A/N: Sorry for the long wait between updates. I am still writing this! It's just taking a while to write and update :p

Emma was waiting with anticipation for their arrival; cleaning up, biting her nails, waiting for the door to open. Her heart jumped when Peter unlocked the apartment door and showed the damp, injured teenager in to his home. Alex pushed his wet dark hair out of his eyes, clutching his bag of things, thankful that their revisit to the foster home had been short. Peter had promised to arrange everything whilst Alex gathered his things, and then he caught his last glimpse of Tom's cold and glassy eyes as they left.

A towel was placed around his shoulders and he looked up to see a woman with dark blonde hair, smiling sympathetically at him. Peter took his bag and set it down at the side before introducing her.

"Alex, this is my girlfriend, Emma."

Emma just smiled somewhat nervously. "It's nice to meet you," she said in a voice that made Alex chuckle awkwardly.

"What, are you deaf or something?"

Emma's smile vanished and she glanced down, embarrassed and offended. Peter glanced between them both, his mouth opening as he struggled to find any words. Alex's confused smirk formed in to an appalled frown. "Oh…Sorry." His face would have flushed with embarrassment, had it not been for the many red scrapes and sores that were already there. Great. He had been there no longer than 5 minutes and he was already outstaying his welcome by insulting the very people who wanted to help him.

"It's okay," Emma told him, her nervous smile reappearing. "Do you need anything else?"

Peter was already leading him over to the sofa, sitting him down on the cushions and examining his injuries. He felt sick with hunger over the pain of the bruises that were now forming over his ribs. "I would love something to eat," he said, looking up at her politely.

Emma glanced at Peter as he knelt down in front of the boy. He quickly looked up at her, his eyes still full of concern. "I have some leftover pasta in the fridge," he told her before turning to Alex again. "You like pasta, right?"

"Sure."

He nodded at Emma and she hurried off to the kitchen to collect the leftovers. Alex bit his tongue.

"I'm really sorry, man. I don't want your girlfriend to think I'm an asshole or something…"

"Don't worry about it," Peter told him with a brief smile, already forgetting the incident had happened.

Alex watched with unease as Peter stood up briefly and then returned with a white box. It was a first aid kit. "Show me where you're hurt," he said, his voice suddenly demanding. "Not just from the kids, but from Tom too."

Alex stared at him, stunned. "Who told you about him?"

Peter glanced at him with a slight look of guilt at having invaded the privacy of his deepest thoughts and secrets, and wondered how he was going to explain. "You told me," he lied.

"I never told anyone, man. Who told you?"

"Take your shirt off," Peter said evasively. "I need to see how bad it is."

Alex narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously but as soon as he was convinced that Peter wasn't going to admit to anything, he did as he said and pulled the grubby, blood-stained clothing over his head and threw it on the cushion next to him. He took in a deep breath and glanced at Peter from the corner of his eyes. "It's not that bad."

What Peter beheld would stay with him for a very long time to come: an average teenage body, had it not been for the various colours and shades of bruises, large and small. Some, he inferred from the light green-gold colours, were indeed more than a few days old. Others were already a dark purplish colour, particularly around the ribs, and the rest of the torso was very sore and very red.

Peter cleared his throat. "Are you in a lot of pain?" he enquired, kneeling in front of him and digging in to his first aid kit.

"Not anymore. It's fine," he insisted, although he winced when Peter examined the injuries more closely.

"You'll need stitches."

"Great."

"That place is getting closed down. I promise you."

Alex said nothing as Peter continued inspecting the cuts on his face, but the shame and embarrassment in his eyes spoke for him.

"You shouldn't be ashamed, you know. This isn't your fault."

"I know," he muttered quietly in return.

"And yeah, we might be strangers, but we're family and I'm going to help you. But the only way I can help you is if you tell me what's on your mind."

Alex's eyes dropped down to the red scrape on his wrist. "Sure."

Peter watched him doubtfully. He was hoping Alex would open up to him about all this soon, about what he had seen in that vision. If he wanted to help the boy, then Alex would have to trust him. He waited until he had eaten his leftover pasta before stitching up the cut on his right cheek. He thought about taking him to the hospital, but it was getting late and he didn't want to overwhelm him anymore than he had been already.

Emma, who had to contain her shock at seeing a body so damaged, had decided to leave them to it. She wasn't sure what to think of Alex for now, but she was so appalled by the brief texts that Peter had sent her before their arrival, and by what she had seen already, that she couldn't help feeling sympathy for the poor boy. Besides, if Peter had faith in him than so would she, she told herself with determination.

Alex was staring at his hands, which were resting uncomfortably on his lap. "You still didn't tell me…" he mumbled quietly as Peter finished up with the stitches and started to take off his sterilised gloves, "how did you know about Tom?"

There was a beat of silence as Peter tried to form an answer. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he responded in a low voice, handing him a tube of cream. "Put this on every night and every morning. It'll help with the bruising."

Alex didn't take the cream. His eyebrows knitted together with suspicion. He recalled the look of utter shock Peter had when they were at the fountain, the distant look in his eyes as soon as he touched his shoulder. "What else do you know about me?" he demanded after grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head, his skin burning as he punched his arms through the short sleeves.

Peter sucked in a quick breath and sat in the chair opposite. "I know what happened to your mom," he admitted reluctantly. "I know they sent you to that foster home and mistreated you. I know you feel like you can't trust anyone because of what my father did to your mother. I know you're scared and you feel alone." He paused there for a moment, swallowing. "And I know what you can do."

