2007-12-01: Derailing The Stupid Train


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Summary: People have brothers for many reasons. They can try to help you when you need to be helped, and they can derail you before you hop onto the stupid train. This log shows both.

Date It Happened: December 1st, 2007

Derailing The Stupid Train

Petrelli Mansion

There's a sound. Like a pop of air, like a the atmospheric level changing on an airplane. It's not loud or harsh, and most people wouldn't even notice when Peter appears in the middle of the Petrelli Mansion Foyer. He's dressed sensibly, though not as warm as he should be, and doesn't look at all chilled. No need to even go out into the cold when he can just transport from one location to another. Eyes open to observe the foyer, looking around for a moment before he calls out, "Nathan?" and begins to look around the downstairs first.

The sudden calling out of his name makes Nathan startle awake. Not that he was sleeping, but he wasn't quite alert enough to not be startled, especially as nothing like the open and close of a door preluded that, or the sound of a car. He gathers himself up and moves from his study towards the more open areas of the foyer, just as Peter moves to investigate the rooms. "Pete?" he says, somewhat bewildered upon seeing his younger brother. "Didn't hear you come in. Something wrong?" There's always something wrong, these days, when it comes to unexpected visitations. As for Nathan, it's as though he's hit a new low - a lack of sleep hasn't done him any favours, and obviously he's been taking it easy today. A bulky, somewhat age-faded sweater over casual pants best suited for lounging around at home rather than going outside, feet in socks, and he folds his arms around him, slightly bleary gaze fixed on Peter.

"Not with me, no," Peter says, shaking his head once he's managed to locate his brother in the doorway of the study. The lack of rosy in his cheeks, no cold on his nose— they might betray that he didn't come in from outside. Or he could have a supernatural resistance to the cold, which could be true too. "I've been… calling Mara every other day to check on her, make sure she hasn't gone into a coma or anything. Last time I'd talked her she'd not eaten for almost a week cause she had a vision that knocked her out." That could seem out of left field, but he continues, "When I called her today she wanted me to meet with her. She's really worried about what happened to you, how you're not… healed yet." As he moves closer, he puts his hand on his arm and says, "Do you mind sitting down with me? If I'm going to try this, I should be sitting…"

"I talked to her yesterday," Nathan says, shaking his head a little as Peter skips over information, barreling straight to the point— which gets a stare. "What, now?" He even forgets as to whether or not Peter teleported into the house, squinting at him. "Why now?" It's been a while, after all, and Nathan steps back from Peter just before that touch can really land. "What did she say to you?"

"Because she can be very convincing, okay?" Peter says, mildly determined, but the questioning keeps him from just pushing it, or taking a step closer and fully grabbing his brother's arm. Instead his hand drops after hanging in air for a moment. "I should have tried it as soon as it happened. Before even. I don't even know if I can, but… I'm going to try. Okay?"

Nathan is silent for a moment, before glancing about the space just behind Peter. No one there. He gestures a little, moving past Peter so that they can go sit down in the loungeroom not so far away, Nathan's arms going back around himself and taking the break in conversation to cough quietly into a fist, the sound still bouncing off the walls. "You didn't try it," he starts, voice at a rasp, "because it's dangerous. Mara's not the best decision maker we know, you realize. What are the risks?"

And that would be exactly why he'd not tried it. Only his emotions got in the way of making that decision just a few minutes ago. Peter stands there a little opened mouth before he follows to the loungeroom. "I don't know, honestly. With Erin it caused her to nearly pass out right there. I don't know how long it took her to recover, but I think she spent the night at Bat Country at least. I guess it could do the same to me, but I've been through worse." He's had two comas since he got his abilities, both he came out of. And that doesn't count the times he died.

"Peter," Nathan sighs out, not really an addition to the conversation. Just Peter, as if it were an inherent part of a sigh. He doesn't invite his brother to sit down, just scores an armchair for himself and sprawls a little. "Believe me, I want to get well. I'm sick of this thing. But what am I meant to do, tell you to kill yourself over fixing me?"

