A/N: This chapter was a bit hard for me to write, but I like it. Enjoy.

Pairing: Peter/Isaac.

Summary: Peter, a guardian angel, watches his newest charge—Isaac Mendez, an artist whose life is beginning to spiral out of control.

May angels lead you in

Hear you me my friends

On sleepless roads the sleeples go

May angels lead you in

Jimmy Eat World – May Angels Lead You In (Hear You Me)

Devotion

Chapter Two

May Angels Lead You In

Peter had chose not to follow Isaac, allowing the man to have privacy with his girlfriend. He was sitting on top of the Deveaux Building once again, his legs crossed at the ankles like they had been earlier that evening, waiting for the couple—or, more specifically, his charge—to return, when he felt a presence beside him.

"Hello, Nathan."

Peter considered all of the angels in Heaven his brothers and sisters, but Nathan was different; Nathan had been his actual brother when he was still alive. They had been close to each other while they were still both alive, and that closeness had continued in the afterlife. Nathan's presence caused Peter to feel a certain calmness wash over him that relaxed him; the emptiness that the run in with Isaac Mendez had caused was evaporating a bit—but only a bit. Peter had a feeling that the only way to get rid of the pit in his stomach was to touch the man again. If Peter wasn't such a good angel, then he would be burning with impatience for Isaac and Simone to return to her building. He would wait though. He didn't have a plan yet, anyway.

"Hello, Pete."

Peter could feel Nathan come up behind him and place a hand on his shoulder. Nathan did that—touched Peter—a lot. He knew that it comforted his brother when something was bothering him, and it had developed as a habit to touch each other over the years. It was just something that they did. Their parents weren't the best in the world when they were alive, so if they ever wanted comfort, they had to get it from each other. Whether Nathan had placed his hand on his shoulder because he could sense something was wrong or because it was pure habit, Peter didn't know, but he didn't mind it.

"I saw what you did earlier, Pete."

A light squeeze on Peter's shoulder before the hand removed itself told Peter that this was the part where Nathan would say 'I told you so.'

"Me and some of the others were watching. I'm really disappointed in you, Pete. You should have listened to me. You should have..."

Peter could remember a conversation almost exactly like the one that was happening at that moment that had happened when they were still human. He knew that if he didn't stop his older brother now before he really got started on the lecture, then it would go on far too long for his own liking; he head learned when they were younger that Nathan liked the sound of his own voice and could talk for ages, especially if he was giving his younger brother a lecture.

"I know, I know."

He tilted his head up, his bangs falling in his face a bit, to look at the man standing behind him. Better stop him before he gets a chance to really start, he thought to himself. He held up his hands, signalling for his brother to stop talking and to let him get a chance to speak for himself. When Nathan nodded to him, telling him without words that he could go ahead and say his peace, Peter lowered his hands. He lowered his head back to its original position and stared out into the distance of the city, his brow furrowing. He could sense Isaac's presence; the artist would arrive soon.

"I should have listened, I should have waited to talk to him. It doesn't matter now. I learned my lesson, right? I'll be more patient next time."

Peter knew Nathan well enough to know that the older angel was probably nodding, pleased for the time being. He felt Nathan clap him on the shoulder one last time before he saw Isaac round the corner, Simone in tow, and Nathan disappeared.

Perhaps he should have asked Nathan what the feeling in the pit of his stomach was, he realized, but it seemed that at the moment he had more pressing matters at hand; his charge, who he was supposed to make happy, certainly did not look that way at the moment; by the looks of it, him and Simone had been fighting—again. Though Peter wasn't blaming Simone—angels didn't like to blame people for crimes—she was a cause of stress in Isaac's life. Peter would either have to find a way to help their relationship or to help end it—which ever would make Isaac's life easier; by the look of things, ending it seemed the better solution with the way that their relationship had been going lately—all downhill, just like the artist's life. All things took time and work though, and first thing first—Peter had to actually worm his way into Isaac Mendez's life before he could kick Simone out of it.

Peter kept his eyes on the bickering couple. Maybe this could play in his favor; maybe Isaac would go home to his own loft instead of spending the night at Simone's. It would definitely make things easier on the angel. He would have a harder time talking to Isaac if the woman was around; she would prove too much of a distraction.

He waited until he saw them enter the building before he teleported himself into an alley on the side of it, making sure no one saw him. He walked out in the form that he had used while talking to Isaac earlier that day, his hands in his pockets, and leaned against the building walls by the doors. It didn't take long before Isaac came out, this time alone and more agitated than he had been entering it.

Isaac hadn't noticed Peter leaning against the building because he had been in a rush to exit it, but Peter would change that. His social skills weren't the best when it came to humans, he knew—he hadn't talked to one in years, after all—but it couldn't be that hard, could it? The other angels had more practice at it than he did, but they all had to start at some point, right? Then again, the other angels didn't have Isaac Mendez as their charge.

"Hey," Isaac, having heard Peter call out to him, stopped walking. Peter nodded at him once Isaac's eyes found the speaker. "You're the guy from earlier, right?" Peter straightened up and stood away from the wall, all the while coming closer to his charge. "The one I ran into?"

