Brother's Keeper

Chapter 13

Nathan sat impatiently in another long, wide hallway that looked the same as all of the others in the hospital. A nurse had offered him some coffee, but he had had enough of the stuff. The tension he felt now was far worse than the buzz any caffeinated drink could ever provide.

He was disappointed but not surprised at the fact that the psychiatrist had wanted to speak with Peter without the presence of his big brother. Forty-five minutes had passed since he was asked to leave, and Nathan could not help but wonder what the hell was going on behind the closed doors. At least Peter was not screaming or crying, which supposedly was a good sign, but Nathan was worried regardless. His brother had looked frightened when left all alone with the doctor, and Nathan, protective big brother that he was, wanted to be there for him.

After an hour of waiting, the doors to the psychiatrist’s office finally opened, and Peter stepped out, closely followed by the doctor himself.

"Hey bud," Nathan greeted cautiously as his little brother silently gave him a hug. "Everything go alright?"

"Yeah," Peter answered. "I'm hungry now."

"Okay, let me just talk with the doctor for a minute."

While Peter wandered the hallway, always keeping his older brother in his sight, Nathan addressed the psychiatrist.

"Well? How is he?"

"Homesick, most definitely." the professional answered. "He's a bright boy, very sweet and sensitive."

"Yeah, that's him," Nathan muttered, looking pensively down the hall at his brother. "What do you think is best for him?"

"Well... he misses his mother and his home very much. I have a feeling that perhaps he might be better suited in familiar surroundings. If he can get his weight up, I wouldn't see a problem with him going home."

"How much does he need to gain before he can go home?"

"Oh, about ten pounds, I'd say," the doctor said after a brief pause. "The physical and psychological trauma has been hard on his body. He needs to build up his energy reserves in order to recuperate fully."

"But what about... his regression?" Nathan asked cautiously, the word tasting foul in his mouth. "He's... really acting like a child, isn't he?"

"It's a way of coping, Mr. Petrelli. Your brother has suffered a profound trauma which he has no way of dealing with, so this is his defense against further anxiety. My professional knowledge says that he will come out of it, sooner or later. Until then, there's not really much we can do to break it. Peter needs to process things in his own pace."

"But... he won't be able to function on his own. He'll need someone to take care of him even if he goes home, won't he?"

The psychiatrist gave a sympathetic gaze. "I'm afraid so. Hopefully he should come out of it soon if you're all patient. If anything should happen though, I can provide some contact information on people close to your home."

Nathan sighed, but he knew of no other options to help his brother. This was the only way, and most likely the gentlest way of treating Peter. Turning, he called for his brother.

"Okay Pete, let's find you something to eat."

Peter did not seem to notice. He looked to be in a daze and his expression read of confusion, as though he did not know where he was. Just when Nathan began to walk towards him, the strength in his brother's legs vanished.

"Peter!"

Nathan was kneeling by his brother's side within a second, and when he lifted the boy's head onto his lap, Peter moaned weakly.

"Peter? Oh my God, baby... What happened? Are you okay?"

A string of saliva trickled out of Peter's half-open mouth. "I... I'm dizzy..." he said with a groan, trying hard to focus his gaze but not quite succeeding.

Nathan instinctively pressed his fingers against that particular spot on his brother's neck, to feel his heart beat. Instantly a strong, albeit slow pulse throbbed against his fingers from Peter's carotid artery. Nathan breather a sigh of relief. At least the kid's heart wasn't giving up.

Propped up by Nathan's arm, Peter managed to sit up, but almost at once the vertigo once again overwhelmed him, and he had to lean against his big brother for support.

"Can you carry me, Nathan?" he asked, sighing, as if talking in itself exhausted him.

Nathan did not even consider the question. He had his little brother in his arms in no time at all and was carrying him to his room. The psychiatrist was already calling Doctor Ryder, alerting him to the situation.

"Hold on, Peter," Nathan murmured softly as he ignored the confused stares from patients and hospital staff alike. By the time he entered Peter's room, he looked down and saw that his little brother appeared to be asleep. Upon being placed in the bed, Peter moaned lightly and opened his eyes.

