2007-08-05: Crazy Random Happenstance


DFLogan_icon.gif DFPeter_icon.gif

Guest Starring:


Summary: A chance meeting between the brothers who never get a happy ending.

Dark Future Date: August 5th, 2009

Crazy Random Happenstance

NYC - Deveaux Building - Rooftop

Rooftop of the Deveaux Building. Damaged from the tornados and strange weather that ripped through the city, the building still stands. Devoid of pigeons, there should be no sign of life. The building isn't even occupied anymore, most of the windows blown out. The fire escape has been ripped off, but a normal person might be able to navigate the stairwells to get to the pent house suite and the rooftop it's attached to. Or… someone could get to it in another way. Such as flight.

Which is exactly how Peter Petrelli got up there. Sitting against the edge of the roof, between the partially broken statues, he's staring up at the sky. He's been here all day. He meant to go back to the Zoo, but he never did. After leaving the Saints, he doesn't know what to do— so he's waiting.

For someone who hasn't left a message since the first one. What had it said in Japanese? Gotta go, you're on your own, Peter-san!?

An excursion at a ridiculous hour is not an unusual thing for Logan to take. His personal security are all pretty much used to it, though they don't appreciate it. In this particularly crazy world he's built himself, there are things Logan needs to do that extend outside what is expected of the President. Signed contracts between psychopaths, deals with the devil (or 14-year-old girls), and this time, an unexpected flight. And no, nothing to do with an Air Force One plane.

He's dressed in clothes fitting a civilian, a black shirt and matching pants, a heavier jacket. As he flies, Logan keeps his right arm held against his body, but out of a sling, bandaging a little visible whenever his shirt slips. The descent is cautious, mostly for his own comfort, but down he drops from the sky to land gently on the surface of the Deveaux rooftop. Only then does he notice he's not alone, an annoyed sneer painting his expression, because that landing wasn't a quiet one. Oh well, come what may. Shoot the stranger with the firearm at his hip, or just fly, fly away.

Shooting the stranger would be easier. Luckily for the code he worked out with the other time traveller, whether he's around or not, seeing the little origami cranes (ducks mostly) is rather difficult in this light. They could be newspaper bits left behind. The light might also make seeing who's sitting against the ledge of the roof very well. The clothes Peter wears are drab and badly fitted, a tan brown in color. They're too big for him. They hang wrong. Pants need to be held up with a belt. It's not the most flattering look for him. Compared to the last time this man saw him… his hair is much shorter, a single curl hanging into his forehead. He also hasn't shaved in a few days. No razor. No beard forming yet, but definitely noticable stubble.

As he'd been looking up at the sky, it's not difficult for him to notice the person flying in. Not who he waited for— not who he spent all day and a good portion of the night hoping would show up— but it's someone he's wanted to see… And someone that he'd been almost more terrified to see than Elena.

Only so many people can fly. Only so many people are that tall, with that build. Even in the dark, how could he not recognize his brother?

"Nathan?" His voice is softer, lighter in tone, without the harshness of anger. Some pain, but also surprise, mingled with an almost hopeful sound.

Compared to the man he was two years ago, it's only in subtle nuances that Peter could tell him apart, with perhaps the addition of grey strands through his hair at his temples. Nathan spent most of his adult life cleancut and immaculate, and Logan is no different. No shocking scars, no drastic change in fashion. Yet, in other ways, it's clear that two hard years have gone by.

Logan's irritated expression changes into one of surprise, and perhaps a flash of fear, his left hand twitching as if considering the gun he has with him. Not that that would help a hell of a lot, but call it a security blanket. "Peter," he says, almost spitting the name out before clenching his jaw. "Out of all the rooftops."

This scenario is made only more confusing by the way Peter is looking at him - and the physical changes in addition to a shift in attitude. Maybe split personalities run in the family. Likely not. His attention focused on whom he considers to be a very volatile individual, Logan neglects to notice the origami scattered about the roof.

To be honest, Peter isn't looking his best, even if he's younger in appearance and very little battle hardening. Pale and tired looking, he hasn't had much to eat today— he borrowed some food he intends to pay back before he left the Saints, but otherwise… nothing. Hasn't showered. And what sleep he got in the hours after the operation… were full of nightmares. Not a single decent sleep since he got here— maybe he'll never have one again. Pushing himself to his feet, he looks somewhat unsteady, hardly a threat about to lash out, but difficult to tell in this case.

Did he fall asleep? Is this another nightmare? The way his brother's looking at him in the little light that they have available… he's not sure it isn't. "Nathan… you look different." When he listened to his brother's speech, it'd been on the radio— so this is the first time he's seen him. First time in over a week… that extended into two years thanks to a tiny Japanese man.

