To Forget What You Did
Title: To Forget What You Did
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Era: Season 1 between episodes .07% and The Hard Part.
Genre: Angst, Erotica
Characters: Angela Petrelli, Nathan Petrelli, Peter Petrelli, the Haitian (, Claire Bennet, Mohinder Suresh, Sylar)
Rating: T / FRT
Summary: After Nathan held his dead brother in his arms, and then watched him come back to life, it reminded him of the fact that life is fragile and fleeting. Something had to change – or so he thought.
Written for: Heroes_Contest’s (heroes_contest) One-shot Challenge 11: Missing Scene
Warnings: Incest, implied death & resurrection, implied violence, implied voyeurism. Spoilers for Season 1 (up to episode .07%) and for Season 3 (concerning Angela Petrelli’s powers).
Beta: Mythra (mythras_fire)
Disclaimer: The show, its characters, its places, and everything else belong to Tim Kring, NBC, and the other respective creators and owners of the TV show ‘Heroes’. I have made no profit by writing this story, and make no claim over the show.
About To Forget What You Did: This is what could have happened – but obviously didn’t. Or maybe…? Everyone can decide for themselves.
My first story featuring petrellicest, and my first real piece of slash in Heroes fandom. Petrelli brothers were my first ship when I began to read Heroes fan fiction – or watch the show – so this is kind of a natural progression for me, in a way.
I hope everyone reading this enjoy themselves!
Story and status: Below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.
To Forget What You Did
Written for Heroes_Contest’s One-shot Challenge 11 (Missing Scene).
The mere thought of Peter dead didn’t suit any of us. Not our plans, not our dreams – not our nightmares. He was meant to be alive and have his role to play in the events to come. If he was dead – and stayed dead – then how could those great plans come to pass? So much depended on his presence there, although it seemed Nathan had momentarily forgotten that: all that mattered to him was that Peter was dead.
Of course it was Claire who figured it out; she had already died, maybe more than once, so she knew how it worked, or at least suspected she had the right idea. She never said anything about dying in detail, or how it felt to regenerate, but I could see it in her eyes. People change when they witness death, or happen to be part of it – their own deaths included.
Nathan, of course, had seen death before, and even been part of it, but it seemed that Peter’s ill-timed death left its mark on him. The way he kept whirling that piece of glass in his fingers spoke of two things; he now realized that Peter may not have been killed after all if he had become the Exploding man, but at the same time it was now clear that Nathan didn’t want ‘Peter’ and ‘death’ connected in the same sentence.
I trusted in Nathan’s ambition and judgment, believing he could get over the sentimental feelings for his brother and move on; that he would look higher, further, and deeper than this.
It would seem I was mistaken.
Nathan’s up long after everyone else has gone to bed. The big house is silent, eerie almost, but he grew up here and doesn’t fear the long stairs and shadowy hallways. He moves out of the room that is now his study, and there’s almost an imprint in his palm from the blade that killed Peter. He keeps rubbing that palm as he walks, as if it aches.
His steps are determined, carrying him to the door that has always marked the beginning of Peter’s territory. Usually Nathan knocks even though he doesn’t always wait for permission to enter. This time, he simply walks in, closing the door purposefully behind him.
The room is dark and Peter is asleep. His face is still a bit pale and he looks worn out even though the blood has been washed from his hair and face. Perhaps death does that to people. Nathan cocks his head, rubbing his palm again, then steps to the side of the bed. They had Peter’s hair cut to make it less apparent that Sylar tried to cut his skull open but only managed to do lasting damage to the long brown curls.
Nathan’s hand traces the edge of Peter’s hairline, then brushes some of the hair aside. His fingers are ghosting, maybe searching for the spot where Claire pulled out the piece of glass.
Peter wakes up with a soft groan, but doesn’t start, as if he knows it is Nathan and not some Boogeyman that is out to get him. The room seems to brighten as he smiles up at Nathan, shifting slightly on the bed to look at him. Nathan is stone faced, but Peter has always been patient with his brother, and never allowed Nathan to overly disappoint himself. It’s always been that tug of wills; Peter the patient, Nathan the determined, although both of them are quite stubborn to believe what they want.
“Nathan,” Peter says at length. His voice is barely above a whisper, still raspy from sleep. He clears his throat when Nathan’s hand moves again, fingers still sliding into his hair, searching. Peter moves to sit up a little, opens his mouth to say something, and Nathan’s hand fists the hair on the back of his head, making him wince a little. They both halt. Nathan stares, and Peter looks back.
Then, finally, Nathan’s fist loosens its hold, and the fingers move again, in small circles, but there is no wound or blood or a piece of glass buried into his skull. It is gone, as is the wound, and the blood that went down the drain with the soap water hours ago.
“Nathan?” Peter says again, asking this time; questioning softly because he is curious, but doesn’t want Nathan to back off either.
And Nathan doesn’t. He pulls Peter’s face closer, hands shaking ever so slightly. Peter blinks, slowly, then closes his eyes just before their lips meet in a slow, lingering kiss. They both know it is different; it shows on their faces when they pull apart. Again, Nathan is staring and Peter looks back at him. They are both waiting for something.
