaw as he watched Peter begin to tug at the hem of his shirt. He caught the grimace his baby brother gave at the struggle that was well hidden by a stifled cough.

"Peter," he began, watching as the imploring eyes blinked up at him. "Let me help, okay?"

Sharing a long look with his brother, Peter finally relented, lowering his arms with a sigh. The ache in his chest and increased harshly after each movement, soreness creeping into every wearied pore. Dropping his gaze, a shame-filled tinge creeping into his cheeks, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Nathan stepped closer, bending down to his level.

Tentatively, Nathan reached forwards, looping his fingers underneath the shirt. His fingers brushed lightly against Peter's skin and the younger man flinched visibly. "Sorry, Peter. I'm just gonna pull your shirt down now, alright?"

Another tentative nod followed, the 26-year-old abruptly morphing into a scared young child again. Encouragingly, Nathan began to pull the shirt down over his brother's body. He tried not to look at the violently dark bruises that marred the pale skin, crisscrossing in different shades like a patchwork quilt.

If I ever find out who did this…

He left the thought hanging threateningly, trying to keep the enraged scowl off of his expression. Glancing at the painfully jutting out ribs and the inward curve of Peter's stomach, Nathan found himself close to retching at the sorry state the younger man was in.

The worst part of it all was that not all of the neglect had been from the attack. How long had Nathan watched Peter's weight decline and not done anything about it?

Too long, he realised sadly, pulling the material towards Peter's harshly bruised hips. But I'll make it all up to you Peter. I promise.

Accidentally, Nathan's fingers once again lost purchase and Peter tensed as his brother brushed against the faint fingerprint bruises that had been left behind. A reminder of what had almost been his fate…

Instantly, he found himself struggling with images of that fateful night. He remembered the heart wrenching fear as he found himself surrounded, the terror as he found himself trapped. Peter could still picture the lust-filled look in the bald man's eyes as he studied him, before he had finally made a bid at freedom.

Then he had fallen, a knife embedded deep within his thigh. Each blow that followed came stronger than its predecessor. It was as though they were never going to stop. Blood stained his lips, dripping from his mouth. He couldn't breathe. Everything was compressing down on him, horror encompassing his mind as the truth of his predicament hit him full force.

Stark clarity…

Peter gasped. The taunting feeling returned: he knew what was going to happen, but was powerless to stop it. He remembered the cold fingertips against his sore skin, the coarse material of his jeans catching on ripped and abused flesh.

Help me…

"Peter!"

Blinking rapidly, Peter lifted his head up, colliding violently with his brother's hovering chin. Nathan grunted, stumbling away as his younger brother tried to return to himself, looking utterly lost and bewildered from where he sat on the cold hospital floor.

Frowning, feeling the cold seep through his jeans, Peter took in the tiles. One, two, three, he began counting internally, touching one to ensure that it was in fact real. He didn't want to be trapped in that nightmare again.

Exhaling in relief upon finding himself rooted in reality, the young nurse glanced upwards, meeting Nathan's stunned look. Nathan was still clutching his chin tightly, panting harshly from where he stood next to the wall, clearly shaken.

"Nathan, I…" Peter began, before breaking off in uncertainty. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened: one second he was on the bed, the next, he was head butting his brother on the floor. Tenderly, Peter rubbed the sore spot on the top of his skull, the dull pain finally registering, "Ouch."

"Yeah: ouch."

The statement sounded bitter, but it was only to mask his concern. Nathan didn't understand. Peter was fine and then suddenly, he had just gone completely blank. It had honestly scared him, to watch his brother topple off the bed and onto the floor, to stare back at him with empty eyes as he was pulled back into the dark recesses of his mind.

Releasing his jaw, rolling it a couple of times, Nathan took steady steps back to his brother's side. "Peter? You back with me now?"

The dark mop of hair shifted as he answered silently. His hand fell from its resting place atop his head, slapping lightly against his knee before resting there. A sigh fell past his lips and Nathan lowered himself steadily into a crouch, falling to eye-level with his aversive little brother.

"Hey," he whispered softly with a smile. With two gentle fingers, he brushed the bangs back from Peter's face, being careful not to actually touch his skin. A pair of deep orbs met his instantly, the fear reflected within them causing Nathan to lose his composure for a moment.

