Apologies; first of all, for not giving the hooded guy a name since I don't know who it is on the show (yet); second, for this being the last chapter. I wrote it all in one day, so I'm surprised it stretched it out this far already. I'm in the early stages of planning another "Heroes" fic, but in the meantime…
4
After the battle to have found your voice,
Lifted above the slain
Peter stirred. His vision was blotched and blurred, but he could tell he was on the ground. Something, or maybe someone, lay next to him, reeking of burned flesh. He vaguely remembered pulling his attacker through the wall of ash and fire. It should have killed them both.
Ignoring the hooded man lying next to Peter, Nathan knelt beside his brother's body, holding back tears. He had already lost him once – the second time would be even more unbearable. At least he would be able to say goodbye this time, know where the body was and have a proper funeral…
"Nathan…" Peter reached out, searching for him in his throes of darkness.
With a momentary start, Nathan leaned forward and grasped his brother's outstretched hand. Realizing there was a crumpled piece of paper in his fist, Nathan transferred the scrap to his own hand. He uncrumpled the sheet to discover himself and Peter grinning back. A photograph, taken what seemed almost forever ago.
Looking back at Peter, Nathan was met with a familiar wry smile. Moving closer, he knelt and propped Peter up in his arms.
"You knew my name," was all Peter croaked. It was all he needed to say. His eyes closed, but Nathan was relieved to note his breathing remained steady. His brother would live to see another day.
As the wreckage increased and the city decayed, Nathan picked up his wayward brother, carrying him back the way he came, his sooty face blemished by the paths his tears had run. No one would believe this unless he showed them. Peter was back to save them.
Somewhere in the back of Nathan's mind, a voice rang out, one that had always been there – he had somehow managed to suppress it, kept it hidden. But there was no need to anymore.
His mind's truth ran out in time with the midnight church bells, like a broken record:
I told you he would come back. I told you so.