Usually it would be Nathan who gives the sign of how to proceed; he has always been the one in control, and Peter’s always happy to follow his brother’s lead. This is different, though. This is Peter’s realm, because he has always known in his own way what Nathan needs, even though Nathan would never admit it. Peter kneels on the bed, close to Nathan, and hugs him.
It seems Nathan has something else in mind, though. One of his hands remains on Peter’s head, still gently fisted in his hair. That makes Peter’s attempted hug a little awkward, but Nathan didn’t seem too keen on that to begin with. He tugs Peter closer and his lips collide with Peter’s once again, as if he wants this instead of the offered embrace.
Peter seems to melt a little. His eyelids droop and fall shut, his shoulders lose some of their tension, and it is as if he has no will of his own when Nathan pushes him down onto his back on the bed, following him down. The mattress creaks just slightly under their weight, but that doesn’t stop Nathan, who is tilting his head and kissing Peter harder. His body moves, pushing between his bother’s legs, and the hand in Peter’s hair is holding tighter, fingers pressing against the scalp.
With a slight moan of discomfort, Peter wrenches his head to one side, panting for air. He looks tempted to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead he just watches Nathan again, unmoving, as if trying to read his mind – who knows, he probably is. His eyes narrow just slightly, a frown of concentration on his face. Nathan looks back at him, probably not even realizing what is going on.
Nathan’s actions that follow are plain and simple, and Peter’s brow smoothens as if he suddenly knows what is going to happen. Nathan’s hands are tugging off his shirt and pants, and although Peter barely participates, he finally manages to do it. Nathan himself it still fully dressed, which creates an odd contrast between Peter’s naked body and the suit clad form of his brother. It doesn’t hold Nathan back, though, even if he has to remove his hand from Peter’s hair to fight off his suit jacket. Peter is helping him with the tie and shirt buttons, and once those are out of the way, they kiss again.
Nathan takes it a little slower now, his weight shifting, hips grinding against Peter’s. “Peter,” he says roughly; the first word he has uttered since coming into the room. It seems that all his fears are merged into that name, and his eyes shine when he pulls back to look at his brother. “I thought we lost you,” he adds after a moment.
Peter just nods. “I’m okay. I’m alive,” he reassures.
Nathan still looks agitated, as if a huge weight was pressing against his shoulders – pressing him onto Peter. His body’s movements grow desperate, as if he thinks one of them – or both – are running out of time. As if Peter is going to fall down dead all of a sudden…
Nathan moves to kiss his brother again, and it seems as if he has made up his mind in case there was some confusion before. Peter looks uncertain, as if he doesn’t know where this all is coming from, but his brother is determined. Nathan’s pants are shed, and his aroused body shifts even closer to Peter’s, and neither of them are naïve enough to pretend they don’t know what is going on.
The only unclear matter seems to be the one that Peter voices: “Why?”
Nathan doesn’t respond immediately – not in words. Instead he moves, and Peter’s breaths turn into little moans of pain, but he doesn’t push his brother away, nor does he fight him; Peter’s body will heal from every wound, so if there is pain, it is only momentary. The sounds he is making change, and his eyes shine brighter, gazing at Nathan who is again holding his head, fingers against his scalp, trying to find the wound long healed.
Their rhythm is one of desperate hurry. Panting breaths escape between their lips, and Peter’s legs are constantly shifting by the time his back arches and Nathan lowers his head to Peter’s shoulder, his muscles tense.
“I will always protect you Pete,” Nathan swears as Peter moans and then lies down again, limp against the mattress. “I love you,” he adds, shifting to the side.
“I love you too,” Peter replies, voice soft and a little strained as if he’s fighting tears.
“No one will hurt you,” Nathan mutters as he presses close to Peter. “Ever again,” Nathan’s words seem to echo in the silence of the house.
I had that dream four days before Mohinder Suresh brought Peter home, his dead body laid out on the couch, waiting for a miracle awakening. Of course I didn’t know that Claire would save him, since I hadn’t managed to connect her to the dream – a vision – that I had.
But once it took place… Once I knew Nathan went into Peter’s room the night after my youngest son came back to life, I knew why I had had the dream. It would change everything. Nathan would let nothing hurt Peter now. He would keep him safe, even if it would ruin the plans that would carry him to the Oval Office. All that for Peter, and this one night of forbidden passion…
As I stand in the doorway of Peter’s room, watching them sleeping on his too-narrow bed, I feel an ache in my chest. Even in the darkness of the room that is only broken by the soft light coming from the hallway behind me, I can see Nathan’s protective hold of Peter’s body. It would be touching if I didn’t know what had taken place here only some minutes ago. The smell of sex still hangs in the air, different from what I’m used to.
There’s movement beside me, and I turn my head ever so slightly, looking at the Haitian by my side. He was such a devoted boy who I saved from a life much worse than this one could ever. His eyes barely flicker as he looks at the scene before him. Nothing seems to shock him these days; he has seen so much, in reality and in people’s heads.
“Take away the last few hours. They need to remember the rest.” If Nathan believes that Peter can outlive exploding, he will follow the plan.
The Haitian nods, taking a step forward, his feet silent on the carpet. He goes to Nathan first, a gentle, careful hand on his forehead, then moves to Peter. My youngest shifts slightly but does not wake up. I look at them, memorizing this and then locking it away in my mind. Neither of them will ever know; it will be just me and the Haitian, and thus I believe that the secret will be safe.