Gibs: Another chapter! ok ok I know this was supposed to be the finale chapter, but it was getting to long so I cut them in half. Look for chapter four soon! ^_^ I hope you all enjoy this, it was so fun to write! Petrelli brothers forever yeah?

Anyway, this was betaed by the lovely and charming Val (onebluegecko), many many thanks to her!

Chapter 3: Fire of Unknown Origin

Nathan remembers a time when his father was his hero. No, hero is not the right term. His idol maybe? The thing he worshipped not because it was good but because he needed its approval. He searched for it, longed for it, and in the end never got it. Nathan finds himself wondering if he ever loved his father. He didn't cry when the man died. Not like Peter; Peter who had spent the better part of his life fighting with their father.

Nathan remembers times when he wanted to kill his father. Not in the over used teenage version of the phrase either, but when he actually wanted his father dead. When Arthur caused Heidi's accident. He remembers Peter stepping in. "He's your father." Strange how the son who caused the most tension with his father could never stand to see the other members of his family fight.

Nathan remembers the moment he stopped living in his father's shadow. The day he stood before his brother in Kirby Plaza. The day Peter died.

But then Peter was back, was with him again and things weren't so clear. He'd tried to be the hero Peter saw him as. He'd tried, and then he'd just tried to be himself again. It was getting harder everyday. Husband, father, senator, vigilante. In the end the only self he knew how to be was brother, and even that he'd screwed up.

He'd been so sure the formula was the right path. So sure he could control it. So sure he could prevent the future Peter feared. Because Peter could be wrong too.

Then he'd seen them. A platoon of soldiers—good men—to protect against the Arthur Petrellis of the world. He'd been so sure that if Peter could see it then he would understand.

Then one gunshot changed everything.

Now there was fire; in his head and in the building. Pinehearst was burning down. The formula was gone and Nathan's head was screaming. He watched the building crumble and thought of Peter.

Peter playing with the dog in the backyard.

Peter staring at him with wide eyes full of betrayal when he read Nathan's mind in that parking garage.

Peter laughing over the phone at Nathan's joke.

Peter looking like death when Simone died.

Peter babbling happily about the quarter he got from the tooth fairy.

Peter running at Samedi's Guerillas with only a rifle.

Peter chasing Simon and Monty around the house at Christmas.

Peter looking hurt and shocked when Nathan hit him with a pipe.

The memories blend inside his pained mind, driving Nathan to his knees. Only one coherent thought rings through his mind. He'd hurt Peter, and he doesn't know why.

_-_-_

Gabriel looks at the paper and tosses it. Thanks to the power he picked up from the dinner waitress he doesn't have to look twice at the directions. He walks through the doors and straight up to the desk. The woman behind it is seemly with her black hair and a little too small nose.

"Hi, is the senator in?" he asks, throwing in some of that deceptive charm. She doesn't look up, just keeps typing on the computer.

"Sorry he's not here today," she replies absently. Gabriel feels a tingle run up his spine and smirks.

"Now Miss, I think we both know you're lying."

Her eyes snap up at that. Gabriel wonders why liars always look so offended when you call them on it. As if they have a right to be mad. "I beg your pardon?"

"Look, just tell him his brother's here." A little lie, but a few days ago it had seemed true and it wasn't like Miss small-nose could read minds. Her eyes widen then.

"Oh you're Peter?" she says, looking ridiculously apologetic, "Mr. Petrelli came in a few hours ago. He looks terrible if you ask me." The last part she whispers conspiringly. Gabriel nods, leaning forward on the counter and gives her a wink.

"I'll take care of him." And he means it.

_-_-_

Nathan gave up pacing after the first hour. He's too tired for it. Exhausted is really a better word. The fire has dulled in his head but it's not gone. He's never felt anything like it and he can't see straight. He isn't certain how he got back to his office, isn't even sure why he came. For the last two hours he's just been there, lying with his head resting on folded arms against the desk.

He hears the door open and sighs.

"Linda, I said no disturbances today."

"Not even for your brother?"

Nathan is out of the chair and against the wall before he can even register danger. He looks up and knows exactly who this is. Before him stands the enigma that until then has only been a tale from Peter and Claire.

This was Sylar.

"You're not my brother." He finds it hard to grind out, the headache only worsening after the killer throws him into the wall. Sylar shrugs casually. His manner is more unnerving than the things Nathan has heard about him.

"Maybe not, but I didn't say this visit was concerning me."

"What have you done with my brother?!" The wave of protectiveness fans the fire to new heights.

"He's not the one you should worry about." Sylar raises his finger, and Nathan feels as if a knife is being pressed against his temple. He screams. He knows this is it.

Sylar pulls back, a strange look in his eye. Nathan lands on his feet, hand instantly pressing against the bloody wound. He doesn't understand why the killer stopped, but then he doesn't understand much right now.

"I should kill you for what you did to Peter," Sylar says, "But he still needs you."

_-_-_

Peter is pulled in and out of awareness, until he feels permanently stuck. Stuck between light and dark; stuck between hot and cold. Every time consciousness begins to stir in his mind the darkness grips him again.

Until he feels it.

It's something that has been gone, but it's back and it's calling to him. He opens his eyes and glances weakly around. He's on a stripped down mattress, two knit quilts cover him. The room is plain and full of moving boxes.

He turns too quickly a feels his head swim. Everything on him hurts. He tries to let himself fall back into oblivion but whatever has been calling to him is stronger now, keeping him awake.

He shuts his eyes tight, breathing against the pain. He hears the door open, and feels a hand on his brow. It feels soft and familiar. His mind cannot connect the "who" but he registers one thing. Safe.

"Where am I?"

"My apartment, at least it used to be my apartment. I'm not sure who's renting it now."

He opens his eyes to slits and blurry images play at his vision.

"Gabriel?" Some part of him had known that the minute the other man walked in the door, but that wasn't it. That wasn't what was calling him. "Nathan?"

He sees him then, standing a few feet from the bed. Nathan's arms are crossed, and Peter wishes his vision would stop swaying long enough for him to read his brother's expression.

And then he remembers. He doesn't have to read his brother's features. He already knows what Nathan thinks.

Hurt, anger, tears, betrayal.

Peter pulls away from the thoughts and away from Nathan. He feels strong hands catch him, keeping him from toppling off the bed. Gabriel. The voice is beside his ear then.

"Sleep Peter."