Hey y'all :):):).

I know I'm behind with updates and I do apologise.

One reason for my terrible updating skills is that I had my Theory Test on Tuesday so I had lots of practise tests and everything to do (I passed though, so *phew!* lol).

Thank you for all the wonderful support I've had so far from readers!!! =]=]=].

Also, I'm a bit iffy with this chapter - I'm not particularly sure if it sounds any good or anything after I had written it =/.

I do hope you all like it though!!! =D.

Playlist:-

Aqualung - Brighter Than Sunshine

Papa Roach - Scars

Paramore - Decode

Chapter Ten – Deals With The Devil.

Bright hazel eyes snapped open, dilated pupils shrinking at the harsh light. Peter blinked rapidly, squinting as dark lashes fluttered contrastingly against pale skin. He tilted his head to one side, long strands of hair falling loosely across his face while he stared towards the window.

With a delicate crease of his brows, he found himself glancing at the sky. Interspersed clouds etched their way across the fading blue, dashes of faint orange striking their way across it as the sun began to set.

Brow creasing, Peter pushed himself upright, jaw stretching as he yawned. He lowered his head once upright, rubbing his tired eyes with both hands. How long have I been out for?

His hand dropped back into his lap and he glanced towards the sun set once more. I'm guessing a while. Then, he stretched lazily, not straining too much as a light twinge from his chest warned him to control any movements that he made.

It was a tiring experience to tell the truth, always needing to be extra careful with how he did things. With a sigh, he relaxed again, blinking fervently down at his lap. He despised feeling as though he was made of glass – ready to shatter.

A sudden compulsive urge to go and find his brother tugged at him and Peter obeyed it instantly, with gentle care turning so that his legs dangled off of the edge of the bed. Splaying his hands out beside him, he levered himself up, pitifully thin arms trembling violently with the effort. He puffed air out of his lungs, his hazel orbs narrowing in concentration while his toes scrabbled, trying to aid his struggle.

Finally, he completed his task, exhaling wearily as he teetered. Raising his arms to his sides, trying to find his balance, Peter managed to think positive. Sure, it was slightly pathetic to consider managing to stand up with no assistance an achievement, but he couldn't help but feel some form of pride.

He wanted to be able to stand on his own two feet again. Being knocked down after all his years of fighting for independence would make his life worthless, pointless even.

Aiming for the door, Peter set it firmly in his sights, remembering that baby steps were all he needed right now. More than that, he just reminded himself that he was doing this for Nathan. He would prove that he was worth something and finally stop being such an overbearing burden in their family.

Each step was wavering, his gaze focussed solely on the door, giving him the drive to keep on moving. His chest throbbed awkwardly and he rubbed a hand soothingly over it, breathing with low, steady breaths.

It made him wonder why he didn't just give up at times. Things would just be so much easier if he keeled over and never got back up. All his life, he had fought and fought to do what was right – to help people, to go his own way, to live his own life…

In retrospect, it seems like a waste of time, he realised, reaching the doorway and stumbling through it. Grabbing onto the doorframe hurriedly, he stopped his fall, nails digging hard into the paint.

"God," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes closed as pain flared in his body once more. The doctors had told him to expect a long recovery, but, how long exactly?

Straightening, removing his nails with a crack and leaving significant marks in the paintwork, Peter pressed his forehead hard against the frame. Frustration amounted in his chest, weighing down his trembling knees and threatening to make him fall.

"I can't keep doing this."

His own admission stung and, trying to prove himself wrong, the youngest Petrelli began to move once more. His movement was laboured, one hand remaining supportively against the wall as he began his daunting trek to the stairwell.

Subconsciously, his thoughts began to linger on flight. If he could fly, there would be no need for shaking limbs and fears of collapsing: he would be beyond gravity's clutches…

Peter stopped. He took in the hallway, large enough to grant him a passageway for take-off. He could already see his own flight, the effortless grace of careening through open air. Then, with a faltering gait, he stumbled onwards, his position as dreamer of the family becoming questionable as of late.

The last time I flew, I fell from the sky, was his only thought, his only prominent memory of flying.

Inhaling sharply, Peter recoiled, remembering the wind ripping at him as fell brokenly back down to earth. Everything was moving too fast while his vision remained too useless to focus. He was tumbling down, swirling endlessly in the abyss as he headed towards his own demise.

And he couldn't stop it…

Coming back with a gasp, Peter fell back against the wall, body heaving with silent sobs as he struggled against the never-ending nightmares. He could still feel the cold night air slapping against his skin, tearing at his clothes as it tried to catch him.

Without a word, only his eyes showing the inner turmoil, Peter forced himself to keep walking. The pull of stitches in the back of his thigh hindered his advance, giving him a limp that only proceeded to aggravate his broken ribs.

Nothing he did was right.

The sad realisation made his shoulders slump dramatically, hunching his body so much that had anyone seen him they would have thought he had doubled over. Shuffling on further, bare feet scraping against the carpet, Peter reached the stairwell, glancing down it with uncertainty.

A wave of vertigo gripped him as he studied the decline and he grabbed the banister as he had done earlier. Surely, he reasoned, licking his dry lips nervously, it's easier to go down the stairs than it is to go up.

For a brief moment, the younger brother saw himself crashing weakly against each individual stair, landing broken and defeated at the bottom and he automatically pulled back a little. His fingers curled strongly around the polished wood and he waited, wondering if he had enough strength left to actually take the first step and keep going.

There was so much that he had lost faith in now.