"Nathan?" he asked, puzzled.

"I'm right here. Doctor Ryder is coming soon."

"I'm hungry."

"I know. We'll get you something to eat, just stay in bed before you pass out again."

"I... passed out?"

"You don't remember?" Nathan asked softly, slightly alarmed. He brushed Peter's hair back from the boy's clammy forehead.

Large eyes blinked several times before Peter was finally able to gaze back at his brother. "I remember... the doctor... he said..."

"Shhh... it's okay... You're probably just weak, that's all. Try to relax, little guy."

"When can I go home...?" Peter slurred, burying his face in the white hospital pillow. He had another one for squeezing, as if to substitute a child's need for a plush animal in bed at night.

"As soon as you've put on some weight. You mustn't fade away, Pete. You're already such a shrimp. I could almost put you in my pocket."

The last-mentioned caused Peter to give a faint smile, and Nathan smiled back, his hand still carding through Peter's hair.

"Peter," Ryder's familiar voice called from the doorway all of a sudden, causing both brothers to flinch. "You fainted just a little while ago, I heard."

"I was hungry... I felt dizzy..." Peter replied, trying hard to remember. “And then Nathan was carrying me here.”

Ryder examined his patient, taking the boy's pulse, checking his eyes, and even making sure no serious head injuries had been acquired.

"Does anything hurt right now?"

"No, I don't think so..." Peter answered. "My stomach hurts a little, but I guess because I'm hungry."

"When did you last eat?"

A while passed without any response from Peter. The boy finally looked down at his lap and started fingering on a seam in his hospital gown. "Y-you mean real food...? Or ice-cream?"

"Real food, Peter," Ryder said patiently. "Did you have breakfast this morning?"

"I... I had some strawberry soup. The rest wasn't very good."

"Some strawberry soup is not enough to sustain you until lunch," the doctor explained. "You need to eat more than that. What did you have for lunch today?"

"Just a sandwich. I never liked fish sticks."

"Alright, I see." Ryder scribbled some notes into his note pad and then put it back into the pocket of his white coat. "I think I know the reason for your collapse, Peter."

"Am I sick?" Peter asked morosely, now appearing completely fascinated with the seam in his gown.

"Now yet, but unless you start eating more, you soon will be," Ryder stated grimly. "And you know what that means, don't you, Peter? No eating, no going home. You're making it harder for everyone, including yourself."

"Doctor, please!" Nathan objected. "You're scaring him!"

"I don't intend to scare him," Ryder responded. "I'm only telling him the truth."

Peter listened, but he continued to fidget with his gown, looking at his lap as though he were a child who had done something bad. Nathan wondered if that was truly how the younger man felt.

"Peter," Ryder said gently. "The only requirement from both myself and your psychiatrist is that you gain ten pounds and continue to eat healthy. We'll be serving some things you might enjoy, but we also need you to put the effort in too. You don't want to get sick, do you?"

"No," came a quiet reply.

"And you want to go home as soon as possible."

"Yes."

"Then this will require some teamwork from all of us. You eat as best you can - without eating too much to get sick, mind you - and Nathan can help to encourage your diet. We'll keep in mind what you like and don't like. Is that a deal?"

Peter glanced at his brother, and Nathan gave a short affirmative nod. Finally the boy dared to nod, as well.

"Good, Peter. Very good," Ryder said. "Now let's shake hands on it. When you close a deal, you must shake hands with the other part," he explained when the boy regarded him with hesitation.

The handshake did not demand much effort on Peter's part, but he let the doctor grasp his pale, slender hand and carefully squeeze it. Nathan wondered if Peter fully understood the gravity of the doctor's admonitions. Surely even in his childish mind, the boy had to know how important it was to eat?

"Peter..." Nathan seated himself on the bed next to his brother once Ryder had left and pulled the thin little frame into a hug. Peter's already small shoulders seemed to have shrunk further and his head with its thick hair was starting to look far too big for the rest of his scrawny self.

"Do you understand what you have to do now?"

Peter's arms tightened for a moment around his brother's bigger, stronger body. "Yeah. I think so. If I eat more, I can go home."