"Oh do I?" Logan says, sardonically, not exactly leaping to the conclusion that this Peter is any different to the Peter he saw but a few days ago. "I guess it would please you to know I haven't exactly been having the best week." He narrows his eyes, trying to see better through the dimness of the setting. "You don't look like you're holding up much better." His voice is full of aggression and defense, as if an argument had already broken out, but Logan stops, looking Peter over again with a little more care. Cautiously, he takes a few steps forward, now noticing such details as the unfortunate fit of his clothing. "Did Kate kick you out of hearth and home or something?" he finds himself asking, genuine curiousity in his voice.

There's a grimace from Peter and he looks away. "You hate me too… shouldn't have thought different." So many people hate him here— he has so many questions, but there's so much going on he doesn't get a chance to process them all. So much going on in his mind, at least. Not arguing with himself, not having a multiple personality issue, but there's still a lot going on. It's hard to shut his brain up sometimes— especially today. Two of the most important people in his life at the moment can't stand to look at him. After the blow of coming face to face with Elena for the first time… this is difficult to take less than a full day later.

"Kate?" is the first question that comes out. As if genuinely confused. Oh— oh right. Katy. Kaydence. Mara. "Mara…" he repeats outloud when he gets to that conclusion. His wife. There's a grimace. "No— no— I haven't— I'm not…" He trails off with a sigh. How is he going to explain this every single time.
Blink. Blink blink. "That's right, 'Mara'," Logan says, now studying Peter like he's never seen him before. Because this is not the scary sonofabitch who so hates him, whom he so hates right back. He doesn't know exactly what this is, he just knows what it isn't. He feels a little bit better about the gun at his hip. Maybe it's not entirely useless after all. "Okay. Who are you," he says, putting on what seems to be an actually kinder tone. An act, most definitely, but he's suddenly in a better mood.

A shapeshifter standing in for Peter, maybe? That would certainly mean a bullet might do some good… the physical differences are there. Now that he's standing, he's more compact than the other one, filling out his clothes a lot less. Same height, but the muscle mass seems smaller— could also be the badly fitting clothes fault. "I'm… your brother. Peter." That's a weird answer, since he just pretty much proved he doesn't call his wife by the name that he pretty much ended up giving her, after calling her Katy all those times. It doesn't end there. Looking up, meeting his eyes again, he says softly, "I… teleported… here. From the past. From 2007… Before— everything." Before Kate. Before the Storm. Before Monty. Before the Election.

Logan regards him coldly, trying to find the truth in this ludicrous… ridiculous… well. Logan, unlike Nathan, had always been accepting of what people can or can't do it. It's what made him better - adaptability. So this isn't so ludicrous-ridiculous. It's dangerous, is what it is, and with a kind of wariness, he paces away, keeping his eyes on Peter as if worried he might vanish back again at a moment's notice. "2007, huh?" he says. "Back when you were tryna save the world, instead of burn it to the ground?" Says the man who only made a shitty situation much, much worse.

"Right— 2007," Peter responds, no longer able to look at his brother when he says that. Maybe it's the backing away— or the reminder of what the him that he became here happens to be doing. Burning down the world— married to someone he's doesn't have those feelings for (yet?) and hated by the people he does care for the most. And told by everyone just how terrible a person he is. "I'm not— him. Just like you're not really my brother." Oh, he has no idea how right he is. It causes a flinch, and he looks back up. "This world is sick." It's said almost helplessly. How very sick this world really is…

This world is sick. That gives Logan pause, makes him almost smile and glance over his uninjured shoulder, both towards the scarred landscape around them and to the gentler version of his brother. "This world," he says, turning again to face him, "is a work in progress." As if to accentuate his point, or undermine it, there is the distant sounds of bullets being let loose from a gun. As if it were background noise, Logan takes absolutely no notice, talking over the tail end of the echoing sound. "Lemme guess, you plummeted yourself forward in time and space to see what you could do about what must look like a mess to you. I'm already working on that, Pete." Pete. Not a name he's used in a long time. Not a name Logan has ever really used at all. Gotta be careful with that. He licks his lips, cold gaze still locked on the time traveler. "Go home. Let fate run its course."

With a cold gaze leveled on him, Peter might look cowed— but something about what his brother has said has kick started something he nearly lost in the last twenty-four hours… "No." Instead of cowed, quietly broken, and almost sensetive, there's a defiant tone to that single word. Not a harsh sound, as he might have made it with his present form. More stubborn. "You didn't," he says, keeping his eyes locked on the shadow of his brother— a pale imitation, honestly. "The future isn't written in stone, remember?" A quote spoken half a year ago— but one he'll never forget. "I can change this. Last time… you saved me from killing millions…" Probably an exaggeration, but there's in the end… millions probably would have died. "Now it's my turn, Nathan." And yet— he still has no idea how he'll do it. He hasn't found the key, yet— and without Hiro… he's not even sure he can get back.