The kindness of strangers, his own self-worth, the ability to keep fighting… He didn't even know if heroes could possibly be real anymore. How could such selfless and caring people exist in a world like this?

But through it all, he knew that he was mostly scared of falling.

When the knife had hit him, he had fallen, unable to move. They had hurt him and beat him within an inch of his life and then tried to… Peter squeezed his eyes shut, forcing away the memories. And then, after he had miraculously got away, he had fallen again with no protective big brother there to catch him.

Frail form shaking with fear, Peter hesitantly opened his eyes again, the long stairwell still waiting patiently for him. He almost wanted to call out for Nathan's help, but his pride wouldn't allow it. Besides, he had vowed on no longer being a burden: he had to do this by himself.

Taking a deep breath as though preparing for a plunge, Peter stepped forward. Again, his thigh protested but he silenced it, lowering his trembling foot onto the lower step. He smiled when it touched down and he tested it, wondering if his knees would be able to withstand his weight.

With a death grip on the banister, Peter stepped down again. His body shook like a leaf, too fragile and weak to withstand much more abuse. But he managed it, slowly but surely accomplishing the first of many tasks that led to his recovery.

He wasn't sure how long it took to actually make down into the hallway, but as soon as his feet touched the cool floor, he gasped, releasing breaths that he hadn't even known he had been holding. It felt as though he had run a marathon, all of his energy spent.

A hand pressed against his chest again as it ached harshly and Peter turned, gazing back up to the top of the stairs, a tender grin creeping onto his pale face. He had made it without falling. That was enough for him.

His figure continued to shiver, whether with pain or a peculiar rush of adrenaline he wasn't sure, but he held onto the railing for a moment longer. He wasn't sure that if he managed to pull away, he would be able to stay standing as of yet.

"That was fun," he murmured, panting slightly and still clutching his ribs. Finally, he released the banister, stepping away completely from his support. Relief spread through him as he felt his knees lock, pleased that he wouldn't have another collapse to add to his list of failures.

A familiar voice filtered into his head, speaking in hushed tones. Peter narrowed his eyes, tentatively making his way toward the dining room. He hated when his brother spoke in his low, secretive way – it had become a much more common tone of voice that Nathan had adopted after their father had passed, and something about it always unnerved the younger Petrelli.

Like this family seriously needs any more secrets.

Approaching warily, Peter managed to keep his footsteps light despite his exhausted state. He crept to the open doorway, edging closer as more of the conversation became apparent.

"Yeah, well I really don't care about that right now!"

As his brother stormed into view, Peter recoiled, retreating back through the doorway. The younger man frowned, brows creasing together as he studied his enraged brother. He still wore his pristine suit as always, but whatever had remained of his immaculate appearance had been ripped away, revealing the core of the man beneath.

There were very few times in which Nathan Petrelli actually lost his cool and when he did, Peter was ashamed to notice that it was always where he was involved.

The elder brother paced back and forth, his free hand brushing back the badly ruffled hair whilst the other tightly grasped the phone. "I know that, Tom," he sighed, strolling back to the table and leaning against it. Smoothly, he wrapped an arm over his chest as he listened to the other speaker's answer over the phone, "Yeah, it is risky, you think I don't know that?! I need…"

He broke off, exhaling deeply as a hand ghosted over his drawn face. Peter frowned, edging closer, leaning fully against the door frame as he eavesdropped.

Finally, Nathan nodded. "Fine, okay. I just… I wanna know who did this to my brother."

The younger Petrelli flinched, seeing his brother's shoulders slump in an almost defeated way. Pulling back, Peter turned, letting his head fall back against the frame tiredly. He should have known it would be about him – he was the only one capable of causing Nathan such pain.

"Come on, there must be something!" The exclamation made Peter jump and he twisted slightly, watching as Nathan was back on his feet and moving agitatedly around the dining room. "This is Peter we're on about here, Tom. I'm asking you for this one thing. Please."

A look of anger passed over Nathan's face and he began shaking his head violently. His jaw started working and managing to restrain what he really felt like saying, he spat out the one word: "Fine."

Nathan hung up the phone, slamming it down on the table below lowering his head to join it. He sighed heavily, brow pressed against the wood in an attempt to relieve his throbbing head. He knew that finding the men who had done this to his brother wouldn't change what had happened, but he needed closure.

No, not closure: revenge.

Making his decision, he grabbed the phone once more, smashing in the numbers. As it dialled, he closed his eyes silently, lifting the phone up to his ear. He knew that he was signing his soul to the devil, but it didn't matter.

I need to do this. I need to for Peter and for me.

Despite his straining chest, Peter edged nearer, a look of puzzlement on his pale face. He knew what his brother was trying to do and despite what he knew were meant to be good intentions, the younger brother was opposed to it.

He had been through a lot and he knew that the men who had attacked him deserved to be punished, but not like this. He couldn't willingly allow Nathan to descend to this level to get some kind of desperate revenge. I don't want him to become our father.

"Hello? It's Nathan Petrelli. I need to speak with him."

Hesitantly, Peter made his way into the room, his limp becoming more and more pronounced with each step. He wanted nothing more than to leave Nathan alone to go and rest in the lounge, but his conscience wouldn't allow it.

His big brother didn't deserve the grief he was pushing on himself.

Opening his mouth to speak and catch Nathan's attention, Peter was interrupted before he could even make a sound. He found his body freezing, a cold feeling spreading from his toes to the tips of his fingers while his heart stuttered in fear.

"Mr Linderman, I need your help."

Please review and let me know what you thought of it (I'm really uncertain about how I wrote it).

Thanks for reading!!! =]=]=].

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