Isaac's shoulders straighted and he walked closer to Peter, his posture defiant; he was still expecting Peter to start something with him; the angel briefly wondered if the man thought that he had been waiting there the whole time for Isaac to come back so they could have a confrontation. It really wouldn't surprise him in a city like the one they were in, and Isaac had been jogging after Simone ealirer—the woman had decided that the fight had went on long enough and she had tried to get away from him—so he could have easily missed him leaning against the building.

"Yeah?" Isaac's dark eyes narrowed like they had been before. "What's it to you?"

Peter stayed quiet for a moment while he studied the man standing before him. It was obvious by his stance that he was hostile, and Peter really didn't know how to fix the situation at hand. He was running through possibilities in his mind, Isaac looking more and more irritated as time moved on, until he finally thought of something; he had seen plenty of angels charm their charges into doing what they wanted, and Nathan had told him that their was an air of innocence—along with feminism, but Peter didn't want to think about that—about him.

The angel relaxed his body as much as he could—what good would it be trying to get Isaac to relax if he himself was tense?—and took one last step forward before looking down at the ground.

"Nothing, man. I just..." He tilted his head slightly, looking up through his bangs, and reached his hand up to move them away, making the move seem as if he had done it absentmindedly. "I wanted to apologize for earlier." His lip quirked, a habit that he had possessed for as long as he could remember, as if he was smiling half-way. "You know, for huddling, as you put it."

Isaac's eyes narrowed farther, but after a moment he relaxed his shoulders; Peter's apology had eased his tension a bit. There was a pause before he answered, but once he did, Peter's lip quirked farther up as if his smile was growing.

"Apology accepted." Isaac eyed him as if he still didn't trust him—Peter didn't blame him; he could imagine that it would be hard for someone that had had Isaac's life to trust anyone—but he held out his hand for Peter to shake. "Isaac Mendez. Struggling artist, if you can't tell by the paint stains on my sleeve."

Just like picking a form to walk as, before angels came to earth they picked a background story. Some used their own, of course, not wanting to let go of their past, but others chose new names with new professions to introduce themselves as. It was a good idea to pick something that they actually knew about, and though Nathan and some of the other angels had gotten a kick out of the profession that Peter had chosen, he was proud of it; it was a job that he could help people with.

"Ah," Peter reached out and shook Isaac's hand. The sensation that he had felt while touching the man earlier returned, and he didn't want to let go so soon this time; he used the pretense of looking at the paint stains on Isaac's sleeve as a reason to hold on a little longer than necessary before finally letting go of the other man's hand. "Peter Petrelli. Hospice nurse."

Part of Peter had been looking forward to hearing Isaac laugh at his profession—most people did find the idea of a man being a nurse as funny, he had thought—butthe man merely raised and eyebrow and looked like he was holding back a smirk, which was a shame; Isaac didn't laugh nearly enough, and it was a pleasant sound in Peter's opinion.

"So, an artist? You any good?"

Peter already knew the answer to his question, of course; he thought that Isaac's paintings were good, but underrated; the man needed more attention, and, along with it, money; he looked like he was starving, an cause from spending most of his money on either paint or drug supplies. Still, if there was one thing to get an artist to open up, it would be about his artwork, Peter thought. He didn't have any other experience to compare it to, but it seemed to be working; Isaac hadn't walked away yet.

"I think so, yes. Some of my artwork is appearing in a local gallery right now. You should check it out."

Isaac had slipped his hands into his pockets, but Peter doubted that he felt modest or bashful. It was beginning to get darker in the city, and along with the darkness came coldness. Though Peter could do alright in the temperature, Isaac would get cold. The man would need to be getting home soon. It would do neither of them any good if he caught something. He didn't want to part ways just yet, but he did need Isaac to be getting home; besides, he would still be watching him, though the artist wouldn't know it and they couldn't talk anymore for the night.

"Sounds great. I should check it out sometime." Peter's lip quirked one last time and he paused before looking up at the sky as if just realizing how late it was getting. "I should also really be getting home. It's getting cold out."

When he looked back at his charge, Peter saw him nod. Good. He would be getting out of the weather soon too then hopefully.

"Yeah. Me as well." Isaac nodded one last time before he stepped back from Peter, apparently just now noticing how close they still were. "I'll see you some other time then? At my gallery, hopefully. If you can see with those godawful bangs hanging in your eyes."

Peter didn't know how to respond—he wanted to say something about the man's hair being longer than his own, but he didn't want to take the chance of making him mad again after things had just gone so smoothly—but it didn't matter; Isaac had turned to walk away and was already leaving.

"Are you sure you want me there?" He flicked his 'godawful' bangs—there was no way that the angels up in Heaven watching him weren't laughing at that—out of his eyes. "I might huddle against one of your paintings. Hey, it might even be an improvement!"

It was stupid, he knew, and reckless, but he couldn't help himself. He turned away before Isaac could reply and began to walk away, missing the fact that the man had stopped walking to look over his shoulder and smirk at him.

It was still only Peter's first day taking care of a charge—and a difficult one at that—and the man already liked him. The gnawing pit in his stomach had returned since Isaac had stopped touching him and it was growing as the man walked farther and farther away from him, but he was sure that it would disappear eventually. It was probably just a side effect from coming so close to his first charge so soon, he assured himself. All in all, it was a great first day—and it wasn't even over yet.