That name-sigh thing actually makes Peter's jaw tighten and he grabs for a nearby chair and pulls it over closer to the one his brother scored. "I'm not going to kill myself doing it. Most likely nothing'll happen, and then we can track down the woman who healed me and ask her to do it. I think she'd be willing, and I could find her." But he does hold his hand out, looking stubbornly at his brother. "Or it could work and I'll be knocked off my feet for a couple days at most. I'm not her. I might even recover faster."

Nathan glances down at the offered hand, and then up to meet Peter's gaze, and it's probably then it's made obvious how deeply tempted he is. It takes him a moment before finally, he places his hand on Peter's in a clasp. He doesn't say anything, as if not putting words to this moment of not being quite able to turn down the offer, essentially a show of weakness, would make it less so.

With his hand taken, Peter closes his eyes. "It'll be okay, Nathan," he tries to assure his brother, though he's also assuring himself at the same time. While he took many minutes to even see that Mara had no virus at all, he connects with what he needs a lot faster. Mostly because he remembered that his healing had not been the first time he met that woman. When his eyes open, they're actually glowing— a bright light behind them lighting his eyes up. His hand tightens. The virus is visible all over his brother, and this time… he thinks he can do something about it. The tension appears on his forehead, but he doesn't let go, doesn't let his brother let go, either.

The first virus cell he attacks goes down slowly, the second more quickly— but the more he kills, the more daunting the task seems. Shouldn't be be able to kill all of them at once? No, doesn't work like that… and there's hundreds— so many. And they resist it, every step of the way. The better that Nathan will feel, the worse his brother looks. Eyes get reddened, bloodshot, the glowing starts to fade out, leaving his eyes almost glassy instead. Sweat begins to clump at his forehead, sticking locks of hair together. More, there's more— but even his grip is loosening.

It's a subtle change, but having lived with these symptoms for almost two months, Nathan can sense something shifting. It's the fever, that's the one, the heat evaporating slowly from his body like a blanket being pulled back, although he still feels tired. Likely that will fade in a few more minutes, but— his gaze switches back to Peter, watching carefully, and it doesn't take an awful lot of time for him to withdraw his hand from Peter's. "Okay, that's enough," he says, gently.

"It's not— not gone— I can still…" Peter tries to protest, but it doesn't last too long because he's falling toward a bit, arm catching him before his face ends up in his knees. There's visible shivers already begining under his coat, but he's not unconscious. "I didn't— get all of it. I don't know how— how much…" It seems rather difficult for him to talk, as if every breath difficult to manage. Would he have been able to get more if his brother hadn't pulled away? Not likely. From the way his eyes look, he'll be lucky if he makes it out of the house. "Feel any better?"

Nathan hesitates, then rests a hand on Peter's shoulder, guiding him back a little so he'll sit more comfortably, then takes stock of himself. Alert, and the little trembles that plague him every few minutes seem to be non-existent. That unnatural feeling of being simultaneously hot and cold has evened out, but not entirely. He can still feel the sickness, lurking, like a headache beneath painkillers, but… "I feel a lot better," he states. "I'll— how about we try this again another day. You're not looking so good."

"I think I— stunted them, maybe," Peter says as he's pushed back against the chair more comfortably, mostly because it doesn't look like he can do anything about it. Head lulling back against the chair, he's now shifting from burning hot to freezing cold, but he doesn't even want to try to take off his coat yet. The symptoms are all just that— symptoms. "I'll be… be okay. Might need— to crash here though," he says, letting his eyes close. There's redness to his skin, sweat in various areas matting his hair, and he looks like he might, quite literally, crash right there on the chair.

"Okay," Nathan agrees. He opens his mouth, about to offer Peter a glass of water or maybe something warm, by the looks of it, but he hesitates, going silent again. It's been a few days since they last talked, Nathan being rather specific in avoiding him for a reason— but now. Well. Maybe now's a good time, considering it doesn't look like Peter could move across the room if he chose to. "It's a good thing you came by, I wanted to talk to you about something."