These sentiments only get a flat look from Logan, quiet frustration clear. He's not sure what to say, exactly, and if there ever was something in common with he and the personality that actually belongs to this body, it's the difficulty to appeal to the idealistic. And this pale imitation's scope is somewhat… limited. "The world changed. The Evolved were discovered and it was always going to be a violent, painful process. Like a birth." Or a death. Many deaths. "The war will happen and people will die. Then I will get elected and I will fix the damage. And you," a dangerous glint in his eyes, completely unlike Nathan of two years ago, or even now, "want to take that from me."

"You're not fixing anything, Nathan!" Peter cries out in frustration, though without the harshness he might have had before. "Locking people up into detention camps is not the way to do things. Somewhere deep down you know this. You have to." Who is this man he's talking to? Does he even know him? What happened… There's so many questions. "I don't know what happened— I don't know why you think the war is inevitable. But… I think I finally understand why Heidi reacted the way she did— if this is the world that's destined to be, then…" He'd always been horrified by how inadequet she'd claimed to feel. Like having those abilities made someone a better person, more worthy— Speaking of his sister-in-law… "Did you lock her up too?"

"Detainment for their own protection," Logan swiftly corrects, as if he's had to do it a million times, whether or not he believes what he's saying. The question of Heidi, though. His hands slip into the pockets of his jacket, right arm moving a little awkwardly to achieve this but moving all the same. Silence will have to be an adequate enough answer, because Logan says nothing, just watching and wary of a reaction. He's not inclined to lie about it, though - he feels no shame in it.

"You did." Peter suddenly says, realizing exactly what his brothers not telling him. Oh God, Heidi… All those people and the man's own wife. For their own protection? From them, it would seem. Protection from those who suddenly felt like their abilities made them Gods— that's what Trina asked him, isn't it? The whole world at his fingertips, nothing able to stand in his way. And yet— this world is not what he wants and what he wants is so out of reach that he can't even touch it if he tried… "This isn't the man who gave up everything to save New York less than a year ago…" A year ago to him. … "What happened to you?"

An arguably harsh comment that perhaps Nathan might have taken to heart, or at the very least, felt ruffled by. It has absolutely not effect on Logan. He knows he isn't that man anymore. It's something he's willing to feel pride over. "I adapted," he says, simply, and moves closer to Peter. His hands come up— no, just one, right arm giving up, but that will do. He places it on his brother's shoulder, near his neck, gripping. "You're gonna go home, Peter." A smile, unstoppable, plays out on his mouth, enjoying this little moment. "And I want you to tell Nathan something for me - nice guys finish last." In a mockingly fraternal way, he pats Peter's cheek - a little harder than necessary. The smile is gone, anger taking place of amusement in a flash. "Do yourself a favour and cut your heart out while you can." Not literally, clearly, because Logan isn't about to cause a time rift or something. There's enough here to do, let alone rip a hole in time and space.

Adapted. There's something so cold about that word, so inhuman. Humans adapt, but this kind of adaption… There's a shake of his head, almost as if Peter's trying to deny everything that his brother's saying. It's the pat on the cheek that actually makes him step back. Somehow a touch that might have been comforting not too long ago, almost feels wrong— because of the way his brother's talking. "Sounds like I did that already here— and everyone I love hates me and I'm destroying everything that I worked to protect." But it's the lack of one arm moving that draws his eyes, the closeness. "…You're injured," he's looking at it now, instead of his brother's face.

"And believe me, it doesn't hurt him one bit," Logan snaps, but then, he hesitates, and glances at his own shoulder. His collar is open and white bandaging is visible close to the base of his throat. In a small, irritated move, he tugs the fabric back over it, and takes a step back, as if wary of aforementioned weakness getting noticed, exploited. "Comes with the territory," he says, voice a little more sedate.

"We're not animals, Nathan," Peter says, keeping his eyes on the shoulder for a long time. There's a definite look of interest there, as if he's considering something. Not moving just yet, his eyes flicker back to his brother. "We have souls." Daphne and the animals at the Zoo might be insulted by the implication that those animals don't share the same. "Adapting isn't everything. Surviving isn't everything. All we leave behind is who we were— what we did— whose lives we touch. If we're not good to each other, then what will be remembered for?" It's one of those questions he can somehow ask with a straight face. And as if he made a decision, one of his hands starts to raise up, as if he plans to put it on his brother's wounded shoulder.

