Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
Warnings: Mentions of slash, angst, character death, OC, AU, hints at Mpreg
Author's Note: Sorry it took so long for me to continue this fic, but I finally have an ending in mind that I can live with. I've got the next two chapters written and the 15th and final part is in the works. Hopefully I'll be able to start updating regularly and get this series done soon. Thank you all for your patience and sticking with this story when it seemed like it was dead.
Chapter 12
"You can sleep in here for tonight," Peter said as he turned down the comforter and fluffed up the pillows for the fifth time.
When he had brought Manu home, he'd felt so awkward and unprepared. His apartment felt like a cliched bachelor pad for all that it lacked in the way of child care. He had no clothes for the child to wear, no extra bed for him to sleep in, and nothing that a nine year old (from another culture at least) would want to eat. So after the child had washed himself, Peter gave the boy an oversized shirt to wear, his bed to sleep in, and a promise that he'd figure out breakfast in the morning.
"I'm... I'm not really tired," Manu said, his voice soft and polite as he fingered the sleeves of his too long night clothes.
Peter sighed, running an uneasy hand through his floppy brown hair, as he sat down on the bed and motioned for Manu to sit beside him. The child did so, a bit hesitantly, and purposely left a small gap between them. The empath knew what was troubling the boy and he could only wish that he could take away the worries and fears that surrounded the Indian child. "Manu, I know this is all... different, but you need to get some sleep."
"Sylar," he began quietly and Peter would have given anything to never hear that trembling tone on the child's voice again. "Is he... Did you... Did you kill him?"
The paramedic couldn't imagine feeling like more of a failure than he did at that moment. He sighed, placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulders, grateful when he flinched but did not pull away. "No, he's still alive," he told him regretfully. "He's... you know what a Special is right?" Manu gave him a nod, but remained quiet. "Well, obviously Sylar is a Special and his ability is a bit complicated. He can... collect abilities and one of the ones he's collected was cell regen... er, um, healing. So it makes him sort of difficult to kill."
Manu nodded his head solemnly, taking in Peter's words. "So he's still out there," the boy concluded. "He'll always be out there."
Peter felt his heart ache with remorse. The need to grab the boy and hold him against his chest was overwhelming, but he fought against it. He had just met Manu and after all the things the child had been through, the last thing he would need was a stranger holding him and awkwardly attempting to comfort him. "Well, that's why your dad asked me to protect you," Peter explained. "He gave me custody of you, because I have an ability too, one that's sort of like Sylar's."
Manu frowned, gazing up at him with slightly confused brown eyes. "So does that mean I have to stay here? In New York?"
The paramedic's throat tightened. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't possible tell the child he wouldn't be allowed to go back home, to see his grandmother ever again, but at the same time he knew that this was what Mohinder had wanted. He had wanted Manu to be with Peter, to be protected and safe from Sylar. Although he doubted that the Indian ever would have considered Sylar finding out about Manu like this. "Well, um, we can try to work something out later."
"Can I call my grandmother? Please?" the boy pleaded. "I... I need to talk to her... to tell her that I'm alright."
Peter smiled, reaching into his pocket and handing the child his cell phone. "Of course you can," he assured him, getting up to give the boy some privacy. "Take your time."
Manu was already dialing before Peter could even reach the door. The paramedic was thankful that he could do that much for the child. Still, this only made their situation even more complicated. He suddenly couldn't help thinking about what Sylar had said to him about rescuing Mohinder.
Peter sighed, rubbing at his tired brown eyes. He knew it was wrong to play God, to tamper with matters such as life and death, but at that moment he felt tempted. He wanted so badly to turn back time and keep Mohinder from having his heart attack. If he did, Mohinder would be alive, Manu would still have a father, and he would never have to have met Sylar. Instead, the child was going to have to grow up without the only parent he'd ever known and would spend the rest of his life being chased by a serial killer.
Time crawled by. Peter busied himself straightening out his apartment and studying the limited supply of food in his refrigerator and cabinets. He would have to go shopping in the morning. The man was half way through his grocery list when he noticed that it was nearly two in the morning. He didn't want to interrupt the conversation between Manu and his grandmother, but he had a feeling that Mohinder would not approve of his son staying up so late.
When he re-entered the bedroom, he saw that Manu was already fast asleep, his head half buried in the pillow and the phone still resting on his ear. Peter gently pulled the cell phone away from the child's face, only to find that Mrs. Suresh was still on the other line.