"Yes. You eat more, you put on the weight for you to be healthy. And then you can go home."

"Okay. If I can go home, I'll do it."

Nathan gently squeezed his baby brother. The small body felt as though the lawyer was hugging the ten year old version of Peter again. He nestled his nose into his little brother's hair.

"Your brother loves you very much."

"I love you too," Peter replied, hiding his face in Nathan's chest.

*

That evening, when it was bedtime, Nathan did not even encourage Peter to stay on his side of their arranged double bed. Up until now, the boy had crawled over to his big brother every single night, consciously or unconsciously, and though Peter's unwillingness to sleep alone was yet another sign of his regression, Nathan could not blame him for it. As a kid, Peter had always crawled in with him when he was scared, and the boy's fear was something that had not yet left.

"Come here, sweetheart." Nathan beckoned with his hands, and Peter scooted over quicker than Nathan had ever seen him move at the hospital, tucking himself into the curve of his brother's body.

//Just for tonight...// the lawyer tried to promise himself.

*

Miraculously, Peter remained true to his word. He tried his best to eat what the doctors gave him, and even some moments when he appetite had disappeared, Nathan was there to encourage him, although sometimes that included the boy being handfed like a baby. Peter was happy to have his brother to help him, and he began to take a greater interest in his food, more so than mere ice cream alone.

On occasion he was even so bold as to try heartier foods like the meat which always resembled a slice of shredded meatloaf. The one thing he still avoided was the fish. He had never really been a fan of it, even as a child, when he was forced to eat it at the dinner table, and the fish served at the hospital tasted even worse.

One week after his first appointment with the psychiatrist, it was time for another one. The way Peter shuffled his feet on their way to the specialist's office, Nathan suspected Peter felt like he was on trial.

"My tummy hurts..." the boy whined as they sat in the waiting room, only minutes before his scheduled appointment. "I think I ate something bad..."

"It's alright, Petey," Nathan assured, rubbing his baby brother's neck. "You don't have to be afraid. I'm very proud of you, and so is the doctor, I'm sure."

Peter was still holding a hand against his stomach and making pitiful little whimpers when a nurse approached and told them it was time for Peter to see the doctor. Hand in hand, the two brothers headed to a door with the sign "Dr. Arnold Fulton, M.D."

The door opened just as Nathan moved to knock. There stood the psychiatrist, Doctor Fulton, a smile on his intelligent face.

"There he is, the man of the hour," he greeted Peter as he let the two brothers in. "How are we today, Peter?"

"I'm scared. My tummy hurts," the boy mumbled timidly.

"Awww, I'm sorry to hear that. Have a seat and relax."

"Should I leave now?" Nathan asked, gesturing for the door. As much as he hated leaving Peter anywhere alone, he had come to respect the choices of the psychiatrist.

"I don't think that will be necessary this time," Fulton answered. "He might find some comfort in you being present, isn't that right?"

Peter smiled at his big brother, despite his stomach.

"Now..." Fulton began as he took a seat facing the brothers, clipboard in his lap and pen at the ready. "How have we been progressing for the past week, Peter?"

"I've been eating more... like you wanted me to," Peter sad quickly, still nervous despite having Nathan beside him.

"That's good, Peter. Very good. Can you tell me why you have been eating more?"

"So that I can get better and go home..." the boy mumbled, chewing on a fingernail. It was a behaviour, disliked by both their parents, that Peter had given up almost a decade ago. After contracting a rather nasty infection in a cuticle as a boy, Arthur had decided that Peter's nail-biting was the cause of it and told his younger son that he would be grounded for a week every time his father caught him chewing on his fingernails. The bad habit had eventually died and Peter let his fingernails be. Until now.

"That's right, Peter. I know how much you want to go home, and I'm glad to see you're making an effort. Can you tell me how you feel right now?"

"I..." Peter began, and his lips moved wordlessly for a moment, but no sounds escaped him. "I don't know..."

"It can be difficult finding words sometimes. Do you think you could draw me a picture instead?"

Peter chuckled at the thought of drawing. "I'm not very good."