The combination of that last line, along with Logan having very frequent dealings with healers, make what Peter's about to do click into place. A rustle of fabric, then the barrel of a handgun is pushed against Peter's stomach, a look of warning in Logan's eyes. "Stop trying to fix everything," he whispers, harshly, head tilted to the side. "Now. I know this won't do much damage, but I get a few rounds to find out what does the most. So back up."

The weapon that is raised against him draws his eyes down. Peter can feel it pressing into him, and there's no reason to believe that this man won't go ahead with it. Cass did. Elena would have. Now his brother. The hand drops away, but there's something about his face that's… devastated. There's no other word for it, really. That broken look he'd had that started to piece together returns. A weakness surely in some eyes, but in a world like this… "Isn't that what you were trying to do, Nathan? Fix things?" There's something harsh about the way he says fix. An emphasis on the last sound. There's a shake of his head and he backs up a step. "Why not do it anyway? Wouldn't be the first time you've killed me."

There's a long moment as Logan regards Peter, gun held steady, if awkwardly, in his left hand. Then, he kind of shrugs, and begins spending the cartridges, the sheer noise of it gracelessly loud and yet blending in perfectly into their surroundings. He aims straight for Peter's chest, and for the first time tonight, his eyes are lit up with some kind of life as soon as he pulls the trigger the first time.

Awkward hold or not, at this range it's nearly impossible to miss a target as big as someone's chest. Bullets impact through the drab clothes Peter borrowed as if they weren't even there, the first hit sending him back step, blood already gushing towards the surface. He shot him. Did he not think he would? Maybe— he could have been hoping to call a bluff, hoping for… one hit was all that'd really been needed. A sound escapes, surprised, pained. But that close… there's no missing the target. The step backwards can't stablize him, as his skin turns pale, and he starts to fall backwards against the ledge. If he's not really careful, or pulled back, he may actually fall off the roof entirely as he dies, a bullet lodged in his heart.

The gun is lowered, once three bullets are shot, and Logan watches as Peter staggers back, close to falling. With a sort of energy in his movements, he strides forward, grabbing a handful of his brother's bloodied shirt and pulling him back, letting him stagger back down onto the roof's surface. A booted foot assists in pushing Peter to lie flat down on his stomach, and he aims his gun at his head. "It'd be easy," he says, out loud. But not to Peter. He glances to the figure only he can see. Nathan is standing but a few feet away, and he looks different. Rougher around the edges, dressed in different clothes, but otherwise identical.

"You can't," he says, quietly - utterly silent to Peter in the same way he's utterly invisible, though Logan continues to speak out loud.

"I could," Logan corrects. "Maybe it would shut you up if I did. I'm not letting you talk to him."

Nathan moves closer, and finally crouches down, reaches out a hand - though he doesn't touch. "I'll be good. Just don't." His voice is rough, and he glances up at Logan, hateful.

"Then get out," Logan sneers, and in the time it takes him to blink, Nathan is gone. He laughs out loud, and takes his foot off Peter's prone form, stepping back. "Gullible as always, Nathan. We still need him." No reply. Fine by Logan. He re-holsters his gun, and starts to make for the ledge.

Three bullets. Each hit— the first one did the job already. Dragged back onto the roof before he falls, Peter's lifeless, so he hears nothing at all of this conversation. Not what's spoken outloud, not what's said invisibly— not at first. There's a cough, rather sudden, and he sits up to spit out one bullet. The other two are dislodged physically by his own body, pushed out by the wounds healing. Breathing again, his vision is blurry and dark, barely alive at this point, but he does look up, search for the man who killed him. His own brother. Moving towards the ledge. "Na— Nathan…" he coughs out, unable to move just yet— so much still needs to heal, his body can't handle much.

That's not his name. Feel free to wear it out. Logan doesn't spare Peter a second glance as he walks away, not a word, though he picks up those sounds of life, the coughing. His brother is infamous for not dying - just ask Homeland Security. Call this practice. With a hand placed on the ledge, Logan deftly levers himself over the top, legs up and over as if jumping over a small barricade. He doesn't fall very far until he's flying once more in that characteristic, rocket-like way, disappearing easily into the black sky above.

All Peter can really do is watch. There's no way he'll recover to chase after. When his brother disappears from sight, his eyes close, body curling as he settles onto his side, breathing— the bleeding stopping. The wounds will be healed soon— or will they? He doesn't even have the will to get up and move, hand clutched around the first bullet that was fired at him. The bullet that pierced his heart… in more ways than one. There's many reasons he should be leaving this place, but he doesn't bother to get up… and may not for quite some time.

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