This is going to be one massive phone bill, Peter thought wearily as he cradled the phone between his cheek and shoulder, using his hands to pull the sheets around Manu's sleeping form.
"Mrs. Suresh?" Peter whispered, brushing a gentle hand against Manu's soft black curls.
"Oh, Mr. Petrelli." The woman's voice came in a quivering sob, the sound causing Peter's heart to clench. "I can't thank you enough."
"It's alright," he assured her. "Everything's going to be alright now."
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Manu barely remembered falling asleep. He only realized that he'd been unconscious after he'd woken. While the child was sleeping, a stranger entered the apartment. He had barely heard the front door opening and the sound of unfamiliar footfalls approaching him, but as soon as the noises registered in his mind he was wide awake.
Terror immediately entered his heart as he imagined that the intruder was Sylar come to take him away. His heart hammered in his chest as he curled up into a tight ball, listening intensely as the stranger approached. The door creaked open and Manu felt his whole body begin to tremble. He felt certain that any second now Sylar would reach out and grab him, clasping a pale hand over his mouth and drag him away.
That moment never came. Instead, someone completely unfamiliar pulled back the sheets and stared down at Manu in confused shock. In the darkness, Manu could not clearly make out the man's features, but he knew for certain that this was not Sylar, yet that did not put him at ease. The stranger was tall -- possibly as tall as Sylar -- with unkempt hair and a gruff beard. The two stared at each other for a while before Peter came rushing into the room and pulled the stranger out.
Peter had apologized profusely to Manu before suggesting that he get back to sleep, closing the door behind him. It was then that the child realized that Peter Petrelli was not the innocent man he had thought him to be.
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Claude Rains expected a lot of things from Peter Petrelli. He expected that the paramedic would always put his whole heart into whatever he pursued no matter how foolish it was. He expected him to care about others more than himself. He expected that the younger man would keep his favorite beer cold and waiting for him in the fridge. He expected that he'd always have a warm spot in his bed waiting for him whenever he felt like dropping by and wouldn't ask any questions about when he'd come again or where he had been. Yet the British man had never expected Peter to have a child.
Words could not describe the tidal wave of emotions that had sprung up inside of the Brit when he saw the little boy curled up between Peter's sheets. Even after the younger man had dragged him out of the room they occasionally shared, Claude still felt his mind reeling as a series of questions filled his head.
"Who the bloody hell was that?" Claude all but barked, not bothering at all to be mindful of the time or the child in the other room.
"Keep your voice down," Peter ordered as he pulled Claude into the kitchen. The empath quickly reached into his refrigerator and pulled out a can of beer, handing it to the other man without a moment's hesitation. "Drink this," he instructed. "You'll need it."
The British man frowned as he opened the can, the confusion inside of him only increased as he took a slow sip of his beer. He wished that Peter had remembered to purchase bottles. The young man knew he liked to drink his beer out of bottles, not cans. "Who's the kid?" he asked again, this time in a much calmer, quieter voice.
"Do you remember Mohinder Suresh?" he whispered, mindful not to disturb the child in the other room. Claude nodded and Peter continued. "He died about a week ago. That's... that's his son. Manu. Mohinder gave me custody of him in his will, so he's going to be living with me from now on."
Claude felt his grip tighten around the can as he digested Peter's words. He couldn't help but feel jealous at the idea of having to share Peter with someone, even if it was a child. Yet he knew that deep down inside Peter wanted children. The empath wouldn't admit it to anyone -- not even himself -- but he had wanted to be a father ever since he'd found out about his brother's death. The opportunity had simply never presented itself. Until now.
"Ya coulda warned me about this," he muttered, taking another pull at his beer. "Given me some sort of heads up."
"How Claude?" Peter asked; exasperation clear in his sharp tone. "I never know where you are or when you'll come around. You just show up whenever you please, eat my food, drink my beer, sleep with me, and leave."
Claude downed the rest of his beer, trying his best to avoid Peter's angry stare. He had always thought they had a good arrangement. He got what he wanted -- somewhere safe to go whenever he was tired of sleeping out in the cold -- and Peter got what he needed -- a warm body and someone to help relieve the stress when it was too much for him to take. They had their rules, they kept things casual, and they never said "I love you," but the older man knew that Peter secretly wanted more. That's one of the many reasons the younger man would occasionally turn to Suresh. He wanted to make Claude jealous, to make the man admit that he felt something. The Brit would never admit it out loud, but the plan always worked.