"Oh that doesn't matter," Fulton said with a grin. "Art is a good form of therapy, no matter the quality. One of the women who comes to see me uses finger painting."

Peter gave a shy smile and shrugged. "Alright."

As he was directed to a table a few feet away, paper and various mediums at his disposal, Nathan sat with Doctor Fulton and talked.

"He said he had a stomach ache...?" the psychiatrist addressed.

"Yeah, but he was also pretty nervous before we got here," Nathan answered. "He's so anxious to go home and sleep in his own bedroom."

"Yes, I can see that," Fulton said sympathetically. "Poor little thing. To him it probably seems like we're punishing him by having him stay here. However, I would not recommend he goes home before I see some improvement in his condition. Hopefully we're on the right path now."

Nathan threw a glance in his brother's direction and saw that Peter was fully immersed in drawing something with crayons. His face, barely visible through his ever-present curtain of bangs, had a look of concentration that could only mean he was in the middle of something important.

A couple of minutes later, Peter approached the doctor's desk, head bent and hands behind his back. From his seat, Nathan could see that Peter was holding the drawing in one hand.

"Now let me see that," Fulton requested and held his hand out.

Peter hesitated. "It's stupid."

"It isn't about whether or not you think it's stupid," Fulton responded patiently with a smile. "Let's see what you've drawn for us."

Slowly, Peter finally produced from behind him the drawing. "I'm not good at drawing people, obviously..." he stated as the psychiatrist looked at it first, then passed it to the older Petrelli brother.

Nathan frowned in deep thought at the sight of the crayon image. A stick figure wearing a light blue gown - obviously Peter - floated in a blue space. Multicolored diamonds, obviously fish, passed by the figure. Above the blue space was a patch of green, most likely land, where several other stick people stood happily. Peter's figure was not happy at all.

"Is this how you feel, Peter?" the doctor asked. "Like you're drowning?"

The boy nodded, looking down on his lap. Nathan wanted to demand an explanation for why Peter had not shared these feelings with him, but then it occurred to him that his little brother had trouble expressing himself with words.

"Why, Peter?" Fulton inquired. "Will you tell us why you feel this way?"

"I... I don't wanna be here..." Peter said slowly and quietly. "Everyone's always telling me what to do... 'Peter, eat', 'Peter, go to bed', 'Peter, wake up'... I don't like that."

Nathan held back a sigh. He realized he would have felt the same way had he been in his little brother's situation.

"Who are these people up here?" Fulton inquired, pointing at the figures smiling on the green space.
"That one's Nathan," the boy answered, pointing to the figure wearing a red tie and standing closest to the water. "And those two are my parents."

"You miss them very much," the doctor said.

Peter nodded.

Gazing at the drawing, something occurred to Nathan, and he would have asked a question had Fulton not asked it for him.

"Why is Nathan up here with them? Do you feel separated from him?"

"No," came an insecure voice from behind the curtain of hair.

"Why is he away from you?"

"I'm afraid..." Peter answered after a few seconds of silence. "I'm afraid he can't help me."

"Help you how? To get better?" Fulton inquired.

"That he can't protect me... from bad things," the boy whispered, his voice sounding thicker by the second.

"Peter..." Nathan began and placed his own hand atop Peters and squeezed, ready to wrap his arms around his brother and assure him everything would be alright, but Fulton gestured at him to remain in his seat.

"Did Nathan not protect you when you were abducted?" the psychiatrist asked.

"He tried... but the bad men wouldn't let him."

"And you were hurt despite your brother's attempts to spare you."

Peter nodded quietly, although his body language revealed he was close to tears.

"Peter..." Fulton rolled a pen between his thumb and forefinger. "Do you blame Nathan for what happened?"

"No!" Peter cried out. "No, Nathan, that's not true! Nathan, I promise, that's not true!"

"Buddy, I'm not mad," Nathan reassured him over the noise. "I know you don't think that."

"Relax, Peter," the doctor said, his voice low and steady. "We're not making any accusations. I'm not assuming anything, I'm just asking questions to find out what you're feeling."

Peter furiously wiped at his eyes, desperate to stop crying. "Can't I just draw more pictures?"