Alex's dark eyes locked with Peter's, a glint of confusion and fear in his eye. How was it possible? He thought. Unless…

"Can you do it too?"

Peter hesitated. Alex jumped to his feet.

"You can, can't you? That explains how you know these things…that look you gave me earlier. You saw something, didn't you? You saw my past." Alex didn't know whether he should be angry, or excited at the idea of having another human being be capable of what he was, and who could understand what he was going through. "How long have you known?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't exactly do what you do…"

"Then how-?"

"I have an ability, just as you have one. But my ability is to…kind of absorb other abilities."

"Other abilities?" Alex questioned, his dark eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

Peter released a sigh and got to his feet, rubbing his chin anxiously. He looked towards Alex who was watching him now with curiosity. He knew he would have to explain everything to him, and so he spent the remainder of the evening trying. He told Alex how there were many people like him who had similar abilities. How some people used them for good, and others for evil. How because a certain niece of his exposed her ability to the world, they needed to be extra careful about where and how they used them.

"I was able to see your past because I must have absorbed your ability," he told Alex whose expression currently seemed unreadable.

"I always wondered if there were others," he muttered more to himself than anyone else. "I thought that something was wrong with me, you know? For a while I was desperate to find out why I was like this…and then my mom died."

"Our father had an ability. It's genetic. So does my mom. And my brother did too. He could fly."

"He could fly?" Alex repeated, impressed. "That's cool." He paused and his eyes drifted on to a picture behind him. Two men, one of them Peter, dressed in suits and smiling cheerfully. "Is that him?" He pointed at the man next to Peter, tall and handsome and brimming with confidence.

Peter smiled sadly and took the framed picture from the side. "Yeah, that's him. Nathan." He handed the photograph to Alex who examined it for a few moments. "He had a daughter, Claire. She has the ability to regenerate."

"The one who exposed her power on TV?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Peter sighed as Alex handed him back the photograph. "That's why we're all laying low right now. Well, most of us."

"So I have a niece? What's she like?" Alex questioned, suddenly taking an interest in the family he never belonged to until now.

"Strong-minded. She knows what she wants. She started college not long ago and would still be there now if it wasn't for that stunt she pulled." He shook his head with disappointment.

Alex was a little stunned to discover he had a niece who was the same age as he was, then chastised himself. What was he doing? He was getting sucked in to this other world, this apparent other part of himself he never knew about. He never intended for that.

But what if this was what he had been searching for, the answers that his mother could never give him? He had the opportunity to truly find out where he came from and how he came to be like this. He could have a whole other life here waiting for him; he could move on, learn to live a new and better life.

Or was it all too good to be true?

Alex sat back on the sofa, holding his head. He was tired, he was confused. He needed time to absorb all of this new information; the revelation that he suddenly belonged to another family who had various freaky superpowers. This was on the brink of insanity, wasn't it?

"Look," Peter began, noticing his unease. "We can talk about this in the morning. You can sleep on the couch for now and get some rest. Tomorrow I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Alex wasn't sure if he wanted to know anything else. He was intrigued, but at the same time very confused and very repelled. He had never valued the mundane and simple aspects of his lonely life until now.

He raised his head slightly when he heard a knock at the door. Peter glanced at his watch, perplexed over who would be visiting at this time, and then went over to open it. He frowned deeply to see his old enemy at the door, biting his lip desperately.

"What are you doing here, Sylar? I thought I said never to contact me again."

Sylar frowned. "Peter, I told you, my name is Gabriel. And lest you forget what I did for your lovely girlfriend that fateful night at the carnival?"

"I also remember several other things that happened before that," Peter mumbled angrily. His desire to kill Sylar had since faded, but his bitterness and anger still remained.

"I know," Gabriel nodded solemnly. "That's why I'm here. I need your help, Peter. The hunger. I can feel it again. I need you to help me overcome it."

"Sorry, I can't help you. I'm busy."

"I thought you understood," the other man replied with genuine surprise. "I want to change. That's my choice. But the hunger - you know how overpowering it can be. I can't control myself."

This wasn't the first time that Sylar had bothered Peter with something like this, and each time Peter had agreed to help, forcing his fury towards the man out of his mind until he was sure the world was safe from him. But there never seemed to be any real danger. It was almost as though his former nemesis was doing it on purpose. Peter glanced over his shoulder at the young boy on his couch, who was wincing still at the bruises on his body. Sylar followed his gaze.

"Who is that?" he asked curiously.

"He's nobody. A friend."

Sylar always knew when he was lying.

"Fine," Peter sighed in surrender. "He's my half-brother. That's why you need to go."

"What?" Sylar spluttered. "Are you telling me there's a third Petrelli brother?" he questioned, full of strangely satisfying curiosity at this new information. "Fascinating…How did you find him?"

"Please, Sylar. Just go," Peter almost pleaded. The last thing he wanted was Sylar's presence, a reminder of the evil he had unleashed upon his family and the destruction he had caused in his life.

Gabriel nodded solemnly with understanding, and let the door shut with him on the other side. Peter leant against the wooden door and breathed a deep sigh.

"Who was that?" Alex enquired from the couch, his head raised with interest.

Peter cleared his throat and approached him again. "Listen to me, never talk to that man, okay? If you see him in the street, walk the other way. If you hear him at the door, don't answer it."

"Why?" Alex questioned further, his brows furrowed and nose wrinkled with confusion.

Peter thought he may as well tell him. He needed to know the danger he was in now. He fidgeted slightly and chewed on his lip hesitantly before answering. He took in a deep breath and looked at Alex gravely. "Because he's the man who killed Nathan."

(TBC)