"There's more," Peter sighed, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out another beer for Claude to consume.
"What? You gonna tell me he's your biological son and Suresh only just told you now?"
Peter laughed nervously, shaking his head at the older man. "Not exactly," he whispered. His voice became low as he leaned in closely to him and told him the whole story. He explained about how Mohinder had gained artificial abilities several years ago that had triggered a horrible mutation in the Indian man. It was during this time that the geneticist had slept with Sylar and had accidentally gotten pregnant. That pregnancy had resulted in the boy sleeping in his bedroom.
Claude practically swallowed the entire can in one gulp after hearing the younger man's story. His heart hammered and his head reeled. "Ya mean ta tell me that the little brat is Sylar's kid?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly in spite of his best efforts. "Does he know about him?"
"Yes and no," he shrugged. "He knows about Manu -- he kidnapped him the day after Mohinder died -- but he doesn't seem to know that they're related. Neither does Manu."
The British man frowned, giving the empath a very pointed stare. "He coulda been yours then," he snapped.
Peter only laughed sheepishly. "Not the way we did it," he admitted.
Claude's frown only deepened at Peter's joke. He didn't like thinking about the young man with anyone else, but he'd never admit it, especially not this late into their relationship. What right did he have to hold Peter back from doing anything?
"You gonna tell him?" he asked, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible.
"When he's ready."
"What happens when he finds out?"
There was no "if" about it. Sylar would find out eventually. Claude had never met the serial killer face to face before, but he knew well enough how dangerous he was. He'd heard the stories and he had seen the scars the man had left on Peter.
"We'll deal with that when it happens," Peter said quietly.
The Brit was about to press him for more answers when he noticed the American's eyes go towards his bedroom. Claude followed his gaze and saw that the boy, Manu, was now sheepishly peeking at them from the crack of the door. Knowing that he had been spotted, Manu came out towards the two men instead of slipping back into the darkness of the bedroom, and for that he had earned a little bit of Claude's respect.
The man had not seen Mohinder Suresh in a few years, but from what he could remember of the man, he saw the strikingly strong resemblance between the Indian and his child. It was uncanny and a bit unnerving.
"Were you listening to us Manu?" Peter asked calmly. Claude rolled his eyes at the silly question.
"Yes," Manu admitted, bowing his head in shame. "I did not hear much. Just that... that there was something you did not want to tell me."
Peter sighed as he motioned for the boy to come towards him. Manu did as instructed, obediently coming to stand before his guardian. Peter knelt down in front of the half Indian child and looked him straight in the eye. "I'm sorry to keep secrets from you," he told him tenderly. "It's just... you've been through so much lately. I don't want to upset you. "
"I'm nine years old," the boy told him. "I can handle whatever it is you have to tell me."
The empath gave the child a weak smile, running his hands over the boy's black curls soothingly. "I know. You're a very brave boy, but it's late and what I have to say can wait until morning."
"You will tell me tomorrow?"
Peter frowned, biting his lip nervously as he turned his wide brown eyes towards Claude. The British man shrugged, at a complete loss. He didn't know how to handle children (unless you counted Peter) and he knew even less about telling someone that their father was actually more like a mother and that the person who had kidnapped them was actually their biological sire. Just thinking about the situation made Claude want another beer.
"I promise I'll tell you," Peter said and Claude had to applaud him for leaving himself so much room to get out of his obligation. "Now go back to bed. I promise we'll be quiet."
Peter started to turn the boy back towards the master bedroom, but the child stiffened frightfully when his eyes landed on Claude. The British man knew right away that the child was afraid of him -- as most children were -- but he thought nothing of it.
"Who is he?" the little boy whispered fearfully.
The paramedic's face flushed bright red at the question. He felt a bit of sympathy for the younger man. Their relationship was complicated enough as it was, describing it to nine year old child would be next to impossible, without teetering on inappropriate discussion.
"He's... uh... he's...."
"Is he your father?"
The British man felt his eyes narrow at the child's seemingly innocent question. He suddenly remembered why he had never bothered to have any children of his own.
"He's actually my boyfriend," Peter clarified, trying his best to suppress the laugh building inside of him. He failed.