"If you like..." Fulton watched as Peter shuffled back to the table, wiping again at his eyes.

Minutes later he came back and was asked once again for his drawing. This one was of a small stick figure positioned on all fours, while two much larger figures, monstrous in nature, leant against either end of its body. Nathan caught a glimpse of the drawing and looked at his brother imploringly. He wanted to pick the boy up and take him away, all the way home on foot if he had to.

"Is this you...?" Fulton asked carefully, pointing at the small figure in the middle.

Peter, eyes concealed behind his hair, gave a small nod. Now Nathan could not resist reaching out to his little brother despite the doctor's request to let Peter be. Knowing what an ordeal it must be for the boy to remember what had been done to him, let alone talk about it, Nathan was surprised Peter had not yet broken down completely and begged to be taken home.

"Where was your brother when this happened, dear?"

"Watching..."

"He didn't try to help you?"

"He did... but he couldn't. They tricked him."

"Tricked him?"

Peter shuddered a bit. "They told him they would stop hurting me if he sucked one of them. But then they just hurt me anyway."

Seeing the fragile young man recite such terrible events, as well as his own memories of what had happened, caused Nathan to hide his eyes, and though he held back a sob, his body trembled to restrain his sadness.

"Nathan, it's not your fault," Peter argued timidly. The way he spoke rekindled long lost memories of Peter as a child with a cold. Nathan had been angry with himself for not wrapping his baby brother up warmly enough, even though he had been in three layers of winter clothes that snowy night.

"I should have tried harder," Nathan insisted aloud. "I'm supposed to take care of you."

"Peter... are you still afraid?" Fulton asked the scarred young man.

"All the time..."

"What are you afraid of? The men who hurt you and your brother are dead. They can't hurt you anymore."

"I dream about them..." Peter said in a trembling voice. "Almost e-every night. I try to run f-from t-them, but they always c-catch me... and I can't find Nathan. And when they catch me, they do b-bad things to m-me..."

Though Peter had never before gone into details about his nightmares, Nathan knew what his brother had to go through. At least once a night, sometimes twice or thrice, Peter woke up crying and covered in sweat. Being close to the older man helped, and most nights Nathan managed to make his baby brother fall back asleep without the aid of any sedatives.

"Healing from such a traumatic experience may take a while, but the dreams will go away," Doctor Fulton responded. "It's something you have to work on, no matter what the trauma was. Nathan can tell you that he was affected in his own way, isn’t that right?"

Nathan glanced at the psychiatrist, faintly surprised. All this time, he had been so concerned with Peter that he never thought about himself.

"It's hard on me too, buddy..." he finally admitted. "What we both went through is something a person doesn't just get over. It takes time. But you won't be alone. We'll work things out together."

Nodding, Peter rubbed at his eyes, as though completely drained of strength. "I just wish the dreams would go away."

During his one-hour appointment, Peter drew one more picture, this one representing himself being carried by Nathan on a road through a dense forest. Until now Nathan had simply assumed that Peter did not remember anything from their escape, as the boy had been unconscious or nearly so most of the time. The drawing, childish though it was, made him doubt his earlier assumption.

Once their time was up, Fulton asked to have a word with Nathan without Peter present. The lawyer could only hope that the psychiatrist had not caught on to anything supposedly suspicious in the two brothers' relationship.

"Nathan," Fulton began once they were alone in the doctor's office. "First I want to say that I truly admire your devotion and patience with your brother. Peter is really lucky to have you."

"Yes, I suppose so. But this isn't why you asked me to stay, is it?"

Fulton smiled. "The direct approach. I like that. No, I wanted you to stay because I feel you might be in the need of some professional guidance yourself. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You went through something just as horrific as your brother, and yet everyone expects you to act as if nothing's happened. If you want to just talk to someone..."

"I'm fine," Nathan said curtly. "I don't need a shrink."

"Right..." Fulton continued with a raised eyebrow. "But if you ever want to talk with someone... the people I'm recommending for your move home can also be there for you as well."

"I don't know how they could help, but thanks."

Peter had been waiting in a chair outside the door of Doctor Fulton's office. He was beginning to nod off as Nathan exited the room, placing a hand on his small shoulder.