Breathing shakily, Peter managed a weak apology, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," replied the lawyer swiftly, focussing on the strands of hair as he tucked them neatly behind Peter's ear. As though dealing with a delicate child, Nathan placed his hands, feather-light, upon the smaller Petrelli's skinny shoulders, relief spreading through him as Peter managed to withhold a wince at the touch.

Leaning in closer, a proximity that the brothers had become acquainted with over their years together, Nathan stared him down with intensity. He wanted his words to be taken seriously, to be understood and accepted openly.

"None of it is."

The corner of Peter's mouth quirked upwards slightly as the sentence hesitantly registered. He watched with a wary gaze as Nathan pressed their foreheads together in their own personal gesture of affection. Exhaling slowly, allowing himself to relax into the touch, he closed his eyes, reminding himself that it was his hero who was with him now.

Nathan won't hurt me.

Concerned hazel eyes blinked, studying Peter sat ahead of him, desperately struggling to control his warring emotions. Nathan was conflicted. He wanted Peter out of this place as soon as possible – everything about it had just brought grief and haunting memories that he knew he would carry forever.

What if he isn't ready? The elder brother reasoned, already witness to two of Peter's freak outs within mere seconds of each other. He felt nauseous even considering having Peter committed or, at least, counselled to help him deal with what had happened. But, if this was what was needed to make his brother well again, then he would do it in a heartbeat.

The doctors had already explained to them about both the physical and mental aspects of Peter's recovery. Physical, they could deal with. Mental wasn't so easily accomplished. They'd been warned about certain symptoms that could indicate a decline in Peter's mental health, and Nathan was saddened to realise that he had already noted at least three of them.

Afraid of touch – it would include the distancing of intimacy and perhaps even any social behaviour.

Tremors – unexplained shaking that could be a result of post-traumatic stress disorder. If the tremors become too violent, as well as damaging his ribs further, it could also send him into shock.

Flashbacks – moments in which something might remind him of the past event which then, makes him relive it again. Signs include: spacing out, inability to communicate and sometimes even loss of consciousness.

I've watched them all happen today, Nathan realised darkly, reaching up to comb his fingers lightly through his brother's dark hair once more. What if it gets worse? What if he ends up being scared of me?

The thought filled him with dread. Peter had always been a sensitive and yet empathic person. Nathan couldn't imagine him not being able to open up to anyone, but more so, if he couldn't accept Nathan as a close person in his life…

Shuddering, the elder brother pressed his head harder against Peter's. It would be his worst nightmare.

As the hold increased, Peter began tugging weakly against Nathan's grip as it began making him uncomfortable. Thankfully, Nathan got the message, releasing him and sitting back with a caring expression on his face. They sat in silence for a moment longer, sharing the secret brotherly look between them: one that communicated so much more than words could ever dream to.

With a slap on his thighs, Nathan rose to his feet. "You ready to get out of here?"

He stretched out a hand, his eyes following Peter's as they stared at it in suspicion. Keeping the plastered-on smile firmly in place, Nathan waited patiently. He'd made the first move. He could only hope that Peter could follow suit and play the game that he needed to play.

Hazel eyes darted uncertainly between the hand and the one who offered it, until finally Peter reached out. His hand slipped slowly into Nathan's, his brother tightening the grip instantly. Within moments, he was on his feet, wavering for a moment before regaining his balance.

"Thanks," murmured the younger brother, letting his hand drop dutifully back to his side.

Giving a curt nod, Nathan turned to the door, pushing it open. He jerked his head towards it and Peter took the hint, limping towards it with an awkward expression on his face. It took Nathan every ounce of restraint he had not to go over and help, but he knew that Peter needed this.

He needed some form of his old independence back.

Halfway through the threshold, a hand pressed to his ribs as they ached and strained beneath his sore skin, Peter stopped. He stared at the open door for a moment, as though wondering why it was open. After all, would he ever recover from all this?

Uncertainly, he glanced up at his big brother: his pillar of strength and constant support. Clearing his throat, he asked quietly, "Where are we going?"

A broad smile found its way onto Nathan's lips at the question.

"Home."

The chapter was originally gonna be called "Home is where the heart is", then I realised it's too long and it is way too incredibly cheesy! =P.

Thanks for reviewing so far and please leave me some more to let me know what you think!!! =]=]=].

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