Doesn't look like he can move across the room, but when his brother speaks, Peter tries his best to open his glassy eyes. If someone didn't know better, they might think he drank too much tonight. Unfocused, he shifts enough so he can look at his brother, "Yeah? What about?" There's effort in his voice— effort even in his bloodshot eyes remaining open.

"Sylar," Nathan says, opting now to use the murderer's chosen name. The way Claire identified him. He's not really looking at Peter, leaning forward in his seat, elbows against his knees and hands loosely clasped together as he observes the carpet. "He attacked Claire again. A few days ago. I don't know how or where, only that Claire came here afterwards." Now he looks at Peter. "He got her ability, Pete. She lived through it."

Sylar. If Peter'd been having trouble keeping his eyes open, now it looks like he's having trouble keeping them closed. Hands grip at the chair, pulling himself up enough to really look at his brother, and pushing as if he might try to stand up. "Why didn't— why wasn't— why didn't you tell me?" There might have been some yelling if he'd ben in another condition, but right now it comes out almost as a helpless cry, tight and without much in the way of force. "God. Claire…" And she survived it. There's a set to his jaw, but he can't even stand right now, much less jump up and go chasing after a man who can regenerate, among other things.

Nathan brings a hand up again to Peter's shoulder, to prevent him from standing, though it's not met with must resistance. As it shouldn't. There's a reason he chose to tell Peter now, of all times. He knew he had to, eventually, but no one ever said Nathan wasn't a man of opportunity. There's a look of apology on his face, but determination as well. "I know," he says. "It did something to her power. I think - I don't know about this stuff, I might get Cass to take a look, but she can't feel pain, now, in addition to the healing. Look…" His hand squeezes. "You need rest. And you need to think before you act."

"I said— I told her I'd protect her," Peter says softly, helplessly. He's not able to stand, but he can still reach out and grab his brother's arm, the one attached to his shoulder at the moment, forcing him down. For him, the timing seems like the worst ever. "I should have stopped him— should have— killed him— when I had the chance." The grip loosens, though, and he falls back into the chair. Not just because he's being forced to. "She can't feel pain?" he asks, voice toned the level of a whisper, almost softer than that, but confusion in his voice.

"A lot of people should have killed him when they had the chance," Nathan mutters, and keeps that hand on Peter - not to prevent, but to comfort. "The Company had him under lock and key and they couldn't pull the trigger when they needed to. Don't beat yourself up over their mistakes and his… disposition." A pause, a nod. "She burned herself with hot water and didn't even notice it until I turned off the faucet. Healed instantly but she didn't even notice. I dunno if that's changed, she's back with her— her family now." Only the slightest of hitches, there - not because the Bennets aren't her family, but because he's once again drawing that line. He can't help it. Call it a defense mechanism.

"Picked— hell of a time to tell me this," Peter says in that weak and forced voice. It's fairly obvious that he'd be pushing himself back up to sit, and stand, if he could— but he can't. The most he gets is a vaguely defiant, if bloodshot and extremely exhausted, look at his brother. A glance. No pain. Still healing. "Her family was supposed to keep somehing like this from happening to her. Again." There's that harshness. If he had the energy to pull out his phone he might be making an angry call to a certain horned rimmed glasses man. But he's spared such a thing. Just like… "You want me to think before I go after that son of a bitch again?" Think. Not his strong suit.

Nathan says nothing to that first statement— just flickers a smile not intended for Peter, hand finally withdrawing off his brother's shoulder. "Yeah, I do," he says. "If he's got Claire's power then you better think before you do anything. I know you have her ability too but that doesn't mean this monster isn't creative enough to find ways to put you down for good. So what you're gonna do is recover and try not to do anything stupid."

"He had her ability in the future," Peter says, closing his eyes finally and leaning back into the chair. Think. There's only so much he can think about at the moment, while everything is reeling around inside his head. The month of being sick might have prepared him for this kind of side effect, but the month of being well makes it a shock. "He died then." It's almost muttered at this point. Plotting will have to wait. Acting on emotion usually causes him to be stupid. Such a measure has been postponed.

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