Chapter Three: the audacious little jumped-up one-shot continues to beat its author into submission...
It was 2:30 in the morning, and Peter Petrelli was watching the stars.
Or trying to, at any rate. Truth be told, Peter found himself sharply disappointed in the star-strewn view he studied so intently through the thicket of surrounding greenery. They had driven all the way up to New Hampshire, and he had expected the stars as seen from that far-flung, verdant state to be something spectacular. Oh, they were bright, certainly, and sharper than the milky studs you saw at home. And you couldn't deny that there were an awful lot of them. But… that was all. These stars didn't sparkle as Peter had thought they would, as he had been led to believe through a combination of encyclopedias and distracted motherly assents. They didn't even twinkle, and for Scott's sake, wasn't that a prerequisite? The Christmas lights at the Planetarium were more exciting.
Peter dropped his binoculars to his chest with a sigh. Eleven, he had found, seemed to be an age of profound disillusionment. Athletes played sports for obscene amounts of money, girls were (or were becoming) different for reasons beyond long hair, and now it turned out that the stars were pretty much the same wherever you went. The changes were disconcerting, and something in his blood told Peter that bigger, more ominous truths loomed on the horizon. What these disturbances might be or might portend, Peter had very little idea-- but already his heart ached for his wilting innocence.
Feeling suddenly tired and strangely melancholy, Peter rose and brushed off the backs of his earth-damp pajamas. At least he could still dream like a kid.
Peter slept fitfully, starting in and out of various bright and grainy dreams that gave him no rest. Finally, he stumbled over a snoring Nathan and tottered from the little tent, clutching a comic for company. Maybe a change of scenery, he thought. It was an effort to think, and it occurred dimly to Peter that he was not quite awake, and therefore it perhaps wasn't such a bright idea to take a skip through the woods at this hour of the morning…
The dreaming Peter didn't agree, however. This part was not quite sure what it wanted, but to lie down, to… to fold before the looming inevitability of an adult future decidedly did not sit well. What does that have to do with sleeping? The conscious Peter wondered, but he was not going to get an answer. He blinked as the sky grew pale before his eyes… but now everything stood out in the glistening, jewel-brightness of his dreams, the heavens were hung with stars big and wonderful as red apples, which seemed now to drip tantalizingly from enormous tree limbs…
The waking Peter was aware of leaves and branches scraping painfully at his bare feet, of stumbling over ugly roots, and wished for a soft bed and a warm hug. But something at the campsite had scared the dreaming Peter, and he couldn't go back.
He gave himself up to the fantasy.
Nathan awoke to the uncomfortable sensation of clammy dampness and the sound of ringing voices. He could not hear what they spoke of, but he knew the inflections, could feel the volume registering with a part of himself that knew viscerally when to stay away from his parents.
There were not many things that made his parents loose control like this. The list was short; the secretary, Mr. Linderman, and Peter. No, and the thought pierced Nathan's overwhelming desire to sleep out the storm, more like the lack of Peter…
Nathan swore and staggered up out of his sleeping bag. He stumbled out of the tent, nearly disgorging the small space of its meager contents in the process.
"Mom?" he croaked. "Dad, what…"
Silence fell, as his parents stared at him. Both were still in sleep things, and Dad was barefoot. Nathan could see the red staining his mother's eyes and cheeks, and felt something cold clunk against his small intestine. "He's gone… again?" Nathan whispered hoarsely, though he already knew the answer.
They said nothing, but Mom choked on a sob as Dad held up a small pair of binoculars and gestured to the wilderness.
TBC... thanks for the reviews!