"Tired?"

"Mm-hmm," the younger brother wiped at his eyes, watery from lack of sleep. The appointment had ended just around noon and yet stress was causing sleep to invade the boy's senses.

"Maybe you need a nap."

Peter shook his head. "What if I have dreams again?"

Nathan stroked his brother's hair, smiling. "Then I'll have to leave my dreams and join your own so that you can rest well."

*

Two days after his second appointment with Dr. Fulton, it was time for Peter to step back onto a scale. The boy was understandably nervous and his stomach was once again acting up as a sign of it.

"What if I haven't put on any weight?" he fearfully asked Nathan in the examination room while the two brothers waited for Ryder. "Then I can't go home. The doctor said so."

"You've been eating more, so I don't think you need to worry," Nathan reassured, rubbing the boy's skinny knee through his hospital gown. Inside, however, Nathan suspected that if Peter had gained any weight, it couldn't be more than a couple of pounds.

Staring at the floor, Peter put his arms around his skinny stomach, trying to ignore the queasy ache there. Clearing his throat, Nathan pulled his hand away, but Peter made a noise of interruption.

"I liked that," he said. "It distracts me from being nervous.

"Okay," his brother replied, replacing the hand.

Ryder entered the room several minutes later and gave the usual greeting. "Let's take a look at how much you weigh today."

Giving a nervous gulp, Peter stepped onto the scale, wishing he had pockets to fill and thus add to his weight.

Ryder hummed in thought and scribbled on his clipboard. "One hundred and six, not bad..." he stated, "I'd say if you keep it up, you'll be able to reach one-ten by the week's end."

"And then I can go home?" Peter asked hopefully.

Nathan and the physician exchanged glances. Knowing how much going home meant to Peter, Nathan dearly hoped that Ryder would not go back on his end of the deal. Peter was in desperate need to have something to look forward to, and at the moment, being allowed home was all he had.

"Yes," the doctor replied after a brief pause, which Nathan hoped was not hesitation. "But you have to promise me that you keep eating even after you've gone home. A hundred and ten is not an ideal weight for you. With your age and height, you should be at least 125, even 130."

"He used to be 120 before... all this happened," Nathan informed Ryder. "My brother's always been a little shrimp."

Nathan had to admit that he had lost a good ten pounds himself from the trauma and the stress following; something he intended to fix ASAP with a good diet and a strict training schedule. Perhaps he could even motivate Peter to try it.

"Speaking of eating, it should be time for lunch, isn't that right?" the doctor inquired following more of the examination of his patient.

"I should think so," Nathan answered, checking his watch. "Come on, skinny. Let's see if the cafeteria is serving burgers."

Peter snickered a little at his brother's humor and waited for the consent from Ryder to leave.

"If they don't have burgers, we can always get ice cream," the lawyer suggested. "Or cake."

"How about both?" Peter offered shyly.

"That's what I'm talking about," the older man replied, ruffling his baby brother's hair.

His hand accidentally brushed what used to be Peter's right ear, and the boy jerked like he'd been stung, his own hand instantly going up to cover the malformed shell.

"Honey, I'm sorry," Nathan said regretfully once the situation dawned on him. Peter liked to keep the ear covered by hair at all times, and it was the only part of his body that no one - even his big brother - was allowed to touch.

"Did I hurt you, Pete?" Nathan carefully cupped the unhappy little face of his brother, praying that Peter would not recoil from his touch. He didn't, but he refused to meet Nathan's gaze.

"I'm fine..." Peter finally muttered, but his posture and expression told otherwise.

"We don't have to go downstairs if you don't want to," Nathan said. "We can go back to your room."

"N-no... I..." Peter shivered, whimpered for a moment. "I just... remembered."

"I know," Nathan whispered. Strong arms pulled Peter into a warm hug. "It's okay."

They stood that way for nearly two full minutes.

"You still want to eat?"

"Yeah."

"Ice-cream will make you feel better," Nathan insisted gently, hand on his brother's back and leading him down the hallway.

"And cake," Peter said with an awkward but willing smile.


TBC...