Part Two

"Claire?" When she opens her eyes again her dad is there, gently shaking her awake. The bright glare of the morning sunshine blinds her as she looks into his tired, red-rimmed eyes. He's been driving all night and she sighs; she really shouldn't have let him do that. He promised he'd wake her after a few hours but true to form, had let her sleep because he thought she needed the rest.

If only he knew she wasn't resting. Just dreaming the twilight away, selfishly enjoying the time while her dad worried and toiled, putting as much distance between them and New York as humanly possible.

"Care to share, Claire-bear?" He asks again, using their old secret phrase. It usually makes her smile, the way he says it, so light hearted and playful. But it doesn't this time, because things are different now. She's no longer his little girl who had ached to be popular, she had grown up sometime in the past few weeks into a half-person who could do miraculous things but doomed everything and everyone she touched.

She notices the frown worrying his strong features, notices how deeply lined his face has become the last few weeks. Everything that had happened to him and their family had been because of her and her powers. If only she isn't everything she is; if she was like everyone else, none of this would have happened. She wonders whether things would have been different if she'd gone to Paris just like Angela wanted; would Nathan have had to sacrifice himself to save his brother from taking millions of lives? Would Matt Parkman had been shot by Sylar and left to die on the streets of New York? What would their future have been like if Peter hadn't played the hero and saved her those weeks ago at Homecoming?

It's not your fault, Peter would have whispered, if he had been here with her.

But he was here because she could feel him – literally feel their connection pulsate through her veins and it comforts her, weirdly, oddly. Comforts her now even when she's not dreaming, this feeling of being with him so strong it physically hurts. His absence is a phantom pain of aching loneliness, because how could she miss a man she never really knew?

But does know him – did, and always will. Destiny and souls colliding in ether transcends time and space, or something along those lines. She's not really one for deep thinking and this one has her in knots, but she grasps the tendrils of truth as they're weaved in front of her and that's all that matters really.

She feels her dad staring, not a good thing to do when he has to keep one eye on the road and another on her. "Nothing." She lies, and it kills her to do it to him. Their family had lived through so many lies; everything in Claire's life had been a lie except for the most important truths. That her family and her dad loved her, and always will.

It isn't good to start a new life with lies. "Dad, I'm lying. There's something, but it's going to sound crazy."

She feels his smile and the sadness that permeates it. He's regretting that she's had to grow up so quickly, misses the giggly little girl who used to sit on his lap and beg for stories before bedtime. Misses the girl who baked cookies and force fed them to him, pouted if he didn't like them, the girl who practiced cheers in her brand new uniform and made team mascots from paper mache. But he's here and he's still her dad and that's all that matters in the end. "Try me."

There's a convenient diner up ahead and he winks at her, a tired wink but it does finally prompt a half-smile from her. "How about some breakfast? I could really use some coffee."

A fully fledged smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. She hears her stomach rumbling and recalls the last meal they had was in another almost identical wayside diner. She's lost of track of which state they're in. "Do I get pancakes?"

He pulls into the make shift parking lot which really is a patch of dirt by the side of the I95. "All the pancakes you can eat Claire-bear."

She's munching on her strawberry and blueberry pancakes like she's been starving for a month. Her dad watches her from the top of his third cup of coffee, his eyes probing and curious through his horn rimmed glasses. He's being respectful of what she wants to say and it's an odd feeling, because it's like he's interacting with her more as a person than as her dad. He's making every effort to put her at her ease.

"I dream about him every night. Peter." Claire blurts between mouthfuls of pancakes, watching carefully for his reaction. She knows it sounds crazy and all kinds of stupid, but she knows it's the truth and its her turn to save the hero now. Truly save him and not just take a shard of glass out of his head, take a leap of faith because that's the only way he'll be saved. "I've been dreaming about him since …" She can't bring herself to say it, so she just washes down the pancakes with a huge gulp of coffee, the heat from it stinging her throat slightly before disappearing.

He sets his mug down on the vinyl tabletop carefully, peers deep into her eyes. "It's natural to dream of those who've been lost to us. But you're not talking about that, are you?" She shakes her head, not daring to speak. How to explain what she's feeling, what she's seen? What Peter has shown her, and how they're connected? "Claire?"

When she finally speaks, she can't look at him. No matter how understanding he is about this, she can't face his disbelief, his pity. He knows his daughter too well; she gets emotionally attached to things. When her rabbit died when she was 10 it had left her inconsolable for a week. She'd cried in her dad's arms every night and even when Lenny was buried in the garden she'd go out there sometimes and put flowers on his grave and sigh and be sad that rabbits couldn't live forever.

She can't look at another rabbit in a pet store without wanting to throw up.

So she averts her gaze, looks into sun rising from a dusty patchwork of browns and greens and talks haltingly, of what and who she's seen.

She barely notices the waitress come and refill their cups, but she must have because she talks and drinks from the same cup of coffee for what seems an eternity. Her mouth isn't dry from the talking but rather from anxiety about convincing her dad; he has to believe her. She's not strong enough to do this alone, she needs him. Needs her family to be there for her, for Peter and Nathan.

"So you think Nathan's still alive. And that Peter's somehow sending you these dreams to help you find them." She's glad he's not interrogating her like she's a crazy person, just evenly repeats her words like he was really considering their validity.

She sighs and there's more than a hint of bitterness. She's tired of this, so tired. "Sounds crazy, right?"

Her dad smirks and it too is filled with bitterness; he's being drawn back into the web of lies and deceit again and he knows it. Like father like daughter. "Not so much. When I was with the company, I'd heard of people with that ability. To alter other people's dreams. I think it's time you and I got over what we think is crazy and consider it reality."

"Then you believe me?" She can't help as hope fills her voice and pours into the void that Peter's absence has left behind. Her gaze slams into his and she hates all the hope that she's placing in this, this hope against all hope.

He nods, grimly, sadly, like he's regretting the chance for the new life they would have had as a family. She regrets it too, but it's a small price to pay for saving her heroes.

"But I don't know where to start."

"We'll figure it out Claire, together."

By the time they're back into the car and retracing their route back to New York, her dad has formed a plan. Somehow, she knew he would. That was what family means, to place unconditional trust and hope and love in each other. It's a wonderful feeling and for the first time since it happened, Claire has hope.

She can't emphasise how much that means to her right now.

"What's the plan?" If her tone is a tad too flippant, her dad's not going to call her on it. She feels the hope as it courses through her, feels Peter getting ever closer and it exhilarates her. Never mind that she has no idea how they're going to find him and Nathan. She's just glad that they're doing it, giving Peter and Nathan a chance just as they gave the world.

"We'll retrace our steps. We need to find Molly Walker. She's the only one who can help us track Peter and Nathan."

"Who's Molly Walker?" Her dad explains all about the tracking system, and in the spirit of their newfound trust and honesty, doesn't leave any details out. The thought of her dad being able to kill another person – a little girl no less – just to keep Claire safe is disconcerting to say the least, but she shunts it to the back of her mind and concentrates on the important things. He's willing to do anything for his family. Luckily he hadn't needed to kill Molly and for that Claire is glad. She can't live with another death on her hands.

They stop in yet another nondescript highway motel when everything gets too much for them. They'd taken turns driving like equals and not father and daughter but at midnight their gas is running low and neither can keep their eyes open enough to give safe driving a go.

Claire looks forward to the moment her head touches the pillow because she's certain of who she'll see in her dreams; she catches her dad giving her a look that's half filled with concern and worry and the other half something else, something indecipherable. She can't worry about that now because she's tired, so tired.

So she closes her eyes and dreams.

Truth, belief and fiction meld as one when she opens her eyes again. They're there in the field of greens and golds. She turns and smiles, Peter's smirking at her through bangs falling haphazardly over handsome features. "You're here."

"Of course I am." She takes his hand and they stroll through the field. The sun's not as bright this time, nor the field as full of kaleidoscopic colour but she hardly notices the pallor of the landscape, because it's so wonderful being with him. "You knew I'd be."

"Yes, I did." His smirk is more smile now; she sees relief and happiness in those deep, dark eyes. "I wanted to show you more of this place."

They stop and he points and suddenly they're standing underneath a raised wooden bridge. She's been here a few times now and she's never seen this bridge; but she just shakes her head. It's a dream, this is all a dream. Anything can happen in dreams, right? "What is this place?"

"Somewhere beautiful." He's looking at her with his eyes full, but she doesn't blush or anything silly because it isn't like that, they're not about that in a place like this. Reality and dream is colliding in her head and she knows suddenly that she's meant to sift specks of reality from the dreamscape before her.

The realisation floors her. "Peter, are you showing me where you are?"

He doesn't answer. Instead he starts strolling onto the bridge; her hands feel empty without his in them. She follows blindly, needing to see and touch and feel him, but he's walking too quickly now and she can't quite follow, he's eluding her no matter how fast she runs. "Peter!" She cries and he turns, more silhouette now than actual person.

"I know you'll find me."

"But I don't know – I don't know any of this!" She wants to cling to him, tell him he hasn't shown her enough, not nearly enough. Blue skies, green grass, fields of bright golds and reds and whites aren't going to cut it on a map, and she needs him to be her hero, one last time.

But he's a speck in the distance now. She calls and cries and shrieks at the top of her lungs, but he can't hear her. He can't hear her now, and she sinks to her knees, inconsolable and helpless.

It's only when her tears dry that she notices the grainy feel of sand worrying her shins and calf. Wooden planks had dissolved into beautiful, soft white sand; so pure that the glare from the sun's reflection hurts her eyes. She scoops a handful and watches as they pour out of her grasp; suddenly realises that's what dreams are. Tenuous moments of truth so precious they're impossible to hold onto for very long.

Sand. Wind. Wooden bridges against azure blue skies. Fields of green and gold, red and white.

He's showing her the way to him, and she's going to figure it out now matter what.